A public apology to Clive and why some things are best left in the past

I have to start this latest entry with a public apology to Clive. It's been a while since my last swimming update so just to re-fresh your memories: I'm 28, I can't swim so I've been taking lessons at Wombourne Leisure Centre. Clive, of course, is the friendly and exceptionally patient instructor.

I swam two lengths in New Zealand
but I haven't stepped foot in the pool since. Complacency?

The only problem is I haven't been in the pool since March! I've well and truly lost my swimming mojo. A combination of generally being really busy and (this is probably the crux of it) I'm really struggling to get motivated to get myself out of bed at 8am on a Sunday morning.

And it's not due to get any easier either - the next two weekends will be another write-off as I've already got plans to meet up with friends. I think in my head I know I've still got a year to master this so missing a few weeks here of there won't matter. Or at least that's how I'm subconsciously justifying my blatant failure to myself. I know I need to get my motivation back - anyone got any ideas??

Still, on a more positive note - my quest to go to at least ten live music/comedy gigs before I hit 30 is going pretty well. Last night I went to the Wolverhampton Grand Theatre to watch 'Made in Brum' with my dad, my brother and my mate Bordy. Hosted by Birmingham's most famous (only famous?) stand-up comic, Jasper Carrott, it was a showcase of the best of the '60s and '70s music Birmingham had to offer. Some may scoff at the very notion of it, but actually the West Midlands produced some great bands during that era: Led Zeppelin, Black Sabbath, Slade and ELO to name but a few. But what dawned on me last night was that sometimes, some things are best left in the past.

We all like to reminisce. Music is emotive and can transport us back to a particular place in time; a relationship, a holiday; a special occasion - but sometimes you need to leave those memories safely tucked away.

Last night, albeit entertaining, was actually quite depressing. An audience with what Bordy described as an average age of 102, trying to turn back the clock and recapture the joys of years gone by. You know there's a generation gap when you get outside the show and the Ring & Ride pensioners' bus is parked up waiting to take people home.

But aside from the audience, it was sad, and a bit creepy, to see some of the acts on stage. I've never really clocked it before, but my Mom has always said it spooks her out when you've got ageing pop stars in their 60s and 70s singing about 'sweet sixteen' romances. She's actually spot on. Whilst the music will remain, sometimes those who perform it need to step back and say 'I'm done'. One act in particular murdered a Buddy Holly classic - whilst I cringed and prayed it would stop, if you listened very carefully, somewhere in Lubbock Texas you could hear Buddy's grave spinning.

That said, Jasper was on good form - his quip that Jagermeister tastes like 'Badger's p**s' in particular made me chuckle. I loved watching and listening to Jasper Carrott when I was growing up. He's a clever comic - not having to rely on bad language to get cheap laughs. Good, clean, clever observational comedy. But it has dated a bit now. I think I'll choose to remember Jasper from my childhood days and park last night's memory.

I think there's a lesson for us all in here somewhere. Memories should be cherished, of course they should, but spending too much time trying to recapture the past means you might miss all the great things that are happening right now. Like last night's show, some things just need to be fondly left in the past where they belong.

Let me leave with you with this - a great song from a great Black Country band who deserve more credit than simply being wheeled out for a 'top Xmas song countdown' every December...

Wellington, the Vomit Comet and the South Island

Wellington, the Vomit Comet and the South Island



There are worse places to have breakfast I guess

Rich and I arrived in Wellington and checked into yet another hostel - but this time it was a private twin room with no scary Germans and no odour-ridden Dutch travellers.

Wellington's a bustling, if not windy, city. We started our day with breakfast at the Quayside where I proceeded to choke on a cup of coffee - much to Rich's amusement of course.

We then thought we'd take in some culture and visit the New Zealand 'Te Papa' museum. Rich got to see the world's biggest squid preserved in formaldehyde. His inner-geek was clearly very excited. For that matter his outer-geek was rather excitable too.

We took in a hike to the top of Mt Victoria which overlooks the city before traipsing across the city to get sight of New Zealand's parliament building; the 'Beehive'. We managed to catch the final guided tour of the day. It was now time for my inner-geek to shine. They sat us down and showed a 20 minute DVD on the history of the parliament and its buildings. It was about 14 minutes in during a fascinating piece about the origins of the stained glass windows in the lobby when I became aware that Rich was perhaps not enjoying this as much as I was. The clue was the closed eyes, the heavy breathing and the dribble from the corner of his mouth. In fairness, back home he could have passed as a Member of the House of Lords.

Still - things looked up later that evening - Rich and I were hitting the town. We started off at a Welsh Bar and ended up talking to an ex-pat called Jeremy...he was originally from Grimsby. On my trip to New Zealand I wasn't expecting to talk about Clive Mendonca, Paul Crichton and other stars of Grimsby's 1990s Division 1 heights. I also never realised Grimsby had such a rivalry with Scunthorpe, and as Jeremy so eloquently put it, you can't spell Scunthorpe without a c**t. It was only the next morning we concluded that a witty retort would have been to say you can't spell Grimsby without 'grim'. Still, never mind.

We then made our way to a few more bars before we reached decision time. Do we carry on drinking, hook up with some backpacking honeys and party into the early hours or grab a bite to eat and call it a night? I had a lamb kebab.

The following morning was ferry-time. It was to be a three hour ferry crossing across notoriously choppy seas. Before boarding, Rich had already christened the ferry the 'vomit comet'. Delightful.

Still, a few hours later we were hiking along a mountain range. This meant two things: firstly we arrived in tact; secondly, and more importantly, so had my stomach lining.

We arrived in the port of Picton and set out on a trek to Bob's Bay. It took us nearly an hour but the views were stunningly beautiful. We pondered along the way as to what Bob's Bay would be like - and indeed who Bob was. Was it Bob's Bay - perhaps some local legend or was it Bobs Bay - the bay belonging to all the Bobs? When we arrived we found an information board which read "Bob was a fisherman, but that's where the story ends". Bit of an anti-climax really.

Still ,the following day we made our way to the town of Nelson, checked into another hostel, then made our way to the Abel Tasman National Park - and to what I can safely say is the most beautiful place I have ever seen. We sat on the beach at Kaiteriteri and just took in the views. The clear blue sky, the golden beach - it was stunning. We returned the following day and hopped on a boat to travel further down the Abel Tasman to Torrent Bay where we'd walk for a few hours before resting up at Bark Bay. I am running out of superlatives to describe this country. It was a nirvana of tranquility set against a truly stunning backdrop of mountain terrain, golden, sun-kissed shore lines and crystal blue waters.

The only minor irritant were the midges who, quite frankly, bit us to buggery. But I'd take that incessant itching to see those views for five minutes longer. Plus, I'd pay money to see Rich being chased down the beach Mr Bean-style by the mama of all bumble bees just one more time.

We only managed a few days in the south island - I could have stayed there for a lifetime. Soon enough we packed our bags and headed back to Auckland. Although not before Rich pointed out that this was the most middle-class 'backpacking' experience of all time. We'd taken planes, ferries, rented cars, ate steak, BBQ ribs and had drunk the finest beers and wines our hosts could offer. Come to think of it - Rich didn't even have a backpack - he had a suitcase on wheels. Still - it was an experience.  

So, that was it. A couple of days in Auckland then I was flying off to San Francisco. New Zealand is a stunningly beautiful country. If you ever get the chance to go - don't even think twice; just do it.

Next time: Falling for Fran; Otis Redding facts and achieving numbers 2,3 and 4 on my list.