Final scribblings of 2008

I totally forgot I had these.

The end

The Comfort Zone

So Kenny Loggins may have sung about the Danger Zone in the 80’s but I’d like to discuss a less warbled zone, the comfort zone. For me, the comfort zone is where I flourish, where I strut around with the same sort of conviction as Danny Ocean has when strolling through the Bellagio. A lot of my confidence derives from the comfort zone, mostly because in it I know how things work. Therefore I can exude some level of confidence in knowing what I’m talking about.

So when the opportunity came up on a course I’m doing to either go, A: A face-to-face residential school for four days, or, B: An online alternative for 3 weeks, my comfort zone squealed out for me not to go to the face-to-face residential school. The trepidation crawled all around me and the fear seeped in as visions of being exposed as some buffoon and sent home in disgrace seemed all too realistic. The thought everyone getting along with each other accept me, who instead had to spend my lunch time staring at the wall contemplating whether I’d be able to get up and get some pudding without tripping over. Or the feeling that the tutor would just ask me questions and not be satisfied with my answer until I became a nervous wreck. It was easily outside my comfort zone.

Instead I wanted to do the 3 week online alternative, where I could see everyone’s posts, reflect on what was written and then spend about fifteen minutes writing my response. It may take absolutely ages and actually be quite boring but it would be in my comfort zone, and therefore I’d feel safe, away from making a fool of myself, or being targeted to answer really difficult questions. And so I went to sleep that evening feeling all relaxed and comfortable that the online version (although convoluted and not as rewarding) would be more comfortable.

Something didn’t feel right though. Comfort zone or not, I’d be missing out on a great opportunity to meet fellow students. I held firm however, and refused myself to explore the idea of actually going there in person. It still itched though, and people noticed. One in particular wanted to get into Paddington’s Shadow’s head. The change came when that person said to me, ‘You should go, because it’ll be good to take you out of your comfort zone, and that is always interesting’.  I felt exposed, was it that obvious that I had been coasting and not really testing myself of late?

And so in the end I opted for the face-to-face and never looked back from the moment I pulled up outside Whittlebury Hall. Apart from a fantastically run residential school, all you can eat buffet, it was the people that made it. It was a fantastic mix of randoms, who all felt that same fear of trepidation. It was great to share fears and realisations that we are all actually feeling the same thing.

I never would have got this had I stayed in my comfort zone. Sure I’d still be feeling safe and prancing about like I owned the place. But there is not much to prance about if the comfort zone is nothing more than box 5cm in height and width. I would completely have missed out and that’s something I’m so glad I didn’t do, because it’s probably given me the momentum required to finish the course now. Perhaps more importantly it’s made me realise that I should come out of this comfort zone a lot more, even if the experiences are not as great, at least I’d have experienced them.

Thoughts of World Cup 2010

When I first began writing this entry I had done so with a vision on commenting on all 64 matches. However, after an hour of writing and only scratching on Germany vs. Australia, I knew it would be too much. Still, I wanted to note down something, particularly because it has happily taken up so much of my time in the last 30 days.

In a nutshell, the lesser teams were organised and determined, the better team hadn’t improved that much, but still it enthralled me. It began with a bang, and with a goal that seemed to typify that anything can happen, when Tshabalala smashed the ball into the top right hand corner. Celebrations akin to the Macerena from the players made me think this was the cup of the underdogs. Marquez’s equaliser ensured it was not to be the romantic cup when he equalised for the Mexicans and deprived the South Africans a victory.

My work days consisted of me listening to 5Live or watching the games on the BBC iPlayer or the ITV’s (virtually inaccessible) equivalent. I had to reduce the size of the webpage and discreetly nestle it into the corner of the screen. Then, when I heard excitement in the commentator’s voice I’d quickly switch to the screen only to see the ball go out for a goal kick.

What was a big disappointment was the performance of the England team. It still irks me to this day, whilst eating my oatflakes bleary eyed or drinking Bulmers on a summery evening lamenting with another football enthusiast on what could have been. If only Green hadn’t spilt it, if only the team turned up against Algeria. If only... The reality was, England severely underperformed, James, Terry, Ferdinand, Gerrard, Lampard, Wright-Phillips, Heskey have more than likely played their last World Cup. A limp way to finish your international career which perhaps, in hindsight, peaked when England went 1-0 up against Brazil, some eight years ago in Shizuoka. That was England’s best team of that alleged ‘Golden Generation’, well, apart from Danny Mills.

Germany destroyed England with a counter execution which left ol’ blighty in tatters. Capello almost lost his job and a few million people were left gormless staring at the television screen wondering what was going on. In fact Germany turned out to be one of the success of the tournament, with a coach who seems to be dressed by TopMan and players who only played a handful of times for their country before the tournament. Their destruction of Argentina brutally exposed the South American’s lack of tactical nous. Everyone knew how they would play, and so Germany just waited and waited and smashed them on the break.

In fact, the South American heavy weights did not really deliver in the tournament after every all South American teams qualified from their groups. Brazil was supposed to win it but they fell apart after a ropey attempt to punch the ball from Julio Cesar, ended up with it in their net. After that, a European orange heavy weight out-foxed them like a 10 year old tricking a 4 year old into giving them their sweets, leaving the 4 year old stamping their feet in frustration upon realising what had happened. And so did Brazil who became divas instead of competitors after the Dutch scored a second.

