Saturday is football day

Todays post is my match report from my under 9s  teams game this morning. In the afternoon I made my long awaited comeback for the mens team, and led them to a 5-2 defeat. I did score, via a deflection, but I wasn't great. At 38 I think I may be just past my best, and my right knee is screaming at the moment. I can still play, but it takes me around 20 seconds to get back to my feet when I go to ground. And I have to wear the XL shorts otherwise the stick would be relentless.

Log onto www.marshallsfc.me.uk and select Fixtures and Results (incl match reports) to access todays report. 

What should I do next Al?

Alun Parry was a mate of mine throughout Junior school, and at one time we were as  thick as thieves. I think he joined our school in year 2 of 4 although I can't remember why. By year 3 we were best mates as we shared many interests which included football, drama and fountain pens. Alun was the goalkeeper of the school team and he wore the stunning yellow England jersey that Ray Clemence made famous. He was a good keeper by all accounts and I can distinctly remember one christmas when he came to my house and we went over to Greenbank Park to play football for  couple of hours. He wasn't bad when he played outfield either and one day he scored a header in a playground match, an occurence as rare as hens teeth. I can picture him peeling away in delight as I, the best player and captain of the school team, stood there in stunned silence. As we walked back to class at the end of break I  attempted to undermine his achievement by informing him that he could have controlled it on his chest and slotted it in. I was gutted.

We both shared a love of the drama group that Mr.Prettlove had introduced when he had joined the school. We had  shared top-billing in previous productions although his Frank Spencer impression had stolen the show in one show. I remember laughing along with the rest of the audience,  although my laughter was definitely through gritted teeth. And so came the day when Mr.Prettlove invited the drama regulars to his classroom and announced that we would be starting rehersals shortly for a production of Joseph and his colourful coat. "I haven't quite decided who will play who" he said, "but I have selected my Joseph." The anticipation and tension was unbearable for those few moments when I waited for him to say I had got the lead role. "Alun Parry will play Joseph" he said. Like a dagger through my heart his words travelled. I was gutted. Again. I was given a part with  addiditional lines as compensation for missing out. But it was scant consolation. 

Later on that year and a new Head Boy was to be selected. I was slightly taken aback when I was picked for the top job although I said yes immediately. 2 months into my tenure however and cracks had started to appear. I was relieved of my office with the blue badge passed on to Ian Simpson. He was also unable to make a success of it and the badge found its way onto Alun's school jumper. He was the perfect choice and remained Head Boy until we left for senior school.

We went to different  schools and our paths weren't to cross for many years. The only time I saw him was on News At Ten where he was talking about Socialism. It was a fleeting glimpse and that was it until around 2000 when I spotted him on FriendsReunited. One email led to another and we met up a couple of times for a few drinks. I think he was working in IT during this time although I can't be certain. The emails soon dried up and we went our seperate ways.

The last few years of my life have seen massive changes made on both a personal and professional level. An important part of my life now is my involvement with Marshalls FC as we strive to push the club towards the non-league football scene. At the current rate of progress it will probably take at least 10 years, maybe more to realise this dream as there is much growth and development to be achieved. In 2008 I read in the local newspapers that a new team was being formed which would provide local football fans with an alternative to Liverpool FC and the huge expense incurred following a Premiership club. A whirlwind few weeks culminated in AFC Liverpool entering the Vodkat League, on the lower rungs of the non-league ladder. The founder? The driving force? The visionary?. Alun Parry. This time I wasn't gutted, but filled with admiration, with just  a hint of envy.

As a frustrated Writer/Journalist I had taken the decision last year to start a Blog in January 2009 which would hopefully discipline me sufficiently to write something each day. Whilst doing my research I stumbled upon www.parrysongs.co.uk, which is Alun's own website.As well as finding that he already wrote a Blog,  I discovered what he had been doing for the past years and it made fascinating reading. As well as forming AFC Liverpool he is a well-known performer on the local music scene, has credits for BBC Radio 4, is a published writer, has set up the Working Class Music festival as well as Acoustic Slice. When I was concluding my Xmas shopping in December I went to HMV to buy a couple of cd's. As my eyes glanced across the many names on offer, one name jumped out at me. I couldn't believe it. A musician as well. Incredible.

