The Apprentice Awards - Week Seven

If you’re reading this then congratulations – you’ve obviously finished pouring through the 16 page supplements in yesterday’s Mail and Telegraph commemorating the star-crossed university lovers.

Week Seven of the Apprentice saw the return of what I lovingly call the ‘tacky souvenir challenge’. This year’s version really stretched the word ‘merchandise’ to the limit though, with the contestant’s flogging ‘blue screen experiences’. The magnetism that human beings seem to feel when it comes to latching onto useless crap really knows no bounds does it?

Anyway, this week’s awards reflect what this episode was really all about – showcasing just how much of an utter tool Stuart TheBrand really is:

Bad week for the frontrunners – Jamie, Stella and Liz are clearly a cut above but they all suffered this week in no small part because of two utterly desperate and useless managers. Stella did get her own back though with a wry putdown to StuBagg when she told the losing team, “I’m just glad you guys stuffed up, because you could have won. You really should have won”.

The Adam Smith Award (part three) – Joanna and Liz on buying DVDs for the task; “we’re going to need some wastage aren’t we?”. A fair point, until they ordered double the number they actually needed. Surplus supply, total lack of demand? Are we back in Irish cheese land again like last week?

The Robert Maxwell award – you could sort of laugh at StuBagg’s exertions most of this week but upping his prices to £15 and then trying to rip off customers was shockingly low behaviour. The move was matched only by Laura’s declaration that “it’s a revenue thing, they would have paid it eventually”. Is she starting to develop a crush on him? Dear Lord

Sirallun on capitalism – cracking line from The Lord who swiftly put Chris back in his place by declaring that “I haven’t been blessed working in an investment bank where there’s no actual product to sell. I’ve had to make things instead”. Ouch

Lie-ins for all – it didn’t save her, but at least Sandeesh stuck to her guns in the boardroom despite a grilling from Lord Sugar. When asked why she’d opened trading one hour late, she simply replied, “I stand by that decision”. Brilliant, an extra hour in bed for all once she becomes PM then

Batten down the hatches – Stella’s been a bit quiet recently, but StuBagg really got under her skin this week. Not content with calling her old, his best insult was the rubbishing of her seemingly alien concept of writing things down. These two are on the verge of a Vesuvian rumble any day now and I for one can’t wait

The Uri Geller Award – Another Brand classic as he lost it John Cleese-style in front of a bewildered Laura – “They can’t make a decision and need everything fed to them by a spoon. Where’s the spoon? WHERE’S THE SPOON?”

Is this knife yours Sir? – say what you like about his actual ability but Chris really is a master of picking his moment to put the knife in. This week it was Jamie’s turn and but for Sandeesh bailing him out, he may well have been a goner. No one else has lost as many times as he has, yet still he survives week in and week out

Quotes of the week – oh come on, was there really anyone else going to sit in here this week? Three platinum pieces of absolute Cock-ery from StuBagg. Firstly on the pyramid of life, “the only place I fit naturally is at the top as the leader” – we all know what happens to pyramids don’t we? Secondly on the sheer size of his manhood, “Sometimes I have to rein in my extreme masculinity”. And finally as a sign-off to the losing team, “I’ll keep some champagne on ice for you guys”.

Truly, one day he’s going to find his trousers round his ankles waddling down Oxford Street isn’t he? Let us pray it happens in the next five weeks.

The Apprentice Awards - Week Six

Things are looking grim in Blighty at the moment - the students are rioting and the Irish government has turned to free cheese in a last ditch effort to save their economy. But fear not for the Apprentice carries on as strong as ever. We’re now officially halfway through the process but there’s still an entire boardroom full of useless candidates, arrogant twenty-somethings and super-sized egos waiting for their turn to fall.

So with that in mind, here are the awards for week six:

An early morning question – Why is it always Stella that answers the phone/door and why is she also unusually well dressed on every occasion? Maybe she’s an insomniac, or maybe, just maybe there’s something a little contrived about that morning scene…

Outfit of the week – another one on the notch for the BoyBrand this week thanks to his Hobbit trousers in the house at the start of the episode. One Brand to rule them all?

Sir Martin Sorrell’s next Apprentice – Erm, maybe not. I know Christopher has been on military duty for a few years, but surely he’s watched an advert since 1957? “If this doesn’t work, if it doesn’t look comfortable, it’s just gonna come across as cheesy”. You ain’t wrong mate.

Young businessman of the year – aged just 26, Alex is apparently already an expert in marketing, advertising and PR. That faint rustling you can hear is the sound of job offers pouring through his door…

Common myths about PR – great quote from investment banker cum Oscar nominated director Chris this one, “I thought if Alex was the ideas man then he’d come up with more ideas”. Oh Chris, don’t you know? PR workers aren’t ideas people mate, who gave you that impression?

Pants Man 2.0 – Pants Man last year was truly unforgettable but he may actually have been surpassed this week by both the Germinator and that bloody Octopus. At least the Y-fronted superhero moved around a little bit – poor little Octopus just stood there forlorn in her shiny new kitchen.

The Jeremy Clarkson school of acting – Chris has clearly been watching a lot of Top Gear in the office. Apparently scrubbing gravy off a hob requires a pause mid-sentence in the very best Clarkson style. I just can’t………shift this gravy

Quote of the week – really no contest here. Simply brilliant from Alex on negotiating the sensitivities of the second world war and calling their product 'Blitz': “Most of the people that were alive then are dead now anyway”.

For those wishing to pay their respects in the more traditional way, Remembrance Sunday is this weekend.

The Apprentice Awards - Week Five

Week Five of the Apprentice saw the departure of the actually quite impressive Paloma and the incredible survival of two of the most useless candidates in living memory. Still, Alex is good comedy value and he did nail that promotional video (as he said about five times in the boardroom) so long may his reign continue.

Quote of the week – oh so many to choose from including Alex on retail theory (“It’s like creating a hive of honey”). But the double winner this week comes from a disturbingly pervy Jamie. Firstly, on dispensing fashion advice to Liz, “Better whip your bra off”, closely followed by his customer advice to “wear it with tights, or actually maybe nothing”.

Outfit of the week – screw the contestants, the ‘sci-fi’ fashion design girl and her face-filling purple specks wiped the floor and put Sue Pollard’s facial fashion distinctly into the Z list. Marks too for investment banker Chris’ colour co-ordinated handkerchief in the boardroom.

He’s Back! – after three weeks in the wilderness, TheBrand finally returned this week with a whole series of cracking one liners. The full-frontal selling may still not be there, but with lines like “Depends who’s died this week so they can get it out of the charity shop” on the merits of designer recycled clothing, he’s definitely on the radar again.

Persona non gratis – she has got a mouth after all! Sandeesh finally had to conjure up some words in the boardroom this week as she clung onto her wisp-like existence. Whatever you think of her ‘contribution’ (which includes ‘pricing strategy’ apparently – that’s writing numbers on labels to you and me), what has become clear is that she must have the world’s longest notebook. All she ever does on tasks is write, write, write. Can’t wait for the memoirs.

The Adam Smith award (part one) – from the Boy Brand, “how can you sell a piece of cotton that costs £2 for over a hundred quid? It’s like selling magic beans”. Erm, yes Stuart, see the words ‘Capitalism’ and ‘Emporio Armani’ in the dictionary.

The Adam Smith award (part two) – This little gem from investment banker Chris, “I don’t believe you haven’t got more than £40 in the bank to pay for that, maybe creep into the overdraft yeah?”. Erm right. Sub-prime crisis, collateralised debt obligations anyone? What was it the credit crunch was built on again? Oh yes that’s right, people being encouraged to take out sums of money far beyond their means. The post-recession world is clearly in safe hands…

The cliff-edge beckons – this year’s candidates really are exceptional at the art of setting themselves up for a fall. This week it was PR Man Alex’s turn with the devastating line “I’m something of a retail guru” and not only that but he’s apparently been taught by a retail ‘professor’. Do they even exist? Surely a professor of retail would hastily disdain the classic lab coat and glasses look wouldn’t they?

