The Apprentice: Here comes the final!

So, after what feels like a lifetime chock full of business tasks fuelled by a combination of bizarre decisions and downright ineptitude, we’re mere hours away from another Apprentice finale. And even though I don’t feel that I’ve been as invested in the candidates as I might have been in previous years, I cannot wait!

This year’s finalists are gym owner Rachel Woolford and pie company boss Phil Turner. And it’s anyone’s guess who’ll win out. Unless you’re Lord Sugar of course, who I reckon won’t just guess who he gives £250,000 to.

Even in the interviews it felt like a bit of a lottery in terms of who would make the final. However, once it emerged that Tre didn’t have a business plan or really, a product and that Paul had chosen the wrong plan and that you or I knew just about as much as he did about scrubs, then the field was kind of narrowed down. In fact, given what happened in this year’s interview episode, I’m considering just turning up myself next year with some ideas scrawled down on a crumpled piece of paper titled, ‘Why I need Lord Sugar’s £250,000′ by Graham aged 53. I reckon I’d still have a bit of a chance of making the final.

Of the two finalists, it’s perhaps inevitable that we might look on Rachel as the favourite. Not only has she shown a fair amount of business acumen, hard work and determination throughout the series, but she’s up against Phil! Phil! The very same Phil who lost all of the first 9 tasks and seemed to be in the boardroom fighting for his life every other week. But then again, he’s in the final for a reason. We have to presume that Lord Sugar and his people have spotted something in him, surely. None of us has much idea what it might be though!

Last week, Phil added to his Apprentice legacy by revealing in the interviews that he hasn’t seen a set of accounts for his business for about a decade. OK, I’m exaggerating there, but the bloke literally sat and told scary Mike Soutar that he hadn’t seen his accounts for a couple of years. I’m no business viking (as no doubt someone must have referred to themselves over the years), but that feels like me not looking at the fuel gauge in my car for a fortnight and just hoping that I’ll keep getting to where I’m going.

Both candidates seem to have successful businesses and both just want to make them bigger. Fair enough. Rachel wants more gyms – and while we continue to obsess over how we look on social media then we’ll always need more gyms! I mean, where else would the country’s vain halfwits find mirrors big enough to pose in?

Phil, on the other hand, wants to expand his pie business after admitting that he didn’t have the vision to take it any further. And after he made a truffle flavoured vegan cheese that didn’t really taste of truffle…or cheese for that matter, in the last task, you can possibly see why he thinks he lacks vision I suppose.

Conspiracy theorists will have you believe that Phil is being set up to win. I mean, I certainly can’t remember a series where someone failed so spectacularly every week and then still made the final. Some have also pointed to the fact that in his win or bust task – the vegan cheese one – he was given the strongest of the other candidates on his team. But then, some of these people probably still think that the Earth is flat.

So, get yourselves set for an exciting final. There’s no clear favourite, but definitely an underdog. But, with the help of some, if not all of the other candidates from the series, there will be one last task to get through before Lord Sugar decides who he’s going to invest in. And of course, there’s my favourite bit of all; where the two successful candidates have to walk into the room for their pitch, usually down one of the longest walkways or staircases in the modern world. It has to be one of the most awkward TV moments of the year and every year a little bit of is secretly hoping for a trip!

The Apprentice 2024 Final. Can’t wait!

Poetry Blog: ‘Willow’

It’s the Easter holidays and as I’ve got some time on my hands I decided to sit down and try and write something for the blog. Other commitments have been getting in the way of late and so my blog has been very much neglected.

So, with not a lot in mind to write about, I thought I’d trawl through some notebooks and accompanying scraps of paper in order to see what poetry I have knocking about. It turns out that there are quite a few that have either been started or simply finished and then just left and so, after quite a bit of reading I decided to add this one to the blog. It brings back a lot of memories and I really like it.

Willow

As the spots of rain get heavier 
and begin to change the colour of the roads
and pavements around,
you scramble for the familiar shelter
of the giant old weeping willow.

Everyone is out, the house locked up,
but you chose friends, football and 
the top of the hill Wembley of a pub car park
over the visit to family,
and now that team mates have chosen bricks and mortar for cover,
solitude in nature is forced upon you.

A mass of leaves and sagging branches provide ample sanctuary,
so you position yourself so not to be seen
from either road or the neighbour's house,
shift your knees up to your chest and enjoy this place
where there is no shouting, no conflict and
no storm of any kind.

The willow tree in question here is the one that we had in the garden of my childhood home. Everyone else regarded it as a nuisance because of its sheer size and mass of leaves that would be shed in autumn and litter the surrounding area, but I loved it.

I’d play in it as a small child, inventing games and characters and swinging on those branches. As I got older it became somewhere to hide and just be on my own, away from what I remember now, rightly or wrongly, as a lot of shouting and anger in our house. Sometimes, as in the poem, it was just a convenient shelter of a different kind as the rain just didn’t seem to get through it. As I got older, I’d often stay at home when my parents went across to see family, but would rarely remember to take a key. These things got forgotten when there was a game of football about to start! And so, I’d end up just sitting under the tree to escape the elements.

In later years, after we had moved out, the tree was cut down. I still kind of miss it to this day.

Spring, where the first cut is the deepest, noisiest and the smelliest!

