Thirteenth bit of stuff - Nothing in particular

I'm quite aware I haven't posted on here for a while.  I'm sorry about this, I know how disappointed you must be, coming on here after an strenuous day at the office in the hope there has been a new entry, only to find I still haven't posted anything.   And I can only apologise for this, I can only imagine how hard it must be for you.  I'm not really sure why I'm writing this now, or indeed what to actually write about, but after no updates for a few weeks I do feel the need to do it, just to, if anything, convince myself to continue with it.

In truth I haven't actually been as idle as it may seem.  For a start I've been busy writing on my other blog, I also did a question and answer about Cardiff City which got published in, wait for it...the Scunthorpe Telegraph, yes the Scunthorpe Telegraph and I have also set up a new cricket forum for the forthcoming Ashes series.  On top of this I've been back to the gym in an effort to get my fitness somewhere back to where it was before the operation, something which, incidentally, now seems in the distant past.  Oh and I've re-discovered alcohol and am enjoying a honeymoon period with it.

So has anything bothered me recently?  Nothing massively no, although I did hear a woman call her 2 year old child Colin the other day.  It didn't bother me, but I didn't expect it.  I apologise if anyone is offended by this, I'm sorry if you, or a friend, have recently named a newborn Colin, but it just doesn't seem right for a 2 year old does it? Colin.  Perhaps it's just me.  Colin.

Something, however, which did bother me recently was the sight of a man in my local Co-op wearing flip flops.  I'm not a fan of flip flops at the best of times and don't think they should be worn anywhere but on, or at least in the vicinity of a beach, let alone in a shop in Wales in November.  He was wearing jeans too, that doesn't go does it - jeans and flip flops? It's a look that - in my opinion - is impossible to pull off without looking like a complete knob.

I like the idea of being a prolific reader and always envy people who can read a book in a day or two.  I've done it before, but generally find it hard to concentrate for longer than half an hour, and that's on a book I am genuinely enjoying.  I've been reading a biography about Kurt Cobain for the best part of 3 months, I'm about 3/4 of the way through it, but I struggle to find the time to read it, although I have it in abundance.  I hear you say 'he can't be enjoying it that much if he hadn't finished it yet' but it's totally untrue, it's a fascinating read, I just always find myself wasting my time instead.  It's not as if I waste my time watching that much TV either, no, I waste precious amounts of hours watching pointless youtube clips or staring at my facebook profile waiting for something to happen.  Sad, I know.

Anyway, I'm off now, someone has just posted a youtube link on facebook and there are some things in life you just can't wait for

Twelfth bit of stuff - Halloween

Although I'm not a religious person I must admit I take full advantage of Christmas and to a lesser extent Easter.  At Christmas I, like nearly everyone else, like to indulge in as much food and drink as it is physically possible and generally enjoy the spirit of it all.  Okay so the build up to it starts well too early and way too much money is wasted on pointless presents that no-one really wants, but in general it's a good laugh and there's loads of football on and that's the whole point isn't it? Okay I know it's not meant to be, but really, it is.

Easter, although less celebrated, is again very much welcomed and is like a mini Christmas.  You don't get quite so much time off, you don't stuff your face to the same extremities and you don't get as pissed, but it's welcome all the same.

Halloween however (and I know it's nothing to do with Jesus in any way, is it?)  is something I find hard to abide and it's something that seems to infuriate me increasingly more every year.  In my opinion Halloween is great for kids to dress up as a witch or vampire or whatever and have some fun, eat some sweets, bob some apples etc, that's fine.  

Traditionally bonfire night is a bigger event in this country, but of late Halloween has overtaken it as our biggest autumn event, but in reality it's just another way for shops to make a quick buck.  I actually much prefer bonfire night and would much rather go out wrapped up warm, have a few drinks and chuck a few chavs on the bonfire.

Dressing up for it annoys me too, house parties are probably alright (although I've never actually been to a fancy dress house party), but I hate going to town in fancy dress.  I haven't participated in that for a few years and I don't intend to do it again, but I used to do it every year and I never felt comfortable doing it, I always felt like a right knob, although seeing Superman and Jack Sparrow getting booted out of a nightclub is something I will never forget (by the way, what has Superman, or indeed Jack Sparrow got to do with Halloween anyway?).

As a young child I, like most other young children, went trick or treating.  When I got too old for dressing up and walking the streets begging for sweets, unlike most other kids I never went 'egging'.  Why? Because my parents didn't let me, that's why.  Now I understand that most children who went 'egging' probably didn't tell their parents what they were doing, but unfortunately as a child I had a conscience and if I did something wrong I always felt the need to blurt it out, which would result in me getting a bollocking  But I'm glad that I never went 'egging', because looking back at it, it's not nice is it? And what's the point of it anyway?

So yeah, all that aggravates me hugely, but what really really winds me up more than anything about Halloween (and only those who have worked in a large office can probably relate to this) is decorating the place with fake spider webs, plastic spider, signs saying 'Happy Halloween', plastic skulls and THE very worst (and only a recent addition) is tinsel.  Yes tinsel - orange and black tinsel.  Seriously, stop and take a look at what you are doing, the place looks ridiculous, it's a total mess.  Oh and it's a fire hazard too.

Eleventh bit of stuff - The Cinema

A trip to the cinema is meant to be an enjoyable and relaxing experience, you choose a film to watch, purchase a ticket, get yourself some overpriced popcorn and a fizzy drink, maybe some sweets, or anything else that tickles your fancy, watch the film and go home happy.  Easy, well it should be anyway.

Now I'm not in any way a regular cinema goer, but when I do go to watch a film, for me, it is rarely a particularly enjoyable experience, in fact I don't think I have ever walked out of the cinema feeling entirely satisfied, not since I was a blissfully unaware child anyway.

