Last night, Mike Ashley, the esteemed owner of Newcastle United, pulled off a masterstroke by appointing Kevin Keegan as manager. Rarely in football, is it possible to achieve the feat of leaving fans speechless; not the Newcastle fans of course, they have been partying like its 1996 and they have a 12 point lead. However, for the rest of us, this turn of events is bewildering, preposterous, amusing but also ever so slightly uplifting.
It’s a sign of how extraordinary this story is that the first channel I tuned into on my return home was Sky Sports News (SSN). Usually, finding yourself watching SSN is as good a barometer one can find that you should be doing something better with your time than watching TV. Presumably this is why it is almost the very last channel you land upon on a standard Freeview set-up (when even the likes of BBC Parliament and Smile TV have come up short). This is a channel that regards Steve Finnan signing a new contract as ‘BREAKING NEWS’ and a standard Beckham sound-bite as an ‘EXCLUSIVE!’. Keegan’s return to Newcastle was a broadcasting orgasm for SSN, and this purveyor of hyperbole did not disappoint. First it assailed the viewer with happy memories of yesteryear to Kirsty McColl’s Days in the background. All manner of old friends you’d forgotten (Cole, Beardsley, Scott Sellars) banging the goals in, Keegan and McDermott celebrating. It was hard not to get a lump in your throat. Then followed the darker days at Newcastle, characterised by Asprilla, Cantona’s volley that let Man Utd back in to the title race, and, of course, “I would love it!”. Just when you thought it couldn’t get any more OTT the anchorman appeared,
“Its one of those stories, where you’ll remember where you were when you heard it”
The implication being that this was an event of such seismic proportions, that it rivals Diana’s death and the destruction of the World Trade Centre. For the record, I was sat at my desk and my mate Carl told me via e-mail, should anyone bring this up in 20 years time.
Of course the problem Sky Sports News had (and hence the style over substance approach), was that beyond the announcement, there was nothing else to say or show. Neither KK nor Mike Ashley had held a press conference, and the best they could do was that Keegan would ‘probably’ be attending the game that night. That was sufficient for 20,000 or so Geordies who unwilling to pay £25 to watch a match of football, were willing to pay it to watch a match of football that Kevin Keegan was ‘probably’ at, sat in the Directors Box. SKY attempted to get what they could on the subject out of the team assembled for Football Tonight (Paul Walsh and Matt Le Tissier I seem to recall), but the real action was now over on the BBC where Alan Shearer was summarising the wretched game between Man City and West Ham. The beeb had struck gold here, presumably for the first time pleased to have engaged Shearer’s monotone ramblings. However, instead of listening to Shearer’s KK endorsement, we were treated to his own uninteresting flirtations with the job (“they called me, but wanted experience”) before he launched his campaign to become Keegan’s number two. Presumably he picked up this tip from Samuel L Jackson, who managed to blag himself into the Star Wars prequels by openly stating he wanted to be in them on Chris Evans’ TFI Friday a few years back. Still, if Newcastle supporters liked Keegan, just imagine the Shearer/Keegan dream ticket.
Ashley has been criticised in some quarters for this selection, but you have to hand it to him, the fans are generally right behind him, which should make his (and KK’s) life easier in the lean times. It’s almost as if Newcastle is being run like My Football Club, only on a considerably grander scale. I am not one of these parochial idiots who insists that we must have an English manager in charge of the national team, but it is good to see that Ashley has hired not only and Englishman, but a local. There is a kind of throwback in the appointment to a better time in football, when foreign players were an exciting novelty, who either thrilled us (Cantona, Ginola) or couldn’t cut it (Asprilla, Amokachi). When the backbone of a team at the top-end of the Premiership was English; Barton, Beresford, Peacock, Batty, Fox, Ferdinand. Yes, the Premiership had a ‘lower quality’ of player, but it was certainly a great deal more fun. Good work Mr Ashley; if it fails, you will have my sympathy, and not the usual derision big team calamities attract.
