The one I wasn't going to post....

I wasn’t going to publish this on here. But reading back on it now, with my first uni year drawing to a close, reflecting on my first thoughts whilst settling in, it’s quite sad really innit? I settled in quicker than I ever expected, met some utterly fantastic and interesting people and have already got memories that will last me a lifetime. And for the uni people who haven’t seen my blog before….read away!

Emotional, moi?

Ladies, gents, everyone – this is one I wanted to just call “Bye…”

___

I guess that’s that then.

It’s strange, you know something’s been coming for weeks, months, even a year at a push but you don’t know how to prepare yourself for it. All the talk of saying that “I’m definitely ready for this”, there’s always a slight doubt at the back of your mind whether what you’re about to do is the right thing for you. Yes, it’s very exciting, meeting all sorts of new, interesting people from different areas and backgrounds; getting plastered on pints of Snakebite at £1.50 a go and waking up with your head down the toilet; trying new things; being independent and doing things for yourself.

But these last days leading up to leaving when you start to realise how scary and sad it is to be turning the page on a big chapter of your life, and starting a new one. Living 150 miles from home, from the comforts, from having meals cooked for you to just kicking back and doing sod all in the garden, even the petty arguments are something I’ll miss, knowing that everything would be OK 5 minutes later, glad to have let off some steam. And Freddie…I’ll miss Freddie of course. He’s the coolest rabbit in the world.

Wrote that opening on Saturday evening, having finished my packing and getting ready for “The Last Supper”. Am now sitting in my room, writing this after a relatively (rather) heavy first proper night out yesterday – quiet night in, in Freshers’ Week is rarely heard of I suppose – but I’m independent, thinking for myself.

I could reel a list off of what I’ll miss. It ranges from the obvious to the obscure. My football coaching is going to be a massive loss for myself. Being part of the Otters “family” for nearly 14 years has been the best time of my life. My now Under-11s are improving no end – leaving them in the capable hands of Alex, Mary and Conrad – things will always improve and our little lot can surprise a few this season. Hopefully my coaching career will improve and further itself up in Gloucestershire – the goal to work at Cheltenham Town FC will always be in my sight.

Will I miss Palace. Under Peter Taylor at the moment, I don’t honestly know….of course I’ll bloody miss it. The Palace rollercoaster will always continue without me being there, I’ll get to more games this season. Though I think promotion may slightly be out of reach….
I know I’ll make a shedload of friends here. But the people at home – Ben, Jez [even though I’ll see you up there :o)], Kev, Bishop, Dan, Ross, Tom B, Ferg, Kym, Pricey, Tom N, Mike, Dan G, Ian, Beckie and everyone else who I cannot think of at the minute – it’s been an absolute pleasure to be your friends over the years (some of you just months). Despite everything that’ll happen on our separate paths at uni, work or whatever, I’d like to think that our relationships will remain as strong as ever when we meet again at Christmas before making Summer’08 the best ever.

Keep smiling – you know where I am. And are probably thanking yourself that I’ve finally f*cked out of your life. I know I couldn’t put up with my barrage of crap jokes if I was in your shoes.

Now, where’s that beer…..?

I fancy a quiet night in...

Yeah, so my 'resolution' of keeping a regular blog going throughout my first year at university hasn't exactly gone to plan. About as well to plan as the opening to the public of Heathrow's new Terminal 5 today....suspensions on luggage check in and long flight delays. And it's only day 1. The words piss up and brewery come to mind.

Hopefully this installment of el blog will whet the appetite for more in due course. Which, I PROMISE will be more regular in future. Perhaps not weekly, maybe a couple a month. If I don't live up to that I'll buy everyone a drink *(terms and conditions apply)*

University eh? Hardest you'll work in your life apparently. Bollocks to that. It's a breeze. Granted, I'm only a first year doing, admittedly, not the most difficult of courses compared to some (maths and law to name but two) - but the workload borders on taking the piss...if you keep on top of it, though if not you're hardly under any real pressure. You sit around in your room wondering why you're there sometimes, racking up debts of £20,000+ to be patronised and robbed blind of any educational dignity you may have left. Then you see the 'real' reason you're probably there....