Okay, so I did enjoy 'The Damned United' but even then I was wondering if it was really worth the £10 I was charged to get in.  When in the queue with a few mates the bloke at the counter said '£10 please' to one of the people I was with, '£10 for 4 adults' I thought, what a bargain. But no, it was £10 each, fucking hell, I know we are in London, but that's taking the piss, the most I had ever paid is about £3.40.  But, like I say, good film, enjoyed it, can't have too many complaints.

The cinematic experiences that don't necessarily go according to plan are the ones that are, invariably, the ones that are remembered more than the standard sit down, watch film, go home ones.  As I've already touched on, I'm not a regular at the cinema - I don't pay a monthly fee to cinema club and I don't subscribe to 'Total film' magazine.  This is largely due to the fact that I - and I feel no shame in admitting this - find it hard to follow story lines, I don't know why, short concentration span I guess, but I get lost easily.  I'm also not too great at sitting still for much more than an hour, so taking everything into account, by the time the last of the popcorn has been shovelled into my mouth I'm usually totally lost, confused, bored shitless, or a combination of the three.

There's nothing particularly difficult about going to watch a film, you go in, watch the film and leave, it's pretty simple, but nothing ever seems to be easy, nothing can happen without something happening.  The main reason for me writing this entry was to recall events that occurred a few months ago when me and 4 friends (yes, 4 males in their mid 20s, shocking, I know) went to the Cineworld, Newport a few months ago, but that wasn't the first time a trip to the pictures hadn't gone according to plan.

The first unconventional trip happened on a Saturday afternoon in 1997 when me and about 20 school friends made the trip to the ABC cinema (remember that) in Newport.  The film that was chosen (not by me, by one of the 'cool kids') was Dante's Peak, a film about a volcanic eruption.  About 45 minutes into the film I was offered some food and I duly took a handful, I was never one to turn down free food and it is a trait I carried into adult life.  The food contained hot peppers that my mouth wasn't yet accustomed to and it burnt it, I made a commotion (another trait I have kept) and proceeded to get kicked out.  Something else I will always remember about that day is the fact Perry chose not to leave me alone and walked out with me - true mate.

Another one I remember was again with a group of school kids (much probably the same lot).  We went to watch a film in Spytty industrial park, Newport, but as no-one was old enough to drive we had to rely on the bus to take us home.  We knew what time the last bus was scheduled to leave, but still chose to watch a film that we had no chance in seeing the end of.  That particular film was 'the Bone Collector' starring Samuel L Jackson, I can't remember much about the film, but ironically I seem to remember actually enjoying it, shame it was cut short, never did get to see the end of that film, I'll have to stick it on my imaginary list of things to do.

There are other experiences I could mentioned, but I can't be bothered and I don't this to go on forever, it's already a lot longer than I anticipated.

So, to the main point of me writing this entry.  A few months ago I had a text from a friend asking if I wanted to go to the cinema to watch 'Inception', I wouldn't normally accept such an invitation, but I had heard good things about the film, without actually knowing what it was about.  I agreed to go on the basis that 'everyone is saying it's good so it must be good' instead of my usual theory that 'everyone says it is good so it must be shit.'

So me and four of my friends (Dowler, Gwyn, Moe and Rory) left for 'Cineworld' in Newport (Spytty industrial park) and I was ordered by Moe to ring Orange (my network providers) to get a code as, apparently, it was 'Orange Wednesday', whatever that was.  So I rang Orange and got my code, which now allowed me to get 2 tickets for the price of 1, two for a tenner in monetary terms.  So it's normally £10 to watch a film in Newport? Rip off.

We got to the cinema at about 20:30 and by the time we had queued and bought a ticket as well as the mandatory popcorn/cola/sweets and made our way to the screening section it was about 20:45.  After a short debate we agreed on what screening was the correct one to go into and as we walked in I saw Leonardo Di Caprio on the screen 'probably missed a few minutes, but won't be a problem' I thought.  The cinema was quite full, so instead of suffering the indignity of walking around looking for 5 seats together we opted for the front section where you are guaranteed to get a stiff neck and will quite possibly have sweets/popcorn thrown at you by 15 year old kids further back.

So there we sat for the next 10 minutes, each one of us silently, secretly confused with the slow starting film and finding it hard to get into.  Then, all of a sudden, the title flashed up on the screen 'Inception'.  Strange intro, I thought, but it will probably move a bit faster now.  And then the lights came on and the credits started to roll.  We all looked at each other with bemusement before we simultaneously realised our monumental (as far as cinemas go) fuck up and then burst out laughing with total embarrassment.  Rory and Gwyn, who were sat closest to the end then leapt up from their seats and made for the exit asap, whereas the rest of us opted for sinking as low as possible into our chairs, in the vain hope the 100 or so people would have forgotten about us walking in with 10 minutes of the film remaining.

This wasn't to be, when we finally got up and started walking out with the rest of the audience I guess they were split into 2 category's, those who saw us foolishly walk in with 10 minutes to go and those who didn't, but were probably left wondering why we all found the end of the film so funny, when it was anything but humorous.

As we stood outside the screening room wondering how we managed to do what we had just done we agreed, aftter much deliberation, to go to the viewing at half past 9.  It wasn't ideal, but we had paid for the ticket and we were intrigued to find out what happened in the first 2 hours of the film.

Before we went in to see the film again we all decided that we would get up and leave at the point we had walked in at the earlier showing.  And so we did.   The look on the face of some lad I caught a glimpse of was priceless, it was a confused look that said 'why would you pay to watch a film before walking out after 2 hours with 10 minutes remaining?' Simple really, seen it.  Either that or got a bus to catch.

