Buoyancy Belts, Cadbury's Chocolate and a special Thank You Very Much (thank you very, very much)

Clive's buoyancy belt - simple, effective, dashing.

Clive's Buoyancy Belt

In my last swimming-related blog I referenced dignity: specifically the lack of it.

As a twenty-something trying to conquer my fears of the water, I decided that this was not to be a dignified experience; but one that I would embrace nonetheless. Well, that was my mindset until I walked onto the poolside at Wombourne Leisure Centre this morning, only to then see a colleague from work having an early morning dip in the pool.

So - he's gliding through the water, looking at ease in the lanes which are specifically cordened off for good swimmers, whilst I look on, sheepish and shivering in the shallow end, attaching to my body, Clive's homemade buoyancy belt.

I'm all of a sudden very conscious of the fact that I look ridiculous. All in all - not the best of starts.

But actually, once I was in the water, it wasn't too bad. The belt is simple and really effective. Bits of cut up foam, threaded onto a belt strap and attached around your back. The outcome...you don't sink. The others learning to swim (Chris,  Sat and I) have concluded that we needn't finish the rest of the course...just wear these belts all the time and if we end up in water at any stage we'll be fine! Perhaps not...

Clive is exceptionally enthusiastic and supportive, even at 8.30am on a Sunday morning. Interestingly, I'm not even sure that he's teaching me yet - it's all about confidence, something which Clive exudes - the sign of someone who knows what he's doing.
 
Well, lesson number two went pretty well I think. I managed to move my arms and legs at the same time, as well as gasping for air on the odd occassion too. I even swam one width without Clive holding me up. This is progress in my eyes, in spite of swallowing half the pool at one point. Interestingly, the taste is the same as it was when I consumed half of Wombourne's pool at that kids' birthday party all those years ago...happy memories.

Next week - goggle time!

Cadbury's Chocolate

As my last blog entry focussed on football - I'm aware I perhaps lost some of my audience. Well - I'm hoping this will win some of them back. Chocolate.
 
I have somewhat of a sweet tooth - something my childhood dental records would prove.
 
Chocolate is the food of the devil - sickly sweet, delicious, calorie-ridden...and moorish. And, as I have found this morning, too much of it will give you a chocolate hangover which can be on a par with the effects of five pints of lager.
 
As a nation we love it - in particular we love the taste of Cadbury's. It's a staple discussion point amongst friends: what's your favourite chocolate. Invariably, it's more often than not a Cadbury's concoction.
 
Yesterday I made the short trip from Dudley to Cadbury's World in Bourneville. An old friend from university days came up from London to see me and our friend Ste - so we thought we'd take her to see the most famous confectionary name the West Midlands has to offer. By the way - great day out - would throughly recommend it.
 
As part of the tour we got to see some of the old adverts Cadbury's have run throughout the years.

.Crunchie's 'Friday Feeling, I'm So Excited' was a personal highlight - but the 'Everyone's a Fruit 'n' Nut' case' advert also stands out as a classic.
And in more recent times - Phil Collins, for once doing something for the national good - albeit as a drumming chimp.

But I learnt something yesterday. It doesn't matter where you are - it's all about the people you're with. I'd been to Cadbury's World before; not too long ago; had a great time. But now I was returning in different company. I was a little anxious to be totally frank.
 
But it turns out I was fine - and I've started a new set of memories now. I had a great day with two great mates (and I missed what seems to have been another abysmal Wolves display to-boot).
 
So - what have I learnt?

1. Clive's getting me to (dare I say this too soon) not dread being in water.
2. Phil Collins as a drumming chimp turns out to be a piece of marketing genius; and
3. being in company of good people makes me happy.

 
 
 
Finally - as a tribute to Cadbury's - one of this country's finest brands and a shout out to Stevo and Laura - thank you very much...



Football away days, being mugged and #28



Windsor Juniors - this is where my love of football started.
I particularly like the unfortunately placed graffitti on the wall... 

Firstly - a big thank you to everyone who's taken the time to read my first few blogs - and to the remaining three people and my mom who will read this one - your indulgence is much appreciated.

Secondly - I must apologise to Clive and the good people at Wombourne Leisure Centre - I missed my swimming lesson this week after braving the arctic conditions to celebrate a good friend's birthday in Manchester. Swimming update this time next week I promise!

Now, when I started compiling my list of thirty things to do before I was 30, it started off as a list of things which I'd never done before that I'd always wanted to do.

But then it got me thinking - what have I given up over the years - things I used to love doing, but for whatever reason (work, relationships, money etc) have just fallen off the radar?



