Aural pleasure

Philip's appointment at the wonderful Alder Hey children's hospital ended happily as we were told his hearing was virtually back to normal, and no action would be required. When informed that he wouldn't need to have his ears syringed Philip looked mightily relieved, and a lovely smile spread across his face. A subsequent hearing test confirmed that his lugs were back to level of hearing considered normal. Due to the severity of his ear infection last year there was still some residue left in his left ear, and this would take some time to clear. His right ear however was immaculately clean, a fitting tribute to his worried parents who had faithfully applied olive oil for 3 weeks in an attempt to clear the wax. All 3 of us left the hospital in good form, with 1 of us now putting the morbid thoughts that had invaded their head to rest.

My respect for Alder hey and it's staff is well documented, and today only enhanced this reputation. Yet again the treatment and care was of the very highest standard, with Philip being made to feel very special indeed. I doff my hat to all of the people who made our visit today so enjoyable.

Going up.

The weekend saw the 08-09 football season draw to a close, and it ended on a high note for the Marshalls first team as we secured promotion to the second division of the West Cheshire League. A truly monumental effort over the last couple of months saw us secure 24 points out of possible 27. With all of our rivals regularly dropping points, we were able to clinch the runners up spot, and guarantee ourselves second tier football from August onwards. Considering the team has only been in existence for 2 seasons, and my own involvement as both player and Assistant Manager has been limited to this season, it is a genuine achievement, with the promise of much more to come. Yet, when the final whistle blew on Saturday, and promotion was finally confirmed, I experienced mixed emotions which threatened to spoil my celebrations.

Football has always played a major role in my life, both as a source of pleasure, and as a constant reminder of my short-comings. Early promise shown was never fulfilled as I lost interest and, most importantly, lost respect with myself and my playing career. Looking back I can draw few positives from my playing days as an adult, and I stopped playing before I reached 30. Parenthood revived my love for the game when Philip started playing as a wide-eyed 5 year old. When my offer to help run the Under 7s football team he had been selected for was accepted, I was back involved, and slowly falling back in love with football. I took my level 1 and 2 coaching awards, began regularly attending games at a variety of levels, and even played a few times, my new-found fitness, borne out of my running career, proving invaluable. My self-respect soared as I reminded myself that I could still play at a reasonable level, and I accepted an offer to become Assistant manager to the first team last summer, running alongside my job as manager of Philip's team. This season has been fantastic as I made 10 appearances in the team, scoring 2 goals along the way. I have learnt about player-management, the importance of preparation, and I have impressed myself and others with the level of devotion and commitment shown. The season, which at one point looked like it would end in disappointment, finished with a fanfare as we clinched runners-up. Whilst proud of the role I have played, and I genuinely believe I have made a significant contribution, I can't help feeling that I wish I had sorted myself out earlier, and I would now be looking back on a career to be proud of. Unfortunately I cannot do that, although I will enjoy many more special moments in the future I'm sure. But I wish it was 1990 all over again, only this time I would respect both myself and the game I love.

Watching the players dance around the pitch in delight, spray each other with fizzy wine in the dressing rooms, whilst looking forward to playing in a prestigious and competitive league, I comforted myself with the thought that by the time Philip reaches 18, we will hopefully be in an even higher division. The hard work being put in now will be reaped by the likes of my son and others as we have the ambition of playing non-league football. With a nucleus of young, (late thirties) Committee members, and with a sound financial infrastructure finally being put in place, the future is extremely bright. I just hope that this feeling in my stomach, a mixture of both sadness and regret, will finally be resolved, and I will be able to enjoy my involvement in football once again without constantly looking back in anger. Only time will tell.

Living with embarrassment

It's good to be back. Following a week in which I seem to have been busy all of the time, I am now able to sit down and reflect on the last few days. Last Friday was a particularly eventful day as I visited JMU for their open day, ahead of starting my Journalism course in September. I was experiencing some anxiety, given my status as a 'Mature Student,' and I was bracing myself for one or two embarrassing moments. When I arrived, I was greeted by a car park attendant who was operating the barrier. He asked me if I was the bus driver who would be driving the coach around the city to show the prospective students the sights of Liverpool. I shook my head and informed him that I was in fact there to have a look around the campus. But I wasn't even in and my cheeks were reddening.

