The Big Game

When two Goliaths of world sport meet, as they did today, everyone sits up and takes notice.

Thankfully the match lived up to the hype and both sides produced a scintillating and pulsating game. It more than made up for the 4:30am alarm call. Actually, that wasn't too bad as I had foolishly entered us into the Auckland Half Marathon and hadn't really put too much thought into what a 6:50am start meant. 

What it meant was that we had to wake up at 4:30am in order to dress, eat and travel across town and the harbour in time to drop the kit bag before heading to the start line. Idiot. I can't remember the last time I had to get up so early by choice.

But the silver lining was that I got to see the score unfold, for the early part of the big game at least, It would've been awful to miss the start and the early exchanges, even though I was only looking at numbers on a screen.

The timing was terrible. My mind wasn't on the race or the task ahead. Even the shock of the starting gun going wasn't enough to pull me from my deep thoughts. I was back in Blighty. Or to be more precise, in the capital where events were unfolding literally half a world away . Who was going to emerge as victors? Would early domination fade? The race was a distant consideration. As the kilometres ticked by, rather than my usual pacing calcs, I was wondering about scores, possession and ultimately victory.

Anyway to cut a long (21km) story short, the result went the way of the bookies. Well it had to, and I guess you already knew that. Yes, for once the result went to form and the Giants of the game came out on top. World order, for once, was upheld. 

Charlton didn't really stand a chance. Not against the mighty Boro. Even the three goal victory away from home hid the true nature of the game. A closer examination of the stats .....sorry? What's that? What rugby final? Of course I'm talking about football.

Seriously some people have a one track mind.......

No Sleeps

I've always thought that the measuring of the passage of time by counting the number of sleeps to be wholly unsatisfactory. Childish even. I mean, it's just not that accurate is it? I can appreciate that it might help to count down the days to an exciting event, such as birthdays, Christmas or even the launch of a new operating system but it doesn't work for me. Not in the least. 

Am I supposed to just count just the big sleeps? You know those where I actually put on pyjamas and get into bed. But even then that is flawed. What about Sunday afternoons? I have been known to retire to bed after a particularly hard run or big lunch. Or both. Including those would well skew the system. Should I count snoozes in a chair and if so, is that a whole sleep or just a quarter? Exactly how many nana-naps make a whole sleep? And what if I manage to sneak in a few winks at my desk? How many winks are there to a nana-nap? Forty I suppose. I think we need guidance. Maybe I will suggest this as a potential question for Jeremy Corbyn to raise.

So having established that counting sleeps to major events isn't going to cut the mustard, as it were, I can announce with almost certainty that there are now no sleeps to when my parents and sister arrive on these shores. Today is the day. And no sleeps is somewhat ironic because that's exactly what I've been getting these last few days. For some reason my circadian rhythm has gone haywire. I have been told before that I have no sense of rhythm but I always took that to mean my dubious skill on the guitar rather than the inner workings of my body clock. Maybe it has spread?

Anyway the upshot is that I have been waking at some unusual hours this past week with my mind running simultaneous scenarios. Sure some of it is work related - the curse of being a project manager - but mostly random, and it has to be said, seemingly innocuous problems. Such as how can I squeeze in another training run before the weekend? Should I rearrange my running shoe collection? Is it better by colour or age? What's the best combination of dinners this week to use up all of the veg? Do we have enough carrots to make minestrone soup? Should I make some soup? What time is it in Los Angeles? How long is a flight from LA to here? If it leaves at 9pm in LA, what time will it be in the UK when it arrives in New Zealand. Should I buy an occasional table for occasional use. What should it look like? Where can I buy it? Can I go at lunchtime? Aaarrrggghhh!

I could understand it if I was pondering the futility of human existence or trying to understand Einstein's theory of relativity but no, not me. My mind seems preoccupied with bringing order to my grocery collecting rather than the universe at large. Ah well, so be it.

Of course I blame my parents. They arrive today and it's like Christmas has come early - and to reinforce the effect they are bringing gifts. Well, I say gifts, but these are things that we ordered, had shipped to their house because we can't get them in New Zealand. But the effect is the same, and has only added to the excitement of the day. I'm hoping that when I see them, and we are relaxing at home this evening my body clock resets itself and I can get a good nights sleep. I'm sure that it will. Just as  I'm sure that a glass of wine or two will help me drift off to sleep this afternoon. A couple of winks or even half a nana-nap will do the trick. Maybe they are the same thing?

Yes, all will be put right once they step through the arrival gate.....I just hope they can get through customs with a super large tub of Marmite!

Should a Once Broken Hearted Guy Give a City a Second Chance?