A note on Nick – there’s been too little of Nick Hewer so far this series, possibly because he’s still mourning the loss of Margaret to ancient Egypt. He made a return to form this week though, first with a couple of classic Hewer faces, such as when a student fashion model thrusted her overly tight dress in his face. And then second through his damnation for eternity of PR Alex with the conclusion that the retail guru can be “sometimes a bit over effusive, but he’s not totally irritating” – uh oh.

The culture award – “It feels like I’ve gone back a couple of years when I go to Manchester”. Way to offend the North Jamie, way to offend the North.

And finally – Is it because she’s blonde? In week two Stella was forced to don a bikini for the cause. Now in week five she’s in the shop window flaunting herself at customers. She’s still clearly at the top of the pack (though Liz is catching up fast), but her apparent willingness to play the pantomime horse is a tad worrying – “Amsterdam? Maybe. But not in Manchester”. Brilliant from Nick as ever.

The Apprentice Awards - Week Four

Week Four and the obligatory Dragon's Den task for the candidates. We're in the mid-season lull at the moment before the rush of excitement that stems from the wind-up to the interview week but nevertheless, this week featured some memorable moments, not least the brilliantly sulky depature of Mount Fuji-haired Melissa. She was undoubtedly useless, but for her mouth alone she'll definitely be missed.

The Frontrunners – it’s still got to be Jamie and Stella, despite little wobbles for them both this week. Stella’s still quietly effective, whilst Jamie’s smug face only dimished slightly as he breezed the boardroom.

Farewell to The Mouth – so much that could be said about Melissa but I’ll keep it to the minimum possible with just two gems. Firstly, the term ‘hard sell’ just doesn’t do her justice – three times she was told ‘we don’t do showerheads’ and still she kept going like a Jack Russell on heat.

Also, the surefire quote of death, ‘I do this for a living’ on pitching new products. Right, do you also irritate people to the point of chronic eczema?

Death of TheBrand? WHERE HAS HE GONE? In the space of three weeks Stuart Baggs has been reduced to biting into shower heads in a vain effort to fix them for the pleasures of a mid-sized retailer. His hair’s been cut, his vocal chords have disappeared into his stomach and he’s become a 21 year old gimp. Jesus boy, man up and dig your balls out of the coffin.

The new dark horse – streaking ahead in the ‘investment banker’ (cough cough) stakes, it turns out Liz is something of a king in the pitching stakes. Has she catapulted herself into the Jamie/Stella league?

Pitch of the week – he’s been at it again has banker Chris. Still as dour as a doorknob, and also entirely dependant on notes? It’s not secondary school boy. Uber-cucumber Nick Hewer summed it up with the killer phrase, “like listening to a low flying bomber coming home”.

Outfit of the week – Little to write home about this week on the fashion front, so instead we’ll have a little joke out of the sheep shearing that PR man Alex and former Brand, Stuart, ‘enjoyed’ between last week and this.

Lost in the ether – gripping firmly onto this award it’s Sandeesh. Still commanding the shadows although she finally secured a deal traipsing around in the rain in Soho. Well done love.

The Crowning of the Little Princess – on the verge of tears again this week as Paloma briefly laid into her, little Laura came out fighting, grimly clasping her empty order book until the end. It’s the team right Laura? Oh no, wait, hang on, it’s about your 22 year old self and your little scrap of paper with one solitary order on it.

Quote of the week – Nick’s effort above was close, but because it’s her finale, the last award tonight goes to Melissa for this little gem of the English language - “There was no room for manoeuvrement”. Indeed.

The Apprentice Awards - Week Three

It’s week three and we’re well into it now – ‘We’re in tough economic times’, ‘I’m not after no cautious Carols’, ‘It’s my turn to be an utterly useless and hilarious PM’ etc etc etc. Week three is usually the start of the long, deadly slow process of weeding out those candidates who are sort of ok but ultimately never going to win. And this week it was Shibby the Surgeon’s turn, although how Sandeesh is still there I really can’t explain – over to you on that one Professor Hawking.

Outfit of the week – Laura was close with her bizarrely high-topped blouse. Did she even have a neck under there? Was it reported missing, last seen in a Selfridges dressing room? However, Liz wins it this week based on her outrageous collar – so wide even a Jumbo Jet couldn’t beat its wingspan.

The ‘I must be good at this one, it’s my dayjob’ award – oh dear Melissa. A ‘food business manager’ without a clue what people eat. But hey, she got round it. How? By inventing something “new and out of the box” apparently – because there aren’t enough breaded products in the world already. And because her new sans-box wonder was last seen in 1986 according to a cake shop owner customer of hers.

PR Watch – whisper it, but he’s actually starting to look half-decent. Yes, Alex pulled it out of the bag this week for his less than impressive PM, Melissa, with some contract-saving sums. Probably best he wasn’t leading the sales pitch though – his head wagged faster than a dog following a bouncy ball as he read from his hastily prepared script.

Star of the show – no contest this one, it’s the hotel chef. First, he had to sit through the most unprofessional pitch seen in London since, well, Chris’ effort last week. And then he landed the week’s killer line when presented with slightly fewer baked bready products than he was hoping for – “16 bread roles?! What am I supposed to do with that?”. Absolutely brilliant. Hire him Lord Sugar. Hire him now.

Persona non gratis – she’s alive! Paloma finally stepped it up this week and it turns out she’s from the Southern Hemisphere (genuinely I had no idea, she’s been so quiet!). She’s also a loud Southernarian as it turns out – the new dark horse? Hmmm, maybe not, just a very, very noisy one.

As for the other mute-oids, Sandeesh is still sticking strictly to her guns. Highlights of the week? Err, her mouse-like sales technique maybe. Oh no wait, she did come up with a great rant on the complexities of breadonomics in the factory at one point. A pat on the back for Christopher though. Damn good on the production line – praise from Nick Hewer? Surely not!

Health & Safety hair alert – Melissa again, who debuted a flick back of blonde hair the size and shape of Mount Fuji, only Mount Fuji bent over backwards in a hurricane.

TheBrand – outrageous in week one, quiet in week two, almost invisible in week three, where the hell has he gone? Please, please come back. Mind you, he did declare at one point that “I’m an amazing salesman and an amazing pitcher” - says the bloke who yelled at people when they didn’t buy his sawdust sausages in week one.

The Baggs award – speaking of TheBrand 1.0, Melissa has clearly been talking to him on sales techniques - “You’re gonna buy it, and you aren’t leaving until you do. Sock it sock it sock it to them guys.”

And finally – there were so many good lines this week, Chef included, but these two really stood out for me. First Shibby, who in a desperate attempt to save his skin came up with this cracker to Sandeesh, “You could have walked around with your top off and still not sold anything”.

But the winner was PR Alex who stood up to Melissa by waiting until she’d stormed off and then delivering his coup de grace, “I got an A* in my GCSE maths by the way”. Like a boy in short trousers being pelted by his sister with a peashooter. Fantastic.

The Apprentice Awards - Week Two

Sequels are never better than the original right? Well at least most of the time, except for Star Wars. Oh and the Godfather. And probably the Bourne Identity as well.

Likewise The Apprentice then. The first week is always a bit of a demolition derby but episode two usually gives you a much better idea of where we really stand. So with that in mind here are the awards for week two.

Week 2 Frontrunner – no contest here. Simply Stella. Anybody that can control that rabble of egos deserves a commendation. Marks also for Jamie who continues to ooze controlled intelligence, but watch that ego my son

On thin ice – pretty much all the girls but especially PM Laura. Boots the chemist says ‘We’d like an exclusive on your product’, Laura says ‘Hmm, you’re a huge retailer and bizarrely have shown interest in my utterly useless product, but I’m going to say No’

Update on the no shows – last week’s shapeless souls Christopher and Sandeesh stepped it up with at least 10 words per half hour each. Also, Palamo, it’s been two weeks love, open your mouth a little bit

Tears for Fears – again, Laura, who seemed permanently on the verge of emotional breakdown and finally cracked midway through the task. Then again she claims to have brought in £500k of business for her company so maybe tears are the post credit-crunch sales technique of choice

PR watch – my man Alex did moderately well brainstorming name ideas for the boys beach product. However my boy, please don’t approach strangers attempting to enjoy their miserably-weathered English holiday ever again – poor buggers.