So that was it, my best ever cinematic experience bar none and paraphrased perfectly by Moe at the time as 'like our very own Pulp Fiction'.  Probably had to be there to really understand how amusing it was and if I've failed to encapsulate this I can only apologise, I never claimed to be Roald Dahl.  

PS:  The film, in my opinion, was over-rated bullshit.

Tenth bit of stuff - Cars

As you may or may have not have noticed, I haven't posted on here for a couple of weeks.  This is mainly because I have been in recovery and apart from the odd walk and run in with a shop assistant, I have very little to write about (and no-one writes about walking).  I did say that in my spare time I would write about past bollocks that has happened, but in my time off I've become more and more idle, rather than creative, if indeed this blog can be classified as being 'creative'.  Anyway, I have had the odd rant...


I've said it many times before and I will without doubt repeat myself in the future, it's quite well known by those who know me well that I don't get the whole car thing, I can't understand the obsession with them.  In fact I despise most things about them, they seem to bring me nothing but unnecessary distress and the problems they do cause burn massive metaphorical holes in my pockets.  As part of the male specie I'm not expected to admit these type of things, I'm expected to watch Top Gear, bum Clarkson and read Max Power and Auto Trader, but I don't, they just bore me. 

It's not that I don't appreciate their existence, or their importance, because I do, they were arguably one of the greatest inventions ever and as much as I like to sometimes think I would lead a much easier life without one, I know this is untrue, because to me, and most other people (who work 15 miles from where they live) they are a necessity. But that is exactly my point, they are a necessity, something which most of us need to get us around from place to place; to get to work, to go to the cinema, sporting events, gigs, the theatre (not me) etc etc, the list is endless -or at least very very long - but why people spend so much money and time on 'doing them up' I simply can't fathom.  Too much money I guess.

That is quite possibly my main quibble, the 'souping up', or modifying, to those who are even less clued up than me. With perhaps the exception of alloys (which yeah, they can be alright) I can't think of any other modification which doesn't make me feel angry just by looking at it.  From the spoiler (what's the point on a Saxo?) to the lowering of the vehicle (which surely makes it a lot more difficult to get around with the ever increasing number of speed bumps) to those light things they put on the bonnet, it just seems like a huge waste of time and what's the point anyway, you can't see it if your driving it.

However the thing that aggravates me the most, more than all of those above things, is the intentionally loud exhaust.  I can't for the life of me see why anyone would want their car to make those loud, annoying noises.  I once had a hole in the exhaust of a car I owned and it was horrible, I mean really horrible and not even cranking the music up to 30 would make it go away.  I took it to a garage as soon as I could to get it fixed, where I was probably ripped.

Ahh the money I pay to repair these faults.  Due to my ignorance I obviously know nothing about making even the simplest of repairs to cars, ask me to change a tyre and I will probably look at you as if you asked me to work out Pi to 3 decimal places.  Ok I could probably change one if I had to (and I think Pi to 3 decimal places is 3.142, no?), but I'm reluctant to try, in fear of the car falling on top of me and crushing every bone in my head.  I'd probably end up on a programme on one of those sky channels no-one ever watches called on channel 277 called 'Unfortunate deaths' or '1001 ways you wouldn't want to die' presented by someone you've never heard of and have no desire to either.

So because I know nothing about cars I'm forced to go to a garage, a place that makes me feel more uncomfortable than any other place in the world.  I can sense that straight away they have worked me out for what I am - an easy target.  I always delay going to a mechanic for as long as possibly (apart from the loud exhaust incident), convincing myself that the problem isn't really anything to be worried about, that the whirring noise is probably normal and will look after itself, that it will disappear soon enough.  My habitual answer to the problem - rather than going to a mechanic straight away - is normally to turn the music up to the point I can no longer hear the noise, out of sound and out of mind, clever, I know.

One reason I delay going to the garage for long is because I don't particularly trust mechanics, I have a theory (which could well be stolen) that when mechanics fix your car for you they make a slight adjustment to something else so that in 7 weeks time (yes, exactly 7 weeks) you have to go back, and go through the whole rigmarole again.  But seriously, how am I going to know any different?  I can sense them saying to each other 'here he is again, sucker' as I pull up for the 6th time of the year.  I explain to them my problem, but of course they already know, having loosened the clutch themselves 7 weeks ago (yes, exactly 7 weeks ago).

I also have a massive problem with Jeremy Clarkson, the ultimate car lovers hero, worshipped by so many, despised by many more, he is someone you either love or hate.  Well I fall firmly into the second category, I can't stand the bloke.  I hate his TV show too, who cares if they can drive a Skoda fitted with the engine of a speed boat around a racing track blindfolded whilst eating a twister with one hand and opening a tin of beans with the other, it's totally futile.  Oh and so we finally found out who 'the Stig' was, who was it again? Oh yeh, nobody in particular, some secret.

So why moan about cars? why now?  Well as much as I don't like them, I understand the need to get a new one every so often, not just for safey purposes, but so it doesn't totally lose it's value and, well, it is actually nice to get a newer car every now and then, particularly as I spend enough time travelling in it.  So I'm on the search for a new one.  I say search, I haven't really searched yet, I've driven one car, a red Peugeot 207, it was nice enough to drive and looks alright as well (red is a nice colour), but I nearly feel as ill at ease in a car shop speaking to a salesman as I do at the mechanics.  They may sound like they are trying to give you a good deal, buy it's easy to forget that these people - like anyone else in sales - are purely in it for themselves and will probably go at any length to ensure they get their sale.

So that's my view on motor vehicles, you may agree with me, you may disagree with me, but to be honest I don't really care too much, I needed to get it off my chest, and now, thankfully, it is.

Ninth bit of stuff - The op, 10 days on

The past 10 days has been rather different to say the least, not life threatening or even particularly life changing - ok maybe life changing to a degree - but more than anything it has been different to anything I had experienced before, so I thought I'd do a blog entry of my visit to the hospital, it's not as if I haven't got the time on my hands is it?  Excited about this aren't you?

