What time
will this match finish / Do I want to go out tonight / Has that money gone in
or out my account / What’s for lunch / Any chance of a wicket / Is there
anything on my to-do list that I can do / How will the sunburnt and drunk
spectators feel when they wake up tomorrow morning / Why can’t batsmen bat any
more / The shadows are starting to appear around the ankles of the players / Is
that a rain cloud on the horizon / England have been lucky / England have been
unlucky / Have children ever come to Test matches or was it just me / How many
football matches can you fit into a five Test series / God, it looks cold out
there / How is there still 42 overs left in the day / How was that not given
out / It’s hot in here / Half the crowd here look bored out of their minds /
I’ve eaten too much sugar today / What’s the football score / What’s the
weather like tomorrow / What can I write about / Back to back Tests are a
killer / I wonder if I could take a day off in the Oval Test and spend it with
my family getting drunk watching the cricket / That’s a strange fielding position
/ I could do with a cup of tea / Wonder if I have enough time to go for a wee
before the end of the advert break / What are New Zealand’s fixtures in 2020 / What time will I get home tomorrow / When will I see Franklin next
About Me
Monday, 28 January 2019
Tuesday, 22 January 2019
talkSPORT Tour Diary
It’s been a
terrific few days in Barbados with the talkSPORT team reunited after a
Christmas apart. Our two month tour
across Sri Lanka brought us all close together and there were big grins and
even bigger hugs all round when the likes of Neil Manthorp and Darren Gough
arrived.
Possibly this
was more to do with the relief of their long journey from South Africa being
over than the pleasure of seeing Andrew Mckenna and Jarrod KImber. But it was a lively first evening out with
plenty of tales from the tour we’ve just completed.
One man who
wasn’t looking so happy is young Producer Sam Ellard. Sam is known as a talk-first-think-later type
of guy and it had landed him in trouble. During the back end of the tour to Sri
Lanka he agreed to a bet that he soon regretted.
Sam would be
the first to admit he could do with losing a pound or two and thought it would
be wise to challenge former professional sports man Matt Prior to a contest
called #talksportsbiggestloser. Whoever
arrived in Barbados having shed the most weight would be taken out to one of
Barbados’s most expensive joints.
When a
restaurant on Barbados is known as expensive you know you’d better start
extending the overdraft. The day after I
arrived I was charged £8 for two litres of milk. I thought my jet lag was playing tricks with
me it wasn’t just the milk. A packet of
corn chips is more than a fiver and a steak will set you back £13. Let’s hope the talkSPORT bean counters aren’t
reading this.
Either way Gareth
Batty, who will be part of the team for the limited overs leg, was so confident
Sam wouldn’t be able to cash the cheque his mouth had tried to pay offered to
front up the money for the entire 12 strong team if Matt lost. Suffice to say his money is safe.
Fair play to
Sam though when the big day came he fronted up.
He was thankful that Matt has decided not to drink this tour so when the
bill came in it wasn’t anywhere near as horrendous as Sam had feared.
Aside from
Sam losing the shirt off his back it’s been a wonderful week. Every member of the talkSPORT team is a
cricket tragic and for many it has been a first experience of visiting the
Kensington Oval.
Just walking
past the famous statue of Sir Garfield Sobers, then across the lush green
outfield where the names of the legendary figures leap out at you from the
stands is enough to give us all goose bumps.
From the
first black man to captain the West Indies, a man who reshaped the identity of
the side forever, Sir Frank Worrell, to the most fearsome opening duo to ever
play the game, Gordon Greenidge and Desmond Haynes, to the bowler who looked up
to no man, Joel Garner. A reminder that
Barbados has provided our wonderful sport with some of the best to ever play
the game.
With stadium
facilities and view of the pitch nearly as impressive as some of those who’ve
represented Barbados and the West Indies we are an excited bunch less than a
day out from the 1st Test. We
hope that this enjoyment and delight is apparent when we take to the airwaves
on Wednesday.
Friday, 18 January 2019
American eavesdropper
I spent a lot of time listening to other people on my flight to Barbados. And I found it fascinating.
It's been 14 years since I was last in America. Fourteen years since I stood outside LAX smoking a cigarette laughing with relief that I had managed to get away from that place without getting my head kicked in. That's a story for another day.
