The Hard Way To Know You're Still Alive

They say bad luck comes in threes. Hardly a pleasant proverb to think about when two bad things happen to you. It's complete rubbish of course. It is only when three bad things happen that it springs to your mind

A month or so ago I was chewing on a legendary liquorice torpedo and snap, Bobby's tooth and filling disintegrates. A couple of weeks later, my mother-in-law's tooth gave way. That's a long old journey just to get a darn tooth fixed. Then a week after that, my mum's tooth broke. Not a popular trend and I'll take the blame for it.

Unfortunately this theory becomes cyclical. Mum and Dad's boiler broke down, the printer ran out of ink, and mum's tooth broke. Three bits of bad luck, and the best part of a grand gone in a flash. A harsh few days, but it happens.

Breaking my tooth got me randomly thinking about the worst pain I have been through. I tend to look back on those moments fondly, strangely enough. If you can overcome severe pain, hardships, I think it stands you in good stead for what may lay ahead. That's not to say I encourage and embrace it, but it prepares you.

When I was a kid, I had a tooth abscess. That was as painful as they come. Toothache is miserable, wisdom teeth issues are not pleasant, and I've had them all. The abscess was a different ball game however. Having a needle pushed through your tooth twice a week for a couple of weeks, when you're 12 years old, was not my idea of fun in my prepubescent era.

Another fairly miserable one was these mysterious stomach seizures I had as a kid. Frequently over a period of six months, I was in agony and curled up in a ball screaming. Had various checks and tests at the doctors and turned out I was massively constipated. No kid in their right mind wanted to go to the toilet at my school and risk being pelted with soggy tissues and so on, so I just avoided it. Needless to say, the doc said I was full of shit and there was only one remedy for that!

Then a stack load of other injuries playing football, getting up to mischief, drunken mishaps. All of which lead to dislocations, sprains, cuts and breaks. Looking down at half of your finger pointing upwards is slightly surreal. Cracking it back in place then driving an hour to the hospital is even more so. But you take a deep breath, suck it up, and do what you have to do.

As everybody’s (for ‘everybody’s’ read ‘my’) favourite lyricist says: ‘Feeling pain’s a hard way to know you’re still alive.’ I could not have put it any better Barry. However, when he sung those magical words, he was referring to a psychological pain rather than the brutal nature of physical. I think both of those are true and I was reminded of it only a week last Thursday.

An early morning start at my laptop and a strong coffee was going well until my trusty old laptop decided to pack up and apparently go to laptop heaven. He suffered the physical pain I guess, but it was me that had to redo the work lost from that morning. I gave him the equivalent of laptop mouth-to-mouth and he has survived, but he is heading to the Knackers’ Yard.

Next up was our Swisscom box – our satellite box. He also decided to pack up and there was no saving this one. A tragic loss, but he lived a good and extremely full life recording football match after football match with the occasional Gossip Girl in between.

Two fairly painful pieces of bad luck in the same day, and those which border more on inconvenience and the hassle that goes with it, so I would bracket them in the psychological category. I should really have known what was coming when I played football that night when a beautiful driven shot connected with the post….the non-footballing type of post – if you catch my drift.

There is nothing worse than that sickening feeling in your stomach –not the needle through the tooth, not the stomach pains, nor the dislocation. Popping babies out doesn’t even come close I am certain as any man will testify. I have actually carried out a survey as to the extent of human pain. My Research said that pregnancy came in 3rd worst in the list of most painful ills, Man Flu came in 2nd, and a swift kick in the nuts topped the list. It must therefore be true.

They are all tests and they challenge us physically and mentally. Whether it is the broken tooth, losing the work on your laptop, or the boiler breaking down. Adversity and pain is a hard way to know we’re still alive, but it strengthens our resolve. It’s all about the bouncebackability and coping and surviving. Just consider it a reminder that whatever the pain, you are actually still alive.

The Balance

A wise man once told me to always look after number one. He said you could and should not rely on others necessarily to help you out and in turn, you should make sure you look after yourself first, and others second.