In the past week I decided to start posting on Twitter having heard so much about it. There is a section where you can look people up,and only one name sprung to mind. I typed it in and hey presto, there he was. Beaten me to it again.

I'm pleased to say that I have since had an email from Alun,  and we will keep in touch. And this entry has allowed me to think back to the late 70's and  early 80's when we shared a classroom, a football pitch,  and much, much more. And I can't wait to see what he will beat me to next!. 

 

Shattered

As the title says...

New horizons

In the past 48 hours I have discovered both The Wire, and Twitter. Both are superb, and very me. Much fun to be had. In the case of The Wire I am only 8 episodes in and already hooked. As for Twitter I have been twittering since yesterday. And I am about to have another twitter before bed. And I may even have a little twitter in bed. 

Super Visor

I can safely say , without fear of contradiction,  that I never put down Bail Hostel Supervisor  on my list of prospective jobs when I was  young. To be fair the list was never extensive but at no point did I ever yearn to spend my time in such an environment, and I appear to have found myself in this position almost by default. Mostly it is easy, with few really challenging or dangerous incidents as most of the residents in the hostel are post-release, and not looking to upset the apple-cart. One cannot become complacent but in three 3 years of employment I am yet to feel any more threatened or vulnerable in the hostel than I would be in any city centre bar or night club. Yet the scene that greeted me on saturday night was enough to make my heart sink faster than a stricken ship.

Starting your sequence of night-shifts is stressful enough as they really make you question where your life is heading. So when I turned up for duty at 9pm the site of many unfamiliar faces gathered by the reception area made me feel very uneasy. When it was relayed to me by the staff that a nearby hostel had been plunged into darkness due to an electricity cut, and that I would be joined on my shift by 12 additional bodies, as well as 2 staff unknown to me, I was gutted. When I went out to speak to these Probation refugees, I was horrified. For gathered in front of me were some of the most unpleasant and unsavoury people I had ever had the misfortune of setting eyes upon. The crimes they had committed would fill the centre pages of any Sunday newspaper. At least 2 were known to me from a previous residency at the hostel, and 1 was a regular in the News of the World. I had 12 long hours to go, and these men would be my companions.  Once again, I remembered every mistake I had ever made, and every time I hadn't listened. If I had known what was coming to me I swear I would have tried harder.

The shift was just about bearable due to the other 2 staff who joined me on this shift from hell. The new arrivals, after some posturing and complaining, (some of it justified)   eventually settled down and went to sleep, lying on inflatable beds wherever they could find room. The smell was unbearable, the snoring obnoxious, and the inconvenience considerable. But the clock continued to tick and I was able to leave the hostel at 9am on sunday, heading back home for some much-needed rest. The clear-up operation continued in my absence and when I returned on sunday evening they had all gone, and thankfully, they haven't returned. Things got back to normal quite quickly and I was almost able to enjoy my second shift. 

There are many times in hostel life when a shift can be filled playing pool, visiting a museum, or simply watching the football on tv. During these times one can almost feel embarassed to be getting paid as it is far removed from the way the majority earn their wages. But make no mistake, I earned every penny on Saturday night. 

  

Today is the first day...

...of my 21 week Liverpool triathlon programme. The pictures above serve to illustrate my current physical condition, and my appearance 6 months ago. Having placed them side by side there doesn't appear to be much difference although the scales tell me it is 11lbs. The picture below is the current snap, (how sad would I have been to have staged the one on top?) and I think I benefit from the late afternoon sunshine which  was pouring into my back room. Only a full length shot would truly illustrate my point although I'm sure I would be invited to leave the internet for life if I did. But today I am just under a stone heavier than in June 2008 when the trophy-holding photo was taken. My plan is to now lose just 1lb per week until race day. That would mean a weight loss of 21lbs, and would leave me, stood by the River Mersey in a wetsuit, weighing 12 stone, 5lbs. I can picture it now; a 6-pack, 32" inch waist, just the one chin, wolf-whistles.......perfect.