Once inside I gave in my name to the woman on reception. As I was handed a paper bag with a few JMU freebies in, I scanned the room, and the sight which greeted me only added to my rosy glow. Around twenty young men and women were scattered about, most of them with their parents. The sad thing was that I was older than some of the parents. I sat next to a young man whilst we waited for the presentation to start but I didn't even attempt to make conversation. He looked gormless, disinterested and not in the least bit eager to talk to me. I sat and waited.

30 minutes later we were invited into a large lecture theatre to listen to various people inform us about the course, accommodation, finance etc... I lost count of the number of times they mentioned that this would be a stressful period, that there would be nobody there to clean their rooms, cook meals for them, (the student) etc..In short, the whole presentation was geared towards school-leavers, and wasn't applicable to the slightly overweight Probation worker sat a few rows from the front. But despite this I found myself listening intently, and feeling quite excited at the prospect of studying to become a Journalist. There are many interesting modules to be studied including Radio, Print and Online Journalism. The course appears to be everything I was hoping for, and more. As I made my way back to work after spending 2 hours in the campus where I will study for 3 years, I felt excited. It will be difficult, and I felt apprehensive on a number of occasions as they explained how much work is involved. But I have got a strong feeling that something good lies at the end of this journey, and so I will be doing my upmost to be successful. I also accept that living with embarrassment will be as much a part of the course as lectures, tutorials and essays.

Busy busy (again)

A normal service will be resumed tomorrow. I haven't had a minute to spare for days.

How embarassing

I'm going to John Moores University tomorrow for an open day. I received an invitation recently which asked if I would be bringing a parent along. I almost withdrew my application when I read the letter. Just imagine, if you can handle such a thought, a 38 year old man turning up with his 61 year old mother. Or his 63 year old father. My brain is incapable of conjuring up such an image so I will go alone, and make the most of the experience. I'm not looking forward to it at all though.

Wembley here we come!!!

A truly superb day as Everton reached their first FA Cup Final since 1995. Although me and Philip were in different places as the drama unfolded, the beautiful smile that was spread across his face when I got home was a worthy consolation. Like thousands of others, the search for tickets starts now. Cross everything, dad 'n lad must get there somehow.

The boy in the photo is a fellow Marshall who played for our team a year ago.

A football weekend

2 games today, then the BIG one tomorrow at Wembley. Although we never got tickets, (£250 each isn't viable or affordable) we will be cheering the lads on throughout. I've got a sneaky feeling we will do it, although that could be the crumpets digesting.

Check out www.marshallsfc.me.uk and www.marshallsfootballclub.co.uk for the match reports from this afternoon's games.

What did you say?.

After weeks of waiting, Philip finally went for his hearing test today. Following a severe ear infection, it became obvious that his hearing had been affected, and an examination was required. A referral was made by our GP, and we eventually found ourselves in a clinic in Knotty Ash.

Following the usual preliminaries Philip was taken into a room for a hearing test. A few minutes later he returned to take his seat again in the waiting area. A few minutes we were all called back in, this time by a different person. After making him comfortable in a special chair, she turned to Philip and asked cheerfully, "how are you today Philip?." With expert comedy timing, he looked straight at her and simply replied, "pardon?." Priceless.

But for the grace of God go I

20 years ago to the day, my allegiance to Everton FC possibly saved my life. For 96 Liverpool FC fans, their allegiance to the club they supported was to cost them theirs. The horror of Hillsborough has been brought back to the forefront of our minds as the anniversary of the disaster finally arrived. To many of us it remains an awful memory, a sad time as our city mourned together. For the families of the 96 supporters who died that day the nightmare continues, as they fight a daily battle for justice and resolution. I pity them all.

At the same time Liverpool were playing Nottingham Forest at Hillsborough, Everton were battling it out with Norwich for the right to contest the 1989 FA Cup Final. Just like the Liverpool fans that day, we were treated with disdain, pushed, prodded and poked between the turnstiles and into the ground. Just like the Liverpool fans, we were squashed together outside the ground as the groundstaff and stewards struggled to contain the sheer volume of fans. Thankfully for us we made it inside unscathed, with just a few creases to show for our struggles. When news came through at half time that the match at Hillsborough had been abandoned due to crowd trouble, we began speculating as to what had happened. As we left the ground at full time, buoyant as we had won 1-0 and could look forward to the prospect of a trip to Wembley, the full extent of the tragedy became clear. As we boarded the coaches to head home, all feelings of jubilation had been replaced by a sense of doom. The tears that began to flow have continued to flow to this day.