Thursday, January 17, 2008
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Scotland and Nightclub Woe
Hmmmmm…only January 15th and already a post that will make me seem like every one of my 29 years, 114 days but there we are… Anyway, this past weekend I enjoyed an excellent trip to Edinburgh; good food, good company and a brilliant wine-fuelled train journey on the Friday evening. I am a huge fan of long train journeys, and the addition of as much alcohol as you can drink, only enhances the experience. You had to pity the poor woman who boarded the train at Doncaster, only to discover her seat was at the epicentre of our impromptu party. To her credit, she dealt with it well, and enjoyed Adam’s chav jokes, which were far more funny than they had any right to be.
On Saturday we had breakfast, did the bus tour and then wandered about the castle grounds and art gallery. Edinburgh is a wonderful city, and it’s a testament to its beauty that I was able to so easily overlook both its freezing temperature and hilly demeanour. By mid-afternoon my unquantifiable wine intake of the night before had overtaken me, and I returned for a nap before the evening. I don’t know what it is about having a hotel room that induces such a desire in me to nap. Liz and I went to Brussels in July, and by 3pm on the Saturday, I was more than ready for bed. It’s almost as if I develop a mild form of narcolepsy when there is an empty hotel bed nearby – as I almost never nap on a standard weekend. Of course, I also have a fine sense of getting value for money, and presumably feel that a ‘nights paid for : sleeps’ ratio of 1:1 is just not good enough (for the record it was 3:5 on this trip).
After my nap and a great Italian meal, we found our way to a nightclub. Nightclubs and I have never had a good relationship. As a youth, they were never the happy hunting ground for me that they were for other guys, my one slight advantage over other men – being able to talk to women - nullified by the loud, invariably poor, music. You have to pay to get in, you have to dress as if you are going to work (why the fuck would I want to wear smart shoes at the weekend?!), and the drinks are subject to a mark-up that even a football agent would be ashamed of. These days, as a married man, nightclubs offer me precisely nothing that I cannot get better, cheaper and quieter elsewhere. That said, assuming the music is of a good standard, it can be fun to shuffle and shimmy inelegantly across the dance floor under the pretence that you are ‘dancing’, however my attempts at this resemble something akin to Mark in Peep Show when he goes to the hippy dance exercise thing (only slightly less attractive).
However, the worst aspect of all is the people you encounter in nightclubs. Nowhere on earth is there greater proof of evolution, or indeed a lack of it in certain bloodlines (I should point out at this point, this is not limited to Scots people – everything I say can be applied to almost any English nightclub – I just happened to be in Scotland). Almost every basic animal instinct is on display in a nightclub, and none were more prominent in Edinburgh than territoriality. Until about half one, I’d actually been enjoying my nightclub experience; the music was good, we were positioned on the dance floor under the air con, and I had a redbull and vodka in me. Around this time, people started to appear from all directions as if (and lets not mince our words here) some enormous zoo had released its inmates for the night. Space become more finite and one prize cock planted himself where we were stood, decided not to move and rebuffed any attempts on our part to reclaim our land with a fierce elbow jab. Attempting to leave the dance floor – well there is a fun enterprise. I’ve yet to encounter a situation where people resent making way for you to pass to such a huge extent, as if simply moving slightly to one side will kill the flow of their dance moves. In some cases they don’t move at all, and (I just love this) actually resist your attempts to pass them. Now, I am a reasonably intelligent, respectable middle class type, but faced with this kind of opposition even I began to imagine the possibilities open to me, were I to have a glass bottle or a pair of brass knuckles to hand. Sadly I didn’t and had to plough through this mass of ill feeling, and short temper as best as possible to the relative safety of the bar. Here having failed to get served, Liz and I decided to leave; though as a group we did so in high spirits – having lasted until 2am, some achievement for us old folk.
On Sunday we finished off our tourism and had a delightful curry (there was a nap too) before returning on the train yesterday. All in all an excellent trip, and fully recommended if you have not been to Edinburgh.
