How mature am I?

I have spent the last hour or so appying to Liverpool John Moores University to start a Journalism BA course in September 2009. It has struck me that this is the course I should have applied for about 20 years ago, which in turn would have saved me much aggravation in later years. However I found myself facing the prospect of studying as I enter my forties, (outrageous) as well as being the butt of hundreds of jokes, puns, snide comments etc.. I had better get used to them and fast. 

The very fact that 'Mature' students don't have to meet the standard entry criteria means that they are treated differently. Apparently my "life experiences' are more worthwhile than a set of impressive A levels. In that case, (and assuming I get an interview) I will regale the interviewing panel with some of my favorite tales from my 'life experience days, (and nights)". Such notable events include  the day I fell into a lake whilst fishing after drinking heavily , the night I took a hammer to the side of my head whilst high on drugs, or the sunny Sunday afternoon when I staggered across Smithdown Rd with half of my arse showing, (have I ever mentioned that before?. ) If that isn't enough to get me a place then I'm not sure I deserve one. And I have the scars to prove each of these "experiences' took place, although some of them aren't visible to the naked eye.

Anyway, this is a positive step and I am going to start my preparation this very second. I'm growing a beard, I have ordered 2 pairs of corduroy trousers, 3 x thick woollen jumpers, and I am not going to shower on a daily basis any more. I am sure that my huge and loyal following of readers will have many suggestions and helpful tips for me as I prepare for student life so please email me at liamdeveney@mac.com. There will be a prize for the funniest and most original suggestion.

On thin ice

Today was Philip's birthday celebration with his friends so we went ice skating in Deeside. I had forgotten just how difficult it was to skate although I did manage to remain upright throughout. The fact that I never went beyond 1mph surely had some bearing. The main problem was the pain in my feet, another sign I'm sure of my increasing fragility. After 40 mins of fun I had to sit down and rest whilst the throbbing eventually stopped. The trip was a roaring success with all party members having lots of fun. Philip was very impressive on skates, as was his friend Ryan who surely has a career in skating ahead of him. But a great day was had by all and it was worth every penny.

All in a days work

Coaching a dozen 8/9 year olds is a difficult job at the best of times. Add in a 4 year old pitch invader, two 7 year old girls, (1 of whom is your daughter who thinks it's hilarious to smack your bum) who are running laps of your playing area, and you have chaos. And that was my session between 6 and 7 pm tonight. There was some great football to admire, and my son Philip was truly superb, (spot the biased Dad). But the overriding emotion was one of relief that nobody suffered any injuries. And I am so tired I must go to bed and lie down. 

To be someone...

...Would be a wonderful thing. After the realisation that my football days are drawing to a close came the bombshell, (I'm exaggerating, I've known it all along) that I haven't got a career. Worse still, it is really getting to me, no matter how much CBT I use on myself. I've never really been bothered and have been happy to kind of drift along, and using my various hobbies and activities to provide the stimulus for my soul. But it bothers me now. I'd like to be something. And my preferred choice is to be a Journalist.

It dawned on me earlier today that if I ever tried to emigrate to somewhere like Australia, I would be snookered. I could imagine the conversation with the official at the Embassy.

Man/Woman in Suit: "So Mr.Deveney, why do you want to move to Australia?."

Me: "Fancy a change, climate, different culture, new start, blah blah"

M/W in suit: "And what do you offer the people of Australia? What do you do for a living?"

Me: "Er............................................................

M/W in suit: "What exactly do you do?."

Me: "What exactly do I do?."

M/W in suit: "Yes. "

Me: "I play pool with dirty old men.

M/W in suit: "Oh."

Me: "I am good at it though."

M/W in suit: "I don't doubt it for a second. We will be in touch."

Me: "Thank you." 

And therein lies the problem. On paper I have little to offer, nor do I have a body of work or evidence. Having said that, I have seven-balled a few of them so that must count for something. 

The funny thing is that there isn't a definitive route into Journalism, nor is there one qualification that a budding Journo can aim for. The world is choc-full of courses varying in length from 22 weeks to 3 years. Trying to find the course for me is proving difficult although I have to say that I am enjoying the research. I will report back when I have some news. In the meantime the search for career satisfaction goes on. Watch this space.

Work (2)

Another day of soul searching in work. The only job I ever got real satisfaction from was when I sold doughnuts . And that was only because I could eat a few on the sly. Only lasted for the summer of 87, but what a summer that was. Then I went to college and started my re-sits. What a sad ending to a golden time.

Work

I hate it

I need Viagra....

..In the footballing sense. I'd consider anything which would improve my performance as it was lacking yesterday. 24 hours on and I am stiff, (no pun intended) and sore. Above all else, I am disappointed that my talents are on the wane and I am less relevant than ever on a football pitch. There are some beneifts to being the oldest player on the pitch, and an old head, (my god, is that me?) often brings calm and intelligence, as well as plenty of experience. But too often the pace of the game, and its younger combatants, catches you out. Take yesterday for example.

  The alternative for a 38 year old is Vets football where all of the players are aged 35 or over. But I have always held a great dislike for the concept of 'over the hill' football. There are some things that should be left behind in your youth and competitive football is one. Keep fit, play five a side, train hard, I am in complete agreement with that. But don't try and kid yourself than you can still cut it, because you can't. And I can't. Not any more. So I reckon the time has come to hang the boots up, and concentrate on coaching and managing. OR, bite the bullet and join a Vets team. I think I know the answer already, and it is a pity as I have just spent £50 on a new pair of boots. I think I should now concentrate on developing tomorrows footballers, and forget about yesterdays.