2013 - that was the year that was

So we're fast approaching the end of another year. 2013 has been an eventful one. We've lost some of the world's most iconic historical figures in Thatcher and Mandela, a Brit finally won at Wimbledon and Wolves sunk to new depths with a second consecutive relegation.

But for me 2013, without sounding too X Factor-like, has been a journey. I've clocked up thousands of air miles, scored at Molineux, went to Wembley, took a dance class and survived the Oldham Half Marathon to name but a few.

I can't believe it's been twelve months since I set myself the challenge to complete 30 new things before I hit 30. With just eight months to go until I wave a final goodbye to my 20s it seems like an opportune time to look back and reflect on the journey thus far...and think ahead to how on earth I'm going to complete the rest of my challenges.

I've taken a look back over the year and picked out my top five moments (it's still December so I wonder if Noddy Holder will do the countdown for me; he seems do all the others at this time of year)...so here are just some of the highlights of what's been a year to remember:

I'm not sure this was in my new job description

Coming in at number 5: New job

It's been eight months now since I said a fond farewell to South Staffordshire Council. My professional home for nearly six years, leaving Codsall was actually one of the most daunting experiences of 2013; but ultimately it's proven to be one of the most rewarding. The time was right for change, and professionally, I couldn't have made a better move.

Number 4: When a non-stag doo stag doo is better than a stag doo

It might not have been on my list of 30 things to do but what should have been my stag doo turned out to be one of the best weekends of the year. Munich now holds a special place in my heart. Its architecture, its cutlure, its beer halls. Seeing the Olympic village, Dachau, the Allianz Arena and of course Rogers the Spaniel and 'Des Lennis'.

Number 3: The Golden Gate Bridge

My trip to San Francisco was incredible. Some great people, some wonderful places - but for me, taking an early morning stroll over the Golden Gate Bridge as the fog sweeps in from the ocean over the 'Frisco Bay was just incredible.

There was something cathartic about that walk, with my ipod playing Bob Dylan and with me inadvertently wandering into the middle of a 'Free Tibet' demonstration.

Number 2: Down Under with Rich


New Zealand is an incredibly beautiful country. The views are spectacularly stunning - and I got to spend some quality time with one of my best mates who I haven't seen nearly enough in the past few years. I also managed to take a trip on the 'Vomit Comet' ferry, get bitten to buggery on a beach and watch an England test match in Auckland (back in the days when we were good at cricket).

Number 1: My biggest failure

My inner-child still chuckles at this

We didn't manage it up Snowdon

I feel like I've done and achieved so much this year - but strangely enough, my only failure to-date has arguably been my most enjoyable. Coming in at number 24 on the list is to climb Snowdon. On 4th April (what would have been said wedding day) me and my entourage of misfits set out to conquer Wales' most famous mountain. Sadly, the snow scuppered those plans. But it turned out to be one of the best weekends I've had for years. Surrounded by my brothers and closest friends we had a great time full of laughter and fun. A walk - an on-going battle between Rogers and Becs over his inappropriate choice of footwear and a late night sing-song. It was a nice reminder that it doesn't really matter what you do, or where you do it, it's all about the people you do it with.

It's impossible to predict what lies ahead in 2014 - but I'm hopeful it will be as eventful and fruitful as 2013. I've got 8 months to get back in the swimming pool and prove my doubters wrong; my plans for a TV debut have taken a big leap forward - and it looks like I'm going all Samba in June!

I've been incredibly fortunate to have the love and support of some very good people throughout 2013 - I hope you all have a great 2014.

Derby's Del Boy - #28 edges closer

Four down - six more to go

Boxing Day football is as English as the rolling hills of the countryside, summer drizzle and a genetically irrational dislike of all things French.

It's the one day of the year where all 92 football league teams turn out on the same day and where the promise of the joyful family Christmas has melted away and been replaced by bickering, boredom and indigestion.

My mission to visit ten new football grounds edged one step closer yesterday after I visited the Pirelli Stadium, home of the mighty Brewers; Burton Albion. As with most Boxing Day matches, the terraces were filled with that faint aroma of stale ale and leftover-turkey-induced flatulence.

Burton appealed to me for two reasons...firstly it was a good excuse to meet up with my good pal Dav who's visiting his family in nearby Derby and secondly, after my ill-fated tenure as Burton boss in the 2023-24 season on Championship Manager, I felt I had to make peace with the fans.

Courtesy of Dav and his wife Hannah, I'm now the proud owner of 'A Fan's Guide to Football League Grounds'. According to my new bible of football stadia, the Pirelli Stadium was built in 2005 and became Burton's home after they left their Eton Park ground. It was a £6.5m purpose built stadium...I'm including these erroneous details to pad out the fact that the game itself (a clash against bottom of the Football League outfit Northampton Town) was so dire. But the upside of a small ground with only a few thousand people means you know the players can hear every witty jibe from the crowd.

The Pirelli Stadium - home of Burton Albion FC

Two stood out: "He's here to do a job...but for the life of me I don't know what that is". And my personal favourite, which I was still chuckling at two hours later: "I've seen milk turn quicker than you!".

They were the two highlights of what was a very drab affair which saw the hosts grab a late winner six minutes from time.

