Fixed.

"It's over now, and I can't see you. Some things are better left unsaid..."

And just like that, mirroring a lyric from their million selling second album, Charlie Simpson had busted Busted. January 14th 2005, London's Soho Hotel. Shifting uncomfortably in his seat, Simpson was at pains to stress he was never embarrassed to be in the power-chord playing pseudo-boyband, but admitted he had decided to walk away. Beside him, his clearly crestfallen bandmates echoed the message - good of them, considering Charlie had in a sense just rung the neck of their golden goose. Truthfully in the decade since, none of the parties ever really spoke ill of each other and stories of infighting never emerged. One thing that did emerge however, was nail after nail in the Busted coffin, hammered by Simpson himself:

2006: "I was in a music career, which was amazing, and I hated it because it wasn't fulfilling me in any sense of the word. I kept thinking, imagine if this was a band I really loved, I'd be loving it. It was like torture."

2009: "I read that I was going to be part of a Busted reunion, but that won't happen in a million years. The other two might do something, but I'm not involved."

2012: "I wish Matt and James all the best with their future projects but I want to make it unequivocally clear that I have no interest whatsoever in rejoining Busted and I never will"

Let me make no bones about this - I fucking love Busted. I love Busted more in 2015 than I did when they split in 2005. I am passionate about music, and honestly, genuinely, I really mean this - I don't know there's a band I love more than Busted. 

It's funny how your taste evolves. When I was 11, I loved Oasis. They were my favourites until I was 15. Then came Foo Fighters. Around 18 it was Stone Roses. At 19, it was Busted. And at 21 it was Fightstar, who've sort of ruled the roost ever since, although their crown rather slipped in the 6 years between 2009's 'Be Human' and 2015's 'Behind The Devils Back'. 

In 2015, aged 31, when I put my headphones in while I'm doing the cleaning when the wife and baby are asleep, I'm not listening to the Stone Roses. I rarely put on Oasis. I listen to Foo Fighters once a year. And Fightstar get the odd run out, but ultimately, my go to album is the subtly titled Christmas 2003 release "A Present For Everyone", the last record Busted made. Why? Why, why, why? Trust me, it surprises me more than you.

It is because, put simply, Busted were unique. There are plenty of earnest boybands writing nice ballads out there. There's lot of men in their twenties writing chugging tunes loaded with power chords and emotion. But there aren't many doing both, and there aren't any doing it with such a strong sense of humour, tongue planted firmly in cheek. And there are none who just write such fucking kick ass music!

I've experienced a bunch in life - who hasn't? - a lot of it quite serious. My parents break up was about as ugly as you can get, my Dad's accident was tragic, and his death 3 years later raised the bar. Then there was the 5 years spent drinking my inheritance. Point being it wasn't all a bed of roses. My greatest weapon to fight back against life's trials and tribulations and get to grips with that first quarter century of my life in the past few years has been the ability to diffuse the seriousness and inject a sense of levity and humour, a tool with which I now meet all of life's challenges. I am (unfortunately) hardwired to be melodramatic - if you knew my parents, you'd understand why - but I am aware that it really does no one any favours to tackle life on such serious terms. Ergo I do my best to come at things with a smile and a chuckle. This is why Busted & me are a good fit. 

What most people know of the band are, naturally, the singles, where the silliness is turned up to 11. Air Hostess, Year 3000, Crashed The Wedding - these are good songs, great pop tunes worthy of their places at the top of the charts. But truthfully it's the ability to fuse the tongue in cheek numbers with the hand on heart, lighter in the air ballads in the same album - or even in the same song at times - that makes Busted so uniquely, erm, well, BUSTED! Personal favourites include the album track "Fake" about the fear that your lady may be putting on a show in the bedroom if you're coming up short:
"What am I gonna do now? The games up.
 I can't get her off, that's kinda rough.
 So baby tell me now do I need to measure?
 Cos' I'm feeling under pressure
 Don't wanna be a 'fake' " 

Then you have the more sombre numbers, love songs along the lines of chart hits '3am' and 'Sleeping With The Light On'. Second album tracks 'Why?' and 'It's Over Now' are some of the best break up songs I've ever heard & have been friends in dark times. Above all else, Simpson and Bourne are both phenomenal songwriters and wrote some phenomenal melodies. The combination of Charlie's melancholy drenched vocals with Bourne's insanely catchy tunes & Willis' massive energy hits a note with me that nothing else does. Perhaps the most surprising part of this is how the songs have not only sustained over the years, but how I've actually grown more fond of them, not less, as the years go by. My passion for Oasis, Stone Roses, Foo Fighters and even Fightstar now is not quite what it once was. But I still bloody love Busted. And I did even before this weeks news.