Liam Deveney is unwell, (more like tired)

I would like to apologise to all of my loyal followers,  but a normal Blog service will not resume until Monday 26th of January, 2009. This is due to both a resumption of night-shift working, (all say aaaaaah) and an extremely stressful Saturday night shift which has resulted in extreme tiredness taking hold of my already weary body. I am hopeful of a return to form in the next 24 hours. I thank you for your patience and understanding.

P.S. The person in the picture is a model although he does bear an uncanny resemblance to me.

Gutted

No game again. In their wisdom, the league have cancelled all junior fixtures due to waterlogged pitches. I am more frustrated than a 15 year old boy with his arm in a sling. Nightmare. And after the excellence of last week's performance as well. Surely we should move to summer leagues.  Rugby League did it and the sport has never looked back. Run the leagues from March to November and cancellations would be rare. And i wouldn't be feeling so upset. 

Worth a Tri

Yesterday saw the announcement that Liverpool will be holding a Triathlon on June 21st, 2009. This will be the first time in 5 years that a Triathlon has taken place within the city, and is a welcome addition to the calendar of sporting events. With 3 different distances to choose from, (from Olympic distance downwards) the event will cater for all. I was already considering doing a Tri this year, (my only experience of the event being in 2006 when I took part in the Brecon Triathlon) so a home event is fantastic. It is just over 21 weeks away so I have got plenty of time to get into race shape. My initial plan is to do some general training for the next 8 weeks to put in a base from which to launch my race-specific programme, which will take me right  up to race day. I am also considering doing a video diary of my training to give a permanent reminder of the event, as well as being an interesting way of recording my progress. I have a lovely image in my head of a 12 stone version of me clambering into my wet suit on June 21st ahead of the first discipline. I have 21 weeks to realise this dream so please stay with me and see how I get on. I will post a picture of myself on here on Sunday which is exactly 21 weeks before the race. I will then have a before-the-training pic to refer to. 

I am genuinely excited as it is a big challenge, and a real test of my resolve. A 1500m open-water swim, (I dislike swimming so that in itself will be tough) is followed by 40km on the bike. The final leg of the Tri journey will be a 10km run. I feel it is well within my capabilities, (the Brecon event was 800m swim, 33km bike, 8.5km run) but I am not as fit today as I was then. But I have done plenty of whingeing about the size of my belly so this is the prefect opportunity to get rid of it, whilst enjoying an event of real significance. 

Watch this space, and join me on another journey. This one takes in the River Mersey, as well as the surrounding roads of Liverpool,  and promises to be an interesting ride. Can I do it? Join me and find out.

First Day Blues

After the pomp and majesty of yesterday's Presidential Inauguration, it is down to business for the new leader of the western world as he gets to grips with the unenviable tasks which lie ahead for him. Has anybody ever started a job with greater problems, and even greater expectation?. His To Do list must make interesting reading.

1) Order stationery

2) Track down Bin Laden

3) Solve Credit Crisis

4) Got to Wal-Mart and price up desks

5) Solve problems in the Gaza Strip

6) Change letterheads.

The most pleasing aspect of yesterday's Obamafest was the moment when he proved he was human after all. Although he quickly regained his composure, it was reassuring that he isn't perfect, although he does appear as close to perfection as any other human being on the planet. Time will tell if he is to be true to his word, and cement his place in history forever. But right now, the expectation of the entire world rests on his shoulders; it will be fascinating to discover how he copes with that. 

History in the making

There are no words...

Whatever happened to Buttyman?