It has been well documented over the past few weeks, on numerous occasions, that I had been due an operation, (the removal of my right kidney) and by Sunday morning the time had come for me to make the call to the hospital to see if a bed was available for me.  As instructed by the Royal Gwent I phoned them at 11am to see if they were able to accommodate me later on that day, but they told me they would call me back later that afternoon to confirm whether they could or not.  I didn't mind the delay too much, I appreciated that they wanted to make sure there was room for me before asking me to come, but I'll admit the waiting wasn't nice and left me slightly on edge.  It felt as though I was on death row, only in the way that I knew it was going happen, but wasn't quite sure when, it didn't, of course, feel like I was going to be executed.

Sure enough, later on that afternoon they called back with the news I would now have to come in early Monday morning rather than Sunday afternoon and to be honest that suited me, I mean who wouldn't prefer a night in their own bed rather than in a hospital bed before an operation?  I was instructed not to eat or drink anything from midnight onwards, which worried me more than the operation itself, sure 12-7 would be easy enough, but what about when I wake up? I'm always hungry regardless of how much I ate the night before and I hate being hungry, even for such a short period of time.

So I got up at half 6, had my last shower at home for a good few days, said tata to my mum and was chauffeured to the hotel by my dad.  We went to the ward I would eventually be staying after the op and I noticed straight away that the clientèle was rather old and as pointed out by my dad, it stunk of piss.  But really, what else could we have expected from the urology department?  I was told there wasn't yet a bed on the ward but I could wait in the day ward until the operation - fine by me.


So there I sat in a nice quiet room, reading my book for the next two hours, I was a little apprehensive, but my nerves were calmed somewhat after I had met the anaesthetist and surgeon, they seemed very sure of themselves, which is what you would expect from people in such important occupations.  I was also told I would need to give a sample of my blood, this is something I'm usually very relaxed about - I've had blood taken from my arm countless times - but I was slightly more anxious this time as I had embarrassingly collapsed a month earlier during this procedure.  This time, however, it went fine, such a brave soldier aren't I?

The time eventually came for the operation, it was about 12 o clock, give or take 30 minutes when I was wheeled, in a creaky old chair, into the operating theatre wearing my rather unflattering gown, with a blanket on my lap and for the first time I had begun to feel like a real patient.  Nerves kicked in, but it was kind of exciting too, I was now stepping into the realms of the unknown.  I was put onto the operating table and the anaesthetist and the surgeon's helpers relaxed me, they asked me my favourite holiday, to which I replied Kenya and then answered what my favourite animal was (Lions and Elephants).  I was now in a talkative mood, these people seemed great to talk to, "I've also been skiing a few times, that's pretty good too and..."

...and then I woke up.  Jesus, where was I, what the fuck was happening.  "Gavin, you've come out of theatre, everything's fine, if you feel any pain press this button and it will relieve it" said someone or other, I have no idea who, but the important bit there is what was said, rather than who said it, self controlled morphine? Interesting.  To be honest there is little to write about the rest of the day.  I vaguely remember being visited by my parents and also trying to watch Coronation Street on one of those small TV screens, but as the anaesthetic was still making me very sleepy and morphine was being pumped into my veins at 10 minute intervals, I can barely remember a thing.


Tuesday morning I wasn't much more with it, but I did start to make progress as I was taken out of my bed and put in a chair which was approximately eight inches from where I had been laying.  I managed to stand on my own two feet for about 15 seconds, before being put into the chair, where I would stay for the best part of four hours, drifting in and out of consciousness.   Although still not compos mentis I did begin to get some baring of my surroundings and indeed who I was surrounded by.  From what I could gather I had a 93 year old man to my left, a (white) 68 year old South African (who, by the way, bared all the traits you would expect from someone of that nationality) to my right and 3 other men over the age of 60 opposite me, 2 of them probably 80+.  At the age of just 26 I was experiencing my first taste of life in a nursing home for the elderly, nuts.


The rest of the day/evening/night was spent back in my bed, I was visited by various family and friends and happily tucked into jaffa cakes, chocolate eclair (sweets), wine gums and grapes (mandatory), whilst still happily pressing that little green button, which was firmly attached to my right hand.


Wednesday came and I felt a whole lot better.  My medication was downgraded slightly from the intravenously injected morphine to the trippier, less drowsy tramadol, taken via tablet.  I also had the catheter removed, I'm not going to explain what this is, if you don't already know then search in google, you will probably find a picture of one in action as well if you look hard enough.  So with the catheter removed I was now free to wander the ward on my unsteady pins, in all there were 4 wards of 6 people, 2 male and 2 female and there wasn't a person under the age of 60 in sight, barely any under 70.  It's hard to imagine quite how lost I must've looked.


After an entertaining Wednesday night, when the ward was introduced to it's latest patient - a 77 year old man from Bishton who fell out of an apple tree - Thursday soon came and it was time to go home and recover, it was a shaky drive home and one which made me feel nauseous, but it was a journey worth making, as I knew where I would rather be. 


As the last week or so has passed my state has gradually improved, I weaned myself of the tramadol as the pain subsided and have started to move more freely and although I've picked up an unwanted habit of waking up at 5am each morning, I'm at least sleeping pain free.  I am, however, beginning to go a little 'stir crazy' and have fallen into a daily habit which, from 9-6 goes a little like this: get up, watch a film, read, eat, sleep, watch another dvd, play xbox, eat.  It's not great, a little boring, but lest I say, it's still not quite as monotonous as working life - yet.