Which brings us full circle. This weeks news. It is safe to say that I am an optimist and I tend to believe all things are possible. It takes a lot - A LOT - to surprise me. But, hand on heart, until the news broke confirming the reunion, I genuinely never, ever, ever, ever thought that this would happen. It was not just Charlie's words, it was his actions. 

I saw Busted live, in November 2004. My buddy Dave came with me (I paid for his ticket - need to tell you that just to make sure the innocent are protected). The gig was good but not great, and I noted to Dave at the time that James and Matt seemed to really enjoy interacting with the crowd and putting on a show. Charlie, meanwhile, looked like he'd rather be anywhere else. A harbinger of things to come, it turned out. I also saw him in January 2005 playing with Fightstar suppoting Taking Back Sunday and he was the antithesis - loving every second, even if the audiene wanted to dismiss him. In addition to all the quotes above, everytime he was asked about Busted he visibly clammed up. He would talk about how when the band formed in 2002 he was enjoying it but as his musical tastes progressed and changed, James' and Matt's didn't. Given it was always James' band first and foremost(Charlie joined later) and the record company weren't about to start putting out death metal Busted records, leaving was the right choice for all involved. Having worked so hard and so long to establish himself as a 'serious' and 'credible' musician, why would he ever go back? 

When I first heard the rumours, I dismissed it. I thought 'given how he's talked about Busted for a decade, the only possible reason he'd go back was for the money'. But that in itself made no sense - having turned down the millions to be made with McBusted 18 months earlier, and walked away from the millions Busted would have made him in 2005, why would the money suddenly appeal to him now? 

In retrospect however, clearly I wasn't paying enough attention. There were clues in the last couple of years. In 2013, a year after saying he 'unequivocally' would 'never' have any interest in rejoining Busted, came this quote about McBusted:

"Busted was a lifetime ago. But I'm really happy that they're doing it, and they look they're enjoying it - now it just wouldn't be right for me to do"

In the space of 12 months, never had become 'now'. Then on 'This Morning' in 2014, all the awkwardness and angst talking about Busted had been replaced with talk about what a fun time that was in his life and how fondly he looked back on those times. He even mentioned how he'd been rebuilding his relationships with Matt and James. Doors were opening...

Still, I must admit, even had I been paying attention, I couldn't have foreseen this. But the various videos and interviews they've done since pieces the puzzle together - friendships rebuilt, the trio went to Philadelphia to see was there any musical common ground to be found. They came away after 4 days of jamming with 3 new songs and a decision that they were putting the band back together: "We went to Philadelphia a few months ago, we wanted to go somewhere where we wouldn’t be seen and we just started working and came up with something which I think all of us were super happy with. We didn’t expect to come away with something so perfect.". It gives me genuine pleasure and joy to see these 3 dudes who created this music I've loved so much getting on so well after a decade of weirdness.

So, roll on the new record! I would have been pleased with a tour but it's the prospect of a new album that has me really excited. I never, ever thought I'd be lucky enough to have another batch of Busted tunes to process and enjoy and I can't believe it's happening! I'm confidently predicting I'm the most excited heterosexual male on earth who's not actually in the band when it comes to this album. Given the fact that the last one kept me going 12 years, hopefully even if they never do another, this one should keep me bopping away with a grin on my face for the rest of my days, reminding me never to take life too serious. 

Oh and then there's the gig: May 31, 2016, 3Arena. Meet You There... 

Déjà view

The Premier League is coming back but haven't we seen it all before?

Pre season. An exciting time. Wrought with possibility. You haven't yet seen your side play a competitive game so however unlikely it is, there's always the chance that suddenly they're world beaters. All those new signings might settle quickly. They could all hit form at once. The manager might have found a system that works. And then the first whistle blows...

I used to love this time of year. I have vivid memories of Ajax's back to back Amsterdam cup comeback wins over Barcelona in the early 00's. I would consume the Emirates cup every summer. And Liverpool's friendlies...I'd devour them, every second. Even if I couldn't see them live and they involved two different sets of 11 players in each half, I'd sit and watch. In fact, just 12 months ago I was analyzing what 11 started not just for Liverpool but for each PL club in preparation of another long hard year of fantasy football.