Port Vale FC's Vale Park - my first Wolves away game -
and my first (and only) introduction to a blow-up sex doll

I love football. I love watching it, love listening to it, love talking about it - and still love playing it.

But over recent years my interest in it has waned a bit. I play a lot less, I no longer quite feel the love and affinity for Wolves - something's just not quite the same. And I've been beginning to wonder why?


Weymouth's Wessex Stadium -
scene of many happy childhood holiday memories

Some of my happiest memories growing up were centred around football. My dad ran our local football team at Windsor park. He gave up countless hours of his spare time to coach a generation of school kids who would otherwise have had nowhere to play. The philosophy was football for all - didn't matter how good you were - everyone got a game - everyone was given a chance. I've never really said this to him before - but Dad - thank you. Hundreds of kids in Wolverhampton learned to love the game because of you (although the heavy training balls which were bought in bulk on the cheap has generated a generation of players in Penn who still won't head a ball). And it was with my dad and brothers that I attended my first football match at Weymouth FC's 'Wessex Stadium' as part of our annual jaunt down to Dorset. I still have a fond affection for that club and if I ever win the EuroMillions that's where my cash is going!

They were happy times. As were my early teenage years when me and my mates started going to Wolves away games. Rob Tranter, 'Bill' and Indi were my companions as we travelled the length and breadth of the country following the trials, tribulations and, if we're honest, downright mediocrity of Wolverhampton Wanderers. We visited the glamourous destinations of Tranmere Rovers, Oxford United, Huddersfield Town and Barnsley to mention just a few.

But there are three games which will stick forever in my mind:

My first Wolves away game:

A short trip up the M6 to see Wolves play Port Vale on the last game of the season in the mid-90s. I don't remember the score - I just remember the carnival atmosphere and being at an old-fashioned, proper ground, with my two brothers and my dad. I loved every minute of it. I particularly remember the blow-up sex doll which was smuggled into the ground and thrown around the terraces for 90 minutes. Happy days.

Late at Charlton:

The closest I ever got to Wembley...was when the coach driver got it mixed up with Charlton Athletic's 'The Valley'. A Tuesday night trip to the wrong area of London resulted in us not getting to Charlton until half time. We were losing 1-0 thanks to Clive Mendonca - and that's how it stayed. Thoroughly depressing - but when I look back now it's all part of the football away day experience!

Mugged at Swindon:

Now I've thought long and hard about admitting this, knowing that my mom will read it - and I will inevitably get interrogated as a result.

One Tuesday night -  I must have been about 14 - Tranter, Bill, Indi and I travelled with the Wolves fans to the footballing metropolis that is Swindon Town's County Ground. It was November, it was wet, it was cold, there was no roof and we lost. But the night had started as badly as it ended. Whilst Indi and Tranter waited on the coach outside the Molineux, Bill and I did the obligatory trip over the road to Asda to get some pick 'n' mix for the journey.

On our way out of Asda we were accosted by a thuggish looking chav - in his 20s I suspect, who accused us of robbing his younger brother and if we didn't hand over our wallets he was going to "do us in". I was still thinking about my pick 'n' mix before realising that Bill (who was 6ft 2 by the way) had duly handed over said wallet (as then did I). Now - that was clearly stupid, but at 14 when you're thinking more about who'll play left back tonight, rather than am I going to get robbed at Asda - you're in shock. But what happened next did make me chuckle.

Firstly, I got away quite lightly. I'd spent all my money on sweets so had about 75p  in my wallet alongside some orange and black balloons which were to be blown up at the ground and released at kick-off. However, for Bill, he lost a bit more - but in the process came out with what I assume is one of the funniest and least expected sentences mid-mugging: 'At least leave me enough change so I can get a programme'. Brilliant.

Now, football away days still bring back great memories. With my brothers and dad, or later with my mates from school - visiting new grounds, trying out the pies (Norwich City's lamb and mint is the best by the way - must be Delia's influence) and having a drink - I just loved it.

But I've stopped doing it. Wolves' stay in the Premier League priced me out of most grounds - and I guess other things took over.

So - #28 on my list is to visit at least ten new football league grounds over the next eighteen months. Doesn't need to be a Wolves, I'm happy to take in Bury vs Torquay on a cold Wednesday night in February - that's real football!

So - there it is - the next challenge.

I'll let you know how it goes...but I'll leave you with this from 1988 - the reason why the love of football can be so good - but so bad at the same time.

The demise of HMV and #22 on my list

Okay, the big topic of the day is the untimely demise of HMV.