So that's the end of this particular chapter in my life.  As I stated earlier, it will change my life to a degree as I will now, hopefully, be able to start drinking alcohol again without feeling that dreaded pain.  I probably won't drink quite as much as I did pre pain as I like to feel that my lifestyle has changed somewhat over the past 6 months or so, but I'm not one to rule things out.


As I type this up I am sat next to my Gran, explaining about the blog and how it works.  "Who can look at this then?" she enquired "anyone, if they really wanted to" I replied "so they can find you're address then" "not on this no, but it's not hard to find anyone's address anyway, if you really wanted it" I answered.  "Even from America then?" she asked "why would anyone from America want to know my address?" "In case they wanted to come over here and shoot you."  Second thoughts, I wonder if I can start work again tomorrow morning?

Eighth bit of stuff - Last day of work...for a bit

When one finishes work for two weeks, or a week, or even a weekend (if you detest your job that much) there is usually a feeling of joy, elation and relief, for you are about to spend an amount of time away from the stress, or boredom of your day to day life.

Obviously I've had time off from work before, I know these feelings; the joy, the elation, the relief.  As you shut down your computer and walk towards the door you smugly say your goodbyes to your work colleagues, knowing that they will have to plug away whilst you go and live.

Today was different, yes, the weekend is ahead and yes, I will be having two, three or maybe more weeks away from the building I seem to spend the majority of my conscious life.  But the circumstances are different than normal, I'm not going on a holiday, to a festival or even spending the week relaxing and playing golf - if, indeed, the two can be embraced simultaneously - but I am going to the hospital, the Royal Gwent one to be exact.

As mentioned both on this blog and in real life many times over the course of the last few months, I will be having a laparoscopic nephrectomy, which, when translated into English means the removal of a kidney via keyhole surgery, obviously I didn't know this before I knew I was having one, why would I have? So I'm having keyhole surgery to remove a major organ, amazing isn't it - how they can remove a major organ using that method - doesn't sound true, but it is, Monday morning.

Yes, Monday morning, and the day seems to have come round incredibly fast since I was given the date five weeks ago.  I'll be honest, I haven't really thought about it much, talked about it yes, many times and to many different people - far too many to recall - but talking is completely different to thinking.  Only these past few days have I started to think about it, mainly in the shower - when there is nothing to take my mind off it - apart from washing of course, I mustn't forget to wash.

Thinking isn't always good and it's not something I've always necessarily endeavored to participate in, but sometimes it's impossible to avoid and like I say, I've started to more recently as my fears and nerves which were once deep in my subconsciousness have started to surface.

I understand I'm not the first person ever to have a kidney, or indeed any other organ, removed and that each day there are hundreds of people across the country facing much bigger and 'important' operations than I am. But in my world this is pretty big, the whole idea of being put to sleep and then have my skin cut open is foreign to me and only when I say it out loud, or type it (as I have just done), do I begin to panic, just a little.  My main fear is the anesthetic wearing off before it should, the thought of waking up mid operation is enough to strike fear in even the bravest of people let alone a country bumpkin mummy's boy like me.

That said, when the surgeon has finished cutting through my flesh and removed then organ, I am looking forward to the rest.  My body, which seldom gets a rest from various sporting activities, has recently began to feel more and more tired, suffering from years of wear and tear, after all, people who exercise for fun rarely get any rest, as opposed to professional sportsmen, who are able to treat their body with more care.

So the rest will be good, I've got plenty of books to read and films/TV series to get through over the coming weeks/months and that's not to mention championship manager - the 2000/2001 edition.  I will also, without doubt be updating the blog detailing past accounts from the golf course, cinema and hotel rooms in Stockholm.

So that's it for now, I just wanted to post an entry before the operation and take the chance to thank you, my fans friends for your support, cheers.

Seventh bit of stuff - A new galaxy

I traditionally dislike buying new mobile phones, I find it quite a stressful procedure, and it's one which normally ends up with me feeling like I've had my pants pulled down over the deal I have accepted.

I knew that I had been due a new contract for a while now, but strangely I hadn't had the barrage of phone calls I normally get from phone companies when my contract is running out.  So when I found myself in Cardiff centre with a few hours to kill I thought there would be no better time to sort myself with a new phone and contract. 

I'd needed a new mobile phone for some time now in truth, in fact I'd needed one about for about 17 months after I had dropped the last one and cracked the screen in the process having owned it for just 4 weeks.  Normally when phones are dropped nothing happens to them, they are at worst scratched and you give a sigh of relief and vow to be more careful with it.  Not on that occasion though, the glass screen was cracked in three places, but fuck it, I was pissed and it didn't matter as I had taken insurance out on it anyway.  Well, I thought i did - I hadn't.  Dickhead.

So with my usual scepticism I wandered into the 'Orange' shop, wondering what sort of deal I would come out with in about an hours time.  Would I, like the previous few times I had bought a new phone, show it phone to my friends a few days later only to find I was paying twice as much for a phone half as good?  Probably.

But to my surprise and with much relief I walked out just 10 minutes later having easily struck up a new deal.  The phone I chose was a Samsung galaxy S19000 (based on a quick conversation with Bec's boyfriend Marc), and with it I got what seemed like a fair enough deal and it didn't feel like I had been at all ripped off, or taken advantage of - result.  I left the building feeling more happy that it had been an easy 10 minutes or so than I was to pick up a state of the arts mobile phone.

But it wasn't my new phone/contract combination I was thinking about, but the way I was spoken to by the lad who sold me the deal.  It wasn't that he was rude to me, or offensive, it's just the manner was, well, different.  

After queueing for a couple of minutes I explained to the lad I was due a new contract but no-one had phoned me. 'Don't do that any more, what phone do you want?', 'dunno, Samsung Galaxy? (recalling conversation with Marc) how much will it cost though?' 'up to you, how much do you want to pay.'  This seemed too easy, 'erm, £20?' 'ok well take a seat, I'll be over in 2 mins,' shit, why didn't I say a fiver?