Not that this is why I didn't go back. Life just took another turn. And I suppose after visiting four times in six years I felt I'd see other parts of the world. Unlike South America, Africa and Australasia, work hasn't required me to go.
So here I am in-situ in America. On my own with nobody to talk to and sitting in among a people who love to do exactly that, and loudly.
It didn't take long to remember that there are subtle differences between Americans and any other Western culture. Take the bar I was sat at in LAX the morning of my flight to Miami. It was 6am and I was having an early morning beverage.
A guy sat down to the left of me and studied the menu. He has short very blond hair, a strange nose and late twenties. He called a waiter over and asked "are the biscuits and gravy good?" The waiter pulled a face. "Good answer" the guy said and ordered an American breakfast with extra bacon instead.
Soon after an older gentleman sat down and the first guy passed on the advice of the waiter. The older man was in denim, with longish dark hair and a creased, tanned face. He ordered the American breakfast as well. He didn't say anything but when it arrived he probably regretted not ordering extra bacon.
The two picked up a conversation in that effortless way Americans do. They talked rapidly, clearly, at length and predominantly about themselves. They asked each other very few questions. Just took it in turns to talk. And at the end they went their separate ways.
In that time I learned that the older gentleman had been to every state in America and while well traveled the younger man had never left the country. That the guy who ordered extra bacon was a 3D printer technician who would drive anywhere up to 16 hours to reach a client. Anything over that he would fly. And that after being punched badly in a fight he had trouble with his ear. A problem that was sometimes exacerbated by flying.
I found it strange that the older guy let this comment pass without a response.
Watching them also reminded me Americans eat in an almost childlike way. Both used their knifes to chop up their food in advance of eating it. Making it easy for them to just use a fork to scoop up their breakfast. I only do that when I'm eating spaghetti.
On board the flight to Miami I sat behind a thin woman with dark hair and bad skin. Not exactly behind. She was one to the left of me. She was one row behind Business Class so had a screen on the wall in front of her that she perched her iPhone 8. I noticed she was watching episodes of the Kardashians.
She was having a conversation with the guy sat next to her but he soon went to sleep. I zoned out and it was only an hour or so later that I noticed the woman again because through the gap in the seat I could clearly see her flicking through the photos on her phone and recognised a boat journey she must have taken recently on the Thames. Starved of anything interesting to look at or think about I was already looking on with interest when she started zooming in on pictures of herself in bikinis.
As ways to pass the time on board a flight this was one of the more memorable but after five minutes of so she went back to watching the Kardashians and I soon lost interest again.
We landed in Miami and while waiting for the doors to open she struck up a conversation again with her neighbour. She told him how London was "a lot of fun" for a week and she got loads of great "content" but then got frustrated by the fact "it got dark at 3.30pm". How she'd gone to Los Angeles to visit and decided to stay for good "I called my flatmate and paid them to send all my stuff". That she was "super excited" about her upcoming trip to the Bahamas. "I can't believe it's only three hours away and I've never been". And that Japan was majorly on her to-do list because of this. I liked her loads more when she said that.
It's been 14 years since I was last in America. Fourteen years since I stood outside LAX smoking a cigarette laughing with relief that I had managed to get away from that place without getting my head kicked in. That's a story for another day.
Not that this is why I didn't go back. Life just took another turn. And I suppose after visiting four times in six years I felt I'd see other parts of the world. Unlike South America, Africa and Australasia, work hasn't required me to go.
So here I am in-situ in America. On my own with nobody to talk to and sitting in among a people who love to do exactly that, and loudly.
It didn't take long to remember that there are subtle differences between Americans and any other Western culture. Take the bar I was sat at in LAX the morning of my flight to Miami. It was 6am and I was having an early morning beverage.
A guy sat down to the left of me and studied the menu. He has short very blond hair, a strange nose and late twenties. He called a waiter over and asked "are the biscuits and gravy good?" The waiter pulled a face. "Good answer" the guy said and ordered an American breakfast with extra bacon instead.
Soon after an older gentleman sat down and the first guy passed on the advice of the waiter. The older man was in denim, with longish dark hair and a creased, tanned face. He ordered the American breakfast as well. He didn't say anything but when it arrived he probably regretted not ordering extra bacon.