A wise woman has shown me that it is not all about me. There's a bigger picture, and acts of selflessness are more rewarding than the acts of selfishness. The world is a better place when people think of others. The wise man also shows me that even if he says the opposite.

You may be right in thinking this blog should be renamed 'Mixed & Confused Random Writing'. The two principles contradict each other directly and these types of contradictions are the hardest ones to resolve and work out in your own head and your actions. There is no clear right and wrong. It is not a question of should I break into somebody's house or not. It is not a case of should I spend my last 50 quid on that shirt rather than pay my rent or feed my kids. There's no right or wrong with this one.

You'll see acts of selfishness and selflessness all the time. I often feel like it has become fashionable to hate rather than to love….or at least some people find it easier to hate than to love. You'll despise the selfishness and you will likely appreciate the selflessness, particularly if you're on the receiving end. It is easier to recognise the selfishness, that's for sure. Whether they are gestures for the greater good of mankind or putting a smile on a certain someone's face, generosity and kindness goes a long way.

That all said, the wise man is right. There are times, plenty of times, throughout our lives when we have to look after ourselves. It may sound sad, cruel and ruthless, but it is true. There are many occasions when if you don't look after yourself, nobody else will.

It is all about finding the right balance. It’s that balance between having fun and being responsible. It is that balance between being confident but not being arrogant. It is that balance between giving good advice, and taking your own advice. It is that balance between working hard and playing hard. It is that balance between being giving time to others and taking time for yourself. It is that balance between doing the things you want to do, and the things you have to do.

I could go on. There are a million feelings and issues to balance and weigh up every day of our lives. Read a fitness magazine and it will tell you the best way to lose weight is by shorter interval training. Turn the page and it will tell you long distance running is the best way. I keep turning the pages searching for the ‘eating burgers will enhance your stamina’ advice, but I’ve yet to find that one. Read medical reports and research that say eating a certain food can reduce the risk of some deadly disease. The next report will say that very same food can increase your cholesterol.

I’m not sure I have found the balance with some aspects. I aim for it in some areas, I avoid it in others, especially the ones I enjoy! I’m not into living by great extremes, and maintaining a degree of balance and consistency is important to me. There is no right or wrong to so many of the contradictions. I guess that is what makes life interesting. If everybody was balanced and consistent, we sure would live boring lives. It is ok to be selfish at times. It just needs balancing with a large dose of selflessness at other times. I’ll continue to pay attention to the wise man and the wise lady that have guided me this far.

The Perfect Combination

We all love to give or have an opinion on things. We love to rank and rate things. We love to compare and contrast. I love all those things. I also love to travel. I also love to watch sports. All this loving combined leads me to one thing – a ranking of my favourite places to watch sport from all the places I have travelled. We’re not talking venues or stadiums, we’re talking top five sports bars baby!

1.       Lagasse’s Stadium – Las Vegas

This is the sports bar of all sports bars and I have been here just a couple of times. The bar is shaped and designed like a stadium, and has a stack load of ridiculously comfortably sofas and couches to watch any of the 20 big screens on the far wall. Words cannot describe this one I’m afraid until you go on a Sunday afternoon and watch NFL there. Book in advance, that’s all I will say, but it is well worth it.

2.       Real Sports Bar & Grill – Toronto

The reason I am writing this blog is because I am in Toronto this week and there’s only one place my buttocks will be perching throughout the day on Saturday! This place is insanely large, has the filthy North American menu that we all dream about (but the obesity nightmare promptly follows), and a huge range of beers. There is literally a television screen everywhere you look – it is just tough to watch them all!

3.       ESPN Sports Bar – Now defunct but was in NYC and LV

Another dream venue for any sports/beer/food fan with screens coming out of your ears and plenty of beer on tap. I have to admit however, the winner for this place was unquestionably the spicy BBQ sauce that came with the chicken tenders – no better taste in the whole wide world. Actually, they sold it on in Vegas at New York New York hotel, but it is virtually the same and just branded differently.