This process was new to me, on every other occasion I bought a new phone it had been a case of being offered a phone and a contract and me just accepting it for the sake of it, but was I getting reward for loyalty? did it flash up as VALUED CUSTOMER when they typed my details on the computer I wondered?  Possibly.

So he came over with said phone and whilst I had a 'play' with it he informed me it was quicker than the Iphone and that the screen wouldn't scratch even if you put a key on it, fascinating stuff and then he casually said 'you don't give a shit do you?' as if we had been best mates for 15 years.  It threw me to be honest and although he had quite correctly observed I didn't give a shit it didn't detract from the fact I was actually a customer.  I wasn't bothered, it didn't offend me, it was just odd, a different way of customer service I suppose, I guess he didn't speak to all his potential customers like that, I wish I could, perhaps I will.  

In the next few minutes he twice repeated his remark about me not giving a shit, it felt as if he was trying too hard trying not to look like he cared if he got a sale or not.  I was going to go with the deal no matter what he told me anyway, I just wanted to get away from the place.  I didn't give a shit.

So there it is, I got a new phone.  I don't love my phone, I'm not that shallow and don't believe you should become too attached to an inanimate object (unless it's a guitar) but I'll be honest, it is quite sexy, for a phone anyway.

Sixth bit of stuff- E-mail to the 3am girls

Got annoyed reading the Daily Mirror earlier, so thought I'd give those 3am girls a piece of my mind:


I don't often read your column, but when I do you always make me feel quite annoyed and get me wondering how people so ridiculous as yourselves can get a section in a major newspaper, albeit a tabloid.  Whilst having a look at today's (Saturday) double spread I saw a photo of Liam Gallagher and, being an Oasis fan, hoped there would maybe some information on a his new music project, ok I don't hold much hope for his new venture, but I am willing to give it a go all the same, but that's by the by.

But what did I read?  A story about him not wanting to pay over the odds prices in some upmarket restaurant.  Fair enough, Liam Gallagher can, at times, undoubtedly be one of the biggest idiots in rock, everyone knows that, it's a fact and his foul mouthed rants are hardly 'news' and are unlikely to cause shock.  But seriously, is there anything wrong with him not wanting to pay over the odds for food?  Although a millionaire, Liam is from a working class background, having been raised up in Burnage, Manchester and judging by this story at least, still maintains at least some working class values.

We constantly hear from the Daily Mirror that they are the peoples paper and are always willing to stick up for the working class, against the big bad stinking rich Tories, so to slag someone off in your piece for portraying the kind of morals the paper you 'write' for is quite embarrassing.  It may only take up a few lines, but surely you should be setting some kind of example to your many readers?

Fifth bit of stuff - Road Kill

It may or may not surprise you to know that - to my knowledge at least - I have never, be it by accident or in an act of cold blooded murder, killed an animal (insects don't count) before.  Well not until the early hours of Sunday morning anyway.


In school there were always stories of ill-fated fated incidents involving man and animal.  There is the well known story of one lad in my form who quite innocently dropped his dog down the stairs causing instant death.  Another lad in my class used to catch frogs from his old primary school pond, true he would let them go, but rather than placing them gently back into the water where he plucked them from, he would send them as high in the air as he could first.  I don't know how flexible frogs are, but it couldn't have been too nice for the little amphibians.  The third story that comes to mind, and by far the most appalling of the 3 is of the lad who used to catch fish and chuck them against a wall.  There may have been more to it than that, but thankfully I never witnessed this act of cruelty.  Lastly and fast forwarding some 15 years, as recently as last month a friend of mine, Philip Mackenzie, apparently attempted to kill his girlfriends dog only for the mutt to get away with a broken leg, I can only think he did it out if pure jealously.  Cruel bastard.


It had been a long - albeit worthwhile - Saturday at Reading festival and by 0315 hours I had been driving for the best part of 3 hours having been on my feet the day before.  Suffice to say I was feeling a little tired and looking forward to a few hours in bed before I had to get up for what was to be a typically arduous round of golf just 7 hours later.  Anyway, I digress, I'm not here to talk about my problems on the golf course, that's for another day and could probably fill a book, let alone a quick blog entry.


So, driving home at 0315 hours just 300 yards from home after over 200 miles of calm, uneventful road, there I was, hardly about to fall asleep at the wheel, but very much looking forward to my bed.  Not for the first time in my 8 years of driving I noticed a creature run across the road, it's never been a problem before and anyone who has driven for a reasonable amount of time can vouch that the beast will usually escape unharmed.


There it was in front of me, the proverbial rabbit in headlights, hopping helplessly ahead of two tonne of steel.  I'd normally slow down to let the little creature pass, but this, as I've explained, wasn't normal circumstances, with home so close I was already halfway into my bed and the furry little bunny didn't give me adequate time to dodge it.  So rather than do my usual slowing down tactic I stepped on the gas as I thought I would attempt to drive straight over it with both front and back wheels missing the bunny, in theory this (at the time), seemed like a good idea.


Alas my quickly devised plan failed and after successfully missing it with the front wheels I heard a series of bumps as the car itself went over it.  I knew what had happened and also knew there was little to no chance that it had escaped unharmed, although I told myself it was a possibility, perhaps it had somehow bounced off and got away with a broken toe or tooth or something.


I was now wide awake, having to be up in a few hours for said round of golf, thinking of the poor rabbit I had probably just killed.  I swear it had looked me in the eye just before I sent him/her to meet its maker too, we definitely shared a moment.


As expected, when I drove past the next day the rabbit had hardly moved from the spot where I first saw it only now it was considerably flatter and unrecognisable from when we had first met.  So there we have it, my first taste of killing another mammal, my first case of road killing a rabbit.  Road kill.