Buttyman was a boy in my class in school, and he was the most vulnerable child I ever shared a classroom with. Looking back,  I realise that he should never have been in a 'mainstream' school at all as his obvious needs were never met. He couldn't read particularly well, could write very little and was way behind all of his classmates in terms of development in both a physical and mental sense. He even wore those dreadful 'National Health' glasses that were the preserve of the truly disadvantaged. In short, Buttyman was prime for bullying and so I took him under my wing and gave him a certain amount of protection. I wasn't the Don Corleone of the playground but I had enough  friends to ensure Buttyman never suffered at the hands of the truly cruel. School must have been such an ordeal for him as he understood little if nothing, and the provisions made by the Local Authority were non-existant. But I can never remember Buttyman ever complaining. He just plodded on, and took each day as it came.

Around 1980 Sammy Lee was a regular in the Liverpool Fc first team. A local boy made good he was, and still is, an affable person with an infectious and generous personality. At this time he also knew both my father, who ran a local night club d, and my mother who was friends with his then partner, and present day wife. So, one day I had the pleasure of a professional footballer sitting in my back room at home drinking a cup of tea. Once he had settled in and was comfortable,  I left the house and gathered up as many of my friends as possible and invited them back to my house to meet Liverpool's number 8. I remember little other than feeling very nervous as it was like having Royalty come to visit. My mum maintains that we all sat and simply stared at him in silence, truly overawed by the occasion. He stayed for an hour or two but before he left I got him to sign a birthday card for Buttyman who was 10 years old the following day.  He duly signed, and even left a little message for Buttyman on the card. He left, and my heartbeat returned to normal.

The following day and Buttyman was the birthday boy. We arranged for Mr.Prettlove, (class teacher and important figure in my past; more of him at a later stage) to make an announcement about Buttyman's birthday, and he  summoned him to the front of the class. He was presented with both the signed card, and a box of maltesers to mark his special day. Buttyman took possession of both items and sat down again behind his desk. I would love to recount how pleased he was to have seen his birthday celebrated in public, or how overjoyed he was to have gotten Sammy Lee's signature. Sadly I cannot confirm either. But, looking back now I suspect that his life, for just a short time at least,  was a little bit more bearable  during that barmy time when Sammy Lee came to visit. 

Postscript. Buttyman wasn't his real name. I called him Buttyman because he used to share his butties with me when we were in Senior school.  I haven't seen him for probably 20 years. I hope life has been kind to him.

The boys are back in town!

Thank God for decent weather. Today my wonderful under 9s team made their return to action after the yuletide break, and the recent cold weather. And they didn't disappoint, performing to the highest level, and putting a broad smile across my face. To read the match report, and begin to get to know these fine young men, log onto www.marshallsfc.me.uk and select Fixtures and Results, (incl match reports). You can then read about the famous Green Machine!!. 

Deary me...

There's nothing quite like a night shift to make you think about your life. During last night's shift my colleague broke wind 3 times, belched twice, then slurped his coffee. And he did all that in the space of 20 seconds. At that point I remembered every mistake I have ever made.

I'm not one to moan...

...But I hate working nights. I've only done 1 and already I am confused. When you get out of bed in the afternoon, do you eat breakfast? Or lunch? Do you try and keep to your normal routine, or take a break from all activities until the shifts end?. As a creature of habit I find it particularly tough to embrace the enforced changes, and am all at sea during these nocturnal shifts. And I have found myself harking back to yesteryear,  to a time  when life was so less complicated. 