4.       Hooters – Anywhere

Now I know what you are thinking. Rob, you’re a filthy pervert and I shall never look at you in the same light ever again. I’m looking at the screens I promise, just the screens. Oh, and the boneless chicken wings! Who would have thought that they could make boneless chicken wings! Sounds innocuous now I think about it, but aside from those, it is a great place and atmosphere to watch sports. Honest.

5.       Walkabout – Various

Now in some respects, I am not sure this one merits reaching this list – there is esteemed company. What I will say however, is that going to Walkabout to watch any England v Australia game in any sport is fabulous and highly recommended. I’m not saying it won’t be dirty, there may be a chav or two, and the carpets may be sticky, but you will occasionally find a good one somewhere across the UK and have an entertaining session. Ok, maybe I am clutching at straws here.

When I was 16, I worked in Wakefield. They opened a Sports Bar just around the corner from the restaurant that I worked at. As I started work at 5pm, that gave me an hour to watch football before starting work, so I frequented the bar every Saturday afternoon. It was a fantastic place and the kind of place that I dreamed could be exported into my cellar when I grew up and had my own place. Sadly, it did not take long to go downhill. It attracted the wrong crowd, and it eventually had chards of glass on the sticky carpet which promptly tells you to leave a bar as soon as you have entered. Sad but true. I love the concept of a sports bar, but I have yet to really stumble across a gem in the UK like I have in North America which is why the list comprises largely of North American establishments. That along with the fact that watching sport, drinking beer, and eating filthy North American food is great fun. If anybody knows of any awesome sports bars, anywhere in the world, I want to know please. Don’t be shy.

Patriot Games

I need to raise my game.  I enjoy blogging, but I am underperforming. I need to write more. This blog should have come four weeks ago, but better late than never right? I have to write a blog for Onside Analysis next week, so I’m writing a Random one to get back in the swing of things before I get my teeth stuck into that one.

Both my Uncle George and I vividly recall the battles and discussions we used to have when I was a small chap as I raved about how cool Germany and some of my exchange student friends were, and he recalled conflicts going way back to the 40s. We relished the battles then, and we laugh about them now. Maybe it was the respect for each other that we understood the way the other one felt, but neither of us backed down or gave ground.

There was nothing ever racist about those feelings, just the kind of feelings you would have if you had been involved in a war no doubt. The irony about it all, and a key part of my argument was that I loved spending time in Germany and with my German friends because we had so much in common. Similar sense of humour, a beer drinking culture, a passion for football, and in many respects, a pride about their nation......which lends itself to single-mindedness and stubbornness. All the ingredients to make a war, but to make a friend also. The Germans are far more like the English than many other nationalities. They are different, but they are similar. More so than many other countries close by.....read France, Spain, Italy etc.

My favourite national team when I was a child was Argentina. My hero in the playground was Diego Armando Maradona. Not the most popular team or player in England at that time, and not now. Diego was amazing to watch, it never mattered to me where he came from. 1990 was a slight shift in emphasis, but for some reason I admired the filthiness and ruthlessness that they employed right until the very end. The very definition of filth. It was more than England ever showed however in my eyes.

I have never been patriotic. The closest I have ever come to the word patriotic is supporting the New England Patriots. As a kid, I took a shine for Everton. Not Leeds where I am born and bred. Everybody else around me was a Leeds fan. I wanted something different. In cricket, I followed Hampshire because I adored the finesse and grace of David Gower, the brutality of Robin Smith and his awesome square cuts, and the bowling action of Malcolm Marshall. It was never Yorkshire.

The only tinges of patriotism I have had in recent years have come while I have been living abroad or living with foreigners in the UK while at Uni. People love to hammer England. I quite enjoy it myself, but it is a bit like me criticising my mother. It is fine if I do it, but god forbid anybody else to have a go! (Not that I would Mum, not that I would!)

I was super sceptical about the Olympics. That was more down to security and transport issues than anything else, but also because i have never been patriotic and I have never been taken by the Olympics. There are too many sports that just do not do it for me – in truth that is the same now. However, I have a new found appreciation for some sports. BMX being one, and Handball being another.