The real entertainment came from Dav's Dad, John.


Like my own dad, John's obituary will no doubt start with 'He was one of those characters in life'. There's something about men in their 60s who at some stage have decided to abandon all social norms and have adopted a 'bugger it, I'll say what I want' attitude; much to the amusement of guests and to the eternal embarrassment of their families and long suffering wives who seemingly feel it's safer to simply apologise for them in advance of taking them anywhere.

Dav's dad John is a great guy...and what amuses me is that Dav (like me with my dad) is slowly turning into him.

Brahma beer glasses from Derby could be popular in 2014.

John is like Derby's answer to Del Boy - but with a hint of Bullseye's Jim Bowen. Before we left for the game yesterday John wanted to show me the dozen or so Brazilian beer glasses he's acquired (I didn't ask where from for fear incriminating myself). And John's big plan - remember to think of Jim Bowen: "Ebay Jay, ebay, but not yet - no, World Cup Jay, World Cup!". Wheeling and dealing, Derby-style.

So I'm four grounds down - six more to go before the end of the season.

No reason for this outro - just a rather good tune. Coming up next time, my top 5 moments of 2013 - and the mammoth task facing me in 2014 as I attempt to complete my 30 new things before 30.

Cold in Carlisle and why John Barnes is wrong

Alex, me and Wolves (and England) hero Steve Bull.

So this blog entry has an overtly footballing theme. For those who don't wish to read on any further then please feel free to return at a later date.

Yesterday I underwent what I would consider my rite of passage. It's generally seen as a ceremony which marks the transition from one phase of life to another. In Jewish culture for example it's a Bar Mitzvah - in the life of a Wolverhampton Wanderers fan, it's a League One, Tuesday-night trip to Carlisle in November.
Brunton Park was the setting and in some ways the fact we didn't lose disappoints me slightly. For the next thirty years I can say 'I was there on a Tuesday night in Carlisle when we were in the third tier of English football'. 

The only thing which would make that statement sound more painful and therefore demonstrate my commitment and love for the club more, would be to say 'I was there on a Tuesday night in Carlisle when we were in the third tier of English football - and we lost".

That's three down - seven to go

Nonetheless, I can lord it over future generations of Wolves fans until I die. In fact, I expect my obituary to say 'He loved his hometown team so much, he even went to Carlisle on a Tuesday night in November' and so on.

The football was forgettable, the ground was old school and getting my photo taken with my boyhood idol, Steve Bull, made the biting Cumbrian wind worthwhile.

#28 on my list is to visit 10 new football grounds. Alongside Brighton and Stafford Rangers that's three down, seven to go.

John Barnes

To some he was a wing wizard, a pioneering black footballer who set the game alight at Vicarage Road, Anfield and the Maracana; scoring arguably England's greatest goal against Brazil in the year I was born.

Barnes in his Liverpool heyday

For me - he was the slightly overweight, coming-to-the-end-of-his-career journeyman who I remembered most for his contribution to England's 1990 World Cup song; New Order's 'World In Motion'.

He was also the man responsible for one of the finest newspaper headlines of all time: “Super Caley go ballistic, Celtic are atrocious.” His ill-fated managerial tenure at one the biggest clubs in Europe, and his later failure at Tranmere Rovers has arguably tarnished what was an outstanding career. 

Barnes was an unmitigated failure at Celtic then later Tranmere

To some, his failure to get other managerial posts has been linked to the fact he's black and an endemic racist culture which exists in English football. Or perhaps it's simply that Barnes now joins a long and illustrious list of former great players who simply weren't cut out for management; and I include the likes of Billy Wright and Bobby Moore on that list.

Yesterday Barnes published a lengthy piece in the Guardian about racism - albeit "unconscious racism" in the English game.

It's a serious issue - one which needs to be dealt with and one which, in my opinion, has come on in leaps and bounds over the past twenty years. But it's an emotive issue - which I often feel is hampered by articles like the one Barnes has penned - and like the self-anointed spokespeople on race issues in football - 'The Society of Black Lawyers' who castigated England manager Roy Hodgson recently for a NASA-based team talk which quite clearly wasn't racist. It's instances like this which derail the legitimate cause of eliminating racism from our national game.

Barnes starts his article by saying "I'm not interested in what happened to Yaya Touré at CSKA Moscow". Well I am John. Russia has been selected to host the World Cup in 2018 - and with the prominent international coverage of homophobia and hate crimes in that country ahead of next year's Winter Olympics, I think we have a duty to expose the intolerant underbelly of nations like this and use international public opinion to try and instigate societal change.

I'm no fan of Peter Odemwingie -
but his treatment from fans in Moscow was appalling. 

That said, I understand what Barnes is trying to say - let's get our own house in order first. I agree - but he fails to recognise the strides made to eliminate racism in grounds across the country which was so prevalent in years gone by. Black players in the 1980s were victims of horrific racist abuse - abuse which is fortunately seldom heard nowadays. It's no longer deemed the norm by society. Yes, some fans will harbour those unsavoury and bilious opinions, of course they will, but they won't air them so freely as popular opinion has marginalised them.