In 1987, after I had completed my O levels and was awaiting my results I worked for my Auntie in her city centre cafe, Sheer Delight, (the name of the cafe, not my state of mind.) I was drafted in to make and sell doughnuts from a window which opened out onto the street. My duties included preparing the mix, making the doughnuts, then selling them to the public of Liverpool. Following a couple of days training, practising the dropping of the dough into the hot fat, (by far the most skillful and important part of doughnut making) I was ready. I got into work early and prepared my mix with enough made to feed a small tribe. The window was opened, I sat on my stool.....and waited, And waited. And waited. To say business was slow would be the understatement of the year. At the end of the day I had made £4 worth of sales. @ 5 doughnuts for a £1 it was nothing short of disasterous, even more so when you consider I was commanding a wage of £7  per day at this time. The following day was marginally better with £7 taken although we were still operating at a substantial loss. It was at this point that I made a decision that was to prove inspirational, and send sales through the roof. A local printer was contacted and posters were made advertising Liverpool's hottest new stall. They were strategically placed around the cafe window's, in full view of the many passers-by. The result was remarkable as sales soared to well over £125 per day. At times it was difficult to cope with the demand as queues formed around the block. I was in my element, exchanging banter with my customers, some of whom returned daily. Although I never managed to secure a profit-share, (my £7 wage never changed) I was allowed to eat as much as I wanted, and I took full advantage. By the time I left to start college I was considerably heavier as the daily cakes and pastries took their toll. The only downside to a golden summer was an eventual hatred of ring doughnuts as I had eaten so many I became sick of them. I did manage to overcome this problem, and I enjoy them occasionally now, but it took years of doughnut-rehab to get me there.

In the midnight hour...

Back on nights. Gutted.

Blah blah blah

With all amateur football cancelled over the weekend due to the persistent cold weather, all eyes, including mine, turned to the professional game, and two events of real significance. The first was played out not on the field of play, but in the warmth and comfort of the press conference as Liverpool boss Rafael Benitez launched an incredible, yet calculated and prepared verbal assault on Manchester United manager Sir Alex Ferguson. Mr.Benitez, following  claims that his team may begin to feel nervous as the title race enters its final phase, responded with claims of his own that Mr.Ferguson not only undermines referees, both verbally and by intimidatory methods, but also that he wields far too much power in the corridors of English football. He expanded on this further with examples of Mr.Ferguson's transgressions, and the FA's reluctance to punish him. Watching him talk evoked memories of Kevin Keegan's famous rant when he so famously buckled under the weight and pressure of Sir Alex's mind games. Yet this was far more calculated, as the prepared list Rafa produced will testify. And, having re-read what was actually said on Friday, one cannot fail to feel a grudging respect for Rafa Benitez for he has done what so many have failed to do and that is to stand up to Sir.Alex Ferguson. Whether this bravery and fortitude will amount to anything is another matter for the Manchester United boss is an immensely powerful figure, and it is unlikely that his position in the domestic game will be under threat after this affair. But we must respect Rafa Benitez for the stand he has made, and hope that his comments aren't treated as simply the ramblings of a man under pressure, but that of a man who has spoken the truth.

The other event which caused alarm was played out on the field of play, and concerned one of Fergie's star players. Few can argue that Wayne Rooney is not one of the finest footballers currently plying their trade in the Premier League. Yet his attitude towards officials is poor at its best, and disgusting at worst. At times yesterday he treated the referee  as if he had caught him going through his sock draw in his expensive Cheshire mansion. Even allowing for the pressure and white-hot atmosphere of a United-Chelsea clash, surely he must be held to account for the foul and abusive language he so loves to direct at the men in black. Following the Ashley Cole affair last season when he famously turned his back on the referee, it goes to show that some of  the top players have little if no respect for the men in the middle. And that brings us neatly back to the comments from Rafa Benitez's   press conference when he stated that Sir Alex was killing referee's with his comments. Watching yesterday's match, it seems he isn't alone, and he has some willing accomplices. And if the referee has little or no power on the pitch to deal with dissent, how can we expect anybody to take them serious off it?.   

All hail the pickled onion

One of life's great mysteries is why we only eat pickled onions at Xmas time. For 11 months of the year they are largely ignored, resigned to the back of the cupboard where they suffer a slow and painful death. Towards the end of November, when the more organised amongst us begin to  plan our yuletide fayre, last years jar is often located, and subsequently discarded.   In it's place comes a shiny new jar, with crystal clear vinegar and crammed full with crunchy new onions. These make the perfect accompaniment to a cheese sandwich, or even eaten as a stand alone snack. But why only in December?. Why are they treated with the same disrespect afforded to other tasty foodstuffs like mince pies, nut assortments and mint chocolate?. I would love to find out why this is so, and whether anybody would like to join me in campaigning for year-round respect for the PO?. Please let me know and lets get the campaign started. Your life will be so much better with  pickled onions as your regular companion.

