Tag: lifestyle

New Year’s Resolutions – an update on my so called progress.

As much as I was keen to avoid them, I still found myself considering making resolutions as 2022 approached. It’s not a time of year that I like and – although I always end up making some – I never truly buy into the idea of making a brand new start. Essentially, the difference between one year and another is just a day.

So at first I was content to settle for a token three. You know the kind of things: eat healthier, exercise…give up wearing women’s underwear on a Friday, something along those lines. But the more I thought of it, the more I added, until I had nice round 30 resolutions bullet pointed on a piece of A4. So, in order to commit myself a bit, I wrote a blog at the start of the year. It’s on the link below.

2022: Letters, a gammy toe and a fake adopted cat. My New Year’s Resolutions.

Now that we’re a couple of months on, I thought I’d write an update on my progress. So, here we go.

I’d resolved to make sure that I updated you, dear reader, on my resolutions. Thus, this blog represents a big fat tick on my list, which is nice.

In terms of the order of the list though, let’s start with a package deal on my first two resolutions. Learn to moonwalk and start writing my YA novel and my Christmas story. Literally nothing done here. I figure that there’s plenty time with both though. My YA novel is in fact started, but it’s handwritten in a notebook. My Christmas story is still some bullet points that may just be on a scrap of paper…somewhere. Moonwalking will have to wait, maybe until I find that scrap of paper with my story on!

The next resolution was to research and eat more healthy foods and I’m pleased to say that there has been enormous progress made here. Well, I’ve favourited several more healthy recipes on the BBC website, cooked myself a simple fresh pasta sauce (once) and started eating cranberries after a run. So huge might have been a lie. But it’s progress all the same and I’m sure it’ll get better.

My next resolution was to try and be a better son, husband, dad and brother. Soppy, cliched, difficult to quantify. As it goes, I think I’m making progress here. I’ve phoned my mam and dad several times since the turn of the year and as I write, we’ll be seeing them in a couple of days. I even sent my mam flowers on her birthday. I’ve definitely spent more time with my kids, making the effort to pick them up from school on a few occasions and going out for walks despite work and shocking weather. I hope I’ve been a decent husband – my wife is very intelligent and yet still hasn’t walked out, so I must be able to take at least a bit of credit for this. And I’ve been in touch with my sister, although I’d have to admit that this is still limited to sending texts, so I could do a lot better.

In truth, I still haven’t figured out my next resolution which just read ‘modify my Duolingo use’. In short though, I’m on a streak of over 650 days, so I must be doing something that means progress here.

I’d decided to write more content about my work, teaching and my football club, Newcastle United. Well so far I’ve managed a couple of Newcastle related blogs, but nothing on teaching, although there was an idea in the pipeline and that will be getting written soon enough.

My resolution to stop buying crisps was going really well. And then my birthday struck. My lovely work friends, led by organiser-in-chief Laura, got me lots of presents and cake and one of my presents was four (count’em) family bags of crisps! I then discovered crisps that I thought I’d already eaten and worse still, bought another big family sized – as in it’s meant for sharing, not that it’s the size of a typical family – bag of tangy tomato ones today. So. I’ve pretty spectacularly fallen off the waggon with this one. This has also ruined my plans for my next resolution, which was to attempt to get a six pack…

Next I said I’d speak to more people. Again, difficult to quantify but again, if I’m honest, I think I’ve probably failed. I mean, I’ve literally no idea who these ‘more people’ even are!

My next two have also been failures. The first was to play more board games with my wife and this hasn’t happened…so maybe that be a better husband thing is a failure too! Then there was to mow the lawn more and put simply, it’s February and the weather has been appalling. The other day when I was in my garden water was coming up through the lawn as I walked on it. So there’s no chance it’s getting mowed!

Next I resolved to run more and enter more races. I’ve ran regularly, despite being poorly for a bit this year and I’ve already entered two races, with more planned. Safe to say that resolving to do something that I already do has been an unmitigated success!

Sadly, I’ve yet to adopt a fake cat named Fellatio Nelson, but I reckon that one’s pretty doable.

I said I’d make more videos – for teaching and for my own amusement – and as we head towards March nothing’s happened. Said videos are still very much just in my head. But, I have a week’s holiday on my own at Easter, so I will vow right here and now that I will make some videos then. I bet you can’t wait! Easter might also be the time when I make at least some headway with the next idea which was to start a podcast. Until my wife produces a list of jobs to fill my time and I get nothing done at all!

The next two of my resolutions involved what I’d laughingly refer to as my softer side and it comes as no surprise to me that both remain filed away in the space in my head reserved for ‘Good ideas that I’m unlikely to find the time for, even though I’ll clearly have the time’. I really do want to raise a big old amount of money for a charity and yet, going back over my resolutions in order to write this update was the first time I’d given it any thought. So, it’s going to take a gargantuan effort for me to make this happen. Similarly, the pen I was going to use in order to write more to the child that I sponsor in South America, is refusing to work on its own, meaning that this worthy resolution remains untouched. It’s still only February though folks…

And it’s ‘see above’ for the next few entries to my list too. I’ve made up no German phrases for various situations in order to tell people, ‘Oh, the Germans have a word for that’. Nor have I had my infected toe treated (it still doesn’t hurt and I haven’t turned green yet though. Maybe in November I’ll manage to limp to the doctor, just as it actually falls off). The Eurovision and Christmas songs also remain untouched and it’s becoming clear that I should have made my list of resolutions into a sign or signs to put up and maybe guilt myself into more action.

My next resolution was to begin noting down some of the things I heard at work. The idea here being that I had an idea for a book because I work in a school and kids constantly say silly or hilarious stuff. Now, I have actually started this…I just have no idea where the notebook is with the things I’d written down. Maybe I left it on my desk and a colleague is now writing a book. If you are and you’re reading this, could you give me an acknowledgement please? Something like, ‘I’d like to thank the careless knobhead who literally presented me with this idea’.

