Stamps in my passport - Number 1 on my list - New Zealand

Stamps in my passport - Number 1 on my list - New Zealand

It's been a while since I've updated my blog - but there's a good reason for that.

I eagerly await Sky's response to my planned sequel -
'A nervous middle class idiot from the Black Country goes abroad'.
I think it's a ratings winner myself.

People tell me it's been the coldest March in memory in the UK. Without sounding smug, I wouldn't know. For I have been a busy boy - on a mission to achieve five more of my 30 things to do before I'm 30.

To achieve these five milestones I've travelled more than 17,000 miles; travelled by coach, ferry, car, plane, bus and rubber ring.

I've travelled back in time; made one day last almost 48 hours; seen dolphins in the ocean; seen the world's largest squid and got scalded in a thermal spa. I've reconnected with one of my oldest friends - I've met new people from almost every continent on the globe.

I've slept in dorms with smelly strangers and I drank with green painted leprechauns. I got soaked through to my skin and I got sunburnt.

I drank with saxophone players, fled from a rock gig with the help of two guys who had, in their past set a British guy's hair on fire, and was serenaded by an obese Maori in a disability scooter.

My next few blogs will offer just a snapshot of my recent travels and my quest to broaden my horizons and experience more of what this wonderful world has to offer. They won't include everything - I couldn't bear to write, and wouldn't want to inflict upon you "and then I did this, and then I went there and the German guy on the plane said to me". Instead, these are just a few of the highlights.

It all started in Wolverhampton - the glamorous setting for all good travelling tales.

It was 7am. It was cold, drizzly and misty. There was something Lowry-like about the landscape around the new coach station. Shadowy, hunched-over figures; expressionless faces; as grey as the winter weather. But the mills and factories of the north west were instead replaced by the commuters of Wolverhampton - my home city. Making their way to another monotonous day in a drab office in Birmingham.

And me - well, I was waiting for my National Express coach to begin what would be a 40+ hour journey to complete Number 1 on my list of things to do before I hit 30: visit New Zealand.

The past six months have been some of the most difficult in my life. When I booked this adventure it was through a desperate need to escape. But here I was, in a better place, not running away anymore, but excited to be setting off on a new adventure and start a new chapter which would rip me out of my comfort zone.

Now I mentioned that my story started in Wolverhampton. It needn't have done. I live in Dudley and the second stop on my coach journey was...Dudley. I'd needlessly travelled seven miles, spent £12 on a taxi, sat and froze in a drafty coach station, got up 45 minutes too early and wasted an hour of my life which I'll never get back.

If I'd managed to mess up my journey to my neighbouring city, how on earth was I going to travel to London, fly to Los Angeles and then on to Auckland without similar itinerary cock-ups. I guess only time would tell.

But I arrived safely at Heathrow and as I sat in the departure lounge I thought about where I'd been, where I was going and what I was setting off to do. I'd never flown alone before. I'd never been outside of Europe before. I was going to miss my friends and my family. But - this was my time now; my chance to explore more of the world - and hey, if all else failed - at least I'd get a stamp in my passport for the very first time.

Coming up next time - New Zealand, hostels, glam-packing and Naylor.

But for now - as I type this at 4.00am due to my body clock failing miserably to adapt back to UK time - I'll leave you with the theme tune to the first leg of my journey. May I also add that other travel companies are available but if you are down and felling blue and with nothing better to do, don't just sit there feeling stressed, take a trip on....

2 widths, a high-five from Clive and #22 updated

2 widths, a high-five from Clive and #22 updated

It's been two weeks since I last went swimming. The first Sunday I overslept and last Sunday I was away in Munich.

So this morning was my first session back. Last time out I'd had a pretty good session - but two weeks later and with no practice in between, I approached this morning with an element of trepidation. I'd need not have done though. Front crawl is definitely the style for me. The buoyancy belt was back on - but not for long. Fortunately I seemed to pick up exactly where I'd left off two weeks ago. Yes, I was still using a float and yes, breathing whilst moving my arms and legs all at the same time remains problematic...but I think I'm getting there now.

By the end of the half hour session the float had gone and I was actually swimming, unaided for the first time. I even managed to do something which I'd never mastered at school...one single width! I'd got my red stripe for my trunks at school 'for trying hard' but this time I actually did it. And there was no stopping me there...I swam back too!
This gargantuan achievement was greeted by Clive with a high-five...yes!


My reluctance to put my head under water is still causing a problem


Ok - it's not the greatest achievement known to man, but it's a big step forward for me. It shows I can do it - it's just about practice now. So, time to get in the pool more often. That in itself fills me with dread though. The last time I went to a public swimming session (at university) some woman shouted at me because I was in her way. In fairness I was, but I was doing a bloomin' good drowning impression at the same time! I now know how competitive and protective of their lanes these swimming people can be. I hope I don't encounter the same problem again because last time it really did put me off.

I still can't really put my head under water properly...it just feels horrible. But I'm hoping this comes with practice and confidence. Well, I guess it's over to me now. If I practice more I may just be able to get this nailed before I'm 30...

#22 Update

So, number 22 on my list was to got to at least 10 music or comedy gigs before I'm 30.

Well, we're making progress on that front. This week I'm going to two gigs in as many days. Firstly, I'm going to see The Darkness at the Wolverhampton Civic. I've seen The Darkness before, they were supporting Robbie Williams at Knebworth in 2003. So, ten years on I'm off to see them again. One thing is guaranteed...it will be loud!

The following night I'm back at the civic and will no doubt be surrounded by swathes of stone washed denim on ageing rockers as me, Ian, Alex and my Dad take in the legends that are Status Quo.