Frozen dreams

Frustration is a feeling that one gets used to when running a junior football team. I have lost count of the times I have had to bite my lip to preserve both my sanity, and my touchline respectability. The current cold weather snap is fueling my frustration however as another saturday morning has passed without a ball being kicked in anger. What was once a weekend staple is now just a distant memory. I'm missing the fun, the laughter, the camaraderie, and the many special moments that take place every time the team play. An enjoyable match in the morning sets me up for the day in the way that Ready Brek did a generation ago. And a poor game, or worse still a blank day leaves me feeling bereft, and unsatisfied. I can't wait to get back to action, and get back into my favorite weekend routine.

 

TFI Friday

Day 3 of 3 is done and dusted. A trip to the Lowry museum was the highlight of today, and it was a memorable couple of hours. Bed now, but much to catch up on tomorrow. If only I could get on the internet in work...

Back to the grindstone

Shattered. Back to work today and, a 13 hour shift later, I am exhausted. Where did christmas go?. I apologise to all of my followers, (hello to you both) and normal service will be resumed tomorrow. Goodnig.......zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Frank Gascoigne and Frazier

Unusually for me, I sat through three separate television programmes last night, and each made for compelling viewing, although for very different reasons. I started with the first part of the Anne Frank story, and it was an emotional opener. I was horrified to discover that I had very little real knowledge of her story,  apart from being aware that it was secretly written. Ellie, who thankfully had been captivated by the tale when being taught in school, was happy to enlighten me further and explained what happened to each of the family members. I was saddened by my lack of true awareness of this incredible story, but also captivated by the incredible strength and spirit shown by someone so young. And this was an event that happened less than 70 years ago, which is  yesterday in historical terms. Modern-day life in the technological and celebrity-laden  age can be exciting, and we can receive stimulus from an endless supply of sources. But we must never forget somebody  like Anne Frank, for she is a true hero of the modern world.

My second show was 'Surviving Gazza,' and a fly-on-the-wall documentary of the most horrid kind. It followed the family of Paul Gascoigne as they struggled to cope with his increasingly bizarre and alcohol-fuelled behaviour. This was car-crash television at its worst, and nobody came out of it with any credit, least of all the dreadful 'Addiction Advisor.' Her advice?. Follow him to a hotel room in Portugal where intelligence suggests he is currently hiding, (with film crew in tow of course) and tell him you are finished with him,  and that he needs to sort himself out. Brilliant. (Btw, the invoice is on the coffee table.) There was so much sadness in this programme is was hard not to cry like Gazza had so famously done himself, back in the days when his life was so simple. One hopes for a happy ending, but that becomes more unlikely by the day. At least some people are making  money out of it which, it seems, is all that matters nowadays.

My last show, and the one which kept me away from my bed until after 1am,  was the story of 'The thriller in Manilla,' the third fight of an unforgettable trilogy between Mohammed Ali and Joe Frazier. Unlike so many documentaries, this was from the perspective of the losing combatant, and give a fascinating insight into both men, and the impact their rivalry had upon each other. Frazier in particular had suffered from Ali's incessant jibes and name-calling, much of which was racist in it's content.Whilst Joe Frazier will always be remembered for his punishing left-hook, it was Ali's tongue that handed out the most punishment, and Frazier was an easy target. One suspects that Ali was never truly held accountable for these slanderous comments by the public because of the awe he inspired in so many. Yet it was clear to see just how much they hurt all members of the Frazier family, and not just Smokin Joe himself.  To this day Joe Frazier has a voicemail message which points to a deep-rooted dislike of Ali, a hatred which has not been lessened by the passage of time.   Whilst this was not dignified, I was struck by how he had been able to retain his dignity right up to the present day, even in the most difficult circumstances. Remarkably he still lives in a room upstairs from the gym where he  trains young fighters, in the same part of downtown Philadelphia he has called home for much of his life. He receives none of the affection that Ali continues to do, but it was hard not to think of him as the better man after watching this programme. A true warrior, and an incredible human being.