These two photos and moments did it for me. How could you not be taken by such an amazing spectacle? It was however the way in which virtually the whole country united around the Games that was a pleasure to watch. A pleasure regardless of whoever you are and where you come from, but unquestionably a sense of pride that it is your country that has put on this fantastic show. Regardless of where you come from, if you were sat in the Olympic Stadium watching Mo Farah win the 5k and 10k races, I defy anybody not to have had goose bumps. Watching the Jamaican 4x100m relay team was the same.

Maybe I am more patriotic than I would like to believe or show, maybe it just resides somewhere deep inside and it only comes out when it is pushed. Maybe having a father who cheers Brazil at the World Cup, Spain at the Euros, Man Utd in the Premier League, and whoever he has bet on in any other sport, has led to me being just as confused about my roots. The Olympic managed to bring everybody together. It felt a bit like one of our family parties actually. Everybody has their quirks, their differences, but never let that get in the way of a bloody good do. If you don’t like German people, then go to Oktoberfest in the next few weeks, and a bit like the Mo Farah moments, I defy anybody to come back with a negative experience. And if you don’t like me or my blog, then I invite you to a family BBQ next summer...there’s just something special about bringing people together and having a good time – regardless of where you’re from or what team you support.

Sportingly Random

I was hoping that this blog would get written a couple of weeks ago, but I’ve since learning that blog posts don’t write themselves. My first in August…I am officially a disgrace. A couple of my favourite sports writers, Steve Kim of Maxboxing and Peter King of SI, write some of their thoughts in brief flurries and bullet points….and I like it. Sometimes better than just read long sentences, simple as that. Here goes with some of my random thoughts on sport.

I think that the cancellation of UFC 151 is a dark day for MMA. In a nutshell, the challenger in the title fight got injured, the Champion refused to face another guy put forward, and the UFC cancelled the show. I would have been fuming if I was attending and had flights and hotel booked. Fortunately, that cancellation means Jon Jones is going to fight on the Toronto card in September that I may just be going to. Despite any good fortune for me, I am going to boo him. If you want to read more about it, this is the best balanced piece I have read on it all.

I think that Fernando Torres is going to have a fantastic season. Chelsea will play to his style and strengths now Drogba and Anelka are out of the way, and I think it will pay dividends.

I think that I am not late in predicting anything NFL with the season starting in one week. I find predicting a Superbowl winner to be pretty tough as so much is dependent on injuries in this sport, but my tip for surprising outsiders? The Kansas City Chiefs.

I think that sadly, as much as people have made an effort to publicise and promote the Paralympics, very few people will realise it is happening on their doorsteps. Hopefully a couple of British stars will somehow emerge and that will just spark some interest.

I think that if you were not aware, the Football Association have spent £120m on a brand new National Football Centre in Burton-upon-Trent….and it looks amazing. Whether it proves to be a success however depends on the people, the processes and the mentality…..and there is plenty of room for improvement in those areas.

I think that the last few days of the transfer window are going to be frenetic in England. The Euros delayed the market kicking off, but it is in full swing. I am expecting two more Everton signings to put a smile on my face….and yes, I’ll be pressing refresh on my phone from Paris on Friday night and racking up my mobile phone bill.

I think I will be pretty annoyed if the NHL and the players do not resolve their issues and get this season going. Nothing good is going to come of it aside from some dollars being shifted in one direction from the other. Disillusionment among the fans is the most likely outcome, and particularly in those cities where they struggle for support as it is. Sort it out.

I think that Falcao is the best striker in world football right now. It is a matter of time before he moves (I heard he was linked with Chelsea today), and I would love to see him playing in England. If only Arsene Wenger and Arsenal would splash £40m on a player.

Farewell

When I write a blog, it’s usually because I have random feelings and random thoughts. Tonight I have strong and sad feelings and strong and sad thoughts. My eyes are streaming as I type this, but if there’s one person who deserves a blog and a mention, it is Malcolm Patterson.