Barnes then goes on to say that "any black person who has been successful, particularly Obama, has been lifted out of blackness and stands as the exception." To undermine, and in one sentence dismiss, one of the greatest and most progressive steps forward for black rights across the globe seems to me to be both foolish and ill-advised. When it comes to role models for young members of the black community surely Obama, leader of the free-world, should be heralded as a hero and someone to which all black youngsters should aspire to emulate?

Barnes then goes on to say that "there is nothing racist about an open, honest dialogue" - couldn't agree more John. But what he then went on to say astounds me: "it is certainly more productive then pointing the finger at the CSKA Moscow fans, or at Luis Suárez or John Terry, and demanding they are punished." Wrong John, just plain wrong.

Could you imagine the outcry (and rightly so) had the FA come out and chosen not to ban Terry and Suarez but instead send them on a cultural diversity awareness course."It would be far better if instead of banning them and demonising them, the Football Association aimed to educate them...". In this ill-thought out statement, Barnes appears to have absolved Terry and Suarez from any personal responsibility. Blaming society for their abhorrent ignorance is a cop-out John - and I hope our judiciary don't take a similar line the next time an EDL activist or an Islamic extremist is up in the dock for inciting racial hatred and intolerance.

The press were rightly outraged at Toure's treatment in Russia

Barnes is spot-on when he says "tackling racism is a long and complicated process" but he dismisses Toure's abuse in Moscow as "one-off incidents". But they're not John. Black players have been racially abused in Eastern Europe for years and UEFA and FIFA have failed to exert enough pressure on these countries, by either sufficiently fining them or throwing them out of competitions. If I remember, expelling English teams from European competitions in the 1980s had the desired effect of drastically reducing hooliganism abroad. 

Yes perceptions need to change - yes more needs to be done. Yes, education from a young age is key. We haven't eradicated racism from our society and from the response of clubs like Liverpool and Chelsea in the wake of the Terry and Suarez sagas, we haven't fully eradicated it from our national game. But maintaining a balanced, mainstream dialogue is just as important. If former players like Barnes want to really make a difference then condemn those who jump on the bandwagon and who undermine the legitimate cause to grab a few sound bites and few sensationalist headlines. They are doing more harm than good.
In my next blog I put forward my plan for world peace and give my insight to the whereabouts of Lord Lucan.

A light-hearted return next time I promise.

Here's a great song by a great Wulfrunian and former Highfields student...

Nipple tape, Vaseline and jelly babies - I close in on #27

Nipple tape, Vaseline and jelly babies. Sounds like a deviant's shopping list reminiscent of my brother Alex's early career as a shop assistant in Ann Summers. But no - turns out these items are staple products of long distance runners - well, according to my mate Dave Crewe that it is.

I've just returned from a weekend away in Oldham and Rochdale. Quite frankly, not a sentence too many people are likely to say.

Now for the observant of you, you may remember that I've already blogged about #27 on my list. If you need a quick reminder you can read it here. If you can't be bothered the short version is: run two half marathons, one of which needs to be sub 1hr 55m.

Crewe and I before the race...

Well, this morning I completed one third of that target.

This story started two years in Cardiff with the foolish consumption of a Chinese buffet meal 24 hours prior to the Wolverhampton half-marathon. It's suffice to say the Chicken Satay took its revenge on two fronts; with the world seemingly dropping out of me prior to the race and the rest coming out the other way half way around. It's fair to conclude that feeling has stuck with me for sometime so I've been approaching today with an element of trepidation. This trepidation was of course heightened by my foolish decision to prepare for the 5th hilliest half marathon in the UK just two and half weeks ago.

I'd known it was coming since I agreed to take part back in March - and I've been hoping my mate 'Crewe' would forget about it ever since. He didn't.

For those of you who don't know Crewe - he's what most people would class as 'one of those characters in life'. He's a dry-witted Northerner who makes Karl Pilkington look positively cheery about life. He's a man who's definition of 'good' in life is 'the opening 30 minutes of Saving Private Ryan'...and that's about it.

So it was he whom I chose to embark upon this madness with. As I awoke this morning, I went downstairs in Crewe's house to be greeted by the Chariots of Fire theme tune belting out before hearing a phrase I wasn't expecting: "Right, my nipple tape's on and I've Vaselined my ar*e - I'm ready". Ok then...

As a seasoned runner, Crewe tells me these are standard  - personally, what he and his wife do in the privacy of their own home is up to them. Crewe then prepared a bowl of porridge and got out the jelly babies - a source of much needed sugar to consume during the race to get you around the course. I nearly ended up with Vegan Haribo after his wife mistakenly thought I was vegetarian. The thought was there - but gagging on a gelatine-free fried egg after 9 miles didn't overly appeal.

Being the good friend that he is - Crewe abandoned me after the first three quarters of a mile. The following 13 miles it was just me and the Lowry-like mill town landscapes. And of course hills. The next time I saw him was at the finish line. That's right - the finish line...which I crossed...having not stopped for 13.2 miles. I'd conquered the hills and moors of Oldham - and came it an acceptable 2hrs and 1 minute. But that's not to say it didn't hurt. The 4 hill climbs were tough - the last one was bordering on excruciating. But I dug in deep and powered on.