I’d resolved to learn new words and for the sake of this particular blog, I’m going to say that I have. Please don’t ask me what they are though.

I also said that I’d try to use the expression ‘Amuse bouche’ more as well as just making words up to use on people and amuse myself. Again – and there’s a theme emerging here that tells me that my start to the year has been a lot more sluggish than I’d previously imagined – nothing doing.

Given the previous few paragraphs, I cannot tell you how thrilled I am at the fact that I’ve made some progress with the next two resolutions. The first was to discover more new music. Now new meant both actually new and also stuff I’d heard of but never really listened to, in this case. And I’ve discovered both. In the wholly new section, I give you ‘Jenny and Johnny’ a duo with a terrible name for a band, and also ‘Dry Cleaning’. Check them both out, you won’t regret it. Furthermore though, I’ve been listening to some Minnie Riperton and I’d hardly ever done that before, making her some old new music I’ve explored. And, I know this isn’t music, but it is sound that I’ve explored, so I’d like to mention a podcast I’ve discovered via BBC Sounds, called Fairy Meadow. Again, I’d thoroughly recommend it and it also proves I’ve been a tiny bit successful with another of my resolutions.

For the last two though, we return to a familiar theme. The one of ‘Failure’. I can’t say, hand on heart, that I’ve stopped grumbling at people who happen to walk past me and I haven’t started my ‘Diary of a Middle Aged Singleton’ blog. However, it is still only February, so while I’m not going to look back and put a number on my failures, I am aware that the year still has a long way to go. I remain confident that my resolutions list will all be ticked off in good time, while also remaining utterly amazed that I can still type while crossing my fingers…

Anyway enough of this. Have you met my new rescue cat? His name? Ah, now you’re not going to believe this…

Book Review: ‘Come Again’ by Robert Webb.

I’ve always been a sucker for a good cover. Be it when choosing a book or, particularly when I was a lot younger, picking up vinyl in a record shop, I was always attracted by an interesting image or simply something colourful that caught my eye. And while this hasn’t always worked out – boy, I’ve bought some absolute turkeys in my time just because they were a bit shiny – it’s often been a decent indication of a potentially brilliant buy. But it wasn’t just the colour or the image that grabbed my attention with ‘Come Again’; the author was of obvious interest too.

If you’re unfamiliar with the name, Robert Webb is best known as a comic actor who was one half of Mitchell and Webb, the pairing responsible for hit shows like ‘Peep Show’ and ‘That Mitchell and Webb Look’. When I picked up ‘Come Again’, I was also fully aware of Webb’s memoir ‘How Not to be A Boy’ and so I was almost duty bound to buy it in the end!

‘Come Again’ tells the tale of Kate Marsden, who’s job in her own words is ‘to re-write history’; she cleans up the internet profiles of prominent people and high profile business types. And now she’s discovered something about a major client that is so morally abhorrent, she simply can’t cover it up. What to do with the information creates a major dilemma. But this isn’t Kate’s biggest problem, by a long, long way.

A year ago, Kate’s husband, Luke died. They’d been together since Fresher’s Week at university; 28 years in all. Unsurprisingly then, and despite the best efforts of friends and family, Kate has not been coping. Time isn’t healing and she’s resorted to drink, which has led her to the point she’s now faced with. Suicide. But not before one last enormous act of vengeance.

‘Come Again’ is a fantastic read. As a story, it’s multi-layered. We have the question of whether Kate will live, alongside whether she’ll do the right, but highly dangerous thing and expose the moral shortcomings a shady billionaire and her boss, Charles. There’s the sub text of the relationship with her mother as well as that with her old university friends, all of whom have spent the year since Luke’s death reaching out to her in an attempt to get her to start living her life again. And then, when you thought there wasn’t room for another layer, there’s the twist in the tale. Now that will really put the cat among the pigeons…or in this case, the middle aged woman among the Freshers.

I’d hugely recommend ‘Come Again’. It’s brilliantly written with a fantastic storyline and believable, but complex characters. Certainly, if you went to university, this book will transport you right back there. But besides that, alongside the subject of grief being tackled with a wonderfully light touch, there’s a wicked sense of humour here too, as you’d expect I suppose from a comic mind like Webb’s. Kate herself is a character whos full of surprises and towards the latter stages of the novel she even becomes a bit of an action hero, so there really is something for everyone in ‘Come Again’. There’s even a happy ending, although even that has quiet a bit of a twist to it and will not be what you were expecting at the halfway point of the novel.

If you like a laugh, a bit of nostalgia, action or romance, ‘Come Again’ is well worth picking up. And it’s got a lovely shiny cover too! What’s not to like?

I’d give ‘Come Again’ by Robert Webb

Rating: 5 out of 5.

Poetry Blog: ‘The cold does not embrace you.’

I’ve written about sleep and sleeplessness quite a few times before. It’s a topic that I keep returning to because every once in a while I’ll find my sleep pattern disturbed and often for a few nights in a row I’ll find myself either lying awake and unable to focus on sleep because my mind is racing or just out of bed, sitting downstairs in our house, wide awake.

This is a poem that focuses on the former of those two scenarios, although as a result of my mind racing, I eventually got out of bed and wrote the poem. It was a night where, if I’m honest, I’m not sure whether I was awake or sleeping fitfully and suffering with nightmares. One thing’s for sure; it wasn’t a pleasant night’s sleep and there was a lot that disturbed me. You think that nightmares are things you left behind in childhood, but then get reminded that you’re sadly mistaken!