Mountford’s face of the week – Karen Brady pulled off the first Margaret of the series during the ‘Book Off’ fight between Laura and Joanna. She’s still got quite a way to go with the facial expressions yet though. Please come back Margaret, please!

Quote of the week – “this doesn’t look slutty at all” smirked ‘investment banker’ (cough cough) Chris with a schoolboyish grin on his face after Stella explicitly told him ‘no’ to the bikini. Coming in a close second was Melissa’s declaration of ‘consumer happiness’ for all following the use of the kid’s collapsible dollhouse tent, sorry, er, BookEeze, it was called the BookEeze

Pitch of the week – It’s ‘Investment Banker’ Chris again. Apparently, successful pitching isn’t part of a business in which you depend on clients giving you money to do their work for them...Then again, working in a team for the best outcome for the client is clearly a bit alien as well – Chris, you were crap at pitching mate, just accept it

Outfit of the week – no, it wasn’t Stella’s beach outfit, but rather the surprisingly quiet Stuart Thebrand’s (Guardian TM) garish sunglasses as he stepped out of the taxi on day two – blink and you’ll miss them but they were brilliant, and his little diamond stud just topped it off

The ‘Oh why don’t they ever learn’ award – every year the candidates are always told ‘rehearse putting together your product’ and every year they sail ignorantly onward. In recent years we’ve had the hilarious efforts of a screw-on trampoline and a fold-up buggy, but I think the BookEeze balls-up in front of World Duty Free might just top it

The percentage factor – and finally, we all know 110% is common on the Apprentice but this week the stakes were upped dramatically. In amongst the girls’ cat fight to the death in the boardroom we heard this little gem from the otherwise mute Sandeesh “I’ve given 150% this week”

Tune in next week to see if we can break the 200% barrier

The Apprentice - Week One

It's unrealistic, it's overformulated and scripted, and it doesn't really reward the most able people. But despite that many of us love it - yes, The Apprentice returned last night for a new series.

I'm a fully paid up member of the fan club and as such have decided to dedicate half an hour each week for the next three months to providing my thoughts on each episode.

To kick-off with, a few key observations from this week's 'meaty' opening episode are below, but I'd also recommend reading The Guardian's wonderfully critical live blog from each show night:

Early frontrunner - Shibby, the surgeon with the dapper tie seemed to be fairly level-headed and pulled off a big deal. Then again, you'd half hope that was the case given his day job

Who the hell are they? A split award this week shared between Christopher and Sandeesh - seriously, did either of them say anything at all for the entire 60 minutes?

On thin ice - again a split award here between Alex (the PR man, oh the shame of it) and the blondest of the blonde, Melissa. She's got talent but just seems to have that Lucinda quality for winding just about everyone up

The All Balls Award - otherwise known as the Claire Young award (remember her?), this one goes to the just-out-of-preschool Stuart who seems to have a mouth quicker than Usain Bolt's legs. Bound to be entertaining going forwards

Best dressed - as noted above, hats off to Shibby for a cracking red, white and blue tie number

Worst dressed - Joanna. Come on girl, first week and the best you can pull out is a plain grey effort? Doesn't bode well

Line of the week - absolutely no contest here. Raleigh's (what a great name) emotional outburst towards the soon to be departed Dan that his leadership "was shameful" complete with trembling finger point contained all the power and presence of a nine year old with a broken ice cream cone. I for one am eager to see what the 'BMX' comes up with next

So there we go. One week down, eleven or so to go

Monopoly

I played monopoly this week for the first time in years. Quite why I had the urge to I'm not sure, but now I've remembered that it is in fact a damn good and really quite addictive game.

There are however a few tips that I'd offer anyone who hasn't played for a while either, but suddenly feels inspired to pick up the dice, grab the boot, hat or dog and head on down to Go. The tips are as follows:

1. Always buy at least one of the stations - alright they might only be worth £25 a pop, but it's more the £200 a pop that you get charged if the other person gets all four. At the start of the game, £200 is a deeply hurtful amount of money to have to fork out.

2. Don't rush off on a property binge, Irish style - poor taste joke but it's true, if you try and buy a bit of everything you generally end up with nothing

3. Try to avoid playing with a woman, especially a girlfriend - they're almost impossible to negotiate with, no matter what schemes you try. I thought the blues and reds for oranges and pinks was more than fair but clearly not. So I went bust

4. Do make sure you perform some sort of wishing/ritual dancing thing before a key roll of the dice. This really does seem to work, at least 69.8% of the time

5. And finally, please, please, please make sure it's a quick game. I'm pretty sure my brother and I have a game still officially going on from 1993 following a state of near perfect equilibrium that we'd reached. Monopoly's a great game, but it can also be a bugger to finish

The Boris Bike

Oops, so much for August. Apologies.

Anyway, on a more exciting note, I recently became one of the 15,000 or so people who've joined Boris' 'cycling revolution'. Ignoring the garish branding (and really it's no worse than walking around proudly advertising your love of Aon in a Man Utd shirt) they really are quite a wonderful little idea.

Sure, there are numerous obstacles to them being a success - London traffic being one, the occasional lack of bike or empty docking station being another. But having been a part of the scheme for three weeks now I can genuinely say it has real upside.

The exercise and fitness side of things is definitely a plus, although I'm not sure how much of a difference the bikes really make to this given you can only get up to about 10mph without breaking the laws of physics and sending your legs into warp drive.

No, what is the real selling point for me is the freedom and time that the bikes give you. Despite the ever present threat of traffic and the general requirement for energetic pedalling, the practice of cycling into work is about 67 times less stressful and more enjoyable than standing on the cramped, hot, sweaty, impersonal tube each day.

Don't get me wrong, the tube is a marvellous invention (and I fulfilled a little dream this week by playing on the tube simulator at the London Transport Museum), but there's just something unsettling about playing the sardine game each morning and evening.

Apparently the bike scheme is going to open up to casual users soon as well, giving more people the chance to enjoy its benefits. That might make it a bit harder to secure a bike at certain times, but as far as I'm concerned the more people who embrace this the better.

Just don't tell that to the non-Boris bikers who still tend to give you that rather tragi-comic look as you line up alongside them at the lights and then watch them burn off into the distance as you waddle along in blissful happiness.

Life expectancy

There was a really interesting report released today by some academics from Bristol and Sheffield universities (no, it really was those two, not just wishful thinking on my part) on the issue of life expectancy. In essence, it claims that the gap between the rich and the poor with regards life expectancy is now wider than at any time since the early 1930's.

I'm lucky enough to be quite involved in this subject myself at present, as one H&K client studies this field exclusively, reporting the findings back to their clients in order that they can save money on their pension schemes.

OK, boring stuff over, what am I getting at here? The answer is that having worked with the client for eight months now, I've begun to realise how much of an issue life expectancy and its links to wealth and other factors really is.

The statistics really don't lie on this one - for around three quarters of the population, there is a direct link between how much you earn and how long you're going to live. That's a pretty sobering thought really - life choices at 16, 17, 18 years of age can seal your fate on how long you're going to get to enjoy retirement way before you've even remotely thought about it.

There seems to be an increasing feeling within the UK that the wealth gap between the rich and the rest is starting to reach a critical point - not only are the media focusing on this more and more (with the Evening Standard leading the way with its excellent Deprivation series), but even some business leaders have begun to question the current state of play.

Financial rewards for success are one thing, but are extreme financial rewards a positive or negative influence on society as a whole? Perhaps it's somewhat difficult to be objective on this point, but I was asked a very interesting question at a meeting with a financial adviser yesterday which really brought home the current escalating problem to me.