TRIP HIGH: Mark’s nightclub staircase stumble, having told us to behave ourselves
TRIP LOW: Sarah Green eliminated from Dancing on Ice first. A damn shame.
On Saturday we had breakfast, did the bus tour and then wandered about the castle grounds and art gallery. Edinburgh is a wonderful city, and it’s a testament to its beauty that I was able to so easily overlook both its freezing temperature and hilly demeanour. By mid-afternoon my unquantifiable wine intake of the night before had overtaken me, and I returned for a nap before the evening. I don’t know what it is about having a hotel room that induces such a desire in me to nap. Liz and I went to Brussels in July, and by 3pm on the Saturday, I was more than ready for bed. It’s almost as if I develop a mild form of narcolepsy when there is an empty hotel bed nearby – as I almost never nap on a standard weekend. Of course, I also have a fine sense of getting value for money, and presumably feel that a ‘nights paid for : sleeps’ ratio of 1:1 is just not good enough (for the record it was 3:5 on this trip).
After my nap and a great Italian meal, we found our way to a nightclub. Nightclubs and I have never had a good relationship. As a youth, they were never the happy hunting ground for me that they were for other guys, my one slight advantage over other men – being able to talk to women - nullified by the loud, invariably poor, music. You have to pay to get in, you have to dress as if you are going to work (why the fuck would I want to wear smart shoes at the weekend?!), and the drinks are subject to a mark-up that even a football agent would be ashamed of. These days, as a married man, nightclubs offer me precisely nothing that I cannot get better, cheaper and quieter elsewhere. That said, assuming the music is of a good standard, it can be fun to shuffle and shimmy inelegantly across the dance floor under the pretence that you are ‘dancing’, however my attempts at this resemble something akin to Mark in Peep Show when he goes to the hippy dance exercise thing (only slightly less attractive).
However, the worst aspect of all is the people you encounter in nightclubs. Nowhere on earth is there greater proof of evolution, or indeed a lack of it in certain bloodlines (I should point out at this point, this is not limited to Scots people – everything I say can be applied to almost any English nightclub – I just happened to be in Scotland). Almost every basic animal instinct is on display in a nightclub, and none were more prominent in Edinburgh than territoriality. Until about half one, I’d actually been enjoying my nightclub experience; the music was good, we were positioned on the dance floor under the air con, and I had a redbull and vodka in me. Around this time, people started to appear from all directions as if (and lets not mince our words here) some enormous zoo had released its inmates for the night. Space become more finite and one prize cock planted himself where we were stood, decided not to move and rebuffed any attempts on our part to reclaim our land with a fierce elbow jab. Attempting to leave the dance floor – well there is a fun enterprise. I’ve yet to encounter a situation where people resent making way for you to pass to such a huge extent, as if simply moving slightly to one side will kill the flow of their dance moves. In some cases they don’t move at all, and (I just love this) actually resist your attempts to pass them. Now, I am a reasonably intelligent, respectable middle class type, but faced with this kind of opposition even I began to imagine the possibilities open to me, were I to have a glass bottle or a pair of brass knuckles to hand. Sadly I didn’t and had to plough through this mass of ill feeling, and short temper as best as possible to the relative safety of the bar. Here having failed to get served, Liz and I decided to leave; though as a group we did so in high spirits – having lasted until 2am, some achievement for us old folk.
On Sunday we finished off our tourism and had a delightful curry (there was a nap too) before returning on the train yesterday. All in all an excellent trip, and fully recommended if you have not been to Edinburgh.
TRIP HIGH: Mark’s nightclub staircase stumble, having told us to behave ourselves
TRIP LOW: Sarah Green eliminated from Dancing on Ice first. A damn shame.