The cold does not embrace you
yet, for a short time its shiver soothes your skin
like a smooth palm comforting you through illness, fear.
An uneasy dream shifts and your thoughts are strangers
caught in the void between the fevered images of disturbed sleep
and the disquieting thud of your heart as you realise you're awake again.
Without warning, the rough skin of working hands grabs at your jaw,
takes hold, clutches.
A strangers eyes stare out from a familiar face,
gripped by a mood you know all too well,
before one last squeeze,
then the calloused hand, shoves your face away viciously,
like an imperfect toy on a production line, rejected
not good enough to be loved.
You blink to try and wake only to find another face now,
her hot breath invading your nostrils,
her gibberish bringing spittle to your skin,
her disapproval at the runt of the litter writ large
in neon across unloving eyes and twisted expression
informing you again of what feels like their hatred,
before words are put in your mouth and you flounder,
helpless against a place you don't belong,
a jigsaw you don't fit.
Shaking free, you brace yourself, 
turn your collar against the piercing winter and stumble forward,
in search of somewhere warm.
And while these ghosts will always haunt you 
with their chill,
every once in a while the winter sun will warm your skin.

It feels like there are two antagonists in this poem. The first I’m not sure of and it would be unkind to speculate. However, the second is definitely my grandmother, who was someone that I had a fractious relationship with, at best. She was a woman who never seemed to display any warmth whatsoever to me, which as a child was quite perplexing. In company with my many cousins, I remember she’d frequently refer to me as ‘this one’ while everyone else got called by their name. Let’s just say that it was clear I wasn’t her favourite! I can’t say that her treatment of me didn’t bother me, as it did. But as I got old enough to make my own choices, I just decided to avoid being in the same room as her. Even now though, there are occasions when she comes to mind and it’s never pleasant. Hence, the words in the latter half of the poem.

I tried to end the poem on a more positive note, just explaining what I’ve just mentioned, really. Childhood memories will always be there and will always crop up and affect your day. But there’s always a positive to be found.

I hope you enjoyed the poem or at least it had some kind of effect on you as a reader. The memories I’ve written about were incredibly vivid and I hope that feeling is conveyed by what I’ve written. As ever, feel free to leave a comment.

Review: Leeds Knights vs Raiders IHC

I first got the ice hockey bug on a holiday to Canada. We were in Toronto visiting friends and the local team, Toronto Maple Leafs were heading for the NHL play-offs. We watched a game at our friend’s house and I fell in love immediately with the pace, the action and the atmosphere (of the game, not my friend’s house).

On the same trip, we travelled across Canada to Vancouver and one night, as we were heading back to our hotel, there were thousands of people on the streets and cars everywhere honking horns with people hanging out of windows. It felt like the kind of scene you’d only witness in a film and it took a while to work out what was happening. However, the Vancouver Canucks had just qualified for their first play-offs in a long time and Vancouver was very much in celebratory mood! So, ice hockey had just added another attraction in terms of the fans.

From that moment on it was something that I always intended to make more of an interest, but due to any number of reasons, didn’t really manage to fulfill. Despite being a major city, Leeds didn’t have an ice hockey team and having to follow the progress of the Leafs from afar, I didn’t want to do it again for an English team, so my ice hockey watching plans went on the back burner.

And then, in 2019 as a new ice rink was built in Leeds it was announced that we would have an ice hockey team; the Leeds Chiefs. However, Covid put pay to my hopes of attending games and while I might have fairly regularly driven past the rink, I never visited. In the meantime there was a change of ownership and the team were re-branded as Leeds Knights.

On Saturday evening, thanks to my wife buying me tickets as a birthday present, we attended our first ever ice hockey match; Leeds Knights versus Raiders IHC a team based in Romford in Essex. The whole family went along.

I think I’m probably too old to get overly excited by anything at all nowadays, but I was definitely looking forward to going to Planet Ice. Ice hockey is very much an all-action sport and so I knew we’d be sure to be entertained. Other than that, I didn’t really know what to expect, which I suppose is a good thing!

Having parked up, we made our way to the ice rink, which was only a few minute’s walk away. This being a fledgling sport in Leeds, there wasn’t an enormous queue like you might find at the neighbouring Elland Road stadium on a matchday, and so we were ushered in and pointed in the right direction for our seats within a couple of minutes. After a quick glance at the merchandise stall we made our way up the stairs and into the stand above the rink. I’ll buy a scarf or a puck next time though!

The players were already warming up as we sat down and again, this was very different to what I was used to at football. Only the goalkeeper (the net minder?) seemed to do any stretching at all and the rest of the squad just seemed to skate around at high speed or whack pucks towards the net! A much more dynamic way to get warm and it was something I watched in complete awe. I’ve always been fascinated by people who can skate or ski as they just seem to make it look so effortless and incredibly graceful. I’ve never skated before – I mean, if you can avoid car crash, you’ll just avoid it, right? – but have skied and I never felt like I had any control whatsoever. I make young Bambi look poised.

A word of warning if you’re planning on going to watch ice hockey and something we discovered within minutes of our arrival. Watching ice hockey is not a warm experience! Luckily we were aware of this and attended with several layers of clothing in place, but it was still oddly cold. Not oddly as in, where’s all that cold coming from, but as in it was only really certain parts of me that got cold. I mean, I suppose my toes would be obvious, but my knees? My knees were almost frozen – maybe some hastily improvised knee pads will be an option next time! I’d brought gloves, but my hands never got anywhere near cold enough to wear them, so it was rather strange indeed.

As the face-off/puck drop got closer the mood in the arena built. A countdown clock will automatically raise tension anyway, but when the lights dropped and the opposition emerged from their dressing room to line up, things were beginning to get exciting. I’d expected entrance music and a burst of Leeds Knights racing onto the ice, but instead the announcer gave each individual a build up and they came out alone. After this was done, another surprise, as the teams and fans stood for a burst of the national anthem, which I really wasn’t expecting. And then, the puck was dropped and away we went!

I won’t attempt a match report, given the sheer amount of action and my somewhat ‘relaxed’ grasp of the rules, but suffice to say the game was a real experience. The action itself was almost non stop and even when there were stoppages for various penalties the PA would play a burst of music, meaning the whole crowd were kept positive. Actually, not the whole crowd. We counted 16 Raiders supporters and broadly speaking, this wasn’t a positive night for them. Leeds Knights dominated the game and ran out convincing 7-3 winners, with well over 30 shots at goal. And if 30 odd shots isn’t a great advert for hockey, then I don’t really know what you want our of a sport!