It was an unfancied Latin country which was my team of the tournament. Uruguay punched well above their weight, but there seemed to be some belief that oozed amongst them as they all worked together. Oscar Tabarez had his men well organised and in Diego Forlan they had a deadly striker who could score past any defence. He knocked out Liverpool in the Europa cup last season and also broke Fulham’s heart in their great journey in that competition. With that form he rattled in five and deservedly won the best player award. His strike partner, however, probably shouldn’t be booking a holiday to Accra anytime soon. His handball is probably one of the most notable moments of this world cup. I don’t blame him, although it did annoy me when he went from crying to celebrating like he had just one the thing when Gyan hit the crossbar. In context, I think many players would do the same, not all, but a lot would do what he had done.

Some of the European bigger teams crashed at the first hurdle with France being in the press more for their off the field antics than for their prowess on it. It was comical to see it unravel and many believed that they shouldn’t have even been there due to Henry’s handball against the Irish. Karma? The Italians stumbled in their first game against a dogged Paraguay and never managed to get momentum until the last thirty seconds against the Slovakians, a little too late. As a consequence they finished bottom of their group and outrage sprawled through the country like it has here.

The Asian teams had a good World Cup, and their astute attention to detail meant they were machine like in their play. South Korea was unfortunate to be knocked out by Uruguay and the Blue Samurai were able to mix that pragmatic organised approach with a sprinkle of flamboyancy in their star player, Honda. His free kick and subsequent set up for Japan’s victory over Denmark were amazing bits of skill. Gaining qualification to the tournament meant that the North Koreans had taken a step in the right direction (in terms of football I mean), and being able to hold Brazil for 55 minutes was mightily impressive. So was their (supposed) fans who all seemed to be waving their little flags in unison, it all seemed too staged for me.

New Zealand played gallantly and actually did not lose a game in the whole tournament. They held off the Italian onslaught and can consider their World Cup a success. The Australians probably will be kicking themselves at an opportunity lost with the last hurrah of their best ever players in Tim Cahill and Harry (injury prone) Kwell. It was unfortunate that they never played a match together and in the end only missed out in qualification on goal difference. A penalty should have been awarded to the Aussies against Serbia which never was and the game ended with them all screaming at the ref.

The final itself was entertaining, and whilst I did want the Dutch to win, the way they played changed my mind. It was never going to be an enthralling match considering what was at stake but the Spanish wanted to play football whilst Holland’s more combinative players just smashed the Spaniards about. De Jong’s karate kick in Alsono’s chest summed up the lengths they were willing to take in ensure the fluidity of the Spanish play was stopped.

I thought the Spanish goal was really well worked and worthy of a World Cup winning goal, the ball from Fabregas to Iniesta was superb and as it bounced up, everyone had time to wait and watch it come down, waiting for a Dutch defender to come launching in, or the keeper to come flying out, but no one came, and Iniesta composed himself to lash the ball into the bottom right. Game and tournament, over.

This World Cup was as expected great to watch but the lasting image that will stick in my mind for a long time was Arch Bishop Desmond Tutu donning a SA woolly hat and bopping to The Black Eyed Peas. He truly was relishing in the moment of having the continent’s first World Cup being held in his home country.

Right, so when’s the first game for Brazil 2014 kick off? Peru to win? 

More scribblings from 2008

Cleaning the bookshelf

When the moon lines up in front of Jupiter and the temperature drops to -2 degrees at exactly 2:02am on the seventeenth day of the sixth month, it is time to dust my bookshelf. So the following the day I knew this moment had arrived so picked up the dusting cloth and proceeded to wipe, dab and rub.


After a couple of minutes I concluded to myself that the bookshelf contains the things that represent who I am, both in trait and possession. The mobile phone bills and SpecSaver contact lens’ boxes demonstrate just how disorganised I am with all things postal. Electronically, everything is filled in folders with logical pathways, but everything I get in the post either gets chucked away or finds itself shoved on the bookshelf. This may be acceptable for a few letters but not a year’s worth. So I sighed and proceeded to pull out all these letters regarding banking statements, insurances of all sorts and put them all in a large ring binder where they will stay until the day I realise that no one will actually ever ask to see my May bank statement of 2003.

Amongst all this envelope shrubbery is of course all my books. I looked at each one as I dusted their spines thinking about the last time I read that particular book. There were some I hadn’t even read yet so pulled these out and decided to make a ‘haven’t read yet’ section at the bottom of my shelf. Amongst all my fiction I also noticed tomes of yester year like, ‘How to use Macromedia Dreamweaver’ and, ‘An introduction to Marcomedia Flash’. Was I really into this stuff? I thought to myself. You bet I was, I loved it, that was until I realised I didn’t like to be in front of a computer all day (something I still haven’t managed to sort out) and because, quite frankly I never had the heart to fully embrace code.

Littered along the shelves are my random bits that I own but just don’t know where they should live, so they all have banded together and live anywhere there is space. These random bits include hundreds of friendship bands/bracelets that I just can’t throw away. In fact I collected them all up and put them all on and they almost come up to my elbow! There’s also a small globe broken but I’m still unable to chuck it away, keys that I am not sure what they open or lock, and about three sets of headphones which rest on top of my books with the wires draping all over the place. There’s also a lot of rubbish that I collect, particularly receipts.

But what I enjoy most about my bookshelf, especially when I actually pay attention on what is there, are the surprises. In between my Collins Thesaurus and Of Mice and Men was a little black note book which I took notes in when I was on holiday a few years ago. Below is what I wrote, well some of it as there’s too much to upload onto one entry.