The two picked up a conversation in that effortless way Americans do. They talked rapidly, clearly, at length and predominantly about themselves. They asked each other very few questions. Just took it in turns to talk. And at the end they went their separate ways.
In that time I learned that the older gentleman had been to every state in America and while well traveled the younger man had never left the country. That the guy who ordered extra bacon was a 3D printer technician who would drive anywhere up to 16 hours to reach a client. Anything over that he would fly. And that after being punched badly in a fight he had trouble with his ear. A problem that was sometimes exacerbated by flying.
I found it strange that the older guy let this comment pass without a response.
Watching them also reminded me Americans eat in an almost childlike way. Both used their knifes to chop up their food in advance of eating it. Making it easy for them to just use a fork to scoop up their breakfast. I only do that when I'm eating spaghetti.
On board the flight to Miami I sat behind a thin woman with dark hair and bad skin. Not exactly behind. She was one to the left of me. She was one row behind Business Class so had a screen on the wall in front of her that she perched her iPhone 8. I noticed she was watching episodes of the Kardashians.
She was having a conversation with the guy sat next to her but he soon went to sleep. I zoned out and it was only an hour or so later that I noticed the woman again because through the gap in the seat I could clearly see her flicking through the photos on her phone and recognised a boat journey she must have taken recently on the Thames. Starved of anything interesting to look at or think about I was already looking on with interest when she started zooming in on pictures of herself in bikinis.
As ways to pass the time on board a flight this was one of the more memorable but after five minutes of so she went back to watching the Kardashians and I soon lost interest again.
We landed in Miami and while waiting for the doors to open she struck up a conversation again with her neighbour. She told him how London was "a lot of fun" for a week and she got loads of great "content" but then got frustrated by the fact "it got dark at 3.30pm". How she'd gone to Los Angeles to visit and decided to stay for good "I called my flatmate and paid them to send all my stuff". That she was "super excited" about her upcoming trip to the Bahamas. "I can't believe it's only three hours away and I've never been". And that Japan was majorly on her to-do list because of this. I liked her loads more when she said that.
What do prisoners think about all day?
My god, has anyone in the history of humanity been more miserable before going to the Caribbean for six weeks?
I remember listening to Alastair Cook shortly after he'd arrived in Bangladesh ahead of England's two month tour of the country (and India) in 2016. He had left the bedside of his wife just a couple of days after she had given birth. I can't find the exact quote but he said something along the lines that "I left the house feeling like the worst person on earth and it was a difficult drive down the motorway. But then when you meet the lads at the airport you start getting excited about the challenge ahead."
I might have 12,472 Test runs less than him but those words came back to me as I sat in a cab on the way to Auckland airport with my pregnant wife and soon-to-be two year old son disappearing out of view.
I wish I had had some team mates to help make me excited. My fear of flying reduced markedly when I was zipping around Europe and a sense of normality certainly helps. There's not much more normal than spending time with work mates. Instead I faced nearly 48 hours of transit across three countries and one date line completely alone.
Two days is a long time to spend on your own. For sure there are distractions. Plane taking off, plane coming down, check in, departures, arrivals, passport control, passenger flight cards, clouds out the window, Seinfeld on the iPad, a glass of wine here, a tablet of valium there. But in and around that there is a lot of time spent thinking about life.
I went through it all on the longest January 10th I will ever experience. Up early to look after my son, to the park in the morning, the beach in the afternoon, then an early dinner and a cab to the airport. A 11pm take off, a 12 hour flight, land at LAX and there's still eleven hours of January 10th to go. Two of which I spent in a queue just trying to leave the airport.
January 11th wasn't much better. Alarm at 4.30am (which was in fact 1.30am for my NZ body clock) and a four and a half hour flight before I should have even been awake. Another three hours in Miami (where I decided I'd had enough air conditioned air) before jumping on my third flight another three hours to go until my destination.
There were so many grim aspects. The leaving, the stress of flying, the lack of comfortable sleep, the early start, the horrible food, the crap conversations going on around me, the impact on my nervous system and that last interminable hour on board flight AA2393.
I arrived after my colleagues had gone to bed. The next day boy did I chew their ears off. Couldn't shut up.