Each period of play is 20 minutes long, followed by a 20 minute break. I didn’t understand the need for such a break until watching the sheer speed of the game. The six players from each side on the ice are frequently rotated and it’s only when you watch the intensity of what they do that you realise why. There’s literally no chance for a breather in ice hockey. I have to say that it all combines to make the game utterly gripping.

We went with our two kids, aged 15 and 12, and both really enjoyed themselves. From the drum-led chanting of Leeds Knights fans, through the adrenaline of the game itself to the frequent bursts of music during breaks, my two – usually found attached to some kind of mobile device – were totally involved. The atmosphere was really family friendly too and smiles were very much the order of the day. There was none of the anger, edge and foul language that I associate with football, where I feel like I’m having to protect my kids rather than just relax and enjoy the game.

I’d thoroughly recommend a trip to the ice hockey, if you have a local team. It’s still very much a niche sport in the UK, but I reckon if you go along you’ll be hooked pretty quickly. We’ll definitely be back to watch the Leeds Knights before the end of the season, hopefully more than once. The four of us thoroughly enjoyed what we encountered and felt absolutely welcome alongside punters who were obviously far more regular watchers than ourselves.

Let’s go Leeds Knights, let’s go!

Poetry Blog: What next?

About two years ago I started writing poetry. It was something that I’d experimented with before, but never really formally or with any kind of purpose. I must have written poems back in the stone age when I was at school, but would have no written record of such ramblings. And anyway, my school wasn’t the kind of place where a boy wrote poetry, unless he was ordered to by one of the psychotic teachers. Boys did sport, yelled a lot, swore and most likely spat on the ground like their life depended on it. Boys. Did. Not. Write.

Any poetry written in class would be hidden away from prying eyes and mocking tongues. Any hint of a notebook being carried around would provoke instant hatred and could only lead to years of cruel abuse from your peers (and probably even some of your friends).

As a younger adult, I’m sure I’d tried to write poems, but I’m pretty certain that when they existed, it would have been on scarps of paper and that these were long ago confined to the recycling plant.

I’ve never been a confident person. In fact, I’d go as far as to say that I’ve learnt to wear a convincing mask in order to hide what is actually a rather crippling lack of confidence. So, although I felt like I had something to say and that I could write, it was going to take a seismic shift to make me commit ideas to paper in the form of poetry.

It turns out that ‘thing’ was lockdown. I was locked down almost immediately once the decision was made. While colleagues stayed in school and battled to keep some sense of normality in people’s lives, I was told that I was vulnerable and had to stay at home. Couple that with a complete failure in terms of remote learning with my laptop and there were a huge amount of days waiting to be filled.

I’d started my blog by then and so was in the habit of writing. As can be the case with me, I wasn’t really in the habit of sleeping regular hours though. And one night, lying awake with words whirling round my head, I realised that I had the bones of a poem keeping me awake. So, I crept downstairs, opened a notebook and wrote a poem; one draft and what felt like no particular thought needed. I don’t know whether it reads like a one-draft-no-effort poem, but it was done! I thought I’d published that poem as part of the bog, but looking back, it doesn’t seem so.

From there I came up with the idea of a lockdown writers’ group – Lockdown Literature, you can read about it on the link below – where friends and colleagues could publish anything they’d written; whatever it took to stave off the boredom of being isolated like never before. Inspired by others, I was able to write a few more poems.

Lockdown Literature

Our Lockdown Literature group made me think about what to do with my poems. By now I was writing them regularly and so, once I’d decided that a) I had the confidence to share and b) I didn’t feel it was too much of a pretentious thing to do, I started to publish some of my poems as blogs, adding a little bit of explanation about the poem and about my thinking when writing it. They seemed to go down well and it gave me another blogging avenue to explore.

Now though, I want to develop things a bit. It’s lovely that people who read the blog like my poems, but I want to really test myself with it and I must admit that I’m unsure of how to move forward. I’ve considered things like poetry competitions, but from what I can see, a lot of them require entries to be unpublished and I don’t really know if my own blog counts in those terms. However, it’s stopped me entering anything so far. It’s certainly something that I need to look into and if anyone has any advice, I’d gladly listen.

Another route I’ve wondered about with my poems is to attempt to put together an anthology, but it’s an area that I know next to nothing about. I realise that I could self-publish, but without adequate promotion, even an anthology is not going to gain any interest. Is it the kind of thing I can send to publishers? If so, how do I group poems and how do I approach agents or publishers? Again, it’s something I really need some advice on, so if you’re reading this and you have any insight, I’d be really grateful for your help.

The third and final way of developing my poetry terrifies me. In actual fact, I’ve only considered it because a few people have suggested it. One kind soul even invited me along to actually take part. What am I talking about? Performance poetry! This is something that I can’t deny tempts me, but despite my advancing years and the fact that I talk at people for a living, the thought of standing on a stage – makeshift or otherwise – in a room full of people, reading out my poems, makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up and my tummy feel a little bit poorly!

It’s not actually the thought of an audience that bothers me very much. No, it’s more the thought of exposing something as personal as my poetry to what would likely be an entirely new audience. Every day of every week brings an audience of harsh critics in the form of pupils in a classroom, so speaking in front of people is second nature. And not to play the tortured ‘artist’ here, but the idea of reading so many personal words (does that make sense?) and even considering myself any kind of poet, feels very much beyond me.

Still though, I find myself trying to pluck up the courage and find the time to attend such an evening, not as a performer, but as a punter just to try and see what it’s all about. Maybe once that step is taken, I could find the courage to put myself down for some kind of open mic slot. Even typing the words fills me full of dread though, so it would be one hell of a step to take!

So 2022 has to be the year that I trying and ramp up my poetry game. It reality feels like something that could develop and something that I believe in somewhere at the back of my mind! I just need to work out how.

As ever, feel free to leave a comment, especially if you have any suggestions that might help me!

50.