Some seasoned Oldham runners told us that because of the gradient of the hills, you lose around 6 minutes compared to a flatter race. That puts me on course to achieve my sub-1 hour 55mins next time around. Watch out Stafford - I'm coming for you in March.

I couldn't think of a decent 'run' based outro without playing the Spencer Davis Group again so this is me tenuous link of the day.

I ran in Oldham...Oldham has hills and trees...there was an American teen drama called One Tree Hill...here's Gavin DeGraw...

Britpop rules - and I close in on #22

The mid-1990s were pretty good weren't they? There was a genuine feel-good factor. Euro '96 had the country on the edge of its seats, things could only get better as Labour swept the Tories aside in the '97 election and one of the greatest music rivalries in British history was in full-flow. Britpop was at its peak and the battle-lines had been drawn: Oasis vs Blur.

Britpop still rules

I remember watching the Big Breakfast on Channel 4 (with Gaby and Chris) and it was all about 'The Battle of Britpop'. Oasis' 'Roll With It' was directly up against Blur's 'Country House'. Blur eventually emerged triumphant after out-selling the boys from Madchester by 50,000+ copies. But it was Oasis' '(What's The Story) Morning Glory' which emerged as the seminal Britpop album. And after singing myself hoarse at the Slade Rooms last night, it's clear that Britpop is still alive and well (albeit in its early-40s, slightly greyer and with the kids being looked after at home). But the ingredients were all there. 'Definitely Might Be' were the tribute act and the audience was full of Adidas Samba trainers, boot-cut jeans and lots of people with their hands behind their backs, 'Liam Gallagher-esque', belting out hits like 'Live Forever', 'She's Electric' and 'Cigarettes & Alcohol'.

I had the privilege of seeing Oasis live. I've also seen Noel Gallagher and, next month, I'm set to see Liam's Oasis-reincarnation, Beady Eye. I caught the Britpop bug from my brother Ian. A student from the mid-90s - Britpop was at its height. Oasis, Blur, the 'Phonics, Cast, Pulp, Dodgy, Ocean Colour Scene - the list goes on.

I was a bit younger and probably the only Oasis 'top-mad-for-it' disciple in my year at school. I even made my way to HMV in town at 7am on a Monday morning to be the first one to buy the single 'Go Let It Out' . Unfortunately my efforts to grow a Liam-like mop-top were catastrophically unsuccessful and I've still never owned a pair of Adidas Sambas.

Ian missed out on ever seeing Oasis live - a painful regret no doubt as the Gallagher brother feud shows few signs of thawing any time soon. Hopefully last night went some small way to imagining what seeing them live in their heyday would have been like; sort of.

So the memories of the 1990s are good ones - although I suspect if we take off the rose-tinted specs and look a little closer; England lost on penalties after what was a pretty drab tournament, it gave us the Spice Girls and a plethora of manufactured boy bands and it turns out it wasn't the end of 'boom and bust'. Still, for a few hours last night, me, Ian, Alex  and lest we forget Mark Rogers (see previous blogs about Munich to appreciate this man) got to reminisce about the days when rock 'n' roll still had characters and they knew how to make a tune.

It also led to that age-old debate - your top 5 Oasis tracks? It's a great game because no-one will ever agree and can last for hours with no conclusion. For me; Fade Away, Champagne Supernova, Don't Look Back in Anger, Don't Go Away and Little by Little.

So number 22 on my list was to go to at least ten music/comedy gigs. Well, I'm 6 down; Beady Eye and Del Amitri booked in - only 2 more to go. This is one challenge I look set to complete ahead of schedule.

I'll leave you with the only single I've ever got up at 5am to go and buy...

#20 - Hot Wax: Radio Wulfrun gets a new guest DJ



I now know how to avoid a 'vocal crash'...
and how to alienate hungry listeners

Chris Moyles, Scott Mills, Christian O'Connell, Philip Schofield...and Jamie Angus. That's right people, I can now proudly list myself amongst these famous broadcasting names after successfully completing #20 on my list: to appear on a radio show.
And why do I list myself amongst these established broadcasting names? Well, I'm glad you ask. It's because they too launched their broadcasting careers on hospital radio; and that's exactly what I did yesterday.

I've always loved listening to the radio. Nowadays I think it's fair to say I'm more Drive Time Radio 2 rather than hip and happening Radio 1, but I've always loved the idea of being a radio DJ. The radio has been a focal point in our culture for more than a century now. From Churchill's war time addresses, to US DJ Alan Freed coining the phrase Rock 'n' Roll. From sport to music and from current affairs to the shipping forecast, the radio is as popular as ever with the average listener tuning in for 21.3 hours of radio a week - and for the poor folks at New Cross hospital - yesterday they got 3 hours straight of me.

That's right - my '30 things' list was deemed interesting enough to hit the 'Radio Wulfrun' hospital airwaves! Plus my mate's dad is the DJ and he had a 3 hour marathon stint to fill. The plus side is I managed to avoid the urge to shout 'Goooooood Mooooooorning Vietnaaaaaam!' or to steal Chorley FM's 'coming in your ears' slogan. Not sure that would have gone down too well.