I met Mac almost six years ago. I started dating my wife six and a half years ago and I followed her to this amazing island of Prince Edward’s…if I am brutally honest I had never even heard of it prior to Hannah Jane. I worked for a consultancy company specialising in the betting industry. Meeting this special family and these special grandparents was tough enough as it was but I had major reservations about meeting the wife-to-be’s family as I undoubtedly had to explain my career path and gambling is hardly the easiest choice to explain…especially in North America. I went for the analysis and data in football point of view, and mentioned, if somewhat glossed over, the betting angle.

I rapidly learned that none of that really mattered. I wasn’t judged on what I did, I was being judged on who I was and am. I hope I didn’t disappoint. The reverse angle didn’t disappoint in the slightest. Malcolm and Nellie have always made me feel like their own….I cannot quite imagine what being one of their own actually feels like.

Malcolm passed away this evening, and all I can possibly explain or hint at is how sad I feel tonight. I am very much like my dad in this sense, and I take loss hard. Of all the aspects, characteristics, qualities and weaknesses that I get from my parents, this kind of emotion undoubtedly comes from my father. Dad takes things hard, and always has. That is far from saying my mum doesn’t….anybody who reads my blog knows exactly what I think of her. This particular side of me comes from my dad though. Most of the guys that will read this will no doubt want to rip me apart because of it, but you’ll know what it is about and it is one of the reasons why a. we are friends and b. you are reading this.

Two and a half years ago, Malcolm and Nellie came to Leeds for Christmas. HJ and I have a principle whereby one Xmas is spent in one country and one in the other, so we split time between both families. Mac and Nel came to Yorkshire at the grand old age of 84. I cannot quite describe what that meant to HJ and me. I had it in mind to propose to my girl, and their presence made it the perfect setting. After I gathered the courage to propose, we told our parents and then went into Malcolm and Nellie’s room. It was shortly before supper and they were fast asleep on the bed. We stirred them gently and broke the news, and their eyes lit up.

Fast forward a couple of years and tonight all I can picture is Mac and my girl rocking the dance floor in a Halifax bar. Their attendance at our wedding meant the absolute world to the pair of us. Just as the presence of my family from Yorkshire coming all the way to Nova Scotia did. Weddings are funny old days that bring out different emotions in different people. For HJ and I, we could not have wished for a better day than 4^th August, 2011, and that was in no small part due to the presence of Mac and Nel.

I have known Mac for six years. I cannot imagine how it would feel tonight having known him for 32 years…..or more….or less. I would not dream of downplaying any relationship that he had. What I can say is that knowing him for six years, six weeks, six days, six hours, six minutes…..you would quickly know this gem of a husband, this dad, this grandfather, this friend….and this grandfather-in-law.

My mum’s dad passed away when I was pretty young. I can recall the fifty pences and the boiled sweets that he used to give me when we visited. I can recall his large ears and him sitting in the armchair at Florence Mount. I wish I knew him better….and I wish I hadn’t inherited his ears. You can’t win ‘em all. My dad’s dad was Spanish, and I was older when he passed, but again, was never able to spend as much time as I would have liked with him as I saw him maybe once or twice a year if I was lucky. He had a sense of humour, much like my dad, and much like me. Small minds think alike, but we found it. I am blessed to have the family that I have, they are amazing. Mac was the perfect granddad, and I’m going to claim him, as I have done the last six years, as my grandfather. I can only wish to have had that kind of relationship, with that kind of gentleman, for my 32 years of existence.

Sat in the cottage a couple of weeks ago, the phone rang, and it was an organisation asking if Malcolm was still willing to volunteer his time to helping out those in need. He had put his name down some weeks earlier to help out. That was who he was, and what he did. If I was a betting man, I’ll say that there won’t be a better attended funeral in Montague, Charlottetown or PEI for years to come. You’ll be missed Mac, sorely missed and as much as I’m not a fan, I’ll raise a rye and ginger for you xo

When You Say Nothing At All

If you know me, then you have probably heard me talk or read something I have written about Mia. She is my six-year-old niece and is one of the most adorable people I know. Before she learned the art of speech, Mia was often seen biting, spitting, or throwing the biggest tantrum you would have witnessed. This all made sense if you knew her mum when she was a kid. Bratiness however transformed into adorability.  If you haven’t adopted one of my favourite words, this is the kind of transformation examples that you will see in the dictionary under the term bouncebackability. We wrote her off. Cute kid, but the biggest brat of all time and Super Nanny was needed. She learned how to speak and the frustration resided and being able to express herself vocally reduced the need to inflict physical and mental pain on those around.