Well, it would appear that we’re well and truly right in the throes of Spring! The weather is largely warming up – although we stood out in hail while volunteering at ParkRun this weekend – and the days are getting lighter all round. There’s colour in the garden and I’ve also been able to get some washing out on the line, which always makes me feel a bit more optimistic about the time of year…I don’t really know why.

Today though, I thought I’d write a little bit about my morning and the sights, sounds and the feel of Spring that I got to experience. Let’s just say that none of it really stuck to the stereotypes!

So, this morning, seeing that we were going to have dry weather until early afternoon, I took the opportunity to give our back lawn its first cut of the year. It’s always an arduous job as by the time the weather is good enough, the lawn has always grown to a good few inches in length and is soaking wet, meaning that it will take hours to get through. In truth, I despise having to do it!

At this point, I’ll introduce my neighbour. Now, don’t get me wrong, he’s a lovely, well meaning elderly gentleman who’d do anything for us. He’s also very hard of hearing and loves to chat. The job of listening to him generally falls to me and believe me when I say that sometimes this can be even more arduous than cutting the lawn as he never really hears what I’m saying and has a tendency to repeat a lot of what he’s already said to me!

Anyway, having got the mower out of the shed and put it back together – it’s over 10 years old and very much on its last legs – I started to mow, kind of knowing exactly what would happen next. I was still surprised by the immediacy though!

After no more than 20 seconds of mowing I heard the click of the neighbour’s gate – one of the first sounds of spring round these parts. And when I looked up, there he was. My neighbour. He didn’t really wait for me, just set off talking. So the mowing got delayed for a while!

Our back garden is bordered by houses on both sides. My aforementioned neighbour’s garden runs parallel to ours, but on the other side, the end of two gardens back onto us. One of these neighbours has a terrible habit of clearing his throat and nose, very loudly. He seems to save it all up for the moment he sees me in the garden as well. It’s not something I hear much of through winter as I’m not outside anywhere near as much. However, this morning just as I’d reached the end of the first couple of strips of the garden, there it was. Another delightful spring sound. A wonderful hacking of the throat and nose sounding like it had been played through Glastonbury’s PA system, all the way from inside his house to the middle of my garden. And every time I stopped mowing, there it was a again! This must have gone on for about 10 minutes! So, no nightingales singing, just the sound of phlegm!

I had the wonderful Spring experience of clearing fallen blooms away too. We have an enormous camellia that gives us an abundance of huge bright pink flowers from February. It’s genuinely stunning. However, the downside is that by the time I come to cut the lawn, hundreds of flowers have fallen from the plant and litter the garden. And I get the job of having to pick them all up, as if I mow them they splatter all over the place. In turn, picking them up gives me the wonderful sensation of soaking wet flowers in my hands and also quite a few slugs, who seem to find the flowers far too good to resist. I hate anything on my hands, so this genuinely makes me feel queasy.

Later, sounds included a really annoying crow, some girls walking along the footpath that borders the back of my garden and swearing loudly and my neighbour’s wife asking if he wanted a cup of tea – she didn’t extend the offer to me. I also managed to unearth some cat poo in the long grass, before sliding through it a little later and suffering the stench of it every time I went near!

Finally, the sounds of spring reached a wonderful crescendo when my neighbour came to talk to me twice more; once to rant about the price of the new England football shirt and the modifications made to the flag of St. George on the back of it – capitalism, mate – and then to talk of something that seems to be uniquely him!

He’s a keen gardener and tends to order his plants off the internet. However, I swear that every time he does, they seem to mess up his order. And then, when he complains, the companies always seem to send him more than he needs. This isn’t just restricted to plants; he’s had plant pots too. And he always offers us his cast offs, which is nice, but even when we politely decline he just doesn’t listen and brings stuff around anyway! This happened again today, which given that we’ve only just started ‘garden season’ is quite some going! Anyway, to cut a long story short, despite turning them down we’re due to get a load of free mystery plants in a few weeks. Lord knows what we’ll do with them!

So, Spring has indeed sprung. But round these parts there’s no delightful birdsong or the smell of budding roses; no, just elderly neighbours, coughing and sniffing of Olympic proportions, wet and dirty, slug laden hands and the feeling of almost pulling a hamstring as you slide through hidden cat poo!

Reader, I hope your Spring is going better than mine!

The Apprentice – Episode 2: Cheesecakes

A familiar start this week, when a tired candidate is woken by the phone in the hall and stumbles down seemingly with no idea at all who could be calling at this time of the morning. It’s the lass that works for Lord Sugar…always her!

And then, aided by the magic of television and an audience that is quite happy to go along with the old lie that they’ve got just 20 minutes to get ready, the early morning darkness has given way to bright sunshine and the candidates are scrubbed up and leaving for work. Exactly how we all get ready for work, right?

This week, we’re making mini cheesecakes and while the boys go with experienced pie maker and ‘Supreme Pie Champion 2020’ Phil as their team leader, the girls plump for Foluso because no one else was willing to step up. Actually, that’s a lie. Maura said she’d “made cheesecakes before” but surprisingly, no one viewed that as a serious bid for office. It did make me think that perhaps I could have PM’d this task though. I too have “made cheesecakes before” – you know those ones you get in boxes – and have a high propensity for bullshit (which I’m aware makes me at least 50% eligible to PM any task, ever). If only I’d thought to take my business experience of three years working in a call centre and applied.