The dignity shown by the families of the victims has been remarkable, with Trevor Hicks in particular continuing to astound. The memorial service provided a fitting tribute to the lost, and will have given much needed support to the suffering. For them the battle for justice continues and, with an indication that the police force of South Yorkshire about to finally accept responsibility, perhaps resolution is in the not too distant future.

It is impossible to imagine how painful and difficult it has been for the people who lost loved ones on April 15th 1989. It could so easily have been me had I opted for red instead of blue. For today however, colour is irrelevant as we unite to remember. Gone, but never forgotten.

April 12th 2003

To many, today's date will bear no significance, with just those who were born on this day looking forward to it.To me however, April 12th is probably the most significant date on the calendar as it marks the day my uneasy relationship with alcohol finally came to an end. Life hasn't quite been the same since.

Throughout both my childhood and adult life I had experienced many problems as a result of drinking, as well as much associated anguish and unhappiness. Yet I ploughed on, trying to control the problem using a variety of methods. Only drink at the weekend, stick to wine, never touch lager, 6 pints maximum, I tried, and failed, to take control of my drinking habit. I lurched from one unsavoury incident to another, although the gap between episodes did grow when I became a parent. But the problem was always there, lurking in the background, and ready to pounce when I lowered my guard. I think I knew that the end was in sight as my frequent periods of abstinence would testify. I am pretty certain however that I had no idea that the end was in sight as I accepted an invitiation to go fishing on a farm in Shropshire on Saturday, 11th of April, 2003.

I can distinctly remember my feelings of excitement as we hurtled towards Bridgenorth on that fatal day. The talk was of fishing, and the reports of the water were remarkable. I was picturing the catch of a lifetime, and the anticipation was unbearable. As we pulled into the farm car park, and I first caught sight of the early morning mist hanging over the lake, I was hypnotised. A most incredible day was about to begin.

By mid-morning, having caught a number of fish already, I was buzzing. When the offer came of a cold can of beer, I readily accepted, and thirstily gulped it down. My self-control, lacking on even the most sober of occasions, had now disappeared, and I had now entered the drinking zone. Can after can was consumed as I revelled in the day. The fish kept coming, and so did the beer. I was losing control.

By mid-afternoon I was drunk, and was struggling to fulfil my duties as a fisherman. Tying hooks, casting out, tackling up, they became more difficult by the minute, and I was relying on my companions to help me out. My mood and increasing intoxication was a source of amusement for them, and they encouraged me to continue. When I hooked into a large tench, and found myself unable to land it, they advised me to lean forward to get my net underneath it. Seconds later and I was in the lake, joining the fish I was enjoying catching so much. As I clambered out and rested myself on the bankside, the laughter could be heard for miles around. I was laughing myself as it was, and remains to this day, quite a funny thing to happen. But inside I was crying, the shame and embarassment almost too much to bear. I remained drunk for the rest of the day before crashing out on the bed. It had been a most tmemorable day, but for all the wrong reasons.

When I got back to Liverpool the following afternoon, the house was empty. Still hungover, I drank two cans of beer to try and aide my recovery. When Jane returned I told her all about it. She had heard many takes of drunken woe, and had even witnessed a few during our time together. This tale did contain a comedy element, and she found it funny. I could even have kept it quiet, and carried on with my life as normal. But this was the final straw for me as I was truly sick of myself, and had had enough of alcohol and the problems always seemed to follow. I also felt different, as if I had finally been beaten. I had reached my rock bottom, and the only way was up. I was, at last, ready for the challenge that sobriety would pose.

Exactly a year and 1 week later I completed my first marathon, running around the street's of London in a fraction under 4 hours. I had lost weight, gained confidence, and made considerable lifestyle changes. Many more would follow in the coming weeks, months and years as I revelled in the freedom that abstinence brings. But the most important change of all was that I began to accept myself, and slowly began to like the person I was. Of all the changes this was the greatest, and the most significant.