And what did I learn? I learnt that a 'vocal crash' is a big no-no. That's when the DJ talks over the lyrics and I can now say I know my Daniel O'Donnells from my Pavarottis. In hindsight, a set list of the Stereophonics, the Divine Comedy and Olly Murs could have been a tad off the mark for the audience - Olly Murs could have potentially finished a few of them off.

But it was great fun. Radio Wulfrun was celebrating its 30th birthday with a 30 hours non-stop live broadcast. Dave Ward's usual midweek-melee was replaced by 'Dave's Breakfast Kitchen'. And we had the snacks to prove it. Muffins, brioche, cookies and rocky-road bites. I suppose if you're going to fall into a diabetic coma - that's the best place to do it. And we had no qualms telling the listeners what we were eating. Again, in hindsight, not the most sensitive of topics considering our listeners were just being served up some soggy toast, or, even worse, were nil by mouth. We reviewed the newspapers (well, one newspaper), my mate Bordy played some acoustic numbers in the studio and I told a few anecdotes from my '30 things' list. The dance lesson in particular seemed to go down well!

My chosen set list? Divine Comedy, Jamie Cullum, Stereophonics, Oasis, Little Richard, Sam Cooke, Status Quo, Olly Murs, ELO and Otis Redding. A little bit of middle of the road for everyone there I reckon. I could give Alan Partridge a run for his money yet.

It was great to simply be in a studio seeing how it all works. Even for a hospital radio station, it's a complex business and it's really not as easy as it might sound. DJs work damn hard and making sure the air time is always filled is a fine skill - one which DJ Dave has honed over the years.

Above all else - it was really good fun. Three hours just chatting away with my mate, his dad and his production assistant Ann. We had a great laugh. Some of the listeners may not have been able to reach for the off switch (on the radio that is - not life support, we weren't that bad) but the important thing is, I enjoyed myself!

A massive thanks to Dave Ward, my mate Bordy and everyone at Radio Wulfrun. They're all volunteers and do a great job. I'm not sure they'll be in a hurry to get us back on air any time soon...but at least I can say I've done it.

I'll leave you with two outros this time: a scene from the 1970s film Hot Wax - a film about the DJ Alan Freed who coined the phrase Rock 'n' Roll (that one's for you dad). And a flashback to the 80s and car trips to Weymouth...

#18 - There's nothing left for me to do...but dance?

In the past few months I've been to see Chas 'n' Dave and Status Quo; I've been laughed at as I try to use chopsticks; I've nearly drowned countless times and I was there to see Wolves get relegated to League One. But last night I endured perhaps one indignity too far...I tried to learn to dance.

Yes - that's right - coming in at number 18 on my list of things to do before I'm 30, take a dance class. And yes, it was as excruciating as it sounds.

You see, rhythm and co-ordination isn't something I've been naturally blessed with - I think I've finally come to terms with that.

Yep - that's me. Must have been 'Summer of 69'. 

It's been an evolutionary process. As a young teen I have fond memories of standing against the back wall for hours at a time at Springdale Church discos. As the girls rocked out the latest dance craze (The Macarena and Tragedy by Steps was the in-thing back in my day) the lads would sullenly stand at the back, bottle of cola-flavoured Panda pop in hand, counting down to the final ten minutes of the night when 'PJ the DJ' would put on a few slow dances (the erection section if you will). That was when we'd all make our moves and hope R Kelly's 'I Believe I Can Fly' would last forever.

But it was quite clear, even back then, that dancing was quite clearly never my thing. As I've got older the 'stand at the back' theme has continued - I've taken on what I call 'the Alton Towers role' - looking after everyone else's personal belongings whilst they go and have fun. And although the Panda pop has evolved into a bottle of Beck's, in my head, being able to sing the lyrics to Summer of '69 and Dire Straits' Walk of Life compensates for the fact that I've developed 'dad dancing' without ever actually having conceived.

Here's an artist impression of how you'd
think a salsa class would be...it really wasn't

Well, last night was my chance to put that right. Here's one tip for you though - don't go to a city centre bar when the local football team are playing at home...you feel a bit of burk when you push through a group of tanked up Wolves fans at the bar and ask 'is this where they hold the salsa class?'

Ok - I want you to think about salsa dancing...keep thinking...ok. It was nothing like any of those things. If you're like me you're thinking words like heat, elegance, rhythm, exotic. It was neither of these things. In fairness it was the Cuban Exchange bar in Wolverhampton - I'm not sure what I was expecting. The ratios weren't quite what I expected either. Me, one couple, and two other guys. Those numbers make it a tad tricky to decide who should lead for starters.

Anyway - we were put through our 'mambo paces'. 1,2,3 - 5,6,7 (I have no idea why they've left out 4?). This went on...and on...and on. You wouldn't believe how hard it is to count and move your feet at the same time. Well, I found it difficult and now have a new found respect for Bez.

 

There was indeed a murder on the dancefloor last night. My dignity and self esteem were pronounced dead on arrival. If last night was an episode of Stars in Their Eyes I would have been saying; "Tonight Matthew, I'm going to be...extremely uncomfortable, uncoordinated and counting down the seconds until this hellish experience ends". If only there'd been the sliding doors and smoke machine - I could have run away. 