What HMV stands for I never remember - it's one of those pub quiz questions where everyone in your team rests their head on their fist, close their eyes tightly and say those immortal words 'oooh, I know this one'. Invariably you scribble down 'HMV' on the answer sheet as a fruitless reminder in the hope that by the end of the picture round the answer will come to you...it never does. And as for the name of the dog - no-one at the quiz ever knows that either...except for the fifty-somethings sat smugly in the corner with their real ale and scratchings. They're the professional pub quizzers who everyone else hates. Just once I'd love a quiz dedicated solely to the 1994 World Cup...the three beer vouchers as victory would all be mine.

Anyhow - HMV - a sad story - particularly for those who are set to lose their jobs. But I'm quite surprised they lasted this long. Always over-priced and clearly failed to adapt to changing consumer tastes and habits. Failure to move to a competitive online market means the record store in the city centre is likely to be no more (and I fear the likes of WH Smith and Blockbuster videos will follow suit).

But today's news about HMV has got me thinking. Music -  I love music.

Now - I can neither play nor sing a single note. Friends who have heard me on SingStar can attest to this. And I toyed with the idea of putting 'learning a musical instrument' on my list. However, having been discouraged at infant school from continuing to play the recorder because I was clearly so bad at it, this is one challenge which I've chosen to omit.  I think there are just times in life where you should simply except you're c**p and move on.

Music has played an important part in my life though - and my dad has an awful lot to answer for - but that's for a later blog.

So, with the demise of HMV, today I've found myself reminiscing about Saturday afternoons 'up town', flicking through the CD stands at HMV (and for those who know the Mander Centre in Wolverhampton, Our Price).

'Blue is The Colour' by the Beautiful South was the first album I ever bought (the one with the swear words in 'Don't Marry Her' too).

Since then I've seen quite a few bands live - but, not nearly enough. Chuck Berry was my first (see what I mean about my Dad) - but Louise (now Redknapp), supported by Cleopatra ('comin atcha!') and little known boyband Ultra, was the first with my mates. My musical pallet has developed since...sort of.

So - #22 on my list of 30 things to do before I'm 30: see at least 10 music/comedy gigs.

To put that number into context - last year I think I saw one; Noel Gallagher (sorry Dad, I refuse to count Showaddywaddy at Wolverhampton's Wulfrun Hall).

So - any suggestions? Anyone know if Akon is touring?

I'll leave you with this question - what was the first (delete appropriately depending on age) single/record/LP/'45/cassette you bought?

This was mine...and I think you'll agree, it's stood the test of time well...

Splish Splash...my morning with Clive

It's always cold in Gornal - but this morning was particularly bitter

Motivating myself to go swimming full stop was always going to be a task - but at 8.30am on a Sunday morning in January....well, shall we say there were a few expletives said aloud when my alarm went off at 7.30am this morning.

My mood was hardly lifted by the biting cold air which only those who know the heights of Gornal can appreciate.

Nonetheless, I made my way to Wombourne Leisure Centre for my first swimming lesson in more than 15 years.

The swimming experience hasn't changed much - but somehow the chlorine smell didn't seem as potent as I remember - and the tiled floors didn't seem as cold. I'm beginning to wonder whether this process is more mind over matter?

Clive and I after my first lesson

Poolside hasn't changed - the same shiver of dread descended upon me as I stepped out of the changing rooms. But then I met Clive.

Clive seems like a really nice guy. A former competitive swimmer, he reassures me (and the three other clearly anxious beginners) that he's been instructing for  more than ten years - and that we'll all be fine. I like Clive - he doesn't seem as stern as the swimming instructors I remember from years gone by.

We get in the pool and are straightaway given these long foam sausage-like floats. The colours of these mean they resemble some sort of prop from a Timmy Mallet 'Whack-a-Day' set circa 1988. I avoid the pink floats and am handed the rather snazzy yellow and green ones.

Clive then talks us through the breaststroke - one that I've never really done before. The idea of moving my arms and legs simultaneously is just weird. But I think I did ok. Only major problem was that I was concentrating so hard on staying afloat and doing the strokes right - I keep forgetting to breathe. Turns out breathing's quite important - without it you sink and subsequently die. Good lesson to learn.

Now - as I alluded to earlier - it wasn't just me learning to swim. Three others were there: Dave, Chris and Sat. Turns out all of them are there for the same reason - they all have young kids who can swim and they want to to be able to swim with them. I like that. Dave in particular was really interesting. Probably in his early thirties, clearly a physically fit bloke - but, like me, lacking confidence in the water and genuinely quite frightened. It's reassuring to know it's not just me - but hats off to him for facing his fears and going for it.