Two days ago, I turned 50. I started writing this particular blog two days before the milestone day itself. I wanted to write something about what is generally regarded as a ‘big’ birthday, partly because it’s big and partly just to attempt to consider my feelings about reaching it. The blog is called Middle Age Fanclub, after all.

A few years ago, I didn’t actually think that I was going to get here. Lying in a hospital bed, contemplating the events that had got me there – and that would also lead to the birth of this blog – I was pretty much in shock.

I’ll keep it brief because I’ve covered it a few times before here, but about month after my 46th birthday I was admitted to hospital with heart palpitations. More than one person who looked after me that night told me I was lucky to be alive. It was made abundantly clear to me that I was on my way to a heart attack. I didn’t stay long in hospital, but when I was eventually sent packing it was with a large amount of medication that would stop any blood clotting and keep my heart working like a heart should.

Around a month later I was back in the same place undergoing a lengthy procedure that would hopefully sort things out, again cared for by incredibly lovely and talented people. And about a year after that I was discharged from hospital care and told that my heart was healthy and strong once again.

So above everything, turning 50 is quite nice really! And yet, I can’t say I’m fully enjoying it, which I guess is pretty much par for the course. The older you get, the more conscious of your age you become. And try as I might, I can’t help but feel a little bit uncomfortable about it all.

So what’s 50 like then? Well, I’d like to think that I look and feel Ok for my age. A friend recently told me that she would never have placed me as almost 50, referring to the fact that she’d have thought of me as just a few years older than herself. She’s in her thirties. I don’t know whereabouts in her thirties because a gentleman should be asking a lady her age, but thanks Gemma (she’d like you to know that you can find her as the star of Episode 3 of Educating Yorkshire. I’d like you to know that she’s extremely lovely, kind and funny and that you should seek that episode out). Gemma’s comments really lightened my mood that day and some of my other friends have said the same or similar across the latter years of my forties, so in many ways 50 doesn’t bother me.

Since my heart problems I’ve worked really hard to get myself fit. When Covid hit I doubled up on effort and although there have been a few wobbles – mostly from my belly -along the way, I’d say I’m in better shape than your average 50-year-old. I run every week and coach a football team which means I get a bit more exercise there and that keeps me ticking over nicely. I rarely feel poorly.

Fifty and the years approaching it, have made me feel a lot more tired though. The body does not recover or bounce back quite as sharply as it used to. Neither does the mind. But I suppose that’s par for the course really. Life is pretty demanding, so having worked pretty solidly for something approaching thirty years, I suppose I’ll get more tired than most. It’s still a feeling that has taken me by surprise though. I recently wrote a piece evaluating how old I feel and settled on 18 and I’m happy with that. But sometimes, those 50-year-old aches and pains and the regular craving for a nap anywhere past 4pm are slightly unwelcome!

I can’t say I like being 50. When I was younger 50 seemed ridiculously old and so, naturally, there’s a bit of me that feels ridiculously old now! Now that I’ve hit 50, there’s a bit of a feeling of disbelief. While I know exactly where the time went, I’m still left questioning where the time went! It genuinely doesn’t feel like more than a few years since I was stumbling off the revolving dancefloor again on the boat (a floating night club in Newcastle, actually called the Tuxedo Princess but known to all as ‘the boat’). It feels like minutes since I was trawling the racks of vinyl in the Music Box in Blaydon or sitting in my best mate’s bedroom making music. University seems like yesterday, the stream of dead end jobs I found myself in afterwards, still fantastically fresh in my mind and the last two decades as a teacher have flown by. And yet, retirement is possibly just a little bit in front of the horizon.

Getting to fifty brings a few problems that I really don’t want to be dealing with. How long before I’m duty bound to go and have my prostate examined? Please let it be a good while yet! Is there a cut off point for wearing certain clothes? I’m really not ready for slacks or cheap, terrible fitting jeans with slip on shoes. But I really don’t want to look like the oldest swinger – not the sexy time type, I hasten to add – in town either. Am I getting my hair cut too short? Should I be telling my hairdresser not to use the clippers and instead leave me with a decent covering of hair and thus a smattering of dignity, rather than anything that could be deemed too young? And – oh, the horror – do I have to start listening to music like Renee and Renata’s greatest hits, Phil Collins, Mike and The Mechanics and Roxette? Am I too old to keep seeking out new music when I’m old enough to be most of their dads? (This ‘old enough to be your dad’ theme is starting to get worrying, by the way…)

Worrying as it is, this ‘dad’ phenomenon is one that repeats itself at work. I work in a department where I’m old enough to be almost all of their dads, a sentence that I’d like to instantly apologise to them and their mams for. I could comfortably, age-wise, be their dads though. I think in a way, it keeps me feeling young – working with them that is, not the awareness that in a parallel universe, I could have fathered them. They don’t treat me like their dad or worse still, their grandad, although that may well be my nickname in the English office, as I’m rarely in there. But no one is yet offering me a hand carrying piles of books or a quiet place for a nap, so that’s nice. My department is almost all women and I refer to them as my big little sisters – big because they’re all far more mature and intelligent than me, but little because they’re all much younger and I swear it’s some sort of elixir of youth working with them. However, every time we get a student teacher in school, I look at them and wonder when we got a sixth form. Or how I missed non-uniform day or ‘Bring your Teenager to Work’ day. It doesn’t end there though. As a trainee teacher I taught an A-Level class that contained our now Headteacher. That’ll make you feel old, believe me. So work is no sanctuary from being 50.

Fifty and its approach has made me restless. I had so many hopes and dreams when I was younger. I guess we all do. But I don’t feel like I’ve achieved a lot at all. Is that a failing or simply a fact of life? Probably the latter, but it’s still not an easy pill to swallow, if I’m being honest. I’ve travelled, but not enough for my liking. I’ve seen amazing things, but would have loved to have seen more. I’ve been privileged to have been a teacher for over two decades and adore my job, but it was never what I actually wanted to do with my life and I still found myself wondering about being a long distance lorry driver only last week. It’s funny how a simple number can make your mind somersault all over the place. Yet, maybe not being simply satisfied at this time of life is a good thing.