And this summer? A better writer could probably come up with a more scholarly sentence to sum it up, but I can't: This summer I just couldn't give a fuck. I cannot quite put my apathy into words. In fact it's not just apathy, it's borderline contempt. Every time I see and ad on Sky or BT I genuinely feel as though I'm watching the hysterical 2005 David Mitchell Skit where he lampooned the self important bubble in which football and its media exists.  “THOUSANDS AND THOUSANDS OF HOURS OF FOOTBALL, EACH MORE CLIMACTIC THAN THE LAST, EVERY KICK OF IT MATTERING MASSIVELY TO SOMEONE SOMEWHERE” sounds more like something I'd expect to hear on a Sky football ad than a comedy skit in 2015. I had a nagging feeling last season, an inescapable disinterest in the premier league but I chalked it up to a hangover from Liverpools nearly year but rather than feeling refreshed after a summer without premier league hyperbole, I feel substantially less interested now than I did in May. Football is a huge passion of mine and Liverpool are a part of who I am so this new found apathy is a curious thing and I thought it wise to explore the reasons...

Of course Liverpool are my rooting interest in English and European football so it seems sensible to start at home. After going so close to winning the league in 2014, 2015 brought another finish in the Europa league places along with two losing semi final appearances in cup competitions. Whilst last summer brought with it the naivety and optimism that only comes with preseason, truthfully by the turn of the year I'd come to accept that challenging for fourth and contending for a trophy represented a decent return for a club of our resources, but never was this hammered home then when I read an article in the Guardian in February. I won't bore you with a huge amount of detail – a lot of this stuff is covered in the excellent Soccernomics book – but the key fact was just how substantial the correlation between the size of a clubs wage bill and where that side finished was. Between the years 2003 & 2013:

The club with the highest wage bill each year finished, on average, 1^st.

The club with the 2^nd highest wage bill each year finished, on average, 2^nd.

The club with the 3^rd highest wage bill each year finished, on average...can you guess? That's right – 3^rd.

This went on and on as far as tenth. TENTH. Think about that. In one sense this shouldn't be surprising but yet having lived and breathed hundreds of games each one of those 10 seasons, boy did I feel silly. More than at any point in the past, football in 2015 is dictated by money. The teams who can offer the biggest paypackets can buy the best players. They then lock up the top positions. It really is no more complex than that. This is why even when clubs outside the top 4 spend big, they can't hold on to a place inside it as Liverpool and Spurs found out in recent seasons. Perhaps this is best evidenced by Liverpool losing their top 4 spot to Manchester City. The first season that Manchester City finished inside the top 4 was also the first season their wage bill eclipsed that of Liverpool. In the 5 years since, they have maintained either the highest or second highest wage bill in the league, and have finished 3^rd, 1^st, 2^nd, 1^st, 2^nd. Meanwhile Liverpool have only cracked the top 4 once. Funny how that works.

Indeed in the past ten years of premier league football, only twice has a team outside the top 4 wage bills in the league qualified for the following seasons champions league. Even the most basic of maths will tell you that with 4 CL spots a year over 10 years, that means 2 spots out of 40. And those spots were taken by Liverpool and Spurs the sides with the fifth and sixth highest wage bills. What this means is that stiatistically speaking Liverpool and Spurs have a 5% chance of breaking into that top four. Anyone beneath them...just don't bother. Suddenly THE MOST EXCITING LEAGUE IN THE WORLD doesn't sound quite so exciting, does it?

Of course, that in a sense is almost footballs appeal. The desire to see your team do the impossible. Spurs did it in 2010 and Liverpool in 2014. There is perhaps no victory sweeter than the one you did not expect and tales of victorious underdogs live forever. I will be wearing LFC red on August 9^th at 4pm crossing my fingers that the miracle is possible with the same fervor as years gone by, but at least now I'll do so in the knowledge that the chances are very slim.

Of course this has always been the way to an extent but never has it been more prevalent. The rich get the richer and the wealthy buy all the gold. This season, Barcelona will win La Liga at a canter, Bayern Munich won't break a sweat in claming the Bundesliga, PSG will stroll Ligue 1, and Celtic...well ok, that one's just too easy. And the premier league? My hunch is that Chelsea will win it with some ease like I predicated and they delivered last year but you'll pardon my indifference if I'm not quivering excitement that minnows Man City or underdogs United might buy another tin pot for themselves. I saw that one last year. And the year before that. And the year before that. And the...well, you get my point.