I always find the group meetings pretty funny. It genuinely amazes me the amount of truly awful ideas one table of people can have and tonight it’s a real surprise that no one suggests something like an offal cheesecake. However, once the decisions are made, Paul B rallies the troops with a cry of “Any hiccups, let’s not cry about spilt milk!” And I thought you just had to hold your breath…

Tonight we hear the first pitching klaxon when Flo assures the girls that she’ll do the pitch as she does them all the time to massive clients, so everything will be fine. This type of thing usually ensures that there’ll be a stuttering disaster and the longest few minutes of someone’s life, followed by the very same person declaring that they thought it all went well. This time though, the klaxon is a red herring and Flo follows through on all of her promises, leaving us all probably rather impressed, while also a little disappointed at the same time.

In the kitchen with the girls, the expected chaos ensues. But it’s not this that catches my attention. No, what grabs me is their inability to say the word kilogrammes. It seems that tonight, we’re only able to refer to KGs. Weird.

The boys go to pitch their idea to the smoothies company Innocent, who are extremely well know for their mission of charging the country ludicrous amounts of money so that they can have all their fruit and veg in liquid form. Fine by me. This is not a mission that the boys are on board with, however and instead the mantra appears to be ‘WHATEVER THEY SAY ABOUT FRUIT, VEG AND HEALTHY EATING, JUST KEEP INSISTING ON CHOCOLATE’! Surprisingly, the Innocent representatives don’t feel that they want to pay £8 a cheesecake for something that sticks two fingers up to their mission statement. The boys meekly drop their price and offer some vague fruit based dessert instead. Later, Lord Sugar misses a trick by failing to label it “Not a very smoothie move”.

Amazingly, there’s a moment of business synergy tonight between the teams. Sadly, it comes during deliberations about flavours for the cheesecakes as both spend far too much time discussing popping candy as an ingredient for their high end cheesecakes. It’s sadder still when neither team goes with the idea.

As the episode goes on, I’m finding myself more and more fascinated by the boys. They actually seem to be making a decent fist of their cheesecake business and yet they still manage to add a healthy dollop of incompetence to their ingredients. Every few minutes brings something that leaves me asking ‘WHAT?’ of the telly.

First, they spend far too long discussing making a more efficient system before being unable to come up with an efficient system. Then they decide that they need a cover story about the crumbling bases of their cheesecakes, but all they can manage is “Give them a spoon and tell them it’s a dessert”. I mean, it kind of is a dessert, guys.

After last week’s corporate away day task descended into 90s rave territory, the theme surfaces again when one of the boys rallies the troops with a cry of ‘let’s make some noise’ and suddenly I’m thinking of glo sticks and bucket hats. And finally, there’s even more befuddlement when one of them tells the Innocent people that the cheesecake contains a fruit they might not have heard of.

In the boardroom, there seems to be no obvious winner tonight and yet, when the result is announced it’s the girls who get their just desserts (see what I did there?) with another landslide win. And it’s well deserved too with Flo in particular flagging herself up as one to watch with her impressive negotiating skills.

Meanwhile, the boys are left to face another heavy defeat, even though they didn’t really put in a bad performance. Yes, there was the usual halfwittery along the way, but they actually made a profit, which in a profit task is the name of the game.

It’s no surprise when Paul B is called back into the boardroom by project manager Phil and Asif pretty much talks himself back there too when he just sits there and tells a few half truths while grassing up anyone who he happens to even glance at. He even swerves Lord Sugar’s question about what he did on the task by ignoring it, flipping it round and just asking his fellow team members what it was that they did. He may well have out sugared Lord Sugar and I’m amazed when he’s allowed off the hook.

In the end, it’s Paul B that goes. And while this Pie man fails on the cooking task, he leaves as an Apprentice legend (in my eyes at least). For there is none of the usual fawning of ‘Thank you for the opportunity Lord Sugar”. Instead, Paul just shrugs his shoulders, smiles and tells Lord Sugar, “Fair enough, mate” before taking his wheelie suitcase off towards a waiting black cab. Well done, sir!

The Apprentice 2024 – a few observations on episode 1…

I’ll confess that I’d forgotten about The Apprentice this year. And if I’d have remembered, I probably would have been reasonably adamant that I wasn’t going to watch it. Same old fame hungry, obnoxious parade of fools, same old Lord Sugar wisecracks and same old tasks. Somehow though, when we realised that our series link on Sky was taping it, we found ourselves drawn to the familiarity of the whole thing. So, what did I find in episode 1?

In short, it was the same old fame hungry, obnoxious parade of fools, the same old Lord Sugar wisecracks and the same old tasks…and yet, I was gripped throughout!

I missed the first few minutes – busy with hunting down less than healthy snacks, I’m afraid – so if there were the usual claims of invincibility, possession of the world’s greatest personality or superhuman sales powers, then I wasn’t there for that.

I joined the candidates – not literally – in the boardroom where Lord Sugar introduced us to this year’s two tables full of business jesters and it felt like his pre-written ‘off the cuff’ jokes about the candidates were more obvious than ever. Mind you, he had everyone chuckling loudly along; but then what else are you going to do when your fate lies in his hands? I mean, imagine the year when someone pipes up with an unexpected comeback…

One candidate had listed himself as a combination of brains and beauty on his CV, to which Sugs added “and bollocks”. And it’s wit like that, as well as a wonderful gift for alliteration that keeps us all glued to the screen, isn’t it? That said, this bloke was hardly George Clooney, so maybe our resident Lord was just being accurate, rather than funny.

