"You're just far too pessimistic", I was recently told.

I nearly choked on my wine. Naturally, I protested my innocence. Something about being a realist. A pragmatist. How I was only making reference to the facts as I saw them. And the facts undeniably painted a less than rosy picture. It simply wasn't fair to be portrayed as a pessimist.

But how come I've spent the last couple of months being anything other than optimistic? OK - getting mugged isn't going to make me any happier. And my mortgage going up isn't a cause for celebration. Being ripped off by cowboys who claimed to know what they're doing in a garden wasn't great. Credit crunch. Falling prices. Markets down. And the cracks were beginning to show. Quite literally in my case. I'd just finished correcting the buffoonery of my garden contractors, and was relaxing in my nice new garden. I glanced up at the back of the house. It had been quite a while since I'd done this, largely on the grounds that I wasn't actually able to get into the garden to do so, such was the neglect. But as I gazed up there it was. Was that there before? I had a vague recollection that something was mentioned in my survey when I bought the house.

Upstairs in my bedroom I checked the report from three years ago. Some cracking was apparent, it told me, but these appeared to be fairly old, so were of no cause for concern. Now, it didn't concern me at the time, as I bought the house. But I went back down and had another look. Had it deterioated? I wasn't sure. I remember that I needed to think about getting some repointing done, so I added this to the list of things I wanted to sort out. It's a long list, but never mind. Just another job.

But things are never that simple. Oh no. Not here they're not. Especially at 6am on my way out of the door with too little sleep. I was on my way to France. If this wasn't a cause for optimism I don't know what is. My bag was packed and I was off on a mini adventure in the Alps. Sweet. I locked the door and turned my back then spun around on my heels. What was that? A crack? Was that there before? I had no time to think about it. I had a train to catch. So I left, with the image in my mind.

How pessimistic can I be? It turns out that my pessimism, left unchecked, can go off on a mini adventure of it's own. A tiny crack, that may or may not have been there before, became in my fevered imagination a gaping hole - a chasm of such magnitude that it quite possibly was the gateway to hell itself. OK - I exaggerate there, but it wasn't that far off. As I walked up my road on my return, I was relieved to find my house still standing.

I spent the day looking for a surveyor. What would he tell me? I even looked to see how much I could borrow to shore up the collapsing remains of my house. It became too much. I logged off, picked up the phone and did what every pessimist does in times of peril. I dialled my mum's number. It wasn't long before I was in the bosom of my family. I needed to talk about this. Get my head straight. Get a plan and work out what to do. I was tired and worried. Worried about how much I was worrying. Worried about how serious things had got. I needed some comfort. Some words of advice, a guiding hand and words of wisdom.

"You're just far too pessimistic", wasn't exactly what I was looking for.

Less than a week later, my house was examined quite carefully by a surveyor. He poked about. He asked me questions. In truth, I think he padded out his inspection on the grounds it might have been embarrasing to charge me the full fee for telling me that I really had nothing to worry about. He told me that there really was no evidence of any recent activity. Buildings don't just stand for decades then fall down. He took a few photos and made some notes. I gave him his cheque, and he said he'd send me his report. He'd probably have to pad that out a bit as well. After all, it would probably say something along the lines of "You're just far too pessimistic".

On the bus home tonight, I was re-reading "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance". A particular passage resonated with me. Referring to his friends who were with him on a road trip, he writes how they were not enjoying themselves due to the heat on the road, and how it clouded their outlook. He writes:

"All day while I've been thinking and talking about Phaedrus they must have been thinking about how bad all this is. That's what's really wearing them down. The thought."

Have I learnt my lesson? Time will tell. All I can say is that I'm optimistic about it.

I'm tired. For all the right reasons, but I'm tired. In actual fact, I should really be in bed right now but for writing this article. But it's a tough life being a blogger. Especially when you wonder if anyone will be reading it, or more importantly, if they do, they actually find it interesting.

Anyway, I digress. I'm tired because I've had such a good weekend. And that's not bad seeing as I'm writing this on Wednesday night. It all started on the Friday evening with a game of football. A few of us have been getting together recently to have a game on a Friday. It's been really good to have an opportunity to play 11-a side for a change. We're clearly not very good as we've lost every game we've played. So, obviously a full tactical debrief is required in the boozer afterwards.