For all the negatives though, it brought out an amazing outpouring of love and kindness from those around me and although I’m really not comfortable being the centre of attention, the day itself was largely lovely. Whatever age I turned, I certainly felt loved by many people.

So, 50? Confusing, terrifying, humbling and many other ‘ings’ that I can’t really consider all at once. And there’s not a great deal I can do about that. So, I’ve decided just to dive in and make sure that while I can, I’m going to enjoy life, regardless of my age. 50 has happened, just as 60 will and 40 did. They’re all daunting, but none of them have wiped me out and so there’s nothing for it but to get on with life! I think I” spend a while adjusting to this next phase of my life, but I’m sure I’ll get used to it!

Poetry Blog: ‘About a time when I worried that I hadn’t really fulfilled my potential.’

This is another recently discovered poem. To cut a long story that I’ve told a million times before short, I think it’s one that I’ve written during a night when I’ve been unable to sleep. These are horrendous when you have work the next morning, yet enormously fulfilling when you can sit and write a few things for your blog! Unfortunately, once written down, some of them then tend to get lost in notebooks. This is always temporary though, hence this poem which was one of a ‘crop’ I discovered when flicking through an almost full notebook recently.

I think it must have been written when I was feeling a little bit down. I’ve struggled a little bit – nothing major and nothing that a good bout of telling myself ‘pull yourself together’ doesn’t solve – over probably the last 18 months or so and I think that this poem was written at some point during summer 2021 as I got particularly low at that time.

It’s a bit of a rambling title, but if you read regularly you’ll know that I struggle with titles. When I came to think of this one nothing succinct came to mind and every time I read it through I came back to the feeling that I hadn’t fulfilled my potential. It’s something I mildly beat myself up about on a fairly regular basis. Deep down, I think I’ve done alright though!

'About a time when I worried I really hadn't fulfilled my potential'

A rowing boat with a broken oar.
A home-made go-kart that doesn't quite steer right.
A shy child, hidden behind a parent's legs, clinging to a familiar hem.
A broken compass.
A book, bouncing between charity shops, corners curling more with every journey, pages thumbed smooth, seeking a shelf.
A grey pebble on a beach.
A crab in a rockpool, fighting the relentless pull of the tide.
A dandelion clock.
A partnerless sock.
A derelict building, stripped of its dignity.
A written off car travelling on an unfamiliar motorway on the back of a lorry for all to see.
A bag for life abandoned when the handle snapped.
A festival tent.
A once cherished trophy now confined to a box in the loft of a middle aged man.
An unfashionable toy at Christmas.

So this poem was written at a time when I felt a little bit broken. It’s a tough thing to admit, so usually I just stay quiet. I try to leave other people unburdened by my troubles and having been brought up in a family where how you felt wasn’t really discussed, I suppose it feels naturally. But at this point in time, I clearly needed to talk.

Although I can’t specify an actual day, I can pinpoint the time period of writing this poem. Without the routine of work, summer can sometimes get a bit dull and if we don’t get the weather – which we often don’t in England – it can become difficult to stop the routine of just doing not a great deal. And that kind of thing makes me suffer a bit. I don’t enjoy just sitting round, but if there’s little to do, I feel like I’m wasting the day. At the time of writing the poem, I was thinking about my age, my career and even my choices going as far back as going to high school. None of it made me feel very good. Lots of it made me think that I could have just been so much better at life, so the poem is just a list of what I felt I was like.

I have to say, I’m a lot calmer at the moment, a lot happier. But I still feel like some of the metaphors are apt. They’re probably apt for a lot of us.

I chose the dandelion clock because it’s just waiting to get destroyed and it doesn’t take a lot to do just that. A gust of wind can scatter them everywhere, such is their fragility. I think when I’m at a low ebb, perhaps that’s how it is. I’m OK to a point and then someone might say something, completely innocently and it’ll be the kind that I dwell on and probably devote far too much time to. Confidence, like self-esteem is a funny thing, I suppose.

The image of the shy child felt like it resonated too. I’ve never really been a confident person, just someone who can put on a front or come up with good ways of avoiding certain situations. Even at my age there are times when I could do with someone’s legs to hide behind.

I hope you enjoyed reading the poem and if it resonated with you, well I hope it helps a little bit. I think we all probably have times when we feel like we could just be that little bit better. The important thing is to realise how good you already have it. There’s almost always a positive if you look hard enough.

Newcastle United and the January Transfer Window.

For as long as I can remember as a Newcastle fan, transfer windows have been almost exclusively no fun whatsoever. Yet, I’m sure I speak for loads of us when I say that it never really dampens the sense of hope you feel as the clock ticks over and the window opens once again. The absolute dejection when Sky announce that it’s “slammed shut” will be much the same as well.

Our present system was introduced back in the 2002/03 season and across the course of the time since, it’s fair to say that we’ve made some decent signings. Sadly though, it’s not the signings that have dominated. No, as we all know, it’s been far more about the anticipation and then the fruitless waiting as a Newcastle fan. Yet another thing that we owe Mike Ashley a big sarcastic ‘thank you for’!

When the new owners took over in October apart from the obvious outpouring of joy and relief, there was feverish talk of transfers. Names like Mbappe, Neymar,Haaland and Wood *cough* were being mentioned, although not really by any serious minded Toon fans. Regardless, it was exciting to think about what might happen and brilliant to be allowed to dream for the first time in years.

Within a few days of the opening of the January window we’d signed Kieron Trippier – a player far beyond our reach in the Ashley era. And then came Chris Wood for £25m. Not a popular choice, but a sensible one all the same and once again the kind of signing that we wouldn’t have made or even contemplated in the previous 14 years.

For the rest of the window we seem to have just had knock back after knock back, complication after complication, despite some very generous bids for a growing number of players. Others will have written about and discussed how fraught it’s been, so I thought I’d offer a few practical targets or ideas of my own (some of which have come into the NUFC picture since I started writing this a day ago).