"I'm not going out tonight, fancy a quiet one in". 3 hours later you're as drunk as a skunk - 4 VKs in hand, "raving" it up to Rihanna in a club somewhere. That's what university's about. The dull things in life have never been so exciting. Going to Asda not really wanting anything and coming back with 30 quids worth of stuff you don't really need. Throwing oranges at a tub of cold mince. Hiding people's beds a block or two away from where you live. Nicking someone's bathroom door. And that's just the tip of the iceberg. Some people call it being spontaneous. Others call it procrastinating. I just like being childish sometimes.

Being a stoodent, saving money is the first rule of survival. Primark is your friend. Just don't buy shirts from there. Fuck me they itch your neck to lengths you've never itched before. I work as an events steward and needed some white short sleeved shirts. £3 each. Bargain. At least that's what I thought before I wore one. You get what you pay for. Standing on your feet for 9 hours talking to pissed up Irish people about horseracing can be arduous, but to have it whilst the cheap cotton fibres are eating your neck away isn't a great experience I can assure you. It feels like syphilis on your neck. Not that I know what syphilis is like...

Coaching for Cheltenham. Brilliant. Having to deal with a rather severe racist incident when coaching. Not so brilliant. It's a shock to the system when one 10 year old calls another a "fucking nigger". Perhaps he's a member of the BNP, shoulda checked his bag for a membership card. Bugger.

There is so much I want to say in this blog it's untrue, I can't remember what to type.

Errrrm.

What the bloody hell is going on with the weather? I bet Michael Fish is sitting at home scratching at his bald head with a glass of scotch trying to make sense of the isobars, pressures and dodgy BBC weather maps. Sun, snow, wind, rain, hail in the space of 10 minutes. Can't beat a bit of climate change. Perhaps we should all refuse to recycle, use the car as much as possible and fart as much as we like - it makes it all a bit more exciting and unpredictable. No thunder or lightning though. Disappointing. Poor show, God, poor show.

Too much has happened in the football world in the last three months than I care to remember. But Richard Scudamore can sod off and stick his 39th game up his arse; Avram Grant needs some happy pills; Javier Mascherano and Ashley Cole need some lessons in manners; Kevin Keegan at Newcastle and Derby provide enough entertainment on MOTD without the need to show any of the big four in action; Palace are gunning for glory in the Championship and England pose as much threat to any other nation of that of a hamster to a shark. Happy days....

Oh. I play hockey for Cheltenham Hockey Club now. Only played two games mind. My hockey skills can only be similar to that of Cristiano Ronaldo's with a football. I don't know whether I've ever got the ball under control. Nor do my opponents, it's a mystery to myself when I take it past someone and pass to one of my own team-mates. Still, you could call that the element of surprise.

I'll call it a wrap there methinks.

Take it eeeeeeeeeasy :o)

All I want for Christmas....

(Ridiculously high female voice)

........IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIS (Pause) YOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOU!

Me? What's so good about me. Does Mariah Carey not know the majority of people into this kind of happy clappy Christmas song crap are ugly ming type people. Why she'd want them is anyone's guess. Perhaps they're all incredibly wealthy.

Cliff's pissed and STILL on about Mistletoe and Wine. Slade are still mental and The Pogues still sound ridiculously pissed. Band Aid really don't give two sh*ts about poverty and just want to improve their image. I could go on, because I'm 20 going on 70 wanting to whinge and whine at anything.

But yeah, Christmas started 3 months ago apparently. All be over in a week and then people will be crying that they've spent too much money and wonder why they're a singleton living in a council house with 3 kids under the age of 4 with nothing but a tacky "Santa Stop Here" sign and a heroin addiction for company. All funded by the government...