The adviser asked me two things - firstly, what I hoped to achieve in salary terms over the course of my working life, and second what I would consider an acceptable income in retirement. On reflection afterwards, my answer to the first question was disturbingly above what I now believe it should have been and certainly way more than would be necessary.

The more I've thought about my answer today, the more it's unnerved me. The only conclusion I've been able to really draw is that living in the city I do, surrounded by the media and its constant reporting of wealth, and experiencing that wealth at close quarters every day has inflated my own personal view of what is 'adequate'.

And I'm really disturbed by that.

Le Tour

The Tour de France is about halfway through at the moment. It's one of the longest, most gruelling sporting tests on earth, lasting three weeks, thousands of miles and mountain climbs the likes of which just don't exist in the UK.

I've always enjoyed watching it each year, though have to admit I do wish they'd bring the old music back which is infinitely better than the newer theme tune since ITV took over. Not as many people watch it in the UK as perhaps it deserves, though having said that the success of Mark Cavendish and Bradley Wiggins is changing that.

For most people, the serious racing only really got going on Sunday and Monday of this week when the riders hit the alps. Despite their best efforts, the cameras really can't explain just how steep and difficult the roads in the alps are - it's genuinely staggering to watch the world's best climbing out of the saddle and accelerating away up a 10% gradient having already been in the saddle for five hours and climbed several mountains that day already.

What's made this year so compelling has been the fact that two riders have been able to do this again and again - for that reason if nothing else, watching stage 9 from Tuesday really, truly is worth it.

Of course, not everyone can accelerate like this, even when it comes to many of the best in the world. Probably the most famous example of this involved Lance Armstrong and Jan Ullrich a few years back on the slopes of the most famours alpine climb of them all - Alpe D'Huez.

Say what you like about the former (and I've never particularly warmed to him), but the ability, confidence and mental strength to hold that look and then completely blow his rivals away is one of the great sporting moments of the past decade.

Travelling

One of my best friends, Andy, left our humble little flat in London last month to embark on touring the world with his girlfriend. To be fair, after four and a half years of researching and writing to earn two little letters in front of his name, he's probably earnt it, but I freely admit to being disgustingly jealous.

He's in the US at the moment and sent me a message on Facebook this week detailing the first leg of his journey. I spent several weeks backpacking round the States in 2002 and so far he seems to have discovered very similar things to me - it's huge, very spacious, pretty stunning to look at, and every city is different. Oh, and Canada pretty much trumps it all.

The vast majority of people that I spent my uni years with have gone travelling at some point in their lives - indeed, I've had the pleasure of going twice, once on my own and once for six memorable weeks across Europe with two other guys. Almost universally, they've all come back saying roughly the same thing - "when I go next time, I'll do....".

The only slight problem is that the annoying 'career thing' has so far got in the way of pretty much all these aspirations. Hence why Andy is only just going now - he's had to wait twice as long as us for the window between education and career.

I'm no different in terms of wanting to go again, but I'm starting to have doubts as to how I'm going to fit it around the 'career thing'. Three years ago, the thought that I'd delay such a trip because I was worried about taking a year out of my career path would have seemed absurd to me, but that seems to have slowly changed as I close in on three years in London.

Whether that's a good thing or not, I haven't quite figured out yet.

Report no 3 from the field of dreams

The third instalment from a football team rapidly heading in the wrong direction in their league table:

Football’s merry men, the H&K’s Booze Hounds, strutted their increasingly questionable stuff in their latest game last night against Skinners FC 2000, battling back to earn a tough 7-7 draw against one of the most physical teams in the league.

Early dropouts meant that the squad was down to its bare bones prior to the game, though thankfully two ringers were found during the day, meaning that Theo Walcott missed out on yet another squad for the summer.

The game started at a frantic pace with Battersby diving in with his customary snaps at opponents’ ankles and Jones doing his best as always to test out the softness of the floor by hitting the deck regularly. Chambers meanwhile took the first watch in goal, a place he would occupy twice more in the second half as the effects of several bank holiday barbecues began to take hold.

Despite some good early play and plenty of the ball, the Hounds somehow found themselves 2-5 down at half time; the quick pressing and uncompromising physical style of the Skinners clearly a factor in throwing the Hounds off the scent. However, Jones was ordered off the leash for the start of the second period and having parked himself up front proceeded to hold the ball up expertly time and again, allowing others to flood onto it.

Rallying the score to 5-5, the Hounds took a momentary breather and quickly found themselves down 5-6, a mistake replicated following yet another equaliser. With time running out, and the contest becoming increasingly fractious, the Hounds summoned one last attack, yet more intricate link-up play from Jones and a smashing finish to level at 7-7.

And with that, the game was over. Mid-table mediocrity beckons with only a few games left, though a top three finish remains in sight if a late season surge can be secured.

Foursquare

First, there was Facebook. Then, there was Twitter. Now, it might be Foursquare's turn. Never heard of it? Then you're not alone, because the number of people using it in the UK is still pretty small and mostly smartphone-bound.

In a nutshell, Foursquare is a social media game which allows you to 'check-in' to bars, restaurants, pubs, offices, shops and pretty much anywhere else that you're in at a given moment in time. By checking-in you score a certain number of points and unlock 'badges', all of which gives Foursquare its competitive nature. You can also leave 'tips' at locations to recommend (or warn off) certain products/drinks etc.

Sounds utterly pointless and another of those new social media things that won't go anywhere? Pretty much yes, but then that's what people said about Twitter around 18 months ago and look at it now - i'd love to see how many people followed Gordon and Sarah Brown's exit from Downing Street on TV vs Sarah's Twitter feed.

A friend first introduced me to Foursquare back in January at which point I had an initial play, got bored and then chucked it away for a few months. I didn't get it, couldn't be bothered and didn't have any friends to foursquare against anyway.

But just like Twitter last year, I've now come back to it and slowly am becoming hooked. I scarcely go places now without checking in (much to the irritation of some of my friends), am constantly checking the leaderboard to see how I'm doing, and am eagerly hunting down all the mayorships and badges I can in constant competition with my housemate.

Will it catch on? Maybe, though I'm not sure it's ultimately going to be as useful to people as Twitter has proven, or as fun as Facebook has become and that's what may hold it back.

If it does though, then I can finally say that after 26 years I'm actually one of the early adopters of a new technology - which is one more box ticked on the 'things to do before 30' list.

Report no 2 from the field of dreams

The second instalment from a less than heroic bunch of 20-something footballers:

Perennial drinkers and serial average achievers, the H&K Booze Hounds, played their latest game in the London Bridge league on Tuesday night. Despite one columnist recently mocking the “scary sounding” opposition (Duffers), the match proved far from a cakewalk and if anything was the Hounds toughest encounter to date.

All round athlete Nick Woods was welcomed back to the fold, quickly donning the bizarrely undersized goalkeeping gloves (acquired by an unnamed, small-handed teammate) and pulling off a string of early saves as the Hounds were pushed back from the off. A lack of shape and some lax defending quickly saw the fourth floor’s finest 0-2 down, however they managed to pull the score back to 4-4 at half time through some gutsy attacking play. Chambers also dragged his body over the halfway line to score a memorable first goal in the league – a long range effort which may (only may mind you) have taken a sizeable deflection on route to the net.

Tired, broken, but full of spirit, the Hounds kicked off the second half but again were quickly behind as the Duffers sizeable striker got the better of two or three Hounds to rifle one home into the net. It was at this point that something clicked though, as first Woods and then Battersby tore into the opposition with renewed fervour.

Hauling themselves back into contention once more following some good link up play between Mullen and Jones, the Hounds then suffered a sickening blow as the latter fell awkwardly under pressure. Slowly rising to his feet, Jones could only watch as Duffers stormed downfield and made it 7-8 with only a couple of minutes left on the clock.

The Hounds needed a break, and thankfully, they got one. When one final attack on goal broke down just past halfway, Duffers chose the sensible option and passed the ball calmly back towards their goal. In a cruel twist of fate (at least for them anyway), the ball was seemingly drawn towards the bottom left corner of their net, with a keeper exhausted by the Hounds incessant fightback unable to reach it. Cue pandemonium from the watching support(er) and the sight of Woods charging round the pitch in excited delirium.