Fourth bit of stuff - Friday's here

For the average Monday-Friday 9-5 worker (8-4 and 10-6 heads included) Friday is the pinnacle of the working week, the last 4 days are all but forgotten and you’re already at least halfway into weekend mode. It also helps if - like the company I work for – Friday is casual clothes day, it just makes you feel more at ease and less like working.


The fact that it’s a Friday means that you can eat differently to the rest of the week, it’s kind of an unwritten rule. Having a chippy lunch or scoffing down endless cakes and biscuits is, for some reason, more easily justified than it is for the rest of the week. I did, however, attempt to eat breakfast before I left the house, in an attempt to not fall into the usual Friday habit of junk food and to kick start the metabolism.


It was an attempt that I failed miserably in; with no milk in the fridge cereal was a no goer, but it wasn’t a problem though as I remembered that the other day I had bought a bag of bagels, which I hadn’t yet opened. I opened the bread bin and took out the bag of ringed bread, I took a look at the best before date, as I always do with food, and it read 22-08-2010, 5 days out of date, feh! Anything else in the bread bin I wondered? Ah waffles, waffles will do, so I stuck ‘em in the toaster, went to the toilet, came back - burnt, ahh fuck it, I’m not an American anyway and I’ve got half a giant mint aero and a packet of chocolate éclairs in my drawer in work, they’ll do. Nutritional, I know.


Casual clothes Friday wasn’t just any usual casual clothes Friday today, for it has been labelled ‘Beach day’ and yes it is every bit as ridiculous as it sounds. We, the worms, have been encouraged to dress up in beach wear with the ‘boys’ dress code being Hawaiian Shirts and Bermuda shorts and ‘girls’ Grass skirts and Flower Leis. We have also been told to bring in beach towels, buckets and spades and numerous other beach paraphernalia.


I don’t want to sound like a spoilsport, because I’m not, I enjoy the odd laugh, but dressing up in beach wear whilst in work isn’t my idea of fun and there is no way it is going to re-create a real beach environment, there’s no sand or water or half naked people for a start. I hate the beach anyway, it’s horrible.


Lunch time came and it involved - not for the first time of the week (4th, I think) - a trip to Asda with Matthew. I bought ‘Airplane 1&2’ and ‘Spinal Tap’ for a fiver each, couple of bargains and something to watch during my post op recovery (I'm having a kidney out, if you had forgotten). But that wasn’t the highlight of lunch. The highlight was the nostalgic conversation we had on the way back about playing football over the field in our younger days, it had me yearning to be 13 again, not that I feel much older than that now anyway.


The afternoon was a usual Friday afternoon, doing enough work to get through but without being too productive, not in danger of bursting a vessel. I also spent a large proportion of the afternoon clock watching, it doesn’t make it go any faster, but it doesn’t stop me from doing it.


A busy bank holiday looms, beginning with a trip to the casino tonight. I find casinos daunting places, I feel like I am being judged by how much I'm spending, or not as the case may be.  It has the potential to make or break the weekend -  financially at least - for a few good wins could well pay for the rest of the weekend, whereas a deficit will see me being a little more conservative with my hard earned money over the next few days.


The main event of my bank holiday sees me travel to Reading as I have a ticket to go to the festival on  the Saturday, with the highlight set to be the reunion of the Libertines.  As well as looking forward to it I'm slightly apprehensive for two reasons, the first being the fact it is the Libertines and although I've never been let down by the chap personally, Pete(r) Doherty is as unpredictable as they come.  


The second reason for my trepidation is one of the people I'm going with, Youngy, has a poor gig record over the last 2 years or so, as the below incidents will explain:




1) December 3rd 2008 - Youngy, Ian and myself go to Swansea on a Wednesday night to see Dirty Pretty Things on their farewell tour.  Get to the gig venue only to find the place is closed.  We then notice a poster outside saying 'Dirty Pretty Things - Saturday the 6th December'.  Just the 3 days early then.


2) August 23rd 2009 - Youngy goes to V festival, Chelmsford to see Oasis headline, only for them to pull out due to Liam Gallagher having a 'sore throat.'  The band split up days later.


3) October 24th 2009 - Youngy goes to Swindon leisure centre to see Morrissey perform, only for the ex Smiths front man to collapse and get stretchered off after one song and never to return.


So, like I say, a little apprehensive.

Third bit of stuff - Tuesday, the day after Monday

Ok I know I said I wasn’t going to update the blog today in fearing of this turning into a diary, but stuff it, I wanted to.



As I was finishing yesterday’s entry at about 00:30 this morning it dawned on me that I had changed my shift for today from my usual 9.15-5.15 to 8-2 to enable me to get to Peterborough to watch Cardiff in the 2nd round of the league cup.


I find it hard enough getting up in the morning for my normal shift when I have had a full 7 hours sleep, let alone getting up for 7am after 6 hours, so it was never going to be easy getting to work on time.
Not for the first time in my working life I woke up late (7.24) and was left with a familiar predicament. With breakfast already out of the question I could either a) bypass the shower and go straight to work getting there on time or b) have a shower, get to work inevitably late and hope that it gets unnoticed. To be honest the first option wasn’t really a realistic one as I find it just about impossible to leave the house without having a shower, it just doesn’t feel right.


So having taken the second option I knew I was going to be a little bit late, but at least I would do so feeling clean and fresh and I wasn’t going to look a dick in my work attire, for today I had remembered to wear my casual clothes, quick learner aren’t I?