Finally, many happy returns to my nephew Patrick who is 5 today!. Happy birthday from us all. 

What's up Doc?

Following a few weeks of listless behaviour, a loss of appetite, and a regular change of facial colour, an appointment was made, via our GP, to see a specialist at Alder Hey children's hospital, and finally discover why our exuberant 7 year old has lost her sparkle of late. Whilst apprehensive at the possible outcome of our visit, (over-reaction being the cornerstone of parenting) it is always a pleasure to go as it restores one's faith in human nature. Each child receives attention and care of the highest order, and I have nothing but the upmost respect for all of the staff there. The other wonderful aspect of having an appointment there is the knowledge that your name will be called close to the appointment time, as waiting time is kept to a bare  minimum. Sadly the same cannot be said of adult hospitals where you can wait so long to be seen that you forget why you are there in the first place, (a cunning ploy perhaps?.) 

Anyhow, back to Alder Hey and, as predicted, they were waiting for us at exactly the appointment time we had been given. 5 minutes of questioning and probing later and the doctor cleared his throat and prepared to deliver his diagnosis. Both Jane and myself braced ourselves for the news, with tears gently welling up in our eyes. But what followed was to amaze and astonish us both as he informed us that Ellie was suffering from Severe fatigue Syndrome, as a result of a virus she had just before Xmas. For the first time in my life I almost argued back as I could scarcely believe my ears. I kept my counsel however and listened intently as he explained to us what we must do next. "You must ease her back into her routine gently," he explained, "And you mustn't make her do anything she doesn't want to." During our appointment Ellie had been doing her best to look ill, and her face carried an expression that demanded sympathy. I swear however that there was a glint in her eye as the doctor was advising us, as she saw an opportunity to do nothing for the foreseeable future. He also said he would write to us with an appointment to see the Chronic Fatigue Team. My mind immediatley pictured a clinic full of people wearing white coats asleep at their desks. After a blood test, during which she showed bravery way beyond her years, we left and headed home. Whilst happy that there was nothing  serious going on in her young body, we couldn't help feeling a bit surprised at the outcome. But who are we to argue??? The concern about her illness has gone, replaced with a worry about how we will get her to do anything ever again. She was wily enough before the Doctor gave her permission to withdraw even further. Thanks Doc, your a pal!. 

A rash decision

All runners out there will know that before you embark on any run of one hour or more, you should apply a liberal coating of vaseline to certain areas of the body. It is especially important on damp, or very warm days. Today I went out on a 7 mile run and I neglected to prepare properly. The result?. Chaffing of the most painful kind, and in an area very difficult to treat.  Put simply, it's agony, and I feel like somebody has held a bunsen burner underneath my nether regions. Ouch.

Roald Dahl and Quentin Blake

It gets worse.

I hopped onto the scales this morning and I was 14st, 1lb, a full 1lb heavier than yesterday. I am dreading tomorrow already. I can almost hear you saying, "stop weighing yourself!" and you would be absolutely right. But the addictive side of me, (the one which eats far too much) just can't help checking my weight. As a result I feel awful, and, you guessed it, seeks solace in some nosebag. A circle of the most vicious kind, and a cycle I struggle to break. Any tips? (Anyone reading this??. )If not I shall battle on alone and try and find the answers from within. 