And with that, the final whistle sounded with the scores well and truly deadlocked at 8-8. Hounds remain above Duffers near the top of the table, but it’s clear the fight for the title is far from over….

Report no 1 from the field of dreams

I've recently started playing in a 5-a-side football team at work on Tuesday nights. Not only is this great fun, but it's an excuse to go to the pub afterwards. It's also an excuse to do a bit more non-work writing and as such, below is a copy of our first match report (though not the first match - I was a bit lazy for the first couple!).

Ignoring the slightly rose-tinted tone, we actually did play genuinely well, especially for a bunch of blokes with little to no skill and a chronic lack of anything approaching suitable fitness. Anyway, enjoy:

The H&K Booze Hounds, football’s equivalent of an irrelevant yet newly powerful minor political party, last night secured victory in a tense, hard fought encounter against Incognito thanks to a last minute coalition of their own.

An 11th hour deal, which drafted in stylish leftie John Tilbrook and 5th floor veteran Joe Dawes, bore fruit as the former banged in four sizzling goals and the latter put in a titanic, backs to the wall performance at the heart of the midfield.

The Hounds started in confident mood, quickly building an early lead with a series of excellent strikes on goal. Dawes, playing the opening minutes in goal, also demonstrated his cat-like ability, leaping across his box early on to deny a clear goalscoring opportunity.

Complacency set in midway through the first half however, and two nutmegs, one penalty and some slack defending later the score was 5-3 and the half-time oranges were on their way. Gasping for breath (or possibly alcohol), the Hounds gathered on the centre circle, cursed themselves and then launched a second half comeback started by a Dawes thunderbolt straight from the kick-off.

Tilbrook then proceeded to show his quality, advancing down the left before slotting home, high in the net from a tight angle. Elsewhere Battersby dived in with his customary appetite for work and Mullen continued his adroit hold-up play, delicately gliding a series of first-time flicks off his muscular legs.

Jones meanwhile held his temper in check until midway through the second half when he let go his customary foulmouthed rant at the referee, gesticulating wildly about mutants and the inadequacies of the handball rule. Chambers for the most part sat at the back, enjoying the spectacle and making frequent use of his vocal cords to remind the Hounds of the joy of “getting tight on the arse” of the opposition.

With minutes to go the scores were level, but a final battle cry from the Hounds, some slick two-touch football and another excellent finish ensured the unbeaten start to the season continued as the game ended 9-8. So it’s second place with 4 games gone and one in hand on the vanquished leaders from last night. Next up is the scary sounding ‘Duffers’ 6 days from now…..

DIY

Like many a man I feel unnaturally called to the world of DIY. There's something in the male chromosome which continually whispers to you 'go on, build something, it'll be fun'. This whispering also seems to grow louder during the summer for some reason - why I'm not quite sure, as it would surely be infinitely more fun to spend the day doing something that a) is enjoyable and b) you're actually good at.

I ended up doing my own bit of DIY today, though in this case it was more a case of a DIY emergency than a yearning to attempt to build some grand, lasting testament to my ability. In short, I had an unfortunate run-in with my bathroom mirror and the lid of the cistern on our toilet.

What started out as a regular early morning teeth-brushing session quickly became a Faulty Towers moment as I turned the mirror to admire my gleaming pearlies. What followed was one of those slow-motion horror moments as the mirror lazily fell off its holder and preceeded to somersault down onto the corner of the cistern lid.

It's fair to say the cistern lid didn't enjoy this one bit as it's once pristeen front corner was castrated in two by the gravity-delirious mirror. Luckily for the lid (but alas not for me), it managed to fire off a brief retaliatory volley before its surrender. The result was a perfect crack across the middle of the mirror as well.

After the initial shock and frankly appalling language, three things happened across the rest of the day to secure the battlefield and then launch a damage limitation exercise. The first was a rapid trip to John Lewis to seek supplies for the evening's repair mission - I know B&Q would have been the logical choice but apparently Oxford Street is not a priority location for them.

The second utilised all of my PR skills as I constructed a blow by blow account of the 'tragic incident' and detailed the plans for a swift, efficient repair. Sadly however, a check of my inbox revealed the worst possible news - the landlady had declared over the weekend that our tri-monthly inspection was due. With this in mind, I bit the bullet and sent the peace treaty email across to her.

Finally came the actual repair job this evening. This was going to be a delicate job and hence I swiftly secured the services of an assistant project manager and materials manager to assist me in my role as chief engineer. Sadly, the assistant proved less than helpful, managing to point out a couple of structural issues ('there's a bit missing there' and 'I don't think you'll ever get it back to how it was') before disappearing off for some frantic last-minute PhD viva revision.

Happily the materials manager revealed some excellent practical skills as well as comforting words and was thus swiftly promoted to deputy chief engineer and project manager (details of his remuneration and performance bonus were sadly unavailable). What followed was intensive, nerve-jangling and at times fraught with danger. But 15 minutes later the project was complete and left to dry, sandwiched in-between Tolkien's masterpiece and Stephen Hawking's creation theory for stability whilst drying.

A report on the review and inspection process will hopefully follow next week, assuming this chief engineer still has a house to live in that is...

Motherhood

There've been a lot of pregnancies in the office lately, which are always welcome and make for an exciting time. However, the topic of motherhood is something that I'm far from an expert on, and owing to a decision made by a bunch of chromosomes 20-something years ago it's a topic I'm not likely to become intimately equated with anytime soon.

Happily though, there are others out there who have lived through all the ups and downs that pregnancy and motherhood throw up. Zaza's friend, Anna, is one such person and she writes a blog on this very subject (though God knows where she finds the time).

It's far from sweetness and light the whole time, but this entry really summed up for me what I think motherhood is probably all about.

The Leaders' debate

Like 9.4m other people, I sat down on Thursday evening to watch what was billed as an 'historic' first and 'defining' moment by an excited British media - the first debate between the leaders of Britain's three leading political parties as part of the Election campaign.

What happened over the course of 90 minutes of sometimes interesting, often not, debate was either 'truly remarkable' or 'as expected' depending on which source you read. What happened was that the vast majority of 9.4m people sat up and took notice of a bloke called Nick Clegg, probably for the first time.

If you believe one side, then such was the opportunity for a man who normally struggles to get remotely near the front pages, that all he had to do was turn up. If you believe the other, then this was proof that here was a man and a party whose moment has arrived.

Except it hasn't, despite some truly intriguing polls which place Clegg's a stones throw from the lead in the race for No 10. Instead, his party will end up with 100 seats at best. A meagre return for their efforts.

The reason it hasn't is that Britain's seemingly simple electoral system is actually anything but. On paper, it's easy - 650 people who each poll the most votes in their constituencies elected to Parliament. And in practice, that's the case. The problem for the Lib Dems arises because their vote is so evenly spread across the UK. They don't have the industrial north as a heartland, and they don't have the prosperous south as one either.

Instead, they have to scrap and scrape for every single seat, often enduring the frustration of finishing second and walking away with nothing. Small wonder then, that they want electoral reform which would recognise their share of the overall national vote.

So no, the Lib Dems aren't going to be huge winners in this election, despite all their best efforts (and the lamentable efforts of the other two parties). Who are going to be winners though are all the people who despair at the death of politics as a topic of choice amongst the wider electorate.

Walking into the office on Friday morning, it was fantastic to see so many different people talking about the events of the night before. And that's something that carried into this weekend as well as I travelled up to Leicester.

Granted, the people in my office probably don't represent a full cross-section of society. But at least it's a start. Politics just might be becoming something that matters to people again.

Spring break

Next week will be the first time I've taken any holiday since Christmas and I really couldn't be more ready for it. It's been an incredibly long, tough, intense three months, though it's not been without its joys, particularly on the personal front. 

What is certain though is that I'm pretty knackered and have somewhat been lunging for Easter like a sprinter straining everything for the white tape on the line. 