Anyhoo. I've not opened this thing up for a month or two so cobwebs have needed to be dusted off. Two months is a long, long time and a fair bit has happened. Lovebites, lesbians and being thrown out of nightclubs for being too drunk. Rock. And. Roll.

So I'm back home from uni for the festive frivolities. University is an incredible experience, the people met, the things I've done (good and bad) and suchlike - it's a style of life I'd recommend to anyone. The private jokes, the piss-taking, the banter - c'est magnifique. It's such a shame that the work sometimes gets in the way. I've learnt a lot about myself already in 3 months. I can cook for myself and look after myself, my confidence around the opposite sex is slowly growing for the better (takes a couple of pints) and my general attitude towards various things has changed dramatically.

The coaching opportunities I have are excellent and working for Cheltenham Town has been a great springboard for other things - I'll be on various community projects in the New Year and doing my FA Level 2 in due course. I've learnt lots of new drills and have been complimented myself on my way of coaching, which is always nice. Getting into CTFC games for nothing is a nice little perk as well, now officially my 'second' team and are going to stay up in League 1 this season!

As for Palace. The rollercoaster ride continues. More wunderkids than Kev could shake a stick at and a 9 game unbeaten run under Mr Warnock has reignited my optimism for our fortunes this season. Playoffs are a distant, but reachable possibility. Roll on Saturday when I get my first visit to Fortress Selhurst in 3 months. Woop woop!

Really can't be arsed to write anymore as I'm watching something funny about learner drivers on ITV1.

I WILL blog after Christmas, hopefully more regularly than the last 10 weeks or so.

Laterinos....

"What's crackalakin?"

Thought it was time to blow the cobwebs off of this old thing again...

You see, in the last three weeks - my life's been flipped, turned upside down - I no longer live in the ravingly sexual hotbed of East Preston in sleepy Sussex, but now some 150 miles up and away in the rather nice city of Gloucester - home of cheese, rugby and funny farmers accents. I'm a "big boy" now, at university and totally independant. Shit.

It's been a whirlwind 21 days. From unpacking on the first day, to now - there are far, far, far too many things that have happened to mention. Largely good, not so many bad, but numerous ugly ones, but less about the rugby women (controversial.....)

Once here, it was daunting. You could cut the tension in our hall with the proverbial knife. Everyone was absolutely shitting it. Who was going to say the first word? How am I going to introduce myself? They say first impressions are vital. Luckily for me, the people in my hall, or flat as I now call it, are absolutely top people - easy to talk to and up for a laugh, what more could I ask for? I apologise I've not cooked for you yet in three weeks, but as I keep saying, it's for your own safety!

On the subject of cooking, and how I'm coping? Thank god for pasta, ready meals, toast and a frying pan. I'm getting by, let's leave it at that - I know that when something's burnt, it's more than likely to be cooked. I'm looking at spending a day in the kitchen trying a few things out from the cookbook I brought with me. Can fire engine's ladders reach the third floor?

Not having a car was something I wasn't looking forward to when coming here, however I must say that the bus is a bloody good invention. Frustrating at times when catching it at 7.55 in the morning for a 9am lecture some 10 miles away, travelling at a snail's pace and having absolute nutters as drivers, one lady driver (nuff said?) who seems insistent on taking out every tree in Gloucestershire whilst also being on a one-woman crusade against litterers is particularly entertaining.

The work's starting to gain momentum now, it's largely reading though the difficulty level doesn't seem all bad on the business side of things. The sport development half of the course is highly enjoyable, practical lectures combined with discussion and other things make it something worth getting up for in the morning, having had a heavy night the night before. The opportunities here seem absolutely brilliant too - am currently in the process of starting my FA Level 2 Coaching Badge and also possibly working for Cheltenham Town FC and maybe even Arsenal as well!! Watch this space...