It was a thorough debrief. I'd talked so much my mouth was dry in the morning. What was also strange was that my head was thumping and I didn't appear to remember much of the tactical dissection of our game. So I stayed in bed a little longer to see if I could remember it. I didn't, but I blame that on the headache that wouldn't go away all day.

It wasn't so bad that I couldn't go to dinner in the evening on the Saturday. The food was very good, but the service was woeful. But all that waiting for the food and drinks to arrive gave me loads of time to catch up with some old friends I hadn't seen for a while. While we waited (and waited) for the bill, another friend arrived at the restaurant. He'd come over from Islington on a night on the beers and looked a bit disappointed that he'd left his beer, his mates and spent 20 quid on a taxi only to find we were all going home. Obviously we couldn't disappoint him, so I stayed out for a few more beers.

I was disappointed to find I'd missed the last tube. By two hours. So, a night bus was required, which actually wasn't that bad (thanks to Ken - sorry I didn't vote for you). But it was another night that I'd stayed out late, and another one that I'd had a few more beers than I'd wanted to. Unlike the Sunday, where I knew I'd be having some beers.

It was the last game of the season, so the plan was to go to the match, have a few drinks and go for a curry. And that's precisely what we did. But what made it special was that I was able to catch up with another old friend at the ground and at the pub afterwards. We talked a bit about football, but spent most of the time reflecting on how his life has changed now he's a dad. He didn't stay out too long, as he had to go home to bath his son. I hope I don't leave it so long till I see him next time.

Monday was supposed to be quiet. The plan was to go somewhere, sit in the sun and eat and relax. I could manage that. I seriously think I couldn't manage anything else. There was no danger that this could get out of hand. The friends I was meeting were not such big drinkers. So obviously we met in a pub. For drinks. The pub was so busy that they weren't serving food. So, we went to find some food in Kensington. The food and the company were superb. As were the drinks. We were so pleased, that we met up with some other friends at the pub for more drinks.

It was at this stage, I protested that I couldn't take it anymore. I had to go home. "Nonsense!", I was told. Come to the cinema. What could I do? I've been meaning to go to see what the place was like for sometime and it was absolutely fantastic. Where else can you settle down in leather seats each with a foot rest as you sip on a cold pint of Guinness. Oops. So much for the quiet Monday. Although that really wasn't on my mind as I tumbled on to the last tube of the evening.

I'd clearly not anticipated that I'd have such a busy weekend when I'd bought the tickets for the gig on Tuesday. I held them in my hands at work and my head swam. I really didn't fancy going. But what a waste of the tickets. So I phoned a mate to see if he wanted them. "Cool", he said, "What time shall I meet you?". That didn't go well at all. He really wasn't the bloke to go to a gig with if I fancied a quiet night. More beers. More late night tube journeys.

It was all fantastic. I shouldn't really have drunk so much. I really needed to eat a bit better. But it was all worth it. I have at times in my life forgotten just how important my friends are to me. I've sometimes neglected them. It's something that we're all a bit guilty of from time to time. But that's no reason not to keep making an effort. Everyone I caught up with over the weekend had their stories to tell. Some happy and some sad. Some of my friends I didn't see, but they weren't far from my mind. It's our friends and family who get us through it all as we make our way through our lives.

It's a part of my life that I identified in my recipe. With such good friends, and such a good weekend, it was a really great way to underline how important my friends are to me. I hope I never forget it.

Its been quite a busy week for me again. I've spent the last week at a training course in Hammersmith. It's been really good and has been a really tremendous learning experience. The course was called Guerilla Enterprise .NET, which is run by the folks at Developmentor. I'd been on the Guerilla .NET course back in 2005, and it was good to get back to seeing what's going on out there in the real world. Another really cool feature of these courses is that they are really international affairs. Out of 15 students, only 3 were British. Only one out of the three instructors was English too. I think there were representatives from Switzerland, Slovenia, Germany, Belgium, Latvia and France. Probably more. They all, of course shamed the Brits with their language skills.

What I like about these courses is that there's a tremendous breadth and depth to the coverage of the courses. This one was primarily concerned with the two out of the three frameworks that appeared in .Net 3.0, the Windows Communications Foundation and the Windows Workflow Foundation both of which I''m really excited about getting to grips with and deploying into real world situations.