Thursday, January 10, 2008
Bonny Scotland
I’m off to Edinburgh this weekend, my most seasonally ill-timed trip since a new year sojourn to Sweden a few years back (minus 25 degrees C!). Nonetheless, I am excited about seeing Edinburgh again, having only been there once, as a 20 year old student. My good friend Rachel and I travelled there from her home in St. Andrews by bus (labouring under the misguided notion that it would be cheaper than the train). It did cost less, however the saving of £1.85 each did not quite offset the two hour supplement to the journey in each direction, and especially not the 45 minute layover at Kirkcaldy bus station; a peculiar wormhole where the season of summer appears not to exist. Even Rachel, a Scotswoman, was appalled at the extent to which our thriftiness had impacted on the day.
In any case our day trip to Edinburgh was very pleasant; we walked around for a bit, saw the main sights, and then we started drinking. Edinburgh is good for that if memory serves, and with such cold, windy weather in prospect this weekend, I dare say there will be plenty of it happening this time. However, in all other respects this trip should prove to be more or less the total opposite than my last experience; certainly where the purchase ledger is concerned. I will be travelling in the relative luxury of a train, staying in a moderately priced, comfortable hotel, and presumably not eating in Pizza Hut in the evening. I am actually quite skint until payday on 24th, however I am going to assume that my forthcoming promotion pay rise will be a substantial one, and more than offset any debts I may incur this weekend. This, almost certainly, will not be the case but it’s a decent misapprehension to labour under until a better one comes along, and is more realistic than the lotto win I am usually relying on.
Our train leaves at 6, and though we have reserved seats, some in our party are concerned that intruders may steal them if we are not there in a timely manner; a fair assumption on a train departing at Def-con 4 in the rush hour. Where exactly do you stand in this situation? I always assumed people would just get up if they are sat in your seat, but apparently this is not the case. What if the squatter is an elderly or pregnant woman? Are we mean enough to boot them out? The answer must be yes. Our party includes a lawyer, a banker at HSBC who works in Canary Wharf, a Centrica employee (British Gas I think – aren’t they always turning people’s heating off?), a surveyor (is that right?) and Liz and I. We have both conducted research for some of the most morally bankrupt companies on earth. Edinburgh by train is also a long journey, and having booked a seat frankly I want to sit in it.
Anyway, if I can work out how, I will post some pictures after the weekend. Have a good ‘un and if you’re a football fan who doesn’t support Arsenal, Chelsea, Barnsley or Colchester, then best of luck!
In any case our day trip to Edinburgh was very pleasant; we walked around for a bit, saw the main sights, and then we started drinking. Edinburgh is good for that if memory serves, and with such cold, windy weather in prospect this weekend, I dare say there will be plenty of it happening this time. However, in all other respects this trip should prove to be more or less the total opposite than my last experience; certainly where the purchase ledger is concerned. I will be travelling in the relative luxury of a train, staying in a moderately priced, comfortable hotel, and presumably not eating in Pizza Hut in the evening. I am actually quite skint until payday on 24th, however I am going to assume that my forthcoming promotion pay rise will be a substantial one, and more than offset any debts I may incur this weekend. This, almost certainly, will not be the case but it’s a decent misapprehension to labour under until a better one comes along, and is more realistic than the lotto win I am usually relying on.
Our train leaves at 6, and though we have reserved seats, some in our party are concerned that intruders may steal them if we are not there in a timely manner; a fair assumption on a train departing at Def-con 4 in the rush hour. Where exactly do you stand in this situation? I always assumed people would just get up if they are sat in your seat, but apparently this is not the case. What if the squatter is an elderly or pregnant woman? Are we mean enough to boot them out? The answer must be yes. Our party includes a lawyer, a banker at HSBC who works in Canary Wharf, a Centrica employee (British Gas I think – aren’t they always turning people’s heating off?), a surveyor (is that right?) and Liz and I. We have both conducted research for some of the most morally bankrupt companies on earth. Edinburgh by train is also a long journey, and having booked a seat frankly I want to sit in it.