Mind you I would rather be quivering with excitement than experiencing the emotions some of the LFC fanbase has been this summer. In 2015 everyone has a voice, for better or for worse. That's what the internet has done. When it comes to football, it's definitely for worse. The world as a whole feels the need to jump to conclusions these days but nowhere is that more prevalent than in football. Arsene Wenger recently floated the idea that a managers job nowadays is to manage a crisis because you can have one, basically, every three days. The hyperbole with which the game is presented and commentated upon has fully transferred itself to the fanbase, and I myself have fallen prey to this, spouting silly overly important garbage. I have a core group of 6 – 8 friends with whom I discuss Liverpool. These are intelligent people. Some even quite sensible. Yet the absolute panic emanating from them after a bad result or two would have you in tears of laughter. Words like CRISIS and CHAOS and UNACCEPTABLE. A conclusion must be jumped to and it must be based off the most recent thing. The thing before that? Doesn't count. Simon Mignolet has played 94 games for Liverpool. He's played about 20 very well, about 25 not so much, 25 relatively poorly and on 25 occasions he's just handed the opposition goals. But because those 20 good games were mostly recent, fans will forget the rest. Brendan Rodgers is the opposite. He was a genius twelve months ago. Shorn of two phenomenal strikers who scored more than 50 goals, he struggled this past season. You'd think it makes sense to any reasonable, intelligent adult. Meanwhile you've grown men hiring a plane to fly a “RODGERS OUT” banner over Anfield. This is not unique to Liverpool though. Robin Van Persie has been discarded on the back of an injury hit season at Man United. Arsenal fans will tell you Arsene knows all summer long, but when they get knocked out of the league cup by, erm, Charlton in September after losing a league game three days earlier, they'll tell you his time is up. Remember Chelsea fans hounding Rafa Benitez as he won them a european trophy and secured champions league football? Leicester just ditched Nigel Pearson after his heroics keeping them up. Watford went one better, replacing the manager who got them promoted before a ball has even been kicked. Then there's Newcastle fans. I don't think I need to add anything to that one.

Of course, we're an easily led society so there must be a root to all this evil, and I'm blaming Jamie Redknapp. I mean, technically I am blaming Sky, but Sky is faceless where Jamie Redknapp is a handsome but also ludicrously smug looking fuck so he shall be the subject of my ire. Sky perpetuate the melodrama of football worse than anywhere else. BIG BEN & matching yellow ties and dresses on deadline day. A BREAKING NEWS ticker that actually breaks useless trivia (don't worry though, it matches the yellow ties and dresses). Words like CRUCIAL and VITAL. “I just feel it's vital QPR get summink today if they're gonna stay up, I really do Jeff” Jamie will say in spite of the fact that QPR are 11 points from safety with 12 to play for and everyone knows they're gone anyway. He told me a game between West Brom and Stoke was crucial last season too. I don't think either side played a crucial side all season, embedded safely in mid table. Thierry Henry knowing he has to say something but having nothing to say so pretending to say something except not really saying anything because it's just words coming out of his mouth. Phil Thompson looking at a side in the bottom three and sternly telling Jeff Stelling “If dee carry on in the form dat der in, dee could be in trouble come the end of the season”. 5 minute puff piece interviews with Garry Monk about Swansea 'pushing on' next season when we all know that 8^th place is the highest they're legally allowed finish (for all intents and purposes). Paul Merson. I don't think I need to add anything to that one either.

Of course none of this is new even if it has certainly gotten worse and worse to the point that it seems Mitchells parody is Sky's advertising blueprint, but it's just so irritating when you hear the same hyper dramatic bollocks from your friends. Lads, please. Calm down.

Oh, and I reserve the right to ignore anyone reminding me of this blog when I lose the run of myself after the first game of the season.

Bottle for the battle

As I sit here a couple days before embarking on a challenge to improve my health and well being through diet and exercise, I can feel a nervous energy that takes me back. About 8 and a half years back, to be exact. Boy, time flies. I've decided to tell the tale in the hopes of clearing up people's misconceptions and boosting my confidence - my bottle, if you will - for the battle ahead.

It's January 15th 2007. My years and years of heavy and consistent drinking have caught up on me big time and I have decided it is time to clean up my act. I am terrified that I won't be able to but excited about the possibility that I will. I started drinking alcohol at age 15. I can tell you the date and everything. February 25th, 2000. The wedding of my aunt/second mom Ingrid to her husband Tom. I blame them. Kidding! I had a few vodka and orange juices that night and I was enthralled by the effect. Soon enough it become an each weekend tradition. The naivety and innocence of it is still so fresh in my mind that even now I can understand why I fell for it so hard, so fast. Nights listening to Champagne Supernova and other Oasis classics with Paul Dalton in my Mum's living room, literally lying on the ground and watching the room spin. It was fun. But I don't do moderation, I only do excess. With that in mind, inside a year I was already hearing from people close to me - my Mum, Paul - that my drinking was problematic. I was undeterred though. There's little more stubborn headed in this world than a 16 year old when you're trying to tell him not to do something. 