Socially. Well, what can I say? It's very good indeed. OK, the main clubs are in Cheltenham, but Moda and Blush are absolutely excellent when rammed full of stoooooodents. Top music, cheap booze and numerous hilarious incidents, too many to mention already. Then there's the SU bar about 15 yards from our halls' front door, again, cheap drink, quiz machines and everything make for an easy and convenient evening.

The invention of new dance moves, the infamous game of boomerang, Pro Evo sessions going on late into the night and so on - three weeks have gone so, so quickly.

Roll on the next three, and the weeks after that!

PS >>> Swing Low, Sweet Chariot! Get in there England and the rugger! Now for Lewis Hamilton to wrap up the Formula 1 tomorrow and it'll be a great weekend for English sport.

I'd tap that, Zante styley (Part 2)

Bloody hell. Is that the time?

Sod going for breakfast. This bed is where I’m staying. Yeah – no sleep in about 40 hours had taken its toll on most of us – the devoted had gone and grabbed the sun loungers before returning to bed, but I don’t think anyone was up before 11, and even then – we had a snooze on the sunbeds. Lunch was most inviting though. A selection of salady bits, chips and some strange looking chicken things, which Ben complained weren’t cooked as they were “a bit pink”…so that put everyone off that idea. Conversation revolved around the rules of shotgunning on holiday and how many Brighton were going to lose by that afternoon against Tranmere (they lost 2-1. Shame.)

Killer darts was again on the menu, along with nobbing around in the swimming pool. Cult Hero John was once again working his topless magic and calling out “funny” things to put people off and generally engaging in banter. If he wasn’t always topless, I’d call him a bit of a knob – but that’d be ever so harsh on someone who carries off his look so stylishly, and effortlessly. Good on him.

Bishop’s cat-like reflexes in goal at water-polo caught everyone’s eye, Kev’s goal-to-shot ratio kept going up (I think he ended the holiday on a goal every 46 shots) whilst I couldn’t be arsed because I couldn’t touch the bottom. Still – my contribution was priceless, naturally…

The second evening was fun though – the evening at the hotel, nondescript. Bit of food, free drink and a bit of a chat. Bishop took the invitation of free drink too far and must’ve had a double measure each of vodka and tequila (and other spirits) in his coke. When we reached Down Under – Bish’s drink of death consigned him to providing entertainment for all. Attempting to walk in a straight line through the bar degenerated into a game of how many bar stools he could knock over. Then there was the matter of the shrieking of “GOAL” at the TV screen whenever something remotely interesting happened. I didn’t know late-night Greek TV was so exciting, nor did I think that Bishop spoke the language. Is there no end to the boy’s talents?

London 2012’s on the horizon, and Britain are a shoe-in for a gymnastics gold medal. That is at least if Bishop’s competing. Demonstrating superb coordination, coupled with excellent posture – all under the influence of alcohol, he cartwheeled down the road. Well, at least that’s what he said he did, looked more like a log roll to me. He celebrated the feat by falling in a ditch by the hotel, which he maintained wasn’t his fault. Hmmm….

Day three was much like the second. Round the pool though the small matter of Palace’s game with Ipswich took control of me for mid-afternoon. Wish I hadn’t bothered…then watching Ben and Bishop squirm when ManYoo just about squeaked past Spurz was good fun. Not to mention John’s memorable commentary at the darts board. To be frankly honest, this is how much of our days were spent, chilling by the pool – having a laugh in the pool and just doing whatever. Worked for me.

That evening….Down Under again. Cocktails flowing. Bishop wasn’t with us because of the previous night’s antics. Poor love, couldn’t handle his shandy. I hear there was a shandy back in his hotel room though, but let’s not go there. Nice image though…

Monday was the day we’d all been waiting for. That’s right, we were so keen of what was ahead that some of us got up for breakfast. 18 hours later, we were finally in Laganas. One of the best clubbing spots in Europe we’d been told. Led by Tess and Jaime from our favourite bar in Kalamaki, we couldn’t go wrong…well – we didn’t get there until gone 3am for various reasons which meant that everything was just starting to wind-down. Not to worry, we made the most of it – cheap drinks, lots of dancing and chatting to random people, usually commenting on Kev’s height, and then the conversation tailing off – before being stopped by someone else “Blimey, isn’t he tall?”. 20 seconds later and it was the same again. Still, I prefer being short…you’re at a good height to look at boobs that way. At least that’s my take on things.