Having watched on as we bid unsuccessfully for the next Mbappe – Hugo Ekitike – I wondered whether the owners would be looking at strengthening with the future in mind and looked at some more home-grown targets as well as the few that I have any knowledge of abroad (I don’t pretend to have any kind of encyclopedic knowledge of world football, am not ITK and don’t even play FIFA, so this is probably all bollocks anyway!)

I was really pleased when I heard of our interest in Todd Cantwell at Norwich and am still hopeful that we’ll do something here before the window shuts. I like Cantwell. He’s a hard worker, creative and strong when running with the ball. His age – 23 – means that he is coming into his prime but still has lots of time to develop, meaning that he could be a great investment for the future at the right price. With over 100 games for Norwich, he’s got experience too and to an extent, is fairly well proven.

Another player that sprung to mind was Forest’s Brennan Johnson, a tricky left winger. He’s only 20 years old and, from what I’ve seen, has lightning pace and the ability to get to the byline and supply a dangerous cross. A handy alternative should ASM pick up a knock and a useful supply line for the likes of Chris Wood and Callum Wilson when he’s fit again. Johnson has a good deal of experience having played over 70 games at Forest or out on loan in the lower leagues and he looks a player that’s ready to make the step up. Fittingly, he’s been mentioned as another one that we’re enquiring about in the last day or so, but we’d have to work quick as it seems like he could be on his way to Brentford.

Another player in a similar vein would be Fabio Carvalho at Fulham, who despite the Portuguese name has represented England at youth levels. He’s another quick, skillful forward player and again could make a very promising addition to the squad. I like the look of Keane Lewis-Potter at Hull as well. Again, another skillful, ball playing midfielder who, on the occasions I’ve seen him play, looks like he could have a big future. Others that spring to mind of a similar age and potential would be Jason Knight at Derby, Lewis O’Brien at Huddersfield, Djed Spence on loan at Forest from Boro and even Rueben Loftus Cheek, a player who seems to have lost his way over the last few years, but could still make an impact on the game under the right coach.

One player I’d wondered if we’d go for was Florian Wirtz at Bayer Leverkusen. His club have said he’s the best midfielder they’ve seen in 30 years and on the occasions I’ve seen him play he looks skillful, quick and confident beyond his years. I imagine he’d cost a lot of money, but at that age and with so much potential, I’m absolutely sure it’d be worth it and he’d have our crowd on its feet every week.

I also picked out a few wildcard defensive players that I think are a bit left field, but would still perhaps be useful additions to the squad and certainly players who might be better than what we already have.

Given the amount of money we were throwing at centre half options, I wondered if there might be better value elsewhere. I’ve never seen Carlos play, but have read and listened to quite a few people who know him well over the last couple of weeks and although he seems a decent centre half and better than what we have already, it also sounds like he’s prone to clumsy errors, so the suggested price feels like way too much.

I’m not saying the following choices are far better options, just that they’re perhaps more realistic targets in a notoriously difficult window. And given our league position, we’re quite a long way up the creek and looking like we might throw the paddles in at any time.

Nat Phillips at Liverpool seemed an obvious answer, as well as Conor Coady at Wolves. Then, I came up with Rob Dickie at QPR, a player who we looked at while he was at Oxford and who I think is a fairly mobile, ball playing centre half who seems to read the game well. I also liked the look of Joe Worral at Forest; a big, powerful defender who’s good in the air and useful on set pieces in both boxes. He’s one I’ve liked as a player for a while now. The other player that came to mind was Tosin Adarabioyo Fulham who, when I’ve watched him play, looks fairly comfortable on the ball and a big, domineering lad with a bit of pace. I don’t think any of these options would cost anywhere near the Carlos money, but I think they’d give us a better chance of staying up and I would imagine they would have been easier to sign.

As I end this it looks fairly sure that we’ll sign the Brazilian midfielder Bruno Guimaraes. I’m happy to confess that until a couple of days ago I’d never heard of him, but he seems to be a real quality addition. Those in the know – and plenty who aren’t, but claim to be – are very excited. His signing – if it happens – definitely gives us hope of still being in the division next year. As I write we still haven’t added a centre half and progress on signings of young like Ekitike or Johnson have stalled. Perhaps those ‘ones for the future’ will be exactly that and we’ll revisit them in the summer window, which promises to be just as tense and exciting as this one.

One thing’s for sure; it’s a pretty good time to be a Toon fan!

Winter Running Tips – a cautionary tale to update!

Earlier this month I published a blog of 5 Winter Running Tips. One of the tips was to make sure to warm up and warm down properly; a reasonable ask, I’m sure you’ll agree. Here’s what I actually wrote.

Make sure to warm up and warm down properly. Whether it’s Winter or not, this is a good tip to follow. However, if you’re planning on going out running in freezing temperatures, then making sure that those muscles are fully stretched and warmed up is essential. The temperature alone should be the only shock that you get; you don’t want to have gone 100 metres and find that your body just doesn’t feel right. It’s Winter; you’ve got every excuse you need for turning round and heading back to that warm bed or front room with the fire on! At least if you’re fully warmed up, you’ll have a fighting chance of getting into a rhythm nice and quickly and after that, it’s all about just running! Warming up will help prevent those little niggling injuries that could mean you’re back on the sofa before you know it. Similarly, by warming down once you’ve finished, you’ll feel much, much better. I sometimes finish my run within a half mile of my house and then get home with a combination of light jogging and walking, just to make sure nothing seizes up. I always stretch again once I get back to the house and make sure that I take on plenty of water to rehydrate. It’s no fun when all you want to do is flop down on the bed, but it’s a lot better to have warmed down for ten minutes or so.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, leads me on nicely to my cautionary tale. I went out for a run on Friday just gone. It had been just short of two weeks since my previous run, because I’d been a bit poorly. Not Covid, but some kind of Winter bug that knocked me for six and meant that I’d chosen to rest the previous week. I could’ve gone out, but despite the weather being perfect, decided to listen to my body a bit and give myself a rest. This, after all, had been another of my Winter running tips; rest when needed.