June 29th 2001 my father took his last breath and passed into the next life. Truth be told it was a merciful end - his personality and his spirit left his body behind when he fell down that flight of stairs in 1998 - but I can't honestly tell you that it softened the blow. I was devastated. You know the feeling of sitting in the airport, at the gate, just twiddling your thumbs, waiting? That's kind of what those three years after Dessie's accident were like for me, in hindsight. I didn't want my Dad to die but he was gone once his head hit those marble steps and fractured his skull. I spent three years at the gate awaiting his funeral. Anyone who has lost someone after a long battle with ill health will speak of the trauma endured watching them suffer. I was left with almost no memories of my Dad before his accident, so powerful and traumatic were the images of who he became afterwards. 

So while there was never a conscious decision to start drinking like a fish upon his passing, it seems very clear to me that the discomfort and pain the alcohol masked was about him. And once I start down a road, it's very difficult to stop me. From the day of his funeral until the day I stopped drinking in January 2007, there were less than 10 days that I did not get drunk. It's not a statement I put out to be dramatic, it just is the truth and I think more than anything else, that bare fact highlights why I felt the need to take the drastic action I did. To give you the full context, that is 10 days out of 2,025 where I wasn't drunk. So I was drunk about 2,015 days over that period. That's a lot of days.

When I stopped drinking, I did so with the help of the AA. I was on the way to the pub and I blew a tyre, and they insisted on towing me home rather than the pub, you see. Ok, not that AA. Alcoholics Anonymous was a wonderful thing for me. I will be forever grateful for the positivity, the support, the love and above all else the understanding I got there. Those first 6 months when I got sober and my head got clear are genuinely the six best months of my entire life before I met my wife. I grew up more in that time than probably a decade prior. I purchased my first home, moved up the ladder in work, got in good physical shape and started meeting women, something I'd forever struggled to do. 

This is where the story gets complicated, and it's kind of why I decided to write this blog. I am nothing if not extroverted when it comes to expressing my personality. As such there was probably not a person I knew who didn't know I was an 'alcoholic'. The difficulty with that term and indeed the AA in general is that it allows your relationship with alcohol to define who you are. I found that after a certain period of time, living a life where my primary purpose was not to drink alcohol was almost as restrictive and problematic as living a life where my primary purpose was to drink alcohol. 

In 2007 I had started seeing a cognitive behavioural therapist, a wonderful woman named Tina who to this day probably doesn't fully understand how much she helped me get to grips with my life during a very, very foggy period. My thinking was cluttered and muddied, the work we did cleared it all up. In 2009, she was the person who broached the topic that had run through my mind for about the prior 6 months. What if I'm not an alcoholic? What if there's no such thing? What if excessive use of alcohol is a symptom of my personality, and it can be controlled? What if I don't have to define myself by what I do or don't do with this here liquid? I will say that when she mentioned it, I think the possibility of my drinking again was a distant possibility as opposed to something she thought I may do in the short term. But I had to know. I had to know can I drink alcohol and take it or leave it like some people, or do I have to drink every day of the week, once it starts?

I put six kopparberg mixed fruit down my gullet on May 24th 2009, celebrating my 25th birthday. 855 days had passed since I had last consumed alcohol. And guess what? The world kept spinning and my life kept going. Nothing really changed. Truth be told, the summer of 2009 is a terrific memory for me. It is the one and only period in my life where I drank pretty much like anyone else. I would go out on the weekend, get pissed, act silly, wake up feeling like garbage, but just crack on with my life. It was, after all that analysing, fretting, worrying and debating, really that simple. Once I stopped telling myself I was an alcoholic I was able to regain power over booze. And I had a blast that summer. Although at age 25 I think I was still the old man in Tamango most weekends.