She received her school report last week and I’ll take a quote from it.

“Mia is a popular member of the class and she has a close circle of special friends. She is also one of the most thoughtful and sensitive children I have ever had the pleasure to teach.”

How fortunate Mrs Bell never her met her four years or so ago.

My job in the betting industry taught me one thing. As passionate as I have always been about football, I have developed an ability to remove emotion out of certain equations or decisions and to try to evaluate things on their merits and not be swayed by any biases I may have. It is not easy. Maybe I am biased with Mia. Maybe every kid’s report was similar to that and Mrs Bell has five standard templates that she copies and pastes from one to the next.

Kids come out with pearls of wisdom all the time that usually crack you up. One of the joys of being a parent, uncle/auntie, grandparent etc. Mia has had her fair share and I have yet to meet a kid like her. Last week she told her mum that when Nanna passes away, she is going to move into her house so that she can be close to her. I have not managed to break it to her yet that Uncle Rob will be selling up and putting that cash on black in Vegas. I’m sure she will understand one day. I have however never come across a kid who thinks as deeply as her. I recall bursting into tears after sitting in silence for hours one evening when I was a kid and just mum and I were home. I begged her not to die and to live forever. Mum never made the promise but said she would be around for a long time. Mia is not as naïve as I clearly was, but she is already up to speed a certain realities of life that completely belie her age.

I have always been a deep thinker. I suspect that comes across in my blog and words, perhaps more so than in my personality, but that is tough for me to judge. I’ve always been attracted and have warmed to fellow deep thinkers. As I have gotten older, I find myself surrounded more and more by ‘thoughtful and sensitive’ people as my inbuilt filter system has weeded out many of those lacking those traits. I can only hope and try to reciprocate the thoughtfulness and sensitivity, and get the very most out of those relationships.

I have been thinking a lot recently about the same theme that Mia was referring to. She is on one end of the age scale, and there are folk I know and care about on the other end. None of this business gets easier, but like Mia, we try find ways to deal with something that is inevitable at some point. Who knows, maybe by the time I am old and Mia is grown up, there will be a live forever injection we can take. Although after somebody told me yesterday ‘what?! You’re only 32!?’ I’m not sure it is something I’ll be signing up for in any rush.

Mia is on to something however. No, moving in is not the answer or solution for me, and Uncle Rob’s share will go on black, rather than red due to my obvious distaste for that colour. It is the moments, the words, the gestures that imprint in our minds long afterwards. There is something hugely reassuring we can take from any key relationship in  our lives and that twenty years later, you know precisely what they would say, what they would do, what they would advise and what facial expression they would pull. I am not going to stop asking or seeking for any of the above – I’ll still talk to everybody and ask the questions, bits of advice. If I know you well, I just know what you’re going to say or what you think. It’s how I approach and deal with things in this complex world (read my head) that we live in.

Things To Do

Burns and I are famous for making to do lists. Busy lives and busy minds require some kind of organisation and we make streams of 'things to do' lists. They are generally extremely useful and help us remember things which could quite easily slip the net...occasionally they do. When you have 'write a to do list' on your 'to do' list, you know you're in trouble.

I have three to do lists on the go, and I usually write them twice a week. One is for my company Onside Analysis. One is for my website www.jumpinsport.com. One is for personal stuff. There are items that sit on all three that have been on for far too long that need zapping - and I will use this blog as motivation to zap one on each tonight.

The first two lists are pretty self explanatory and comprise of all the things I need to do for work. The third is completely random. It may include booking flights, it may include ordering something online, it may include reviewing my personal hygiene. Possibly the funniest moment involving my to do lists came in a senior management meeting a few years back when the owner of the company enquired as to whether I had cut my nails yet. He had caught a glimpse of my personal to do list. There is simply no blagging that one to be honest.