There's something else too. I've lost that day to day passion for my job a little bit at present. There are still great moments each week, and I still maintain that any job in which your first task for the day is to read the paper is unbeatable. But I haven't quite been bounding into and around the office with the same gusto of late. 

This isn't any great crisis of job quitting proportions but more I suspect a result of the route I've enjoyed over the past two years. 

Being on a grad scheme where you rotate through different departments effectively turns your job into a series of sprints. After four sets of sprints I've suddenly entered a marathon, otherwise known as the rest of my career. 

Naturally it's going to take a while to get used to this change therefore. And given that I'm writing this whilst sitting on yet another train to Bristol it's fair to say I'm not the best person when it comes to change.  

I'm not so naive as to think there are jobs or even careers for life anymore though. I fully recognise that I'm at the start of a very long and hard to predict journey.

One of the consequences of our ever improving life expectancy is a longer working life. That means even more twists, turns and open doors and as far as I'm concerned that's nothing but a brilliant opportunity, both within my current and future jobs. 

So I still might not bound into work 10 days from now. But at some point in the near future I know I will.  

Public speaking

I had to do some public speaking this afternoon, presenting some recent work during a company meeting. As far as I can see, there are two general and two case-specific problems with this kind of public speaking:

1. Presenting to people you don't know is often a whole lot easier than people you do know.
2. Presenting to people on a Friday afternoon really isn't easy. When those people have also supped their first beer of the day, it doesn't get any easier.
3. Presenting to people at any time on any day really really isn't easy when the subject matter is as unsexy as 'pensions'.
4. Our bar, where the presentation happened, is really the wrong way round for public speaking. Instead of 15 rows of 6 people or thereabouts as is traditional, you're faced with 3 rows of 30 people.

Of these, perhaps the biggest concern was no 4. Because of this particular problem, you're faced with the mammoth task of constantly having to move your head slowly across a vast expanse to address everyone - it's just not possible. You either do it too fast, so it looks as if you have some mild form of tourettes, or too slow, in which case you never quite make it and some people are frankly left disappointed (even if it is on pensions).

And finally, there's the other problem with public speaking. You have a microphone. These things just aren't a naturally occuring or naturally resident thing for most people and it's amazing what holding one does to you. Little utterings that normally reside inside your head suddenly spurt out without control.

And then there's the really bad thing about them which I discovered this afternoon. This could be the most important tip of all time for fellow microphone holders. Whatever you do, never, ever, ever laugh into a microphone because the result is frankly scary.

So there we have it, public speaking 101. Or at least something like it.

The Spirit Level

I went to a fascinating debate hosted by the centre-right think-tank, Policy Exchange, last night. Perhaps suprisingly for them, the debate was on inequality and what we should be doing about it.

This was sparked by a recent book called The Spirit Level, which (if my rough understanding of all things economics) is right, is about the relationship between the level of inequality in a country and its effect on the wellbeing and life expectancy of all its inhabitants.

Broadly speaking, the book apparently argues that the more unequal the society, the less happy, socially and physically well everyone is. This view was popular with about 90% of the room last night, apart from the small band of economists who somewhat ruined the Q&A session with a series of impassioned speeches about the inadequacy of data (and therefore maybe somewhat missed the point of the debate).

I haven't read the book, so can't make a judgement as yet, though I will read it and then blog again on it.

What I do know though is that the growing discrepancy between rich and poor (and indeed between the rich and the rest) cannot be allowed to continue. In my opinion it's creating a fractured, siloed, utterly split society within our country.

The UK is often portrayed as one of the most progressive countries in the world. Yet despite our relative affluence, health and social progression, we're arguably no further on down the line of a fair and equal society than we were in Victorian or even feudal times.

And that troubles me. It really really does.

Health and Safety

Disastrous news from deepest, darkest Gloucestershire this morning. It seems the official Cheese Rolling Organising Committee have cancelled this year's annual Cooper's Hill event. The reason, apparently, is because of healthy and safety fears (Daily Mail readers take note here and get your fingers ready for a spot of wagging).

I fulfilled a lifelong dream by going along to the Hill last year to watch what is quite frankly the most absurd, but brave 'sport' ever invented. The site of a horde of men and women throwing themselves down this brutal, uneven hill in pursuit of a few pounds of cheese is impossible to describe really. YouTube videos give a decent approximation of the action, but really you have to be there in the flesh, if only to appreciate just how steep the hill is, and how fast they run down it.

To be honest, I can see why they've cancelled it - according to reports out today, 15,000 people attended last last year, on a site designed to hold 5,000. As one of those wedged onto the side of a 60 degree hill in gentle rain, trying not to fall over whilst also stretching to see the action, I can sympathise with their reasons.

At the same time though, you have to hope that it really does return next year, in whatever format. It's a wonderfully quirky, painfully addictive, utterly bizarre relic of the traditions of old, and a reminder that when humans put their mind to it, they really can have good, simple, (relatively) harmless fun.

Pub Quiz

I went to a pub quiz in Turnham Green last night and quite frankly if there's a better quiz in a nicer pub out there in the whole of London, then I can't wait to find it.

The pub itself is called The Devonshire and ticks the four boxes that I like to think make up my perfect pub. One, there's music, but it's gentle not overbearing - as in, you can have a chat but if you run out of words then the music's loud enough to take its place.

Two, it has a selection of slightly left-field furniture and the whole place looks like it's been around for a while. I know a lot of gastro pubs try to pull this off, and in general I hate them, but in this one it really works.

Three, the food and drink are damn good and not spectacularly overpriced either - you can buy a round for something like a tenner, the portion sizes are large, and the selection wide and tasty.

And four (and this is the real clincher), the place has an open fire. There's something that really makes it about a pub with a fire and this is one's no different. One of my favourite bars in Bristol had a fire even though it was generally open til 4 in the morning and played music obsessively loudly. But I loved it and used to go back time and again because the roaring, open, toasty warm fire just made it in winter.

Oh and the quiz last night? Really hard but genuinely enjoyable, includes free taster portions from the menu and is run by a charasmatic bloke who shuns the use of a microphone in favour of his talented vocal chords.

All in all, well worth a look really.

International Women's Day

Today is International Women's Day, and to celebrate, a friend and fellow blogger is hosting content on her site from a series of guest bloggers. You can read all the entries over there, and below is my contribution:

About nine months ago I sat down to watch the ladies final at Wimbledon, an act I must have done at least 15 times before in my life. I freely confess I don’t actually remember who won, but again that’s not exceptional as I’d struggle to name the winners of previous years too.

There was one thing different during last years final though – it made me realise for the first time just how shockingly underexposed women are in professional sport.

As I watched the two finalists slug it out, I tried to think about the number of major sports in which women enjoy something at least approaching parity with the men. Outside of Olympic events such as athletics, Michelle Wi and her golfing ilk in the USA, and the aforementioned tennis, this was a real struggle.

What particularly struck me was their lack of exposure in the big team sports like football, cricket and rugby. In individual disciplines, the likes of Jessica Ennis and Serena Williams have secured women’s place, but we’re still sorely lacking in the team department.

Hope Powell’s England football ladies gained some brief but welcome exposure at last year’s World Cup and the BBC always do a decent job of trying to mention the women’s rugby Six Nations. But these are small dents in the problem.

Sport is not remotely in the list of important issues facing women as a gender or indeed the planet as a whole at the moment. What it can be though is a part of the jigsaw, an agent of social mobility, and a motivator for young people to follow their idols in their footsteps.

This is why professional sport needs more female stars, especially in the team sports, to inspire the next generation of women to reach their potential.

ESPN's Top 50

The World Cup is 100 days away and to celebrate ESPN yesterday posted a list of the 50 best players who will be in South Africa this summer. The top ten were as follows:

1. Lionel Messi
2. Cristiano Ronaldo
3. Wayne Rooney
4. Kaka
5. Xavi
6. Didier Drogba
7. Andres Iniesta
8. Fernando Torres
9. Steven Gerrard
10. Michael Essien

For what it's worth I think Rooney's too high, Iniesta too low and, after watching him last night, Kaka's about right - he's not quite the player he was when he ran the length of Wembley a couple of years ago but he's still damn good.