I shall spend the following few weeks recovering from tinnitus I suspect.

I'm taking a blogging sabattical for a few weeks now but hope to be back soon with some updates on my list of 30 Things To Do Before I'm 30. In the meantime, I'll leave you with this...



The Olympic Stadium, Rian gets greedy and Des Lennis: The Munich Chronicles Vol.3

The Olympic Stadium, Rian gets greedy and Des Lennis: The Munich Chronicles Vol.3

So we kicked off day three of the 'non-stag doo stag doo' with a trip to the Olympic Park, home to the 1972 Games. But before taking in the sights of the Olympic stadium we popped in to the BMW Museum. It was effectively a big car showroom but Mike was impressed with the clinical cleanliness of their toilets so he was happy.

The most unconvincing boyband line up of all time

We then made the short journey over to the Olympic park. It was here where I was reminded exactly why I chose Munich for this trip. I love the snow...and Munich has tonnes of the stuff. The Olympic park was white-over and the huge lake was frozen solid. The views were spectacular. We ventured up a nearby hill to get a better look - and it was breathtaking. Hands down my favourite part of the trip and the scene of my favourite picture of the trip too.

After a stroll around for an hour or so we made our way back towards the centre of Munich. 'Mapman' was on the hunt for a pork knuckle sandwich and the rest of us were feeling quite peckish too. We mooched around a marketplace, indulged in a bratwurst or two then the group split in two. Ian and Alex headed back to the Allianz Arena to watch Bayern Munich play Werder Bremen whilst the rest of us made a 45 minute trip to the Dachau concentration camp.

It may sound like a strange choice of destination for a lads weekend but I'm glad we went. It's only when you see these places for real you can begin to in any way understand the sense of bleakness, chill and cruelty which emanated from these camps. As we walked in as a group, it made me think, statistically, at least two of us would never have walked out again. Chilling. A part of human history which should never be allowed to be forgotten.

Suffice to say by the end of the afternoon we were all flagging a tad so we did what every stag doo group would do in order to 'get back on it'...schedule in an hour or two at the hotel for nap time.

Now, we all anticipated the final night would be relatively subdued. From experience, most people are getting tired, a bit grouchy and keeping one eye on the journey home the following day by this point. That's why the final night was supposed to be quiet. A few drinks, some decent food and then back to the hotel for a decent night's kip. None of these things happened.

We went to a beer hall and were fortunate enough to get the final row of seats. We duly orderded some stein's of lager and set about ordering our food. Now, one thing I learnt on this trip...the Germans are wonderful at lots of things. Engines, beer, hospitality - all first class. Their cuisine however leaves a lot to be desired. And so it proved at the beer hall. An ordering process which resembled a scene from Fawlty Towers with the hapless waiter coming back at least four times to tell us that various orders were 'off'. Alex eventually ordered a half roast chicken. In fairness the description was spot on. He was served up half a chicken. Nothing else - just half a chicken unceremoniously dumped on a plate. Tasty.

Now Rian. He was clearly peckish as he ordered two main meals. The first one was some sort of anaemic looking sausage platter and the second, well, there are few words which I feel could  do justice to just how awful it looked. And in fairness - it didn't taste much better. Try and imagine if you will, something which has just come out of a Felix cat food pouch...but less appetising. After being passed around the table for us all to try (and one or two even gagged), the waiter returned to take it away. He was clearly amused: "You English? I knew you wouldn't like. I didn't tell you, but I knew you wouldn't like". I admired his honesty.

We then embarked on a drinking game which requires everyone around the table to put their hand flat on the table, crossed with the persons next to them. Hands are then tapped around clockwise until someone messes up the sequence and then is forced to drink. Fortunately for everyone involved, Garv was dreadful at this game. As someone commented - 'Garv, I bet you were picked last for everything in PE'. He was.

So, as Garv got progressively inebriated his co-ordination got even worse. We eventually gave up on the hand tapping game and progressed to the game where you have to name someone famous, then the next person names another famous person whose first name starts with the first letter of the previous persons surname (bear with me here). For example, one person would say 'Michael Jackson', the next one would be 'Jessica Ennis', then 'Eva Cassidy' and so on and so forth. At this point, Garv was on the ropes. His brain was clearly as co-ordinated as his hands (he's a catch ladies) culminating in what I'm sure will go down in folklore as 'Des Lennis'...our survey said...drink Garv.

Garv's further ruin was saved only by a group on the table next to us starting a traditional German sing-a-long number. Mambo #5. Yes, only the British or Irish can belt out 1990s cheese pop in beer halls across Europe with no shame. Still, at least one group of Werder Bremen fans were impressed and sang along with us. Mambo #5 was followed by at least a 6 and a half minute rendition of American Pie. We then instigated a medley of Summer of '69 and Wonderwall before the lights were literally switched off on us.

We then found ourselves on the street with our new found Werder Bremen friends heading towards a club. This was not the quiet night we'd expected. To cut a long story short, we stumbled into the hotel at about 4.30am. Needless to say the following morning we were beaten men. Ian in particular had been traumatised as Alex, having got up in the night to go to the toilet and having no idea where he was, proceeded to climb into bed with him. Taking brotherly love to a whole new level I fear.

Rian had to leave early the next morning to get his flight, but in fairness, he left us his unopened bag of lettuce which was nice of him.  

It was a cold weekend, it was a long weekend. It wasn't the weekend I'd envisaged when we booked our flights eight months ago. But I wouldn't have changed it for the world.

And for a music finale...a staple tune from Wednesday nights at Reload in Aberystwyth...and now a memory of a slightly sozzled sing-song in a Munich Beer Hall with a group of Werder Bremen fans...