The annoying thing is - if by some miracle I actually became good at dancing, it would be quite cool. The only problem is, I'm not sure I can put myself through the indignity of 1,2,3 - 5,6,7 'turn the ladies' (when of course there weren't any) again.

But whether I go again or not - I've done it. I've stepped outside my comfort zone and done something I'd normally run a mile to avoid. You can't say I'm not trying new things.

There were so many dance-related songs I could choose as an outro - Murder on the Dancefloor, Dancing Queen, Save the Last Dance For Me etc but in the end I opted for this lesser known 1974 UK number 4 hit from Leo Sayer - for no other reason than he looks really weird in this video...

Back in the pool - and a plea for help

So my quest to finally learn to swim is progressing about as well as Arsenal's transfer bid for Luis Suarez.

There's about as much chance of Luis Suarez
 ending up at Arsenal as there is me swimming
 10 lengths of a paddling pool

I'm getting that sinking feeling - literally. It's been a few weeks since I last set foot in the pool at Wombourne - and this morning it really showed. I can barely do a width, I'm gasping for air rather than breathing calmly and I'm back to having a gallon of chlorine rather than Tropicana for Sunday morning breakfast.

I feel close to the point of saying - 'do you know what, I haven't drowned after 29 years, maybe I'll be just fine as I am'. Even the ever-patient Clive said that there's not a lot more he can teach me - it's all down to practice now. Although he did offer one pearl of wisdom about ducking my head in and out of the sink at home to practice my breathing. I would try that but the pots and pans which have been building up all week would probably be in the way.

What I really need to do is practice in the pool during the week. I just struggle to find the time - and, in fairness, the inclination. What I need is someone to drag me along to a public swim.

So - this is a genuine plea for help. If you're a swimmer, if you're patient and if you want to do your bit towards a 'care in the community' award then please get in touch.

I think I'm back in the mental block phase of this process...and I'm conscious that time is ticking closer to that big 3 0.

365 days to go until 30...a look back on the challenge so far

New Zealand was incredible...
but hopefully I'll clock up a few more
air miles before I hit 30

Well, tomorrow will be 1st August 2013 and there are now 365 days to go until I wave goodbye to my 20s and welcome in my 30s.

Ten months ago or so I ended up on a different path to where I thought my life was heading. Having had things mapped out quite clearly, all of a sudden I was a man with no plan. So, having set myself a challenge to do 30 new things before I'm 30, I find myself in the final year of the challenge.

So far I've seen a Maori in a mobility scooter singing Sam Cooke songs in New Zealand; I've been accosted by a hooker in San Francisco and I've written this blog.

I've totted up a few other achievements too:

• crossed the Golden Gate Bridge
• visited Alcatraz
• watched England play at Wembley
• seen England beat the Aussies in the Ashes at Lords
• scored a goal on the pitch at Molineux
• scaled the top of the Shard (via the lift of course)
• got a new job
• ate seafood overlooking San Francisco Bay - and of course I hate seafood.

And there are a few things which I'm still chipping away at:

• learning to swim
• 9 new football league grounds left to visit
• 5 music or comedy gigs left to go

By my reckoning that's 11 things done, three started and 16 left to go. It could be a busy year!

I've met some great people along the way - and I hope there'll be more great people to meet in the next 365 days too.
Well, tomorrow morning I'm off to do something which I've never ever done before; work on my birthday. As a kid my birthday was always in the school holidays and up until now I've always booked it off. But this year I didn't really have anything better to do. Plus, I'll need to stockpile my annual leave if I'm going to achieve some of the things left on my list!
Well, my 20s - they've been interesting, and I've got 365 days left of them. So, for the final year I can feel as if this song is relevant: take it away Jamie...

#9 - "I don't like cricket...it's alright I suppose"





Lord's - the home of cricket...and lots of posh people

Cricket's a funny old game. You can play for five days and still not emerge with a winner. I can understand why the Americans have never really taken to it.

I was always under the assumption that cricket was just dull and played by posh snobs and that rugby was for the fat kids who couldn't play football. Whereas I still couldn't care less about rugby, I've learnt to appreciate cricket as the years have gone by.


Iconic. Cherie Blair's mouth. A bit harsh perhaps?

To me, 'outside leg stump' still sounds like some sort of medical condition and as for 'short fine leg', well, it sounds like a compliment. Reality is, I'll never fully understand the game - but I do actually quite like it now. That's mostly thanks to my top pal from uni, Dav Tomlinson. A Derbyshire-lad born and bred and lover of all things leather and willow (it's always the quiet ones). I've spent some cracking days over the years watching cricket with him and his wife, Hannah. But I guess to get a real feel for cricket you need to go to its spiritual home - Lords. So, at number 9 on my list, I did just that.
It was like a completely different world. If there'd been a referendum in that ground on Saturday it would have been a UKIP landslide. It really was a long way from Dudley. And for most people there I suspect the answer to practically every single question you could ask them would be 'bring back the Empire old chap'. Very weird indeed. Now as I don't know a googly from a full toss (although there were quite a lot of full tossers there on Saturday) I thought I'd invite my second guest blogger to give us a small match report.