One selection is spot-on though - Lionel Messi is a pocket genius and I can't wait to watch him this summer.

Falling out of love

Something rather alarming and depressing has happened to me over the past couple of months - I've fallen out of love with the beautiful game. I first realised this when I sat down last Saturday and tried to remember when the last time was that I'd settled down in front of the telly and watched Match of the Day on the Beeb.

It certainly wasn't last week, it definitely wasn't the week before, and I'm pretty confident it wasn't the two or three weeks before them either. This was a pretty shocking revelation, but then I thought about some other supposed facts about my love of football.

I rarely read about it in the papers anymore, instead making a beeline for the rugby, cricket and motorsport sections instead. I only check Football365 as a cursory measure, and really can't be bothered with the 'famous mailbox' anymore. And I've stopped checking the scores on a Saturday or even Sunday evening to see how teams including my own are getting on.

So it's official, I've fallen out of love with football, and I'm pretty sure I know why - it's stopped being a sport and become nothing more than a tradeable commodity. The players salaries to be certain, are obscene, but it's not that which really grates at me.

My big turn-off is that football clubs are no longer football clubs - they're assets, investment vehicles, billionaires playthings, ruled by 'leveraging', 'refinancing' and now today, 'administration'. As if that wasn't enough, my aforementioned own team now devote their entire front page of their website to advertising an 'exclusive' club credit card.

I'm not saying other sports are necessarily better - F1 has been operating on silly money for years, but at least it's trying to address this and make the sport more affordable for teams to enter by slashing budgets.

And then there's the final nail in the coffin for me - football has just become so utterly, utterly predictable and boring. Much has been made this season about the 'fight for fourth place' in the Premier League and how this has reinvigorated the competition and created fresh interest.

The race for fourth place has made it interesting?

Enough said.

The Tube

When I moved to London, I spent the first 3 months or so resembling every tourist that ever visits Britain's capital - I was fascinated by the Tube.

I couldn't quite get my head round the idea that here was a fully fledged railway, underground, in the dark, with long-closed stations, mysterious sidings and an army of workers who dedicated their late nights and weekends to keeping it running.

Gradually though, I became a Londoner like everyone else. I stopped staring at the tube map in awe, I stopped enjoying looking out of the train windows at the mile upon mile of cables running in dark, tight tunnels and I stopped being curious about how it could all ever really work.

Instead, I started to become annoyed by the delays, frustrated at having to bend my body in any number of ways to fit on the carriage and tired of playing flank forward in a game of rugby every time I wanted to get on or off at rush hour.

In short, I forgot how wondrous and marvellous and unique the Tube actually is.

But then, last week, something rekindled my intrigue and love of the tube - I got on a brand new train on the Victoria line. Not only was it incredibly well lit, bright, welcoming and (most important of all) spacious, but it was smooth and there was no shrieking noise as it went round corners.

This prompted me to crack out the trusty Wikipedia and do a bit of research. Apparently, we've had the same trains on the Victoria line ever since it first opened. In 1967. That means they've been pounding the line between Brixton and Walthamstow for 43 years. That's almost twice my age, which frankly is frightening and yet marvellous at the same time.

Now though, they're finally about to enjoy their retirement. And good luck to them, because they've earnt it.

Other blogs - part two

As I mentioned previously, I'm determined, though hamstrung, in my effort to find other blogs to read. So it was with great delight today that I read a colleague's first entry on the subject of all things cricket.

Fingers crossed he keeps writing, because the first post is a good read, and as he said to me shortly after my reading it, "I'm well into this blogging lark, it's great fun!"

So here it is:

Brussels

I went to Brussels for the first time ever last week. In fact it was a journey of firsts - first time in Brussels, first time in Belgium and first time on Eurostar. For someone who's done quite a lot of America and the Caribbean, I'm suprisingly poorly travelled on my home continent, so this was quite a big deal for me.

In one way, I could sum up the 24 hour trip as thus: tube, train, taxi, hotel, sister office, client office, taxi, train, tube, bus, home. That's actually a pretty accurate description, which meant the only bits of Brussels I really got to see were a long straight road with offices on it, a couple of motorways, and a fairly average train station and hotel.

So yes, that's one way to describe it, but it doesn't really include the real story - the fun and interesting bits from my perspective, of which there were three.

Firstly, Eurostar. Despite the fact that it has a habit of breaking down whenever the temperature gets a tad nippy, it's always held an aura of mystique for me. What I was particularly excited about was the idea of travelling at 186mph - the fact I've been on a plane going three times as fast didn't really compare with the idea of watching the countryside whizzing by at unbelievable speed.

In the end, I was actually a bit disappointed, only because 186mph didn't look that different from 125mph that Britain's best trains trundle along at. But even then I got a suprise out of the journey - the Channel Tunnel freaked me out. I'm not normally claustrophobic, but the idea of being under the sea for 30-odd minutes in a tunnel had a strangely unnerving effect on me. I definitely want to do it again though.

The second thing was the hotel bar. I've never quite worked out the economics of these places - they get 10 customers a night at best, employ a couple of staff and don't charge overly outrageous price, but still exist. What they do do fantastically well is bring people together. And so it was that I spent a great evening with one colleague I vaguely knew, one I'd never met, and one I'd spoken to for the first time on the phone barely two days previously (the Hoegaarden may or may not have helped with this).

And thirdly was meeting the prospective client we'd come several hundred miles at 186mph to see. The best thing about my job is having to learn a hell of a lot about something in a wonderfully short time - it's a bit like cramming for an exam that you've missed all the lectures for and have a week to shove as much information down your throat as possible.

The other thing I love about this is that when you meet these prospective clients, you're struck by just how much they know about their company, and how much they care about it all. It's brilliant just to sit in the room observing and interacting with this and I don't think I'll ever get bored of it.

So perhaps instead of summing up the trip as I have done above, I should instead do it like this:

Super fast train, scray tunnel, social bliss aided by alcohol and neverending awe at knowledge and the passion behind it - now that's what I call a trip.

The virus, the toilet bowl and the bottle of whisky

I was off work ill on Monday this week. In fact I've generally been ill to varying degrees most of the rest of the week as well, but Monday was the real killer in terms of being unable to function.

Without wishing to boast, being ill isn't something that generally happens that often to me anymore. It wasn't always the case though - as a child I was pretty sickly really, and especially vulnerable to man's worst friend; the common cold (I think I averaged about one a month or something like that).

But over the past 5 years I can genuinely say I can count the number of times I've had to lie in bed ill on one hand. So to wake up on Friday night feeling a distinct need to plunge my head down the toilet bowl for a few minutes was pretty disconcerting. To then wake up on Monday morning feeling as though two rookie sumo wrestlers had held a training session on top of my stomach was equally distressing.

As people who know me well will testify, my general answer to even a hint of illness (particularly of the aforementioned 'cold' variety) is to 'get the whisky in' - truly it's brilliant for a sore throat no matter the hour.

Hence my very real problem with this particular bout of illness - alcohol was completely off the menu as a solution. In fact tonight's the first time I've had a drink for a week (I know, miracles and all that) and it does taste rather good I have to admit.

I'm still not completely right to be honest, and the general feeling is that I've had some sort of foody bug - the general feeling about the culprit is similarly unanimous, namely the unwise choice of kebab vendor at about 11:45 last Friday evening.

Given all this, I can offer roughly three lessons from the last week, at least one of which I hope might prove useful:

1. Having only one bona fide solution to the 'getting ill' problem isn't very smart. When whisky was ruled out of the equation, life became very tricky indeed.

2. Everyone should make an immediate policy of measuring the distance (and time needed) from their bedroom to the bathroom as this information may become critical to the cleanliness of your flat/house if ever you make a similar error in kebab cuisine that I did.