This year, there’s a twist; the first task is the corporate away day task, rather than the finding items one and while I’d been my usual cynical self to this point, now even I’m taking a sharp intake of breath. I mean, this can only go wrong, surely. Thankfully – spoiler alert – wrong is very much the word here.

The teams are split into girls and boys and if they’re given a witty business name, then I don’t catch it. Tonight, they’re off to the highlands of Scotland and so when Virdi volunteers to be project manager and then says he’ll treat the clients to some bhangra dancing, it’s a bit of a surprise. I’d innocently expected something a bit more traditional, but maybe that’s why I’m still an English teacher rather than a business titan.

As both teams plan their ‘experience’ it’s hard not to use your foresight and spot where it might all unravel. Especially tonight, when every plan sounds fraught with danger and the chance of throwing money away. On the boys team someone promises to ‘bring the pardy’ – yep, not ‘party’ – and I’m immediately wondering if perhaps his last pardy was for his own 5th birthday. Meanwhile, the girls decide that the world class highland games athlete isn’t needed for their own mini highland games, so they’ll just do it themselves. I mean, it’s only throwing tree trunks and boulders about, so what could possibly go wrong when you don’t really know what you’re doing?

Over on the boy’s team they’d decided that offering a welcome drink of a glass of water to their corporate clients was a good idea and – hands up if you can see something going wrong here – the team running the activity had told the team doing the food to have it ready for 2.15, on the dot. Don’t anyone worry though; these are young titans of business, so someone’s absolutely sure to be keeping an eye on the time.

Speaking of food teams, there’s something not quite right about the fishcakes that the girls are making for their client’s dinner. And at the same time, the mix for the rhubarb crumble has gone missing. I mean, they couldn’t have, could they? Turns out they could.

The editing on The Apprentice is always brilliantly done and cut together to make sure that the narrative fits together in a way that means you’re never quite sure who will win and where the next point of tension will come from. In the opening episode we get just enough of a tease about the crumble fishcakes, followed by no further reference to them until right before they’re being served up. As a result, the tension was palpable as they were served up, with no one sure of what was about to happen. I have to say that the slow reveal of the client’s facial reaction as the sweet fishcakes hit their tastebuds was a thing of beauty! But the unwitting candidates reacted well, with Sam pacifying them the promise of a dessert that would be to die for, which it turns out, had the eaten it, they almost certainly would have.

As we wondered what the client was going to eat, we left the girls camp to head back to the boys, where ‘surprise, surprise’ the activity had run over. Cut to the kitchen and the food is out, but 2.15 has very quickly become almost 3pm! The result? In a staggering display of not actually grasping the gravity of the situation, Asif and Tre pretty much blamed the kitchen staff!

And when we then saw the clients tapping the sausages off the plate and heard the accompanying ‘clang’ it was hard to argue about where the blame should lie…unless you knew about the 2.15 deadline, that is! Again though, the story here – and the comedy – is in the faces of everyone involved. The poor hungry clients who’ve paid hundreds of pounds for a bit of a walk, some bhangra dancing, a toe curling episode where Virdi does some horrendous MCing and genuinely asks the client to ‘make some noise’ not once, but twice, followed by some toad in the hole, are horrified!

Amazingly for the entertainment offered up by the boy’s team, the best is yet to come and in fact, will be offered up in instalments in what remains of the episode. And the first instalment, there’s not long to wait as despite the enormous levels of sheer disaster about the whole day, Jack still has the sheer brass neck to ask if anyone would like to give a tip!

In the boardroom, I’m fully expecting a history making multiple sacking, with Lord Sugar’s pointy finger working overtime. Both teams have to give refunds, but despite the girl’s making a measly £122 profit, it’s the boys who lose after a 52% refund turns their profit into a staggering loss! The comedy reaches its peak when one of them initially claps and whoops a bit, explaining that he thought they’d made £300 profit and won. The silence is deafening. This guy is not being given a quarter of a million pounds of Lord Sugar’s money!

In then end, despite organising surely one of the worst corporate days out in history, project manager Virdi is saved for ‘having the balls to step up’ according to Lord Sugar. Or was it just because here is a man who has only given the tiniest glimpse of his capacity for entertaining the nation? We’ll find out in the coming weeks.

For now though, it’s Oliver who’s fired, seemingly because he just looked a lot more gormless than the rest of the lads, which is an achievement in itself.

I can’t promise a review every week, but I can promise that The Apprentice is sure to serve up some classic comedy in the coming months. If only that was the remit…

Always Look on The Bright Side: 5 Things that Made Me Smile in January.

I’ve not written one of these types of blogs for a little while. It’s not been a case of everything being terrible during that time; more just being incredibly busy. And anyway, who really needs a blogger telling them that Christmas makes them happy?

I went into January purposely telling myself to be positive. It’s not a month that I’m a great fan of and I decided that if I just forced myself to be relentlessly positive, it might make it easier to get through. And while I wouldn’t say that it’s been a resounding success, it’s definitely been helpful. This attitude did mean that I actively sought out reasons to be cheerful.

So, what’s made me smile this month?