I don't really place much importance on anniversaries, and only realised it had been 6 years earlier on today. I don't discuss my alcohol-free life unless questioned, and have completely accepted that I should never touch alcohol again. I never, not even for a second, contemplate having a drink. I've moved so far away from those dark days that it is highly unlikely I will ever make a comeback. The world is a simpler, and more productive, place to live in without alcohol. I hope it remains that way.

When I fell in the lake I let go of my rod, and it floated across the lake and settled in the middle. Not only had I lost my dignity, but I had lost my expensive rod as well. When i returned to the waters edge the floowing morning however, i spotted the rod in the corner of the lake, only 3-4 feet from the bank. I managed to grab the butt of the rod and lifted it skywards. The rod immediately bent under the strain of a sizeable fish. The tench I had struggled to land the prevuious afternoon was still hooked, and provided me with my first, and only fish, of that Sunday morning. It was a farcical ending to a never-to-be-forgotten weekend.

i've mad a new discovery

It's called Blip.fm. Try it, it's fantastic. I am now an online DJ. I've blipped, been re-blipped, and even managed to listen to some vintage tunes. Take the plunge and sign up.

Tis a Good Friday

Another good day, (where is the catch?) as I have continued my bonding with Ellie, whilst Philip picked up the Best Attitude Award at the Tennis/Soccer Camp, collecting a spanking new Adidas football along the way. In between I completed another tough 5 mile run, as well as getting fleeced by my charming daughter in NEXT. The past couple of days have been very pleasant, with the only blot on the landscape being 3 long shifts in work starting Sunday. The prospect of a further 7 work-free days after that will keep me going until Tuesday evening.

The last few hours have been spent researching different camera types as I want to upgrade my existing. In particular, I want to start taking continuous action shots, and my current camera takes 1 picture every 5 or so seconds. With my Journalism training starting in September, I have convinced myself that a new snapper is going to be an essential piece of kit for the student Hack. At least that is what I am telling myself. I'm sure there will be many who will say I don't need one, but I've never been one for listening to my critics.

All is well

A most splendid day today. That's it. No more to add.

Wise words

I'm not a fan of the present day Michael Parkinson as I feel his show, once superb, became flabby and sterile before it ended. His comments about Jade Goody however are excellent, and articulate exactly how I feel. I can only dream of writing such an article. Copy and paste the link below to read the full article.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/entertainment/7987426.stm

I have a dream

That we will get promotion to the second division of the West Cheshire League. With 3 games to go we are well placed although a couple of teams do have games in hand. We need to keep winning, and hope they slip up, in order to realise our dream. Check out www.marshallsfc.me.uk to read the match report of this evenings match.

Effing and jeffing

Check out www.marshallsfc.me.uk to read the latest match report for my junior team. The match was notable for Philip scoring 2 goals, both of them free kicks from long range. It was also memorable as Philip swore at me from the pitch as my-dad-is-the-manager-frustrations boiled over. Once he had calmed down, and the tears had dried up, he played his little heart out, and turned a 1-0 defecit into a 2-1 lead.

The picture above was taken at Liverpool Academy a couple of years ago. The team had just won a cup and the players were posing for photographs. What is so fantastic about the image is that Ellie joined in even though her role had been limited to spectator. Her generosity of spirit shone through, and the result was a keepsake I truly treasure.

Looking good.

There are few things more annoying than being overtaken by a runner who is wearing outrageous clothing. It has just happened to me, and I'm fuming.

Part of the appeal of running lies in wearing some of the beautiful sports clothing which is available today. My primary motivation when I joined a running club was to run a marathon, and I did that 6 months later. But I quickly began enjoying buying new running gear, (the shopaholic within) and I still enjoy it today. Recently, Liverpool has seen shops by Adidas, Nike, Puma and Up and Running added to it's sporting portfolio. There are numerous tasteful and stylish outfits therein, and if it wasn't for the you-know-what, (I can't bring myself to utter those over-used words) I would be adding to my collection as we speak. So, looking good is part of being a runner but, as I have found to my cost, looking good doesn't make you a good runner, or even a faster one.