3. Generally speaking, illness is temporary, good health permanent (at least for 70 years or so). And for that, we really should all be thankful each and every day.

Money Men

I don't have the figures to prove it, but I'd hazard a guess that more has been written over the past two years about bankers, bonuses and CDOs than God, David Beckham and Cheryl Cole combined (not that I'm suggesting in any way that the latter three are related!).

Some of what's been written has attempted to defend, justify or at least rationalise the City - the continual efforts of the Daily Telegraph's Damien Reece for one, and the more subtle defences employed by the FT for another. Most of what's been written has been on the opposite end of the scale though - the Mirror and its tabloid colleagues having had the most fun in taking aim at the big red target painted on the Square Mile.

The trouble with much of the negative stuff though has been that it's latched onto an argument that doesn't always have raional, sustainable legs - the fact is, the City makes a hell of money for the Treasury, and therefore the country. Yes they're grossly overpaid and that looks particularly bad at the moment, but up until a couple of years ago, there were very few voices calling for bankers heads - in fact, bonus season was always reported with a degree of mystique by the papers.

As I said though, much of what has been written on the negative side comes across as whining and moaning, rather than a constructive, rational argument - it's too easy to go for the over-the-top, Daily Mail-style reaction, but the majority of reporting has headed in that direction anyway.

That's why it was a pleasant suprise to read this article by Chris Blackhurst, the Evening Standard's City Editor, in yesterday's edition.

For me, he hit the real nail right on the head - it isn't the size of the bonus, it isn't the attitude of some in the City towards risk and wealth, and it isn't even the Government's failure to tackle it. What it is, is the simple fact that many in the City have lost perspective on normal society outside of their bubble.

As Blackhurst put it, "The banker's face was a picture to behold — one of astonishing blankness" when asked why bankers were paid bonuses for doing their normal, standard, everyday job as described on their contracts. This was swiftly followed up with "When I told my companion I couldn't recall ever having received a bonus as a journalist he looked baffled".

That for me should be the real crux of the argument about what needs to change - the City can be, and should be a good thing for the UK, but by operating in its own little world it has utterly forgotten the rules of the game in normal society.

Figures of eight

I spent Wednesday evening in the company of three twenty-something ladies discussing one of the subjects most feared (and most avoided) by men - the menstrual cycle. (Any men reading this, be brave and keep going - it's hopefully worth it!)

More specifically, I spent the evening hearing about how a simple lack of painkillers led to what I can only imagine was an intensely painful couple of hours in a Costa Coffee.

One of the beautiful, but ultimately frustrating things about humanity is that having two sexes means you can never compare certain things. This is one example of it - I'll never know what it feels like to have that sort of pain, and similarly, women will never know the exact, sick, sort-of hollow feeling that men experience when they get one in the 'gentlemen's area'.

In a similar way, the majority of women will never know what it feels like during those agonising 5 minutes where you're waiting at the altar praying she hasn't come to her senses and done a runner - and men will never know the stress of being a bride before and on your wedding day.

Nevertheless, in an attempt to help me understand her pain, I was informed that it would feel like someone grabbed 'down there', twisted it into a figure of eight, and then kept on twisting - in a simple word, ouch!

I did learn a few useful things through all this though:

1. Despite my reservations, champagne bars are actually quite nice, relaxed places to enjoy a drink - provided they're not in the Square Mile or Canary Wharf.

2. Shaftesbury Avenue is absolutely the worst place to have some sort of medical ailment - because there isn't usually an English speaking person in sight amongst the sea of tourists.

3. I never, ever, ever want to attempt to recreate the feeling of pain that was described to me, and especially not if it involves figures of eight of any kind.

4. Women have been, remain, and forever will be, the ultimate resource and learning hub for all male-kind - Wikipedia just can't compete on vital knowledge which can help men navigate the tricky, knife-edge world that is womenhood.

Other Blogs

I've got a confession to make. With the exception of writing my own, I don't really read all that many blogs by other people - in fact the only ones I really read are this excellent one by a friend, my brother's hilarious but all too infrequent effort, and Tim Danaher's fantastic insight into the world of retail.

This is pretty shocking really, especially given that online and social media are supposed to be an ever increasing part of my job description. It's not that I don't enjoy reading them, because I genuinely do and indeed regularly return to the ones I do read to see what's been written next. It's more that I find them a) quite hard to find in the first place and b) quite difficult to remember what they were called if I don't read them regularly.

Apparently, Blogger has a system for monitoring certain blogs that you wish to read, and it shows you recent posts by these authors. I've just signed up to this, and hopefully it'll make a certifiable difference to my consumption. But there must be a better way to remind me to read them than this - I'm exceptionally stubborn and stuck in my ways, which means if there is a social networking-type thingy that will alert me to them, I haven't found it yet.

It also doesn't solve the problem of how you find them either - outside of the ones written by politicians and the media, they're mostly hidden in some dark corner of cyberspace lieing dormant and desperate for someone to discover them and spread the good word.

For now then, it'll pretty much remain the neanderthal way of using one's memory to remember to read them and hoping that I stumble across a couple more by chance whilst surfing the net (which is a phrase that I haven't heard anyone in about 2 years incidentally).

Then again, given I only follow three of the blighters, maybe that won't be so difficult to remember after all.

Leaving

I wrote a few months back about how two exceptionally talented people & good friends of mine had left H&K to further their careers. Well tonight it happened again & this time it was someone even closer to me. 

Employment is a funny thing really. Statistically speaking you spend more time with people at work than anyone else. And you're also constantly talking the same language as them as you navigate the professional world together. 

But at the same time, work, just like any other activity, has a habit of throwing up wonderful friendships. And so it has been for the last two years for me in my current job. Today, I lose a very very special one of those to go with several other good work friendships that I've lost in the last year. 

That's life really, but it never gets any easier sadly. 

Christmas Telly

I'm not old enough to have watched the Morecambe & Wise Christmas shows of the 70's, but they always seem to have been set as something of a high-water or benchmark for Christmas TV ever since. That was back in the days when drawing 20m viewers around the little black box in the living room was expected for such things, unlike today when reaching double figures is a celebrated rarity.

For me, The Office Christmas Specials have had the same effect on subsequent years of Christmas telly - nothing before or since has ever come close to replicating the drama, comedy, tension or quite brilliant ending that those 2 hours of TV put together back in 2003. I watched the whole series, including the specials again last month, and even now it still blows me away.

The only thing I wish now is that there was some way you could erase your memory each time after you'd seen it, just so you could enjoy the shock and sheer joy when everything suddenly, finally goes right for Brent, Tim and Dawn after 13 and a half episodes of their lives being utterly miserable.

This year's Christmas telly wasn't vintage to be honest - a hell of a lot of repeats and far too many crap films for my liking. However it did witness the end of Gavin & Stacey, and also the current incarnation of Doctor Who, both of which have been fantastic to watch over the past three years. With one of these, everyone knew what would happen, with the other most people had a feeling what should happen, but there was still uncertainty. In both cases, I didn't have a clue how the writers were going to get there, but was definitely excited to find out.

In the end, Gavin & Stacey finished exactly the right way - Smithey and Nessa were never going to get married, but then neither were Nessa and Dave Coaches. What you got instead was a very accurate interpretation of the modern family unit - far from perfect, far from traditional, but still very loving. Keeping the final scene down to just the four central characters was a very smart move too, avoiding the temptation to include the whole ensemble, and Uncle Bryn in particular.

Doctor Who on the other hand was heartbreaking I thought. I'd spent most of the time between the first part on Christmas Day and the second on New Year's Day trying to figure out just who was going to kill David Tennant off, and when the 'four knocks' were going to happen.

When it finally did occur, with four quiet taps on an innocent looking piece of glass, it was simply a brilliant, cruel, bitterly believable piece of writing. Not to mention a fabulous piece of acting by the two men involved.

So maybe not a vintage Christmas in front of the box, but between them, those two programmes pretty much rescued it. Rescued it yes, but surpassed Gervais and Merchant in 2003? Not in my opinion no. That really is going to take something a little bit special