Anyway, if I can work out how, I will post some pictures after the weekend. Have a good ‘un and if you’re a football fan who doesn’t support Arsenal, Chelsea, Barnsley or Colchester, then best of luck!
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
Why is the FA Cup so rubbish these days?
It was nice to see the odd upset in the FA Cup at the weekend, albeit disappointing that one of the few teams capable of challenging the big four, Everton, were eliminated by Oldham. Indeed, can it really be true that Everton’s 1995 win was the last time a club from outside this elite were triumphant. I was a gangly, inelegant 16 year old just about to take my GCSEs when that game took place. Not much has changed but these days I have a mortgage and pension and think about how good schools might be when moving somewhere.
West Ham came very close to breaking this obscene big four dominance in 2006, but then Gerrard scored the screamer, that as Alan Pardew rightly pointed out, would have been far more memorable, for us all, had it come in the 90th minute against Portugal. At least that game had an underdog, thus creating some interest. The various permutations of the big four that we have seen since 1995 have yet to produce an exciting encounter, and have given us two utter stinkers (in 1996 and 2005). The cup really isn’t all that interesting any more.
I am not that old, but even I have seen a considerable change since I first started watching football. In 1987 Coventry beat Spurs in the final, and a year later Wimbledon toppled the mighty Liverpool. A couple of years after that Crystal Palace very nearly defeated Manchester united having already relieved us of Liverpool in a humdinger of a semi. These days, such results are limited to memory and teams I manage on Championship Manager. What is even more unacceptable is that these sides have reserve and youth sides of such quality, that the understudies make it to the final of the League cup as well. Unless they have to go to Roots Hall of course, and then they always slip up….
The other great disappointment of the FA cup is the guaranteed anti-climax that is the FA Cup draw. This is a disappointment that only increases the further you get into the tournament, and one that can only be fully appreciated by supporters of clubs from outside the Premiership. I support Southend, and from the moment you get into the 3rd round there is the hope that one of the big clubs will be your guest for the day. Instead of that we drew Dagenham and Redbridge; and I mean no offence to them – I am sure they were equally gutted to get us. This is exactly my point – two unhappy sides wistfully looking over at Luton drawing with Liverpool or Oldham dumping Everton out. Luckily we safely negotiated this banana skin, and with only 32 teams left, surely a big club to play in round four? Nope. Barnsley; and I make no apology to them, as frankly their supporters come across as witless, bovine fools on the message boards. You also have to feel sorry for giant slayers Oldham and Huddersfield who having disposed of Premiership opposition, drew each other in the 4th round. At least Havant and Waterlooville will play Liverpool (except they won’t, as Swansea will hammer them in their replay).
I am confident Southend can beat Barnsley, and if that’s the case home to Fulham in round five (a game I can go to with some Fulham supporting friends) would be the perfect opposition. Instead, we’ll probably end up with Norwich, Peterborough or Tranmere; to our mutual misery.
West Ham came very close to breaking this obscene big four dominance in 2006, but then Gerrard scored the screamer, that as Alan Pardew rightly pointed out, would have been far more memorable, for us all, had it come in the 90th minute against Portugal. At least that game had an underdog, thus creating some interest. The various permutations of the big four that we have seen since 1995 have yet to produce an exciting encounter, and have given us two utter stinkers (in 1996 and 2005). The cup really isn’t all that interesting any more.
I am not that old, but even I have seen a considerable change since I first started watching football. In 1987 Coventry beat Spurs in the final, and a year later Wimbledon toppled the mighty Liverpool. A couple of years after that Crystal Palace very nearly defeated Manchester united having already relieved us of Liverpool in a humdinger of a semi. These days, such results are limited to memory and teams I manage on Championship Manager. What is even more unacceptable is that these sides have reserve and youth sides of such quality, that the understudies make it to the final of the League cup as well. Unless they have to go to Roots Hall of course, and then they always slip up….