I remember listening to Alastair Cook shortly after he'd arrived in Bangladesh ahead of England's two month tour of the country (and India) in 2016. He had left the bedside of his wife just a couple of days after she had given birth. I can't find the exact quote but he said something along the lines that "I left the house feeling like the worst person on earth and it was a difficult drive down the motorway. But then when you meet the lads at the airport you start getting excited about the challenge ahead."
I might have 12,472 Test runs less than him but those words came back to me as I sat in a cab on the way to Auckland airport with my pregnant wife and soon-to-be two year old son disappearing out of view.
I wish I had had some team mates to help make me excited. My fear of flying reduced markedly when I was zipping around Europe and a sense of normality certainly helps. There's not much more normal than spending time with work mates. Instead I faced nearly 48 hours of transit across three countries and one date line completely alone.
Two days is a long time to spend on your own. For sure there are distractions. Plane taking off, plane coming down, check in, departures, arrivals, passport control, passenger flight cards, clouds out the window, Seinfeld on the iPad, a glass of wine here, a tablet of valium there. But in and around that there is a lot of time spent thinking about life.
I went through it all on the longest January 10th I will ever experience. Up early to look after my son, to the park in the morning, the beach in the afternoon, then an early dinner and a cab to the airport. A 11pm take off, a 12 hour flight, land at LAX and there's still eleven hours of January 10th to go. Two of which I spent in a queue just trying to leave the airport.
January 11th wasn't much better. Alarm at 4.30am (which was in fact 1.30am for my NZ body clock) and a four and a half hour flight before I should have even been awake. Another three hours in Miami (where I decided I'd had enough air conditioned air) before jumping on my third flight another three hours to go until my destination.
There were so many grim aspects. The leaving, the stress of flying, the lack of comfortable sleep, the early start, the horrible food, the crap conversations going on around me, the impact on my nervous system and that last interminable hour on board flight AA2393.
I arrived after my colleagues had gone to bed. The next day boy did I chew their ears off. Couldn't shut up.
Monday, 7 January 2019
Life impact - an intro
Today I went to the park with my wife and son to celebrate the birthday I will miss in a couple of weeks. It's Franklin's 2nd birthday on 21st Jan. Knowing the cricket schedule for the next two years I will also miss his 3rd, possibly his 4th and who knows what I will be doing for the Ashes the year after that. You don't need to be a parent to know this sucks.
My wedding anniversary is the 18th Jan.
Hmmmm.
Reminds me of the last time I toured the West Indies when I missed our anniversary and my wif'e's birthday. She got me back.
Has it really been ten years since I last covered a West Indies tour? That catalogue of woe was well documented. A snapped achilles, a missed plane, being forced to cough up $1400 for a flight I'd already paid for, a cancelled Test match, a golf buggy incident only to come home to the kitchen covered in soot.
The sacrifices we make in the pursuit of a career, the mental anguish of being away from the family, the memories of a tour gone by, the angst ahead of a long journey. All to be expanded upon.
My wedding anniversary is the 18th Jan.
Hmmmm.
Reminds me of the last time I toured the West Indies when I missed our anniversary and my wif'e's birthday. She got me back.
Has it really been ten years since I last covered a West Indies tour? That catalogue of woe was well documented. A snapped achilles, a missed plane, being forced to cough up $1400 for a flight I'd already paid for, a cancelled Test match, a golf buggy incident only to come home to the kitchen covered in soot.
The sacrifices we make in the pursuit of a career, the mental anguish of being away from the family, the memories of a tour gone by, the angst ahead of a long journey. All to be expanded upon.
Friday, 4 January 2019
Auckland angst
Watching the last few minutes of the Manchester City v Liverpool match reminded me of a unwelcome parallel with real life. The last few minutes of this escapism were an edgy affair as City closed out a win that kept their title hopes alive and restricted Liverpool's lead at the top of the table to four points.
The nerves were evident as players who'd spent much of the night stroking the ball around silkily now started hacking and hoofing at every clearance or sight of the ball.
Anyone who follows sport knows the last few minutes of a match when your side are clinging on is a stressful time when time slows down and you literally can't sit comfortably.