I don't want this article to be a whine, but over the last six months as I've concentrated on other aspects of my life, it's not gone unnoticed that in my professional life I've got to pick up the pace a bit. I discussed the pace of change in technology with one of the delegates on the course. We both agreed that the pace is quickening to a point where it's getting impossible to keep abreast of everything as we were once able to ten tears ago. But my main problem is that I'm not doing this stuff every day of my working life. And that's got to change. I can't afford to fall behind. It's a problem that so many of us in the industry are grappling with.

This presents me with a bit of a problem. I know that there's potentially fertile ground to apply these sort of technologies at work, but I'm also aware of the pace of change there. My greatest fear is that by the time we're in a position to deploy this type of technology, the ground will have shifted once more.

So what's a geek to do? I think the key as far as I'm concerned is this: Become knowledgeable and enthusiastic about the goodness that the new technology brings. Tell people about what you can do with it as often as you can. Impress them with it. If you fail to impress them with it, and you truly do believe in what you can do, then it's perhaps time to talk to someone else.

When push comes to shove, I'm not one of those guys who's always on the bleeding edge. I never will be. In fact I'm quite the opposite. "If it ain't broke, why fix it?" is a fine maxim. But it's inevitable that things in software change. You can either embrace the change of bury your head in the sand. The danger in not moving forward is that your software becomes more and more difficult to support as the skills required to do so dry up. Before you know it, your software is broken by default. No-one can fix it. Worse, no-one wants to fix it.

Time waits for no man. Least of all for a software architect. Every day, the clock ticks ever louder. I'm going to have to run faster just to stand still. Fun isn't it?

To anyone who regularly reads this blog, it can't have escaped your notice that it's not been updated recently. That's not been intentional but I've been otherwise engaged. Nothing exciting mind - it's just left me with little energy or inclination to keep the blog up to date. It's not permanent, so for the record I'll be back to updating it a little bit more regularly.

So what's kept me so busy recently? Well, I've been debating whether to share this with the outside world or not, but, what the hell. I've spent the last three weeks cleaning, cataloging, cleaning, recording and cleaning. What, you might be asking, would necessitate me to do that? I've had a wee domestic problem caused by bed bugs.

Like many other people, I didn't even realise that they still were a problem, but they are as I've just found out. I've got no idea where they came from, but they came to light when I did my spring cleaning about a month ago. Naturally, I was horrified. I called in the professionals. I'm glad I did. According to the man who came round, it seems that they're a growing problem in London. The company I engaged do not merely spray the affected areas. As part of their treatment program, the client is required to monitor and inspect the affected areas rigorously. After two weeks, a thorough deep clean is also required.

The problem is that the buggers are adept at hiding even in the smallest places. This means that the clutter that I'd had around my bed (books, papers, magazines etc) needed checking page by page. That's right. Page by page. In addition, I've been laundering like you wouldn't believe. I've bought storage boxes for the laundered items. I've thrown stuff out. I've even invested in a steam cleaner. In short, it's not been any fun.

But the good news is that it all seems to be working. And I'm of course really happy about that. But, I'm guessing you might want to know why I'm sharing this with the world. After all, it's not something you really want to share with all and sundry. I'd put it on a par with acquiring an STD. It happens (although thankfully not to me), but it's something you really want to keep to yourself. But it's one of those things that I think I want to make sure that people are aware of. Especially if you live in London, or indeed any big city. Once established, they're not easy to get rid of. It's best to know what you're looking for in the first place. So from me to you, my advice is this. Make sure you know that these little creatures do exist. Check carefully that there are none living with you. Do it regularly, because according to the chap who came to help me, the problem only looks set to get worse and worse. Be warned.

Thirty six years old. Try that out for size. How does that sound? Too old? Am I getting old? Am I acting my age? Thirty six years old. So this is how it feels. Staring middle age in the face, bit by bit losing sight of my youth. Thirty six years old. Funny. Isn't it at this point I'm supposed to remind myself that I feel exactly the same as I did when I was 35? That I'm not getting older. That I'm still the same guy I was at 25? But I think I do feel a bit different. It's been a long time coming, but being thirty six is probably the age I've been most prepared for in my life. I'm thirty six years old and feel pretty good about it.