I have to admit - it wasn't the most dignified Sunday morning I've ever had. For those who know the pool at Wombourne, you'll know there's a spectator area. With young kids having lessons in the shallow end, the spectator area was quite full with parents and grandparents, there for moral support. On more than one occassion though I'm sure I saw a few people pointing and laughing at us newbies floundering with our floats...or maybe it's just paranoia kicking in?

So, what have I learnt so far?

1) this will not be dignified so just embrace it
2) It's not just me out there who dreads stepping into water
3) breathing is important
4) there's no physical reason why I can't do this - it's about overcoming the barriers in my own mind
5) I have to buy goggles - that will not be a good look.

In any case - first lesson down - I'll keep you posted on my progress.

Before I sign off, here's a bit more splish splash from my childhood...

Making a Splash!

Ok - so one of the things to do on my list is to write a blog...job done.

Another one - learn to swim.

Yes, that's right - I'm a 28 year old man - who can't swim. I say can't swim - I can, sort of. My head does not go in the water, my eyes are closed tightly - and I generally hate every single second.

I had swimming lessons as a kid - I just always hated it. The chlorine, the smell, the changing rooms at Heath Town baths in Wolverhampton (the comedian who'd always reach under the cubicle door and try and nick your bag whilst you're getting changed) - and the one I really hated - afterwards, you can't get changed without getting a wet foot. Doesn't matter what you do, you'll always drop your sock or put one foot down unintentionally and that's it for the coach ride back to school - damp feet. Grrrrr!

Truth is I just wasn't any good at it - and I never enjoyed it. They gave me my 'red stripe' because I almost made a width and 'tried really hard'. I never had the chance to wear my pyjamas and pick up a brick. Oh no, I was in the shallow end with the other kids who couldn't hack it - you know the ones, snot hanging out their noses and always picked last for everything. It was great company to be in - and it was enough to put me off for life...until now.

There is one other reason I hate swimming - it was at a friend's swimming birthday party (why he didn't have a football party I don't know, but hey ho). It was at Ounsdale School (I was told in no uncertain terms later on in life that it's Wombourne Leisure Centre not Ounsdale School!). In any case, whilst everyone was splashing and larking around I was stood in the shallow end generally miserable and wondering what time the party food was being served up. One helpful parent then suggested I get involved and swim a bit. 

Begrudgingly I did - only to have my head shoved under water by some scutty little kid who to this day I'm not even sure was part of our party. In any case, I inhaled most of Wombourne's pool and that was it - I never wanted to be in the water again.

I dip in the pool when I'm on holiday, don't get me wrong - but that's more out of necessity than enjoyment. 

But it does look fun and is a great way to keep fit - and I'm sick of being the one who has to stand in the shallow end with the 3 years olds whilst my mates lark around in the deep end with the grown ups.

So - I'm going to return to Wombourne - the scene of my swimming fear - to finally overcome the fear and learn to swim.

My first lesson is at 8.30am tomorrow morning - and I'll be keeping the blog up-to-date and letting you know how I progress.

To sign off this post I thought I'd stick with the swimming theme - take it away Mr Gray...

Thirty Things to do Before I'm Thirty...the beginning

Ok, so I'm a 28 year old man living in the Black Country - good job, great family - the best mates in the world. But as I approach that milestone of 30 I've started to reflect on my first 28 years on this mortal coil and think - 'what have I really done?'

So - I recently find myself single and - as people continue to tell me - you can do whatever you want to. It's an interesting thought - but in some ways, I feel like a kid who's been given the keys to the sweet shop of life - I could have some flying saucers, bon bons, liquorice torpedos - even rhubarb and custard. But I've only ever really had wine gums. I like wine gums don't get me wrong, but I guess there's more in the shop. So - wine gums are out - it's time to try new things and step out of that comfort zone.

So - at the grand old age of 28 and a half it's time to step out into the big wide world and experience more of what life has to offer...and all before I'm 30.

Now - I'm no adrenalin junkie so I won't be hurling myself from a plane strapped to some Aussie instructor who's main role is to show everyone else how much cooler he is than you. No - it's my list. It's what I want to do.

I'm not going to list them all in one go (just in case I can't do them and have to make some last minute amendments!) But I'm intending to use this blog to keep track of my journey - and keep a record of all the things I achieve.

I'll also bore whoever wants to listen about Wolves, the things that annoy me in life, maybe a bit of politics - and an eclectic mix of music - all in all, the general musings of a twenty-something.