Today was a bit like that. All day. I was alone in my own mind whilst surrounded by family. A feeling of dread in my stomach. Unable to sit comfortably or relax. Clock watching a day that I shouldn't have wanted to end.
It's a shame because it should have been a really pleasant experience. Staying in comfortable surrounds with the in laws taking turns to look after the little one. Football then cricket on the TV, yoga in the afternoon, a swim in the early evening before tea.
But when has anxiety ever made sense? Often with a big trip imminent people look at me with a smile and expect me to respond in kind. I often look at them with narrow eyes with a sigh escaping from my lips that screams "I hate flying, I feel guilty about leaving my family and you know what? I have come to the conclusion that I don't like change". Which isn't an ideal position to find myself in when you consider my lifestyle of travel and the uncertain nature of my industry. Oh, and the fact my wife's family live on the other side of the planet.
Boy has it been a battle not to drink today.
Thursday, 3 January 2019
It'll be okay
Some people shout, some people scream, some take it out on others, some keep it inside, some punch walls, some punch others, some people jump, some people drink, some people hide and some people just don't know what to do.
The day I finished my dissertation and with two hours to get it submitted in time I remember staring at my printer almost paralysed with rage as it steadfastly refused to spit out the work I had churned out over the previous 26 hours of toil. As I turned towards my bedroom window overlooking a rundown Hull street my mind rattled through the options.
Shout, scream, take it out on someone else, punch a wall, punch a human, jump out the window, head to the pub, crawl under my bed or, and there the options ran out. I just didn't know how to get rid of the all consuming frustration that had enveloped me. Thankfully not long after the printer spluttered back into life but the thought process I went through at that time has always stuck with me.
Most who suffer know the triggers that can lead to extended or severe periods of anxiety which in turn often make life unbearable and sometimes painful to endure. Excessive alcohol, work pressure, lack of sleep, relationship problems or even just being hungry. Or an impending 12 hour flight to an unfamiliar airport and seven weeks away from a pregnant wife and two year old son. Yeah, that'll do it.
Therapists often ask patients to write down the physical symptoms experienced when suffering from anxiety. Sweaty palms, racing heart, dry throat. None of these will be of surprise. Then there is the feeling that the digestive system is being squeezed. Unpleasant. Nearly as nasty as the feeling it'll never end.
Just as the symptoms are familiar so are the remedies. At least partial remedies. Cutting out alcohol, cutting down on caffeine, exercise, talking to someone about the problem or just dedicating some time to go through the work, correspondence, admin that needs to be done and doing it. All help.
As does writing. As does experience of knowing it will get better. That in a few days all will be well with the world again. It's not going to last forever. It'll be okay.
The day I finished my dissertation and with two hours to get it submitted in time I remember staring at my printer almost paralysed with rage as it steadfastly refused to spit out the work I had churned out over the previous 26 hours of toil. As I turned towards my bedroom window overlooking a rundown Hull street my mind rattled through the options.
Shout, scream, take it out on someone else, punch a wall, punch a human, jump out the window, head to the pub, crawl under my bed or, and there the options ran out. I just didn't know how to get rid of the all consuming frustration that had enveloped me. Thankfully not long after the printer spluttered back into life but the thought process I went through at that time has always stuck with me.
Most who suffer know the triggers that can lead to extended or severe periods of anxiety which in turn often make life unbearable and sometimes painful to endure. Excessive alcohol, work pressure, lack of sleep, relationship problems or even just being hungry. Or an impending 12 hour flight to an unfamiliar airport and seven weeks away from a pregnant wife and two year old son. Yeah, that'll do it.
Therapists often ask patients to write down the physical symptoms experienced when suffering from anxiety. Sweaty palms, racing heart, dry throat. None of these will be of surprise. Then there is the feeling that the digestive system is being squeezed. Unpleasant. Nearly as nasty as the feeling it'll never end.
Just as the symptoms are familiar so are the remedies. At least partial remedies. Cutting out alcohol, cutting down on caffeine, exercise, talking to someone about the problem or just dedicating some time to go through the work, correspondence, admin that needs to be done and doing it. All help.
As does writing. As does experience of knowing it will get better. That in a few days all will be well with the world again. It's not going to last forever. It'll be okay.