The main purpose behind the to do list is to ensure that I remember to do everything I need to do and on time. It came from seeing my mum constantly making shopping lists for what food we needed, as well as lists for what needed to be cleaned. My dad makes them frequently though I can't quite worked out the horse's name or which race meeting it is in.

Aside from the general reminder purpose, I would say that possibly the most important element of the list is being able to put a single line through each item. You would never think such a little bit of ink would make somebody so happy. The sense of achievement comes from acknowledging a job done and that is an important part for me.

Writing a blog should never form part of a to do list however in my view. Yet after not writing one for a while, it did last week. It should come when it comes, a bit like my mum's Yorkshire Puddings....you have to mix the pudding thoroughly, pour into the tray, leaving the oven door closed, and patiently wait for them to rise majestically before serving up. The alternative is a flat flavourless pudding with no real substance. You can't force, rush or plan something like a Yorkshire Pud or a blog and although your head or to do list may be telling you it is time to write a blog or make some Yorkshires, they'll come to you when you wait patiently and deserve them. You deserve a blog today. I deserve some Yorkshires next week.

Secret Garden

One of the best things about Lausanne and what makes the prospect of leaving some day so difficult is moving away from our friends. It is going to happen someday, we all know that. We just do not know when exactly, and we all know we do not want to be the last ones standing. There is a six month rule in place whereby anybody departing must give a six month notice period. Having worked a six-month notice period previously, I know how tough that is, but this is more important than that.

Some of our most memorable trips have been together as a group. Barcelona, London, Carolina, Nova Scotia, and Madrid have all been fantastic trips which everybody will remember.  There have been a couple of weddings along the way, and there are a couple more to go. Sharing these moments, these trips with our fab group of friends, is special, and I know they will stick in my memory.

There is one place which is special to HJ and me. I planned a surprise trip to St Tropez when we were studying together over Easter 2006. Hannah was desperately trying to woo me, and I was just playing it cool as always, but thought I’d whisk here away somewhere pleasant. I have no real idea why I came up with this place, but I just felt my hot girlfriend at the time would enjoy it and it looked the ideal place to relax. As with virtually all trips we make socially, it was worth spending the time to read the reviews of all hotels and find the best place, and I stumbled across a gem.

The first place we ever went together was a filthy and romantic weekend in Leeds. Filthy because it was -5c and HJ’s eyes almost popped out of her head when she saw what some of the ladies were wearing on a night out. I thought they were overdressed personally. And romantic because it was Leeds. Ok, perhaps that is still part of the filthy bit - I cannot quite blag that any more after many of our friends visited Leeds on my stag do. But it was around the birth of my adorable niece and for that reason, along with it being the first trip with HJ, it made it memorable to me.

The first more exotic trip was St Tropez however. We have been virtually every year since, and sometimes a couple of times each year…….every time we have been to the same hotel. When we went after I finished working at the Euros in June, it may have been our ninth or tenth time there. The staff in the hotel are exactly the same as when we first went there and most of them know us now. It took a while, and it is certainly cliquey….picture us turning up the first time with our backpacks….they had to drop the value of the rooms that weekend due to us lowering the standard. Our last visit was memorable because of my friend behind the bar. I have had lengthy discussions with him the last couple of times I have been. He is a good looking, smooth French chap, and if one was inclined that way, he would be a dreamboat. However, he has the memory of a sieve and should have been born 190cm, blonde, and with crazy heels. I ask for a cheeky beer, and he asks if we have ever been to St Tropez before. I reply yes. He says, ‘…but this hotel?’ I reply yes, only eight times. No clue but quite funny really.

It kind of feels like spending time in a French version of Gossip Girl. Hard to describe unless you see it. Needless to say that Burns and I keep ourselves to ourselves and largely stay clear of the Chucks and Serenas…..that reference was included for a number of my Gossip Girl fan readers….I’ve never seen it myself. It is however a special place because it is our place. It is a place we’ve never been with any others. It is a place we have come to know well, and enjoy. It is a place that had the first time we visited been a bad experience, we may never have gone again. It is a place that we made a pact on – that we will never go with anybody else. There is something magic about that.