Over to you Dav...

 

Hannah, Garv, me and Dav at silly-mid wicket point

Cricket at Lords is about as English as you can get... it’s a roast beef dinner, it’s an episode of Only Fools and Horses, it’s a James Bond film on a Bank Holiday, and most importantly of all it’s pure bliss. We arrived at the Home of Cricket with plenty of time having made a short stop at Sainsbury’s to get supplies (or Saino’s as Garv lovingly calls it). When I say supplies I mean 4 cans of beer and 2 bottles of wine – thank you MCC. It’s hard to describe Lords, try and imagine every stereotype you have about cricket, the old British Empire and old men in brightly colours clothing and you’re pretty much there. Lords has an eclectic mix of old and new. At one end you have the famous Victorian Pavilion (built in 1889 by Thomas Verity if you’re interested) and the very modern looking Media Centre (commonly known as Cherie Blair’s Mouth) at the other. The weather was good, we had cracking seats and as the clock under Old Father Time clicked over to 11 the play began...     


 

The day started with two Yorkies at the crease. We had Joe ‘yes he really is old enough to play’ Root and Tim ‘Bres-Lad’ Bresnan. England started the day’s play on 31-3 although thanks to dismissing the Aussies for a rather embarrassing 128 the day before were in real terms on 264-3. The plan would have been to bat bat bat and in doing so humiliate the Aussies and to grind them into the hard Lords dirt. Well I am pleased to report this was one of those times that the best laid plans of mice and men actually happened. England only lost one wicket before tea (Bresnan was caught out by Rogers off the bowling of James Pattinson for 38). The wicket of Bres Lad brought the in form Ian Bell to the crease. Bell is to batting what Stephen Fry is to light entertainment – he is classy, good to watch and is impossible not to like. Bell made a stunningly patient and elegant 74 before also being caught out by Chris Rogers but this time off the bowling of the truly dreadful Steve Smith. There’s a saying in cricket that ‘shit gets wickets’ and Smith proves that saying is still relevant in the test arena.

England finished the day on 333-5 which was a lead of 566 or in other words about 400 too many. As if this wasn’t good enough a new legend in the making was born. Joe Root is fast becoming a cult hero amongst England fans. He looks like that annoying little kid in year 7 who was good enough to play in the year 10 cricket side. Although he is pint sized and baby faced he bats with the authority of a cross between W.G. Grace and Sir Ian Botham. Joe Root is the most exciting thing to happen to English Cricket since Freddie Flintoff terrorised the Aussies in 2005. Root scored a quite magnificent 178 not out with an innings mixed with brilliant defensive shots and some big hitting sixes towards the end of the days play. The sound of Rooooooot echoed around Lords as time was finally called at a little after 6pm.

Off the field we enjoyed the beers and the banter a day at the test can bring. On a personal note I enjoyed seeing Garv’s face when he found out that a large Pimms he had ordered (which was a part of his round) set him back £9. My heart also goes out to the South African lad sitting in front of us who spent all day chatting up the very attractive girl he was sitting next to. He had absolutely no chance – I will go as far as to say there is more chance of seeing an Aussie turn down a free beer than that poor lad has of taking her to a second day at the Test. In all it was a day for the cricket purists but nonetheless a great experience and one I hope to repeat in the future. When talking about the days play the former Australian great Glenn McGrath said “It was a horror day for Australia” – I have waited so long to hear him say that. Do you know what, I don’t like Cricket... I LOVE IT!     

#30 - Up on the roof. I get high in London



The Shard - 72 storeys high and well worth the view.

Coming in at number 30 on my list of things to do before I'm 30 is to go to the top of western Europe's tallest building, The Shard.
With a panoramic view looking out over our capital city for more than 40 miles, it was pretty spectacular. I wanted to share this experience with a close friend who I knew would appreciate the views, the culture and the design of the latest iconic addition to London's skyline. Unfortunately they were all busy, so I went with Garv.

I'm not sure whether this is a sign of age or not, but I'm increasingly finding myself wandering past places and saying things like, 'hmm, nice architecture'. Or I'll comment on things like 'what a lovely sky tonight' and 'now that's a spectacular cloud formation'. Of course I mostly refrain from saying these things out loud - although on the odd occasion it has slipped out, it's been met with the derision it clearly deserves.

I like looking at buildings - I wouldn't say I'm fascinated by them - I'd probably struggle to pick out art-deco from mock-Tudor; but I think I'm at that stage where I can appreciate the more cultured things in life. This, I'm fairly sure, stems from my mom's influence. She's the artist, the actress and generally the creative one of the Angus clan. It's fair to say that despite being the only one of the family not to have gone to university - she's got, by far, more common sense than the rest of us put together.

She tried to pass these traits on to us when we were children but, it's fair to say, she was always facing an uphill battle from day one. She spent many an afternoon when my brothers and I were growing up trying to get us in to artistic and creative things. She must have spent hours picking Play-Doh out of our hair or cleaning up after we'd had the paints out for all of 5 minutes, wreaked havoc, then found something more interesting to do like pick our noses or go on drive-by water pistol shootings with my dad. And it must have been soul destroying for her to see us traipse in, soaking wet and covered in mud, after we cast aside creativity for football. I imagine the smug look of 'there's my boys' on my dad's face must have irked her too.