The tidy Welsh mouse. I loved this and I couldn’t stop watching the accompanying video. It’s a BBC report about a retired postman in Wales who was baffled by the fact that bits and pieces kept getting tidied away in his shed at night. Seeking an answer to this mystery, he set up a night vision camera on his workbench. When he watched footage back he was greeted by the fantastic sight of a mouse tidying stuff like nuts, bolts and pegs away into whatever container had been left out.

And it got better – Rodney (our retired postman) then started experimenting by leaving different types of objects out, but whatever he left got tidied away! The only disappointment was the name that he gave the mouse; Welsh Tidy Mouse. I mean anything would have been better than that! Anyway, you can watch the little fella on the link below. The mouse that is, not Rodney.

https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-wales-67902966                            

Newcastle United winning the derby. If you’re not a football fan or just have no knowledge of Newcastle United and our derby match, allow me to fill you in. Our closest geographical rivals are called Sunderland. However, we haven’t played them in a long time due to being in different divisions. Well, this all changed when we were drawn to play against each other in the FA Cup in early January.

The lead up to the game was tense, to say the least and there was the usual back and forth about who would win between the two sets of fans. It’s an intense rivalry, to say the least.

It’s a game I really don’t enjoy and the nerves are horrendous. Suffice to say, come the day of the game I was unusually quiet and felt very sick indeed. I needn’t have worried though, as we wound up winning the game fairly easily (3-0) and it was an absolute joy to behold. Football eh? It’s only a game and yet somehow, it’s really much, much more than that!

Making plans for a bit of a meet up. I live a long way from both of my childhood best friends. One of them, I see a few times a year as he lives in the town where I grew up, so a visit to see family will always take in a meet up with him and his family.

However, the other spends a lot of his year living abroad as part of his job. We haven’t seen each other in a good few years, so when we were exchanging messages a few months back we came up with the idea of a meet up. It’s something we’ve often floated in the past but it just never seems to happen.

This time though, things are looking good and the provisional idea is that we’re going to meet somewhere that is reasonably equidistant to our houses and go for a hike. It might be in the Peak District, which also happens to be one of my favourite regions of England. We’ve not quite got anything concrete planned as yet, but I’m right in the middle of planning and for once, it looks like we will actually see this one through. Definitely a reason to smile.

Some good news on the running front. Regular readers of my blog will be familiar with my love of running. People who are new to the blog, forgive me; it’s something that I never tire of banging on about and I’m probably very much a running bore!

Anyway, so far this January I’ve managed to get myself entered for two 10k races – one in March and one in May – and my training is going fairly well. I’ve not pushed myself too hard, but have still been regularly going out and running between 5 and 6 miles a week. And as of yesterday, I learnt that the 10k I’m taking part in this March will also feature several mates from work, which is always good fun. It’s always lovely to see people at these things, not least because they’re all incredibly encouraging.

I still get incredibly nervous at these things and nowadays am always worried that something will go wrong and that I’ll have another episode with my heart, however unlikely that might be. So, when I’m getting ready to run, I know that I’ll probably bump into someone that will ask about my health, my pacemaker and just really help to calm me down. And that, dear reader, will at least make me smile a tiny bit.

Yoga. Several years ago and with more than a hint of cynicism, I was persuaded to give yoga a try. I was sure it wouldn’t be for me and sure, given the fitness I thought I already had that it’d be a breeze. I quickly learnt that it was very tough going indeed.

However, I loved doing yoga from that very first session and although it confirmed my lack of flexibility, I was keen at least! Sadly, with the pressures of work and having a young family we ended up giving it up after about 6 months. We always thought we’d start again fairly soon. That didn’t transpire though.

This January my wife suggested we try again and given that I seem to be constantly training for something or other, I was quickly in agreement. We started about three weeks ago and have been doing a couple of sessions per week. We’re not attending classes, just using the YouTube app on the television to follow the regime of one of many yoga instructors out there, but it’s working.

I have to say, I’m loving it once again. Yoga is generally tough, especially when you’re as inflexible as me, but it helps me to relax and I know that in another few weeks I’ll start to reap the benefits. So, when I’m stuck in some ridiculous position, every sinew straining, my body probably wobbling a bit with the pressure of that particular pose, you can be sure that a smile won’t be far away.

If you’ve never tried yoga I can definitely recommend it!

Poetry Blog – ‘The old tyrant’

This is a relatively new poem, written about one of my grandfathers. I barely knew him, but a while ago I got one of those DNA kits as a Christmas present and as a result started to research my family tree. At the end of it all, not only was I disappointed to have no sign of any Viking ancestry, but I felt I knew my grandfather even less.

It’s always been something that held an interest to me. Both my mam and dad come from big families and so, growing up, we were surrounded by aunties, uncles and cousins whenever there was some kind of ‘family’ occasion. However, for any number of reasons I never felt that I really knew them that well. Being quite a shy kid probably didn’t help.

We lived in a different part of Newcastle to the rest of the family and so didn’t see them on a day to day basis and then as I got older I was busy with friends and different interests. Going away to university didn’t help my cause either; if anything, it made me stick out like a sore thumb! When I finally moved away from the North East entirely, I pretty much drifted away from all but immediate family.