In 2005 I ran in my second London Marathon. From around mile 10 onwards, I became aware that I had company. Running next to me were Bill and Ben, The Flowerpot Men. Actually it was two people in fancy dress, and they were moving smoothly through the course. I was a little irked, and attempted to speed up and leave them in my wake. I eventually discovered that underneath those thick, heavy, and surely roasting hot costumes, were two determined and talented runners. Not only did they stay with me, they eventually left me for dead, (literally) around the 18 mile mark. They were joined by Elvis Presley, (not the real one but another runner in fancy dress. ) I was left in their slipstream, my pride hurting as much as my feet did. I limped home in a disappointing time, looking every inch the modern runner, but not feeling like one. I was left to rue my own performance, and admire those of the fancy dress runners who, by then, were probably enjoying a well deserved post-race bath. It dawned on me then that it doesn't matter how good you look, it's how well you can run that matters.

Fast-forward to present day and there I was. Striding out in my Nike Perseus running shoes, Nike Dri-fit shorts, Helly Hansen Top, London Marathon 2004 t-shirt on top, and my Nike running hat perched on top. I looked the part, and my ipod and headphones finished off the look . Moments later I was almost blown away by a runner blasting past. Wearing combat pants, a normal jacket and non-running trainers, he looked ridiculous, but he could run like the wind. I was gutted. I still am to be honest. It doesn't seem fair to me. I've paid my dues. I get Runnersworld every month. I've got an expensive Adidas running jacket. I even own running sunglasses, the preserve of the truly vain. But no matter how good I look, how much I know, or even how much I have spent in the past, I'm still slow. And always will be.

The question is this: Would I rather run a sub 3 hour marathon looking like a tramp, or a sub 4 looking a million dollars?. The sad thing is, I'm not sure which I would prefer.

So funny.

Watch this. Hilarious. Copy and paste the link below.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NQBlZIXu3Yg

It's all about self

An excellent day of training today as my preparation for the Liverpool Triathlon gathers pace. With less than 12 weeks to go I have had to start doing some specific work in order to be ready on June 21st. And in doing so I have learnt once again that self-discipline isn't something I have in abundance.

Looking back through my life I can see how apathy, a lack of direction, and no self-discipline has proved costly. A lack of revision, training and preparation has meant that I have always been a nearly man. And being somebody who SHOULD have done better has been hard to live with at times, although I feel I am more comfortable with it now. For a long time it was a source of much upset and frustration as I felt I never achieved my full potential. It finally broke me as I entered my thirties when I realised I had to do something about it or I was destined for a life of unhappiness and regret. I returned to study, changed jobs, took up new hobbies and pastimes including running and football coaching, and gradually changed my life. Today I find myself much more content with my lot than at any other point in my life, but also with an ever-expanding list of things I wish to accomplish in my life. I am fully aware that I am trying to make up for lost time, (my twenties should be called 'The Lost Years" as I did nothing and simply felt lost throughout those years. Sadly those are the years which are generally the most productive for most people, but for me it was the opposite. And I am continuing to pay for it today.

I truly admire people with self-discipline. Those who get up at 6am for a run if they know they will be busy during the rest of the day. Or the student who plugs away during any spare time possible, and who hand in their work on time. I aspire to this but often fall short, and it really frustrates me. The times when I do get up for an early run I fell fantastic. Or when I give my work in ahead of the deadline date makes me feel fulfilled and worthy. But I have to work at it so much. I want it to come naturally.

When I arrived at the swimming pool today I had set myself a target of 32 lengths, which is roughly half a mile. Thankfully I completed the task although I struggled at times. I had to force myself to do it, fighting my inner voice which was telling me to stop after just a few lengths. But I did it, which made me feel good. When I forced myself to the running club at 18:30 pm I felt even better. 1 hour later and I had completed some gruelling speedwork. It was my first double training session in ages, and I am certain I will sleep tonight.

My feet are up now and my eyes feel heavy. But I feel satisfied with my efforts as I have defied myself. The real me, the one who lurks underneath, didn't want to swim, and certainly didn't want to push myself around Calderstones Park in the way I did. That part of me is probably annoyed tonight as it has lost out. Tomorrow is another day, and who knows what will happen. But today is a victory for the man with no self-discipline, for today he produced just enough to get the job done. But I had to work for it.