Which brings me to now. I very, very, very rarely drink. I had half a kopparberg last night with dinner on our last night away. That's, I think, the only drink I've had since Lanzarote last October. I can tell people in my life often wonder why that is. I can also tell there are those who fear that maybe there's something dark behind it, related to the problems I had when I was younger. I'm here to tell you nothing could be further from the truth. When I met MT everything changed. First of all, it coincided with my hangovers getting substantially worse. I don't know if the fact I had so long on the dry impacted it or it was simply the aging process, but my ability to function the day after drinking just about evaporated over that 12 month period. MT didn't, and doesn't, drink alcohol - she just never has. When you're living with and married to someone who doesn't drink alcohol, and your hangovers are absolutely obscene, your motivation to get drunk is very, very low. I genuinely will get a hangover off a drink and a half. Bear in mind my well documented health problems of the past few years as well. The reality is I am a 31 year old man and my entire world revolves around the two beautiful girls who I live with. When I have a couple drinks I am no use to them the next day. I hate that. Really, genuinely loathe it. I feel like I've wasted a day of my life and there's too. I spent enough years of my life hammered and hungover. It just doesn't appeal to me that much anymore. I've nothing against it and definitely no problem with anyone else who loves it. But it's just not something I have much of an appetite for anymore.

The trouble with the curve(s)

There are few more universal struggles than the one about body shape. I use the term body shape because the word 'weight' doesn't really tell the story. People have insecurities about their bodies in every which way - too skinny, too fat, big hips, big thighs, small shoulders, small breasts, big tummy, soft tummy, big bum, small bum. A hairdresser once told me that everyone who came in and had naturally curly hair wished it was straight, while everyone with naturally straight hair wished they had curls. We are never happy. It's the human condition. It is armed with the knowledge that I, just like anyone else, am never going to be 100% happy with my appearance (I mean, have you seen my nose?) that I try and take a gentle approach to body shape and not obsess over it which is easy to do, particularly in modern society where Heat & Closer loom from magazine shelves telling women what to look like, and leading men have herculean physiques like that of Dwayne 'The Rock' Johnson. The message is simple folks - if you don't look like them, you're not up to scratch. 

Well fuck that. Look, this is my blog so let me tell you one thing to start - I am never going to look like a movie star. James Corden maybe, I suppose. But not a leading man anyway. I'm fine with this. Truthfully it's not massively important to me. My body shape has yo yo'd a lot in the past decade but I feel at a crossroads right now. Food is a funny topic for me. It's never a problem until it is. Growing up, I remember comfort eating from a very very young age. Even at age ten I vividly remember stopping on my way home to pick up 2 packs of sherbert cola for 10p each. Note - 2 packs, not one. Nothing in moderation except moderation, that's me. I was heavy throughout my teens - I don't know a figure because I never stopped on a weighing scales until I was 18 - and I always remember my Dad telling me 'if you keep eating the way you are, you'll never meet a girl'. Put bluntly he was right! Ironically it was in the aftermath of his death, when I was 17, that I began to take control of my body shape. I joined the gym and launched myself into it, going multiple times a week. I got into really good shape. I think I was about 14 stone when I finished up there in the summer of 2002. Probably sounds heavy but to me it was a low figure. I'd been about 16 stone when I started. Shortly after finishing there I moved to England for 18 months in late 2002. Out went the gym and in came the heavy, heavy drinking. It is safe to say this was the first time I learned about just how quickly your body shape can change. I was there about 5 months when my friend Ian - who wasn't afraid to be blunt - told me I'd put on 'AT LEAST two stone since I moved over'. I wasn't having this. Still, I had no scales so who knew? I didn't weigh myself again until 4 or 5 months later. Safe to say I was shocked beyond belief when I saw the scales read 17 stone. Holy shit. 3 stone in 8 months. That was a shocker. And it got worse. I went as heavy as 17.5 stone before moving home from England. 

I hovered around that mark for a couple years before I got my job in Carole Nash in 2006. Having worked in petrol stations for the prior 3 years with food all around me all day, just being in an office environment and not having the easy access to heavy foods all day knocked a stone off me. When I gave up booze early in 2007, the weight came flying off and I got back down to 14 stone. It's crucial to note that I was not always working hard in these times, going to the gym or watching what I ate. It was partially diet and exercise, but partially circumstance. If I was busy, I tended to eat less and even minor exercise - football with the lads, for example - would keep the weight off. Over the next few years after getting into a toxic relationship all my comfort eating tendencies came back in droves. Before I knew it was was 16 and a half stone again. Then in 2010, I discovered subway. Never has something so random gotten me in such good shape. I would go to subway every day on my lunch in work. Because I was having an 'indulgent' meal for my lunch, I had no real desire to have other take aways. Suddenly the weight just started falling off me. And I was encouraged so I ran with it. I joined the gym and I played football with the lads and I went for sprints after Liverpool defeats, using the anger to fuel me. By the end of 2010 I was down to 13 stone 4 pounds. This was and is the lowest I've ever seen on a scales. 