The other great disappointment of the FA cup is the guaranteed anti-climax that is the FA Cup draw. This is a disappointment that only increases the further you get into the tournament, and one that can only be fully appreciated by supporters of clubs from outside the Premiership. I support Southend, and from the moment you get into the 3rd round there is the hope that one of the big clubs will be your guest for the day. Instead of that we drew Dagenham and Redbridge; and I mean no offence to them – I am sure they were equally gutted to get us. This is exactly my point – two unhappy sides wistfully looking over at Luton drawing with Liverpool or Oldham dumping Everton out. Luckily we safely negotiated this banana skin, and with only 32 teams left, surely a big club to play in round four? Nope. Barnsley; and I make no apology to them, as frankly their supporters come across as witless, bovine fools on the message boards. You also have to feel sorry for giant slayers Oldham and Huddersfield who having disposed of Premiership opposition, drew each other in the 4th round. At least Havant and Waterlooville will play Liverpool (except they won’t, as Swansea will hammer them in their replay).
I am confident Southend can beat Barnsley, and if that’s the case home to Fulham in round five (a game I can go to with some Fulham supporting friends) would be the perfect opposition. Instead, we’ll probably end up with Norwich, Peterborough or Tranmere; to our mutual misery.
Monday, December 31, 2007
New Years Resolutions
New Years Resolutions
I’m not a big one for new years resolutions, however, as the year turns a few fairly big things are afoot so it seems the right time to make some lifestyle changes;
1. Join a gym, actually go to it, get fit and stay fit.
I like to eat rubbish. McDonalds, KFC, crisps, chocolate; and that’s if I’m sober. If more than 4 beers have passed through me, the list is further supplemented by unspeakable horrors that I can’t even bring myself to document here.
I should point out that I also eat plenty of ‘good’ things too. Until I was 21 I’d only eat peas and green beans; by 24 I’d added cauliflower and cabbage, and this past Christmas, for the first time, I ate Brussel Sprouts through choice, rather than as part of some peverse personal challenge. Indeed, only mushrooms and cooked carrots are on my ‘off-list’ now.
However, there is sufficient junk to ensure that through my 20s there has been a general bulking out where my belly and chin areas are concerned. ‘Chunky’, ‘cuddly’, ‘chubby’, and ‘fat’ (thanks for that one go to my grandmother), have all been labelled at me in the past couple of years. I recently located some pictures from my university days and was appauled that the guant, gangly, Peter Crouch-a-like staring back was, infact, me. Admittedly in those days I was probably malnourished, and indeed, if my choice of how I look was either that, or how I look now, there would be no question. However, the ideal is probably three-quarters between then and now.
All this probably makes me sound very superficial and vain, which really isn’t the case. My main motivation for the fitness drive is not aesthetics, but fitness. A man of 29 should not climb three flights of stairs and finish up looking like he has just finished the Great North Run. I’d like to play football again, but frankly the thought of competitive sport at my current fitness level is terrifying.
So, the gym it is. My aim is to be in a reasonable state of fitness by the time I get over to Canada in the summer – so 5.5 months from now….
2. Make the best of my job
The other main resolution I have is to make as good a go of my job as possible. I have, this past Christmas, been promoted and, as such, made it to the promised land of ‘senior’ status. That is not as grand as it sounds – there are still more people above that there are below (I think), but the opportunity now exists for me to be slightly choosy in what I do (well more so than before). This means I can get included on things I want to work on with people whom I like. Under those circumstances the job never ceases to be great. I worked on a nightmare account last year; a demanding client, tough timescales, often one disaster after another. However, the team was excellent, and the gallows humour with which we approached each challenge made it (almost) fun. Like a lot of people, at times (and these are rare if anyone who decides pay reviews is reading) I complain bitterly about my job, but if I really wanted to I could leave. Most of the time, it is interesting and I go to such a varied range of places. In 2007 I had meetings in conference rooms overlooking the Old Trafford and Lord’s pitches, at Government agencies and some of the world’s biggest companies (where I told them what they were doing wrong). Not too shabby for a Southend boy with a 2:2 :0)
Right, i'm off to a bling and black tie party in Twyford. Happy New Year!!!