So I get to work late, 8 minutes late to be precise, not bad, could’ve been worse. As the office has onlbeen open for those 8 minutes it’s still very quiet, but already I’ve noticed a distinct difference to Monday. It has become apparent that the few people who are in are dressed quite differently to yesterday, they are all in the usual Monday-Thursday work attire, what happened to casual clothes week? For the second day in a row I feel like a complete dick, how can something so simple be got so emphatically wrong? It wouldn’t be so bad if I wasn’t wearing a bright orange polo shirt and shorts.


It’s also become apparent that my lateness hasn’t gone unnoticed as the boss is sat in her desk, ‘you have the cheek to be late after I changed your shift for you.’ Valid point I suppose.


The day has improved since 8.08 and I’ve been in relatively good spirits and what more the custard creams and tea seem to be doing their job today. The trip to Peterborough promises to be an enjoyable one so as long as I avoid spilling lunch down my top, what can possibly go wrong?

Second bit of stuff - Do I not like Monday's

Monday’s - hate them, but then again, don't must of us anyway?  If I was to mark each day out of 5 and work out a yearly average then Monday would without doubt be the day with the lowest average, and by a long way, but I’m not going to do that, it wouldn't be right.

Today actually started alright, probably just above average (for a Monday).  I had woken from approximately 7 hours sleep, which is about par for me and I woke relatively fresh.  Shower – check, breakfast – check, clean teeth – check, dressed – check.  So far so good.

I grabbed the Rolling Stones album I'm borrowing off Dowler (Let is Bleed) as I was leaving the house and whacked it on my car stereo and I was relatively enjoying the first trip of the week to the dreaded hell hole.  The journey went incident free, that was until I heard what I thought was the car next to me beeping, 'shit, I've started to drift across again' I thought, but I looked to my right and there wasn't a car there.  It took a few seconds to realise I had mistaken a sound on the stereo for a real life sound, I always feel like a tit when that happens and slightly embarrassed, despite no-one else knowing what has just occurred.

I got to work well before I was due to start, enough time to settle down, read any important (non work related) e-mails I may have received over the weekend and enjoy the first cup of tea of the day.  But as I walked through the doors I noticed something wasn't quite right.  Why was no-one else on the department wearing the standard work attire? why is everyone wearing jeans and t-shirts on a Monday?  Not for the first time and certainly not for the last I had forgotten it was casual clothes day, it's no biggie but no matter how many times I forget I always feel like a complete dick.  It also means I have to listen to countless people come up with that line 'casual clothes today Gav.'  Yeh, very funny, piss off.

By now I've realised I'm a lot less awake than I earlier thought and feeling a lot lower, I could battle the Monday blues, but what's the point? it's going to get you eventually so you may as well lay down and die, give up the battle.  The morning carried on in an oh do similar routine, speaking to customers I really couldn't care less about and feigning empathy for the fact their 2 year old grandson has put a 3 iron (golf club) through the TV screen.  We both know this hasn't really happened anyway.  Lying bastards.

Lunch time arrives, always the highlight of every day.  It's a chance to talk bollocks with pals Matthew and Ian.  Ian isn't in at the moment, he's currently in Vegas and is probably enjoying a lap dance as I type.  I don't know the time difference, so I don't know what the time is, but I doubt that has any relevance.

Because I couldn't be bothered to make myself sandwiches I was forced to buy my lunch.  My chosen 'meal' was one of those pasta pots you get at the takeaway section in supermarkets, a depressing lunch at the best of times, made worse by the fact you have to eat it with one of those shitty, flimsy plastic forks, pathetic.  And it was the shitty, flimsy plastic fork that was at least partially to blame for the spilling of the food down my work shirt.  Ok so I was probably mostly at fault, I probably loaded too much food onto the said shitty, flimsy plastic fork and undoubtedly tried to move it towards my mouth too quickly, but whichever one of us was to blame, it didn't change the fact I had to spend the day looking like a kid who had been left to feed himself for the first time.

The day was already a lost cause, I was in a shit mood and all the cups of tea and custard creams in the world weren't going to make a difference as much as I let them try.  Tuesday tomorrow, I wonder what excitement the second worst day of the week will bring, don't worry though, you won't find out, this isn't a diary.

First bit of stuff - A date for the Kidney Op

Yesterday I finally got a date for my kidney operation.  At last I have something to look forward to, well I say look forward to it, it's not a day trip to Bristol Zoo or Alton Towers, but you know what I mean, you know what I'm getting at.

I don't want to go on about it too much, because it's old news now anyway, especially for friends, family and work colleagues, who must be sick of me harping on about it all the time.  Kidney blah, can't drink blah, yeh it does get a bit tedious from time to time.  I try not to go on about it too much because I know there are millions of people out there with worse problems, Gwyns poor nerves and Tom's balding come to mind, but for someone as self indulgent as I can sometimes be (but can't we all?), it's difficult not to.

Anyway, like I said, at last I have a date, September 20th to be exact, with the 2-4 weeks off after work the silver lining of this particular cloud.  Of course there isn't really a cloud, it's a metaphor for saying that I'm taking a positive out of something which is predominantly a negative situation, I don't know why I'm explaining anyway, you're not an idiot.*

So on finding out my date I thought I'd share my good news (I know, but it does feel like good news) with a few friends.  The replies I got back were unsurprisingly a mixed bag of kind words, witty retorts and questions about when I will be playing football next.  The responses to the following text '20th of September, stick it in your diary, for Facey is going under the knife' are:

'Sex change?'

'Facelift?'

'Ah nice one mate'

'Good luck mate, I'll bring grapes and all that'

'I've always said Cook should've kept his place...'

'Finally the kid has a date! Curry night before?!?!?!?'

'How long before you can play football again'

'Is there a possibility of death?'

'Is it public viewing?'

If you want to play a game you can try matching the above quotes with the following names: Perry, Moe, Phil, Gwyn, Tom, Bondi, Brew, Kearney and Dowler.  It's harder than you think.

* You could well be an idiot