I had been hovering around 13 - 14 stone for 3 years until Carra came along. After all the health issues I tackled in 2011 I had been unable to do regular exercise for a long time but I was diligent enough with my diet to keep in that ballpark. But the past 18 months, everything has just fallen apart. Going part time in work immensely helped my health - I feel much better these days - and crucially, most importantly, the time I spend with Carra is a truly wonderful thing, I have cherished every moment. But comfort eating be damned, I have gotten FAT! I am just north of the 15 and a half stone mark. In times gone by, this wouldn't really bother me, but I'm finding it really stressful. 

Firstly, since my health problems in 2011 I've experienced back problems on and off on a consistent basis. But in the past 6 months my lower back has been pretty constantly in agony. I find carrying Carra - I know she's only 35 pounds but she is awkward as all hell - puts immense pressure on it and it's in agony. Make no mistake though, that extra 25 pounds goes straight around my stomach which adds to the pressure on my back. This bothers me for four reasons. The first is the pain. As I said it's not constant, but it's consistent and it's worsening. I can't carry her for 5 minutes without feeling it. That's a very challenging thing when you're the father of a 2 year old who wants her Dad to hold her. Secondly, I'm fucking horrendously unfit. I have always been unfit to an extent, even when I was playing football every week and going to the gym regularly. But I mean it's embarrassing. This week we have been partaking in many activities - cycling, walking, climbing, football etc. I get blown up in SECONDS. I cannot overstate this. I have the fitness of an 80 year old! Thirdly, it's embarrassing and hurts my pride that sometimes when I'll be playing with Carra, I have to tap out because I'm too tired or my back is hurting. I am 31. I am not an old man. I have no reason not to be in substantially better physical condition. And lastly - my father died aged 45 and grandfather aged 66, both of massive heart attacks. I know I am not at the stage where that is a concern, but it's not responsible for me to have all this added pressure on my heart. 

The reason I decided to write all this was to lay it all out in cold hard facts and make it real, understand it, see it in black and white. And I figured sharing it with all of you may take some of the shame out of your own 'battle of the bulge' - I think it's something we all go through - but I also thought it might shame me into action. I really genuinely do want to make changes. 

Doing so is hard, but truthfully, if it's important to me I can do it. Any young parent will tell you it's not as easy to get time to go to the gym as it is when you're single. It's hard for me when MT gets in the door at 7:30 to say 'dinner is in the microwave, I'll be back at 9:30'. It kind of feels like a mean spirited thing to do. But I know I need to. Improving my physical health is paramount to my quality of life, my mood, and the impact I have on my family. 

So it's going to be a multi pronged attack. Exercise is most important to me. If I want to get in better shape it's not going to happen by sitting on the couch starving myself. I need to get to the gym. I need to move. I need to walk, to lift, to cycle. Gym it is. When it comes to food, I need routine. When I don't have that. I snack. When I snack, it's an ugly scene. The odd cheeky burger when I drive past McD's, a sneaky ice cream at bedtime, a pack of jellies on my lunch etc etc. I have never been good with moderation so the only way I know to achieve this is just to not have things around. 

I'm not setting weight targets because really and truthfully, this isn't about how I look. It's about how I feel. But I will be blogging and updating on my progress. So watch this space! 

Thanks for the memories, skipper.

                                                    All things are impermanent

The first time I read this statement in an Eckhart Tolle book, it jarred me. It couldn’t totally be true. As a society our focus is on security. We marry rather than date, we buy rather than rent,  and we work for a steady paycheque rather than make our own way all for the same thing - that illusion of security. But marriages fail, homes are repossessed and people lose their jobs. All things are impermanent. This is one of the basis’ on which buddhism was built and when it sinks in, it’s actually somewhat comforting. Everyone and everything in my life will be gone one day. If I’m not gone first. With that knowledge, it’s a little easier to put one foot in front of another and live each day as it comes because nothing lasts forever. 

So armed with this knowledge and a rational, sober mind, I should be ready for tomorrow, watching Steven Gerrard take the Anfield turf one more time, one last time. But I’m not ready. I’m bloody terrified. In his pomp, the Liverpool number 8 was a force of nature, like a tidal wave battering anything that came in his path. Witness Olympiakos 04, Milan 05, Inter 07, Old Trafford 09, and on and on it goes. In his prime, Stevie G made you lose your rationale and your logic. He made the impossible seem possible. It was not his tackling, his passing, his shooting, his tracking, his tactical nous - it was his desire. People will debate his merits as a footballer and as a midfield player for many years to come but there can be no debating that no one man has dragged a footballing giant to so many glorious victories on his own as Steven Gerrard. Zidane, Scholes, Lampard, Pirlo - some of his peers possessed more natural ability, some scored more goals, some made the right pass more often but none - not one - expended more energy or played with more passion. 