But in the end I think mom's perseverance may have just paid off. None of us can sing, act or paint - but I think we're finally beginning to appreciate culture. The boring trips to villages like Abbotsbury on our annual Easter holidays to Weymouth, where the highlight was a sticky bun in my uncle Malcolm's café, may have turned out to be worthwhile after all. The years of 'you'll appreciate this sort of thing when you're older' which I readily dismissed as 'grown-ups' being dull, begrudgingly appear to have come true.

And so I thought embracing the culture vulture inside me was a good thing to do. So I decided I'd go to the top of The Shard. It's a spectacular feat of engineering and design which, I'm sure, will stand the test of time. The sky-scraper is 72 storeys high making it the tallest building in western Europe and which has altered London's skyline forever. It dwarfs other iconic landmarks like the London Eye, Big Ben or The Gherkin. It's an interesting thing to look at. I get it - but I understand why some people aren't too keen. But regardless of the differing opinions, one thing I'm sure people will agree on is that the views from the top are spectacular. London's sprawl goes as far as the eye can see. It makes you wonder how they've crammed so many people and so many iconic landmarks into just one city.

My favourite bit? Aside from the breathtaking views over London, I had my own personal tour guide in the form of Lee Garvey who's knowledge of London is pretty damn impressive. Either that or he's made it all up and I've no way of disproving him. Plus, the lift  to the top goes at 6 metres per second - that is some speed! I'm glad I've had the chance to do it - I even genuinely enjoyed spending the time with Garv...not a sentence too many of us have uttered over the years (only kidding your Garv, you're delightful company really). There's another one on my list done...

Today's video - Up On The Roof...but a version you might not have heard before. Enjoy.

Am I watching history? - One I've missed off my list

It's 4.30pm on Sunday 7th July 2013 and I think I might be watching something momentous unfolding on Centre Court at Wimbledon.

As I type, Andy Murray is two sets up against Novak Djokovic and has broken the giant Croat's serve in the third set. Maybe, just maybe, Andy Murray is going to do what most of us thought was impossible - be British and win Wimbledon.

The nets at the 'rec' in Bradmore were similar to this
 - just a bit worse

With the weather hitting almost 30 degrees, there's something about today which is taking me back to my childhood. I'm sure it's nostalgia and a hint of rose-tinted specs, but I'm sure the summer holidays were like this for 6 long weeks when I was younger?

I'd spend hours with my mates playing tennis 'up at the rec' (those living in Wolverhampton, or at least Penn, will know where I mean.) Simon Gupta and I would spend hours at the tatty-old council-owned courts. Jasper Carrot did a great sketch once where he makes reference to bottles of warm Vimto and cracks down the middle of the court where you could lose your tennis partner - well the 'rec' was a lot like that. The nets always seemed to be going through the menopause with an unfortunate sag around middle too.

Back in those days Andre Agassi, Goran Invanisevic and Pete Sampras were the kings of Wimbledon. For some reason I always wanted to be the American, Todd Martin. Looking back I have no idea why. Must have been because he was caggy handed like me.

The only British hope we had was Jeremy Bates who I think made it into the 3rd round one year and the country went Wimbledon-mad. Until of course he lost. Then it was 'Timbo' Henman. Not quite sure why, but something about Tim never really resonated with me as a kid from Wolverhampton. Then came the Canadian, sorry, British, Greg Rusedski. I'm still not sure whether we could have classed that as a British win if he'd ever got past round 5.

Then of course came the young but dour Scot, Andy Murray. For years he's been a figure of fun - people assuming he was either never good enough or never had the bottle to succeed. Well, I guess that might be just about to change. Although, as I put the full-stop in place, Djokovic just broke Murray's serve. Is this blog too premature?

Either way, it'll be great to see Murray win Wimbledon. I only wish that I'd put Wimbledon down on my list of places to go before I was 30. I've been to Wembley, I'm off to Lords, I've already been to Silverstone, I couldn't care less about Twickenham - but I've always loved Wimbledon. Every year as a kid we'd go tennis mad for two weeks. I even missed half of the famous England vs Holland Euro '96 match because I was beating 'Guppy' at the rec.

Why didn't I put it down!! Oh well, there's still time - perhaps that'll become my number 31.

In other news, my quest to swim continues. I was up bright and early this morning, ready and raring to go for 8.30am. By 8.37 I wanted to go home. Same old frustrations, same old struggles. I think practice is the only thing I can do now and hope it clicks. Clive was in good spirits though - although he's got a blocked ear - but it's ok, he's having it syringed tomorrow.

My bid to watch 10 live gigs has also had a bit of a boost. Last week I saw Blondie (supported by the Lightening Seeds) at Cannock Chase and I've got tickets to see Beady Eye in October. I will indeed be 'top mad for it' that night.

Playing tennis at the 'rec' in the summer of '96 offers some great memories - even if this song doesn't. But it was number one for ages that summer, so here you go...

'C'mon Andy!'