Even though I've been in New Zealand for over fourteen months, this time around at least, I've only ever been to the capital once before. The previous time was part of a whirlwind 'tiki-tour' (you're going to have to look that one up) of this beautiful country and the experience was not good. If first impressions are as important as they are made out to be, then the fact that my over riding memory of Wellington is witnessing a bar fight tells you all you need to know about that maiden visit. And if you don't believe me you can experience the visit here. 

http://inthelandlongwhitecloud.blogspot.co.nz/2013/12/wellington.html?m=1

So it came as a bit of a surprise, to me at least, when I suggested a trip to the capital to help celebrate by birthday. I had heard so many people tell me what a great little city it was, that I thought that either they were suffering from mass delusion or I had got it plain wrong. Obviously the former reason was the most likely but, hey, I'm an open minded guy. So with the promise of a great weekend away, and potentially the second bout of a great bar fight in mind we arrived in the second most famous Windy City. 

Second time around the experience couldn't have been more different. It really is a great wee city. Nestled in a natural harbour and surrounded by impressive hills, dotted with houses that  cling improbably to the precipitous slope, it really is a super location to build a city. You could be forgiven for thinking you were in the Italian riviera; sun glistening in the azure sea, golden stretches of beaches, scooters riding up and down the winding coastal road and more ice cream and coffee shops than you could shake a stick at. But, boy is it windy. In the taxi, on the way to the Parkrun, we were casually informed that this wasn't windy, it was a mere breeze and us Aucklanders are just soft and, quite frankly, Wellingtonians are sick of people telling them how windy it is thank you very much. Sorry I mentioned it. Wind or no wind, it was a beautiful day and with the sun beating down what great timing to spend some time in Wellington. And perfect conditions for Wellington to make amends.

I won't bore you with the details, but we rode on a cable car, wandered around the botanical gardens, sought sanctuary in a nature reserve, ate, drank from the brewery tap and were well and truly merry in wonderful Welly. 

It does make me wonder what went wrong last time. We're we too tired? Was it the weather? We're we just not in the mood? Or are we just more attuned to the city after having been in New Zealand for well over a year? Maybe all or just one of these hold the answer. 

Either way, what's done is done and is water under the bridge. But now if asked "Should a once broken hearted guy give a city a second chance?" then the answer has to be a resounding "yes! Of course! And beside what have you got to lose?"

Game Over

So there you have it, and I don't know why I was surprised really, as true-to-form England crash out of another tournament. Before it had began really. No doubt, back home, there will be pages and pages of analysis as to why we were not up to the mark in another game that we invented. Chances spurned and games lost.

And because of our untimely exit, I was expecting a rough ride in work on Monday. I really was. It was not so much the fact that we crashed out, but the manner of the defeat. Capitulation to lesser sides, as the press would have us believe. So there was that, and the fact that it was at the hands of the Aussies. Those two facts, or at least I thought, would condemn me to a day of misery and torment.

I assumed, wrongly, that there would be some kind of symbol laid out in jest for me when I turned the corner into my pod. Maybe a deflated rugby ball or a Kiwi flag? Nope. Nothing. Ahh, I thought, they're saving up the comments for the team meeting later this morning. Then I will really get it. I'll be like a cornered animal, unable to escape to the relative safety of the print room.

The meeting came and went without so much as a sideways glance or half-hidden snigger. Odd, I thought, but if not the meeting then when? Oh, how could I have forgotten? Of course, lunchtime! Yes, that's when it'll start. I'll just be tucking into my salad with pita bread and then it'll start. They know that with a gob full of green leaves I'll hardly be able to mount a comeback....

I had my lunch in peace and quite... well apart from the usual kitchen chatter; house prices in Auckland, the state of the dairy business, which flag is the best replacement and is a straight V8 really enough or would a V12 be better. 

It had reached mid afternoon and lunch was a distant memory but still not a word and it was making me anxious. This was getting ridiculous and it was becoming hard to concentrate on anything. Each passing minute only served to increase the tension as the moment of verbal assault was more likely to arrive. Yet nothing. Slowly tension gave way to disappointment - I'd been planning my witty responses all day. I didn't want to waste such pearls as "The referee was clearly out of his depth", "The Welsh were really lucky to stay on the park" or the particularly clever and subtle "Oh, go and stick you head up a cows..." I think you get the picture.

There was only one thing for it, I'd just have to pre-empt the onslaught. Crack the dam wall if you like. 

"Hey, I'm really surprised no one has mentioned the rugby", I offered and stood well back ready for the tirade of abuse. The response was somewhat surprising and much worse then I could ever have imagined.

"Oh, well we didn't think you would want to talk about it and didn't want to upset you", came the response. 

"What game?" came another, "Oh that? Nah it was a foregone conclusion. The Aussies were bound to win".

And that was that. Game over. End of.

I don't what I was expecting really. I don't even like rugby but some reaction would've been nice. You know a quick jibe or joke about how crap England were to put me at ease. Settle me down. But no. I had to spend the entire day waiting for the inevitable that just didn't happen. And it made me a little homesick. If there is one thing you can rely upon UK office friends for, and that is to kick you when you're down. At your lowest ebb? No problem. 'Ere take that! Thwok! A well aimed kick in the proverbials. Well, how else are they going to show that they care?