But sadly, impermanence has reared its ugly head. Where once Gerrard played like a tidal wave, now he more often appears to be swimming against the tide, mind as sharp as ever, body no longer willing and able. 2013/14 provided an Indian summer that made it seem as though maybe he really could hold off father time, but stripped of his deep lying role with two pacy forwards to play through, this seasons SG has often looked slow, exposed, unable to impose himself on games. Thankfully his quality hasn’t left him. Indeed, his striking of a dead ball in the last 18 months is the best its ever been, with corners creating goals, free kicks hitting the back of the neck and pen after pen dispatched. In January when announcing his long goodbye, it felt like a year too soon. But as the season has faded and so too Stevie G, it’s seemed about right for all parties that captain fantastic depart leaving the Kop still wanting that little bit more, rather than play another year and become a bit part player, Frank Lampard at Manchester City. In hindsight, looking at the impact Steven has made throughout his 708 games for Liverpool, the idea he’d be happy to sit on the bench and make cameos here and there, starting the odd league game and featuring in the cups was ludicrous. It is not how I would want to remember him either, for that matter. 

Which brings us to the question, how do we remember him? Granted I am biased because I never saw the great LFC sides in their pomp, but it’s hard for me to accept any argument that doesn’t conclude Steven Gerrard is the greatest Liverpool FC player in the clubs history. More than any other player at any other club, Gerrard has embodied Liverpool and carried us on his back for 17 years. Fowler, Owen, Torres, Suarez, Alonso, Hamann - world class players have come and gone in his time, and when they were at the club, we pushed forward and came close to winning things, sometimes even getting over the line. But then there’s Diouf, Biscan, Nunez, Heskey, Carrol, Balotelli - Gerrard has been in some thoroughly mediocre teams over the past 17 years. 8th is the lowest LFC ever finished with Steven Gerrard in the team. For a club our size, that’s far too low down the table, but saddled with a wealth of truly mid level players, the fact that for most of the past 2 decades we’ve been in or around the top 3 or 4 of the league and competing for trophies until Man City’s big bucks came along speaks volumes for the skipper. Is it a greater achievement to win several league titles surrounded by the worlds best players, or to win one champions league with Djimi Traore starting the final as your left back? The consistency with which he’s played regardless of the quality of those around me will stand to his legacy. And the fact that no matter who came and went, he was never outshone.

Istanbul will be his defining image and rightly so. The header. Appealing to the crowd - ‘We can do this’. Playing at central midfield, then off the front, then right wing, then right back. Roy of the Rovers. You really couldn’t write it. The Gerrard Cup Final a year later. One swing of his gifted right boot sending Shaka Hislop sprawling and creating bedlam amongst the travelling scouse faithful. The crucial volley against Olympiakos in December 2004 - “ooooooooh ya beautaaayyy! What a hit son, what a hit”. History will recall he is the only man to have played and scored in the finals of the FA Cup, League Cup, UEFA Cup and Champions League - winning all four of those games too. But if there was one moment that best encapsulated who Steven Gerrard has been and what he has meant to Liverpool Football Club though, for some reason the one I think of is this:  

http://www.theguardian.com/football/2010/nov/04/liverpool-napoli-europa-league  (Watch here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jO5bvrrEGhg )

This was in Liverpools darkest hour, days after Gillett and Hicks were booted. Roy Hodgson was in charge. Stevie was left on the bench and the team toiled to a 0-1 scoreline at halftime. Called into action and always selfless, the skipper didn’t sulk at his exclusion from the start but went straight into pulling the team out of the mire, with three goals that perfectly capture the player he was. The first - a hard press on the keeper and a sliding tackle to prod the ball over the line and bring the sides level. Nothing fancy, just the grit and determination he played with. The second - calmness personified as he sent the keeper the wrong way with a classy finish from the spot. The third - a moment of magic as he sends the keeper to the floor and with a touch of class dinks it over him into the empty net, celebrating in front of the travelling support. 

Selfless, gritty, determined, calm, wonderfully talented, and passionate beyond belief: 

                                                             Steven Gerrard