The relationship with my grandparents on both sides was difficult, to say the least. With this grandad, he died when I was very young and there always seemed to be a reluctance on my parents part for them to take us to see our grandparents. If I’m honest, it doesn’t look like they were at all interested in us and I literally can’t remember ever meeting my grandma. However, I do have one extremely vague recollection of my grandad which is where the poem comes from.

'The old tyrant'

If I close my eyes, I still see him
from exactly the same vantage point, every time.
A dot of a man, his appearance betraying every terrifying snippet 
I'd ever heard.
Brown shoes, dark trousers, midnight blue raincoat
and a black trilby hat, shadowing his features,
making those eyes even darker, so that it felt like he looked straight through me
as he crept closer, a shining silver coin grasped in bony fingers.
The childcatcher had come, bearing gifts.
Then, with a pat on the head, he was gone.

Everything else is mystery, legend,
even your name uncertain.
"The old tyrant", my mam would say with just a hint of a smile,
"a villain", but maybe an entertainer, singing and dancing
on the West End stage, if that was to be believed,
the cold, hard presence passing your distance
through the generations,
many leads to your life, but never a final destination,
many strings to your bow,
but barely a finger print of recognition left behind,
the untraceable ghost, continuing to haunt
despite the fact that none ever really knew you at all.

When I was very young my parents ran a business. As part of the business we had a shop and a market stall, I think. My dad would be away buying crockery – plates, cups, bowls etc – in Stoke-on-Trent for the business (that’s what we sold…everyone needs stuff to eat off, right?) and my mam would be running the shops. As I was a poorly child (yes, heart nonsense even at that age!) I’d often find myself in the shop.

One day, when both parents were there, my grandad paid us a visit. I was perched on a stool in a corner of the shop, like some gaunt, pale kind of mascot and he came in, spoke to my parents a little bit as far as I can remember, and then made his way across to me.

As the poem says, he just came over, pressed a coin into my little hand and then left. That was the only interaction that I recall. No talking, no affection. He might have smiled, but I can’t remember.

Growing up, I picked up nothing but negativity around him, which comes out in the poem. Apparently, he wasn’t the greatest dad – although times were very different back then – and was very tough on his children, one of them my dad. When it came to seeing his grandchildren, he just didn’t seem to be interested. Well, not in this one anyway! So, I’d hear the types of descriptions that come up in the poem, labelled at him time and again.

When I came to research my family tree, he was just as big a mystery as ever. I’d been told that he was ‘a dancer and singer’ on stage in London by my dad when I was a kid, but there wasn’t much evidence of that. In fact, what he actually did remained a mystery and I uncovered bits of evidence that he had possibly led a bit of a double life a times. I won’t go into it because it’s obviously quite personal, but also because it left me no closer to knowing a great deal about the man!

So there we go; my grandad, man of mystery and little affection or it might seem, any kind of feeling whatsoever!

I hope you enjoyed the poem.

The Joys of Volunteering

For the last few months I’ve been trying something a little bit different. It started with just giving my son a lift to where he was going and then curiosity and trying to be a good dad somehow got the better of me. Now, I seem to be a fully fledged volunteer!

In actual fact, the whole thing really started around a year ago. My son had decided to do his Bronze for the Duke of Edinburgh Award and as part of his challenge he had to do 6 months worth of volunteering and so, following in his sister’s footsteps, he started helping out at a local Parkrun. For the majority of the time there were four of them, all friends, doing this. But then occasionally it’d just be him and so I got involved and stood marshalling with him on various parts of the course. Often cold, but always bearable!

When he decided to then do his Silver D of E award we thought he’d change his volunteering to something else. But he didn’t and so here we are again!

For the first few weeks I would just drop him off and then go for a long walk around the country park that the run takes place in. After all, it wasn’t me who was taking part in the Duke of Edinburgh award and besides, I saw my Saturday morning hike as good recovery time, as my heart operation was a few months previous. The exercise combined with that early morning solitude was blissful!

Then, one week my son asked if I fancied joining in and doing some marshalling with him. Having done a few weeks scanning the barcodes of the finishers he fancied a change and so of course, in my quest to be dad of the year, I said yes.

There are loads of different roles that you can volunteer for at a Parkrun. I had a look at our latest roster and that told me that there were 15 different jobs to choose from. You can fulfil various roles at the finish, as well as tail walking with the last participant, be it a runner or walker. And in marshalling alone, we have 11 different checkpoints to fill. So, there’s a lot of variation in what you can choose to be doing in supporting the runners.

As a marshall, all we really do is watch the runners come past our checkpoint, keep an eye out for any problems, answer any questions and make sure no one walks across the course as the runners approach. Oh, and clapping. We do a lot of clapping and encouraging.

Of course, it’s been winter and so the conditions have been cold, to say the least. The standing around doesn’t help either and in fact it can leave me in a bit of pain as my back and my feet don’t seem keen on just standing. A couple of weeks ago we were soaked to the skin, despite wearing heavy coats, as the rain was just torrential. But the race went on! It made me look forward to Spring and the weather being a bit warmer though!

Volunteering always leaves me in a good mood. For a start, there’s the sense of pride that you get in just being able to help out. It’s nice that lots of the runners will actively thank us as they go round. I always think it’s nice to be appreciated, even though it feels strange to be thanked when the runners are the ones exerting themselves! But at a time when my mental health hasn’t always been good it’s a welcome boost.