Needless to say that no-one rushed up on Tuesday morning. Lunch was breakfast, no-one could stomach the chicken because Ben complained it wasn’t cooked again, though perhaps our stomachs weren’t ready for that. Stick to the salad. By this day, Bishop’s shotgun of the holiday in Dutch girl (Alicia) was impressing us all with her English, everyone’s Dutch improved by two words, being able to say “Goodbye” and the number 88. Well, you never know when it might be useful. We thought we were going to have a quiet night in at Down Under that evening, but were persuaded by the promise of free shots at “Fire Bar” with other people from our hotel. We were out until about half 2 having sworn to each other to be back at the hotel, playing cards by about 1. Lovely…

However, I’m bloody glad we didn’t go back to the hotel. John, of no shirt and crap at darts fame was in Fire Bar, topless and drinking from an (air conditioned) fish bowl. John was seriously breaking down the barriers of cult hero status – almost a demi-god I’m telling you. Some crazy lady started poking me with a straw in Fire Bar, frizzy hair, about 40 and probably very drunk. Swiftly ignored, we ‘tagged’ the walls with the felt tip pens, danced around a bit (well, Bishop didn’t, sat in the corner dreaming of Dutch girl) and headed back.

Wednesday. Olympic Day again. Pyramids, table tennis, spaghetti eating and all that jazz was the order of the day. Kev had befriended a 9-year old and started pulling him around in the boat. The police were on the verge of being called, but George was really rather cool for someone of his age. Shame about the hair. Laganas called again in the evening. Waikiki, Bad Boyz, Kamikaze, some other place and Wackabout took our money – we collected the stickers, we drank a lot of alcohol, we danced with some pretty girls, we danced with some not so pretty girls, we got in late. What else is to say? Oh, well Jez and Kev stayed out later until about 7 in the morning and walked back to save themselves €7 in a taxi. Cheapskates.

Thursday. Home day. It took Kev nearly the whole day to pack because his stuff was strewn all over the room, the hotel and Kalamaki. The pool called again, I realised I lost my sunglasses. Shit. Claim on the insurance beckons there (note to self: must do that). Our flight was at 7.45am on the Friday morning, but we were getting picked up at 4.30am so we killed the evening at Down Under and getting a power nap. Magic.

A few goodbyes to various people. Little George, Lil’ Chris, Big Josh, Gareth Bale, Paul McShane, Dutch Girl, Mark, Hannah…and of course, topless John whose antics are enough to write a book about. I’ll just leave you with the memories of the ones in the blog, but that’s the tip of the iceberg.

Off to Zante airport, herded around like cattle for a bit because the Greeks can’t organise themselves…look at the Olympics in 2004 for such an example. Then came the awards for pisstakes of the holiday, within about 30 minutes of each other. Baggage allowances, Jesus f*cking Christ – we were ‘way’ over our limit on our return home, yet having bought barely anything – on the way out, we were totally fine. Charged €90 for the pleasure. And then Kev’s American Football actually got confiscated by Greek customs because it could pose a threat on the plane. Blimey. I reckon they just wanted to set up an American Football team myself, they couldn’t be serious…

Flight home, 3 hours of dozing to sleep and then waking up again. Not very comfortable. Landed, home by half 11. Magic….

What else is there to say? Honestly – an absolutely brilliant week with four top fellas who I hope enjoyed it as much as I did.

Dach.
(That’s goodbye in Dutch, I told you I’d use it….)