Wednesday, 2 January 2019
Mindfulness
Apologies for the cliche but even 'no-nonsense Yorkshire men' with over 200 wickets for England adhere to forms of psychotherapy. Darren Gough is open about a tactic he employed throughout his Test career. Following a day's play. Whether it was good or bad. He was taught by the team psychoanalyst to write down the events that occurred on the field. He would then tear out that page and throw it in the bin.
I imagine Goughie would then proceed to make his way down to wherever the team were congregating and spend a few hours holding court, drinking a pint or two and talking ten to the dozen.
It worked for him and it's worked in a similar fashion for me.
I've always written a diary of sorts. Hidden away in the attic at my parents home are a collection that chart my angst, ever growing comic collection, teenage crushes, fueds, fears and secret thoughts.
I would often start a year religiously adhering to my resolution to 'write every day' only to get to the start of February and find life had got in the way. Sound familiar?
Common themes would appear. Either it was the start of a calendar year and I was trying to install some kind of discipline into my life. Again, stop me if you've heard this. Or something was bothering me that I needed to get down onto paper and out of my system.
Writing has often been a coping mechanism as much as anything artistic. In years to come if my diaries are discovered a future relation would be forgiven for thinking I led the most miserable and anxious existence. Nothing could be further from the truth. The problem is that when life is at its captivating best I don't have time nor inclination to sit in my room and write about it.
The solitude of writing is also part of the process. As much as I like to imagine a lifestyle that would allow me ample time and space to write for hours I'm not sure that would work for me. Put me in a room with a window, sunshine streaming in, a brook and a field outside and I'll be itching to get out there rather than stay put and murder words.
I am also aware of my limitations. I can't write well enough, I don't know enough and I write so damn slowly. I am friends with and work alongside several writers. Amongst them is Jarrod Kimber. He vomits words. He literally can't stop himself from writing 1000 words every time he coughs. Most people's cigarette breaks are his chance to discharge another chapter or article. It's insane.
But on the flip side this blog storms (limps) into it's 13th year. 2006-2019. There's no reason to think that even if I've again stopped writing by Feb 1st I won't be back again in 2020 and beyond. Something inside me wants to get out. I feel sated by writing in a way that I don't broadcasting. Although there is a noticeable post show-buzz associated with presenting or commentating well.
I imagine Goughie would then proceed to make his way down to wherever the team were congregating and spend a few hours holding court, drinking a pint or two and talking ten to the dozen.
It worked for him and it's worked in a similar fashion for me.
I've always written a diary of sorts. Hidden away in the attic at my parents home are a collection that chart my angst, ever growing comic collection, teenage crushes, fueds, fears and secret thoughts.
I would often start a year religiously adhering to my resolution to 'write every day' only to get to the start of February and find life had got in the way. Sound familiar?
Common themes would appear. Either it was the start of a calendar year and I was trying to install some kind of discipline into my life. Again, stop me if you've heard this. Or something was bothering me that I needed to get down onto paper and out of my system.
Writing has often been a coping mechanism as much as anything artistic. In years to come if my diaries are discovered a future relation would be forgiven for thinking I led the most miserable and anxious existence. Nothing could be further from the truth. The problem is that when life is at its captivating best I don't have time nor inclination to sit in my room and write about it.
The solitude of writing is also part of the process. As much as I like to imagine a lifestyle that would allow me ample time and space to write for hours I'm not sure that would work for me. Put me in a room with a window, sunshine streaming in, a brook and a field outside and I'll be itching to get out there rather than stay put and murder words.
I am also aware of my limitations. I can't write well enough, I don't know enough and I write so damn slowly. I am friends with and work alongside several writers. Amongst them is Jarrod Kimber. He vomits words. He literally can't stop himself from writing 1000 words every time he coughs. Most people's cigarette breaks are his chance to discharge another chapter or article. It's insane.
But on the flip side this blog storms (limps) into it's 13th year. 2006-2019. There's no reason to think that even if I've again stopped writing by Feb 1st I won't be back again in 2020 and beyond. Something inside me wants to get out. I feel sated by writing in a way that I don't broadcasting. Although there is a noticeable post show-buzz associated with presenting or commentating well.
Tuesday, 1 January 2019
400
We've kinda been here before you and I
My New Year resolutions are thus.