It’s nice to feel like part of something too. There’s a friendliness and a sense of community amongst both runners and volunteers and although I’m quite quiet and don’t really talk to too many people, it always feels like we’re welcome and very much appreciated. And of course it’s good to spend some quality time with my son too, despite the early mornings!

In the future, perhaps in retirement I’d like to do more volunteering. We’ve talked about helping out at one of the RSPB reserves as it’s something that’s been of interest for a while. I’d like to volunteer with the homeless too. I think that given I’ll have a bit more time to play with once I’m retired or at least semi retired, it’d be good to use that to help others.

In the meantime, volunteering is something that I’d actively encourage anyone to try. It can get you exercise and undoubtedly helps with your mental health. The fresh air alone is really important to me.

If you’re thinking of volunteering, there are over 1200 different Parkruns around the U.K. It’s easy to do, even if it is quite early on a Saturday or Sunday morning and the rewards are great. I can’t guarantee the weather, but it’s something that I’d definitely recommend. Give it a go, it might just make a really positive change in your life!

Book Review: ‘Don’t Need The Sunshine’ by John Osborne

I’ve always loved the seaside. Newcastle, where I was brought up, is close to some of the best coastline that the UK has to offer, so there was always an easy access day trip whenever one was needed. We’d spend entre days there as kids during the summer holidays. Further to that, being born into a family that placed a high value on the power of a bracing walk meant that windy beaches were our regular stomping grounds. In fact, we went every year on New Year’s Day as a family tradition!

So, it was a pleasure to read this book, as well as a nice trip down memory lane. John Osborne’s ‘Don’t Need The Sunshine’ is a celebration of the charms of the British seaside and when I caught sight of the cover and two primary school aged kids in decidedly 70s clothing eating ice creams at the beach, I was always going to buy it. And it proved to be money well spent.

While working in Scarborough for a summer, Osborne is struck by a feeling of nostalgia for the traditions of the British seaside. And so begins an often rainy odyssey of trips to a variety of UK seaside spots.

John’s trips begin in Scarborough, which if you aren’t aware, is a classic British seaside town. A long, sweeping sandy beach, a harbour, gift shops, amusement arcades and various bars and pubs dominate a town where thousands flock in summer in search of seaside fun and entertainment. These days it’s slightly run down, although still a great destination for a few days at the beach, but Osborne finds much evidence to support the fact that the nostalgic activities he remembers from childhood are still very much in play in Scarbs.

From Scarborough, Osborne journeys down and around the country taking in a variety of seaside destinations. I was really disappointed that none of my old North East haunts were visited, but with such subject matter you’re never going to please all of the people all of the time, given the sheer amount of coastline that we have on our little island. That said, a chapter on Whitley Bay or Tynemouth would have been much appreciated!

There are various tales here though. From historical tales of Skegness to the arcades in East Anglia, following the suicide watch at Beachy Head right through to the ‘ultimate’ sandcastle competition and a remote western lighthouse. The British seaside provides Osborne with a wonderful collection of experiences to immerse himself and the readers in, as well as a selection of wonderful people to spend time with.

The result is a fascinating read. It might be quite a niche subject and possibly of much more appeal to us Brits than anyone else, but I’d still thoroughly recommend it.

‘Don’t Need The Sunshine’ provides a wonderful dose of nostalgia about a slightly faded British institution. Millions of us grew up looking forward to days out at the seaside; some of us still do. But the typical British seaside town has changed immeasurably from what we’d see in their heyday. The rise of first the package holiday in the 60s and 70s and then budget airlines in the early 2000s signalled a death knell for many of our resorts. However, the popularity of ‘staycations’ mean that they are making something of a comeback. Still, most of what Osborne finds just isn’t the same.

That said, he finds joy and hope in most of the places that he visits. Sometimes, it’s nostalgia based, sometimes it’s fleeting, but it’s joy all the same. And that’s the thing about the British seaside; there’s always at least a sliver of joy to be had. It’s just that sometimes you have to take a little more time to look.

Osborne’s writing is excellent. As he describes the people and places that he finds on his trips, you’re transported there with him. He’s sympathetic to the plight of our seaside towns so that everything has a positive outlook and while it doesn’t serve as some sort of propaganda, the work that’s going on is highlighted and praised appropriately. The resorts are treated with a genuine affection as Osborne reveals that when you scratch beneath the surface there’s a lot going on in our seaside towns. He clearly loves them, like a lot of us Brits still do. And that’s what makes ‘Don’t Need The Sunshine’ such a great read. Osborne’s subject matter has something for everyone; whether your ‘of a certain age’ like me and looking for a trip back in time to a different age and time or you just live a long way from the seaside and only take trips there ever so occasionally.

It would have been easy to write a book that was sniggering, cynical and sarcastic about the UK’s seaside towns. But thankfully that hasn’t happened here. Instead, ‘Don’t Need The Sunshine’ emphasises the positives and the diversity that you’ll find, touching also on the glamour of the past. And I for one absolutely loved it!

I give ‘Don’t Need The Sunshine’

⭐⭐⭐⭐

Rating: 4 out of 5.

The Pacemaker Diaries – One year on…

So it turns out that last week had a number of big days. Huge, in fact because last week marked a year since I had my pacemaker fitted.