I’m not a big one for new years resolutions, however, as the year turns a few fairly big things are afoot so it seems the right time to make some lifestyle changes;
1. Join a gym, actually go to it, get fit and stay fit.
I like to eat rubbish. McDonalds, KFC, crisps, chocolate; and that’s if I’m sober. If more than 4 beers have passed through me, the list is further supplemented by unspeakable horrors that I can’t even bring myself to document here.
I should point out that I also eat plenty of ‘good’ things too. Until I was 21 I’d only eat peas and green beans; by 24 I’d added cauliflower and cabbage, and this past Christmas, for the first time, I ate Brussel Sprouts through choice, rather than as part of some peverse personal challenge. Indeed, only mushrooms and cooked carrots are on my ‘off-list’ now.
However, there is sufficient junk to ensure that through my 20s there has been a general bulking out where my belly and chin areas are concerned. ‘Chunky’, ‘cuddly’, ‘chubby’, and ‘fat’ (thanks for that one go to my grandmother), have all been labelled at me in the past couple of years. I recently located some pictures from my university days and was appauled that the guant, gangly, Peter Crouch-a-like staring back was, infact, me. Admittedly in those days I was probably malnourished, and indeed, if my choice of how I look was either that, or how I look now, there would be no question. However, the ideal is probably three-quarters between then and now.
All this probably makes me sound very superficial and vain, which really isn’t the case. My main motivation for the fitness drive is not aesthetics, but fitness. A man of 29 should not climb three flights of stairs and finish up looking like he has just finished the Great North Run. I’d like to play football again, but frankly the thought of competitive sport at my current fitness level is terrifying.
So, the gym it is. My aim is to be in a reasonable state of fitness by the time I get over to Canada in the summer – so 5.5 months from now….
2. Make the best of my job
The other main resolution I have is to make as good a go of my job as possible. I have, this past Christmas, been promoted and, as such, made it to the promised land of ‘senior’ status. That is not as grand as it sounds – there are still more people above that there are below (I think), but the opportunity now exists for me to be slightly choosy in what I do (well more so than before). This means I can get included on things I want to work on with people whom I like. Under those circumstances the job never ceases to be great. I worked on a nightmare account last year; a demanding client, tough timescales, often one disaster after another. However, the team was excellent, and the gallows humour with which we approached each challenge made it (almost) fun. Like a lot of people, at times (and these are rare if anyone who decides pay reviews is reading) I complain bitterly about my job, but if I really wanted to I could leave. Most of the time, it is interesting and I go to such a varied range of places. In 2007 I had meetings in conference rooms overlooking the Old Trafford and Lord’s pitches, at Government agencies and some of the world’s biggest companies (where I told them what they were doing wrong). Not too shabby for a Southend boy with a 2:2 :0)
Right, i'm off to a bling and black tie party in Twyford. Happy New Year!!!
Welcome!
Hello!
Welcome to my new blog that will count down the days until I turn 30 in September; a highly momentous occasion. Ultimately this is not an 'end of the world is nigh' style affair that will count down the days, but more a day to day account of what I get up to - and more pertinantly what irritates me (the list grows on a daily basis). By coincidence I do turn 30 in 2008, so it seemed an easy title to go for. I am not particularly concerned about turning 30; really, honestly, truly, scouts honour etc....please feel free to drop by - I will post as often as poss...
Cheers
Martin
Welcome to my new blog that will count down the days until I turn 30 in September; a highly momentous occasion. Ultimately this is not an 'end of the world is nigh' style affair that will count down the days, but more a day to day account of what I get up to - and more pertinantly what irritates me (the list grows on a daily basis). By coincidence I do turn 30 in 2008, so it seemed an easy title to go for. I am not particularly concerned about turning 30; really, honestly, truly, scouts honour etc....please feel free to drop by - I will post as often as poss...
Cheers
Martin
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