Times have changed since I started out on this blog. Back in 2006 when I left England for my first major trip abroad I was single, hadn't traveled much and the blog an excuse to develop my writing. My intended audience my old friends back home. A way to let them know what I was up to in a (hopefully) humourous fashion. Slightly self-indulgent at times. Okay, incredibly self-indulgent. But at the heart I wasn't afraid to make mention of miscreant antics in years gone by in a slapdash carefree kinda way. That person doesn't really exist any more. And my friends have also grown up, had kids and got married. One night after a Shanks game the topic of windows came up. I nearly smacked my head against the table. When did it come to this?
My friends were the alternative ones, the smokers, the drop outs, artistic, musical, daring-doers, funny, idiotic, political, wise, forward thinking, right on, long-haired, individuals. And they still were back in 2006. But there's nothing more sad than clinging on to the past. 1994 was cool and all but not so cool that everyone should stay there. We have to keep evolving.
So who am I writing this to? Maybe the 2019 audience want a behind the scenes tale of life on tour. A talkSPORT expose with stories of mad egos, tantrums, fallings out, bad behaviour, technical nightmares, logistical mishaps with a back drop of 18-30 holiday style drinking and partying. Well that might happen but it's not going to get aired here.
So where is my voice these days? Lost amidst a flurry of middle-management box-ticking, administrative tasks, budgets and when time, cricket prep? It's been a few years since I ventured out onto this platform. So who am I speaking to?
I suppose I am speaking to the man my son becomes. Him and my soon-to-be-born child. A glance into the life their dad had before they knew me. I'm talking to myself. I'm trying to develop my writing again. I'm trying to find my voice. I'm just going to write until I know the answer. When it becomes obvious again I'll feel confident enough to start flagging up this blog. Until then it's just you and me. We've been here before.
My New Year resolutions are thus.
1. Blog more. One post a day for the next 400 days. Why 400? Well it's a number synonymous with an innings that took place in the region I am heading to next. In 400 days I will have passed the Caribbean, a World Cup, another pregnancy, an Ashes, a trip to NZ and find myself in South Africa contemplating a journey back to where you find me now, Auckland. If all goes to plan that is. 400: The number of words I should aim to complete. Every day.
2. Be more disciplined. Whatever that means.
3. Be in the present. Life is much better when I'm in the present.
4. Remember how to use the Blogspot app on my phone. It developed a bug that meant it crashed every time I opened it. So I deleted it. True story.
5. I wonder if I used : in point 1. properly.
Times have changed since I started out on this blog. Back in 2006 when I left England for my first major trip abroad I was single, hadn't traveled much and the blog an excuse to develop my writing. My intended audience my old friends back home. A way to let them know what I was up to in a (hopefully) humourous fashion. Slightly self-indulgent at times. Okay, incredibly self-indulgent. But at the heart I wasn't afraid to make mention of miscreant antics in years gone by in a slapdash carefree kinda way. That person doesn't really exist any more. And my friends have also grown up, had kids and got married. One night after a Shanks game the topic of windows came up. I nearly smacked my head against the table. When did it come to this?
My friends were the alternative ones, the smokers, the drop outs, artistic, musical, daring-doers, funny, idiotic, political, wise, forward thinking, right on, long-haired, individuals. And they still were back in 2006. But there's nothing more sad than clinging on to the past. 1994 was cool and all but not so cool that everyone should stay there. We have to keep evolving.
So who am I writing this to? Maybe the 2019 audience want a behind the scenes tale of life on tour. A talkSPORT expose with stories of mad egos, tantrums, fallings out, bad behaviour, technical nightmares, logistical mishaps with a back drop of 18-30 holiday style drinking and partying. Well that might happen but it's not going to get aired here.
So where is my voice these days? Lost amidst a flurry of middle-management box-ticking, administrative tasks, budgets and when time, cricket prep? It's been a few years since I ventured out onto this platform. So who am I speaking to?
I suppose I am speaking to the man my son becomes. Him and my soon-to-be-born child. A glance into the life their dad had before they knew me. I'm talking to myself. I'm trying to develop my writing again. I'm trying to find my voice. I'm just going to write until I know the answer. When it becomes obvious again I'll feel confident enough to start flagging up this blog. Until then it's just you and me. We've been here before.
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