I remember it well. Of course I do. At the beginning of that week I had realised that I was seriously ill. Even then, I didn’t know what the problem was – but it had been going on for months – and when I was admitted to hospital I still just thought they’d keep me in overnight and send me home with some tablets that would miraculously make everything alright again. My heart wouldn’t keep me awake at night. There would be no more listening for it and wondering if it had stopped.

The morning came and a lovely cardiologist disappointed me with his lack of tablets, then stunned me with his talk of a pacemaker. Despite protesting – “those things are for pensioners, man” – I was very quickly put in my place. “Put it this way, your heart stopped for over 4 seconds last night.” The other option was not to do it, but to lose my driving licence and then start worrying about my job. After all, it’s not normal or safe to be blacking out left, right and centre and I was told that this was likely.

“I think we’ll fit that pacemaker then!”

I laughed about it but I was crying inside. I was far too young for this. And I didn’t have a clue what it actually meant. At least I felt safe in the hospital, but it was a lot to take in. Still is.

The next day, just after 11am, I was wheeled down to theatre, talked through what was going to happen and then they just got on with it. The whole place was calm, jovial even. I was terrified. But do you know what, the more people singing along to the radio while performing your heart surgery, the more comforting it gets!

Later, back on the ward, there was the kind of drama that you never expect to be involved in, as my pacemaker failed and my heart monitor set off every alarm within a five mile radius. At least it felt that way. My heart decided it was time for yet another episode and the palpitations started with a vengeance. Doctors and nurses crowded around my bed, assuring me that help was on the way while I watched a monitor until my heartbeat hit 209bpm. At that point someone took the sensible decision of moving the monitor out of my eyeline.

It turned out fine. Someone from the cardiology department fixed it all online and in as much of a matter of fact way as was humanly possible. While I felt like I was quietly awaiting the grim reaper or a lovely warm light or whatever death looks like (various deceased comedy legends welcoming me ‘home’ and saying they’re my biggest fans?), him and his machine had “a chat with” my pacemaker. It worked.

The next day I was released back into the wild, not really knowing what awaited me. In truth, I didn’t really know if I could make it to the car without stopping for a rest. I imagined though that it might mean a couple of weeks off work. It was four months later that I finally went back.

It’s been a weird year. In some ways I feel worse than ever. It definitely did something to me, mentally and I do find it difficult to motivate myself. On the other hand though, I’m running regularly and actually feel fitter than ever. There have been three 10k races in the last 6 months or so and I feel like I’ve proved a bit of a point to myself. I’m still not quite convinced though.

I can feel my pacemaker every day. When I put on deoderant or have a wash, it’s there. Sometimes, I catch it a bit and it hurts. Occasionally, when I’m carrying a box or something of any decent size, it might rebound on to my chest and boy does it sting! The wires sit there, just above my scar and the pacemaker and they’re right there, just underneath the surface of my chest. Place a finger there and it’s almost like you could pluck them out with a little bit of effort. Not that I’m encouraging anyone to try! I think this is a consequence of me not being very well built; another reason to curse my body! And if you look closely, through my lustrous chest hair, you can actually see the outline shape of the pacemaker itself. How attractive!

There have been no more scares though. No more lying awake at night listening to my heart and wondering what it’s doing. So, the pacemaker is actually a comfort. My heart works which is rather nice.

For a long, long time I was fatigued. I felt like I’d never get better or feel like myself again. My body seemed to take an age to come to terms with what had happened. Coming off beta-blockers helped, but didn’t solve it. From my third day back at home I was going for a daily walk. At first, it was just 10 minutes, but being as bloody-minded as I am I worked that upwards as quickly as I could. But I’d be capable of very little else once I was done and days would simply drift past. Months later, when I felt capable to run a short distance, it would take the rest of the day to recover. In short, for months I just felt terrible. My body ached and I generally felt exhausted. I’d be out of breath easily and immensely frustrated by this.

It’s really not an exaggeration to say that this last year has been a real battle. I’ve felt incredibly low at times – and still have periods like that to this day – and I’ve had to work really hard to keep myself going. I’ve suffered with terrible bouts of sadness, that I didn’t imagine would be possible for me; not just feeling sorry for myself, but genuinely feeling sad, tearful and lonely about life and how things were turning out. The pacemaker made me angry and in truth, I still can’t get my head around the fact that I have to have it.

I regularly remind myself of how lucky I am though. It’d be too easy to just sort of give up and feel sorry for myself. I was almost discharged from hospital before I’d even got to a ward. Only a last minute check showed any kind of problem and only when a senior cardiologist had looked at it all properly was it decided that I had to have a pacemaker. I was actually minutes from going home, so who knows what could have happened? Clearly, I’m lucky though. I’m still here, my quality of life is good and although there are still one or two flutters with my heart now and again, I’m fairly confident that my pacemaker has it all covered!

What I’ve learnt over the course of the last 12 months is that it’s going to take me a while to recover fully and to feel like I’m back to my normal self again. I was ill for months before I got treated – my own fault because I hid what was wrong. But I think that has taken its toll. As I said earlier, I still struggle mentally but I don’t have as many low periods as before. Normal life with work and everything else has helped. But I’ve learnt that I really do have the strength to come back from adversity. Maybe, in another year’s time I’ll have consigned pacemaker diaries to the back of my mind. Maybe.

Hopefully, the future is a bit happier and healthier! Maybe I’ll get to change my tune and write about that instead!