We (Marshalls Fc Mens Team) were due to return to action today following a few weeks of inactivity. I was guaranteed a place on the bench and certain of a run out of some sort. In preparation of this,  I took a trip to the local JJB shop to purchase a new pair of football boots. As I parked my car I took a call on my mobile to say that the game had been postponed due to a frozen pitch. The disappointment I immediately felt took me back to my childhood, and the heavy heart I used to get when my football was cancelled. Quite simply I was gutted, although I did soften the blow by picking up a new pair of Adidas Predator boots which fit like slippers. I got home, scooped up my son, and headed down to the local field to try them out. Half and hour later and we headed home arm-in-arm, the boots now muddy and looking worn. The result? I won 4-2 in a match played between some trees!. Lovely.

Whilst heading back to my house after buying the boots I was listening to Liza Tarbuck and Martin Freeman on Radio 2. They were asking listeners to phone in with the things that made them proud to be British. I texted the show and  said, "Quentin Blake and Roald Dahl." I listened to the show for a short while but heard nothing. Feeling disappointed, (again) I headed upstairs to answer a call of nature. A short while later The Lord, (stepson Daryl) was shouting up the stairs that I had just been mentioned on the show, and that Liza Tarbuck had said my selection was, in her words, "an excellent choice!!." I was thrilled to have received a mention, but gutted that I hadn't heard it myself. Just how much disappointment can a man take in one day?.  

So, there you have it, day 3 of my blog. As I wrap this up it is only just after 2pm so there is plenty of time left in the day. It is also FA Cup day so I will follow the results later on. Everton are playing Macclesfield but I am confident of a win. Such a shame that I am unable to lace up my new boots and play today. Never mind, there is always next week. 

Oh dear

Day 2 and it isn't going well at all. I had a shock this morning when I stood on the scales and was shocked to discover an additional 3lbs I never knew I had. Gutted. That puts me on 14 stone exactly, which is 12lbs heavier than in June 2008. It makes my job just that little bit more difficult. On the plus side I have been out for a run, albeit an easy 3 miler. At least this is something to build on in the coming weeks and months.

That's it for today. A very small post as Im a bit gutted. And as for my diet, well that is another story. This house is literally awash with chocolate and I have indulged a  number of times. Give me strength. I need to get my mouth sewn up.

The 1st day of the new year!!

It would be rude not to start with a 'happy new year, ' although I'm sure a lot of people will be sick of seasonal platitudes and will be relishing a return to normality. Personally I am always ready to resume my life after Xmas, and this year is no exception. Whilst I have had a nice time with my family, and the break from work is wonderful, I am now itching to get on with the rest of my life, and seeing if I can  make the changes I so desperately want to. More of that later, but for the meantime, HAPPY NEW YEAR to you all!!!.

New year's resolutions are easy to make, and so hard to stick to. If I had lost the 2 stone I had planned to each year,  I would be at least minus 6 stone by now.  That makes me sound like a complete wastrel but I have never managed to get my weight down to a level I am satisfied with. I am currently just under 14 stone having been as low as 13 stone 2 lbs in June 2008. My target has always been 12 stone,  but I have revised that to 12 and a half stone which is more realistic. I am hoping that writing a blog will help me although that is dependant on getting your attention, and you following my progress. So, I implore you to stay with me as I try and get down to 175lbs!

Weight loss however isn't my only ambition for 2009. I have a number of objectives;  some of which are linked, some overlap, and some stand alone. And central to all of them is to write. Whether it is this blog, or on my football team's website, or for my local free newspaper, 2009 is the year in which I want to become a writer. And to be a writer means one thing; writing stuff. I am hoping that the discipline required to write here each day, or as often as possible, will help me achieve my ambition. I will expand on this further in the coming weeks and months but for now I am happy to announce to the world that I want to be a writer, and I am motivated to do whatever it takes. So, if I strike a chord with anybody who reads this blog, please comment, advise, offer constructive criticism, whatever. I would be most honoured to hear from you.  

That's it for today as I don't want to babble on for too long. I just wanted to start my blog and today I have. I am genuinely excited at what lies ahead and I have much to say. And, once again, happy new year to you all!