I continued to follow this advice on my run, reasoning that I’d do four miles at most, just as a way of easing myself in again. It all went well. I was a little more tired than I’d imagined, but set myself a different route with more uphill sections, so I reasoned that this would naturally take its toll. I’d managed a steady first couple of miles before upping my pace for the last, flatter couple, finishing strongly if more than a little tired. And then I started to give myself problems. Initially, I stretched for a while, trying to make sure that my muscles didn’t stiffen with the sudden inactivity. Next, I went through to the kitchen, grabbed my bottle of water and took a few big slugs. And then I got distracted.

Instead of continuing with my normal recovery process – taking on at least a couple of bottles of water, having a banana, eating some nuts and seeds and stretching some more – I started to make my kids’ tea. Then I had a look at Twitter. Then I filled the sink and did some dishes. Another look at Twitter. The next stage of my kids’ tea.

Before I knew it, I’d gotten washed and changed, cooked my own tea and was sitting down to watch some TV. Later on I would indulge in a beer and some chocolate, before hauling myself into bed just after midnight. And then it happened.

At just after 1.30am I was woken by intense pain in my thigh. Cramp in my quad, in fact, but cramp like I’d never known it before. The level of pain was so ridiculously intense that it felt like it burned. Not having ever had cramp here before I didn’t really know what to do, so I jumped out of bed and stood stretching my leg out as best I could. Then a hamstring cramp. This was agony. People talk about seeing stars – especially cartoon characters! – but I never believed it. But, wincing with pain, I closed my eyes tightly and was greeted with the ‘sight’ of a border of stars around the darkness behind each eye! I broke out into a cold sweat and felt decidedly nauseous, so I lay down to try and stem the tide of pain and sickness. For a panicked few seconds, I actually thought I might be having a stroke! Maybe it’s judgements like this that saw my career in medicine go up in flames!

Eventually, trying not to wake my wife, I got back out of bed and hobbled to the bathroom, taking refuge on the cold tiled floor after drinking some water, and staying there for around 20 minutes. After this, I cautiously returned to bed.

The cramp would continue to strike. Not as bad as the first time, but enough to wake me each time. At around 6.30am it woke my for the final time, keeping me awake for another half hour, this time striking in my calf. When the alarm woke me some time later I was only able to hobble to the shower and was in some discomfort for the rest of the day. Days later and the hamstring still doesn’t feel right. The memory of that cramp continues to haunt me (not that I’m being at all dramatic here!).

I’ll end this cautionary tale with a reminder. PLEASE BE SURE TO WARM UP AND WARM DOWN PROPERLY IF YOU’RE GOING ON A WINTER RUN. IF YOU DON’T, THEN DON’T BLAME ME WHEN THE CRAMPS ATTACK!

Poetry Blog: ‘Absent Friends’

This is a poem that I wrote around Christmas time and then spent far too much of my time either poorly, relaxing or just eating and drinking to remember to write it up properly for my blog. As a result, it’s a little out of date, but I think the sentiment holds up, whatever the occasion.

It’s a poem about reflecting back and remembering those that we’ve lost, which I suppose we tend to do at important points in the year. We do it all year round, I suppose, but at times like Christmas and birthdays, when you’re maybe at your most relaxed you’re more prone to thinking about how much a particular person is missed or maybe even just how much they themselves would have enjoyed that occasion, it’s a little more pertinent.

Absent Friends

Absent friends sparkle even more at this time of year
and we raise a glass to remember more intensely now
than over the passing months,
more distant now, yet somehow our focus tunes more 
than before and we toast our absent friends,
tears punctuating what is still a celebration,
staining cheeks and mixing incongruously 
alongside cracker borne paper hats and party poppers.
our absent friends are guests once again and we all see
those smiles, hear those voices, cradle each other in arms 
used just hours before to shatter anticipation and tear at wrapping
covering all manner of happy shapes.
Now, a moment hovers longer than a moment, 
sharper than the year before until you can almost see them,
almost touch them, hold them again as they stand in the kitchen,
glass in hand nodding wistfully, gone but only a thought away,
yet agonisingly too distant for one more conversation.
And all we have left is love...

I must admit that when I looked again at the draft of this poem in my notebook, it didn’t make a lot of sense. The start of it, anyway. It was another poem that I’d written in the early hours and given that the first couple of lines didn’t seem to make any sense, perhaps I was more tired than I thought! After reading the rest of the poem a couple of times I was able to re-draft and change those lines in order to give it some clarity. I was tempted to leave it as it was – poetic license and all that – but decided that something that made sense was better than something so confusing. I’d love to know what I meant with the initial first line though!

‘Absent Friends’ is a product of both Christmas and New Year. I think we’re more likely to look back at New Year, but I know that having lost a close family friend relatively recently, our thoughts were with them on both occasions, both this year and last. I suppose it’s natural that we look back at these times. As I said earlier, it’s obvious that when we’re relaxed and happy we might reflect on those that aren’t around anymore and what they would have made of the situation that we happily find ourselves in.

In a different way, we found ourselves explaining to our children about another absent friend this year. The absent friend in question – still alive, but moved overseas – lived in the UK as a student teacher years ago and joined us for Christmas Day as he had no family around. He’s from Australia – hi Andy, if you read this – and so everything he knew and loved was on the other side of the world. As our mate, it was only right that he joined us and it was a fantastic day. We still think of him every year at Christmas and this year it was lovely to re-tell the tale of that particular Christmas Day, even if it left our kids quite perplexed as to why we chose to share our day with anyone else, when we always just have Christmas as a family these days! It was funny to hear their almost outrage at the fact that our guest wasn’t grandma or grandad, uncle or auntie, but Andy!

I hope you’ve enjoyed the poem and that, if it brought any memories back, they were fond ones rather than bad ones. Sometimes, despite the obvious pain that it can cause, it’s just a nice, warm feeling we get when thinking of those absent friends.