Well, strictly speaking I feel pretty good today. But I don't think I did for the two days following my birthday. Oh no. I'm fairly sure there used to be a time when a night down the pub with a few friends wouldn't require me to take a day off the next day, and if I did take the day off I wouldn't be spending that precious day off feeling sorry for myself. Because I now suffer from two day hangovers. Which gave me a lot of time to philosophise about how I feel about hangovers, or more to the point about drinking so much that I incurred a two day hangover.

Here's the thing. I've been working pretty hard to make sure I do get a two day hangover. I'm not used to drinking like that anymore. And this is a good thing. And, as the hangover began to pass, rather than saying something along the lines of "ugh, never again", then promptly doing it again and again, I realised that something strange had happened. I think I've changed. Yes, after six months, I think a change of lifestyle has occurred.

Let's get one thing straight. I like a drink. That's not going to change, thank goodness. It's just that I quite like being sober a lot more than I like being drunk. Or at least staying sober for much longer stretches than I used to before. I really quite enjoy being out with friends perfectly sober. The interesting thing is that I've found myself choosing to do it, rather than begrudgingly doing it to maintain a diet.

Take the previous weekend for example. I'd played a game of football, and over a beer in the pub, the conversation turned to the engagement party a few of us were going to the next day. "I'm going to drive", I casually mentioned thinking nothing of it. My friend nearly choked on his drink before exclaiming "What?" as if I'd just announced I was planning to arrive naked. But it really wasn't for any other reason that I didn't much fancy drinking, and I thought it would be a hell of a lot easier to drive.

Of course, my birthday was an entirely different matter. I'd done well over the last 6 months. I fancied a drink to celebrate it. I'd been planning it. And since I was planning on drinking to excess, I'd planned to eat to excess as well. So I did both. And I did both with aplomb. With only a slight loss of dignity on the night before.

It was fantastic to see so many good friends. Some of them hadn't seen me for a little while, so I think my new appearance came as a surprise to some. In fact, a very good friend of mine really didn't recognise me. So, I'd clearly made quite an outward change in the last few months. Oh, and while I'm on the subject, I didn't make my target. I was half a stone short. But I'm well pleased with that. And I'm also pleased that the doctor told me I'm in good shape. I'm still going to carry on and meet the target though. I still feel I need to.

Anyway, I've clearly made some outward changes, and I've talked previously about making some changes on the inside. And I do think I'm doing just as well there. I've come to realise that I could no longer just carry on exactly the same way as I was going. I'm quite sure without the change of lifestyle that I feel that I'm making at the moment, I really could find myself ten years from now wondering where the time has gone and wondering why my health is so bad, and why I'm not so happy.

It's an odd feeling thinking about your life with a hangover. It's an even odder feeling knowing that even though my head was pounding there wasn't a thought in that pounding head that regretted drinking the previous night. Neither was I proud of it. I was just safe in the knowledge that such nights were becoming increasingly rare in my life as I start acting my age at last.

I've still got to make my target from six months ago. I'm still going to do that. But I think it's time for a new focus and a new target. I'm not sure what it is yet, but I know I've still got much to do. There's a career to get going. A house to make the most of. And love to find. All of which should be easier to sort out without a hangover. So it's clear to me that whatever the target is, I've got to not forget the lessons I have learnt over the last six months. Everything that's happened and everything that has helped me to think about my life past and present has helped me grow more in this short time than I have done over the last six years. And I've got to keep building on that.

Whatever the target is, I hope I do well, because I'm going to enjoy the next two day hangover. Hopefully I'll have something to feel good about again.

It's been a weekend of goodbyes. Lots of them. I have to admit that some of them were harder than others, but saying goodbye is always hard in some way. One of them was so unexpected, I certainly wasn't prepared for it. I found myself in Church on Friday night to see a friend's son confirmed. I was really pleased I went along, as he's turned into a very impressive young man. I wish him well as he makes his way in life and as he starts to say goodbye himself to his childish preoccupations and grows to maturity. But as I stood and sat (I didn't kneel, heathen that I am) in the church, and listened to the service, and looked around at all the trappings of christianity, I came to the simple inescapable conclusion that I am a confirmed atheist. I simply don't believe in God or organised religion. Not a bit of it.

I wonder how many people have gazed up at the cross in a church and had the same thought - that this really means absolutely nothing to me. As I stared up at the figure, I said my goodbyes to what remained of my religious beliefs. It was a strange feeling. I tried to put my finger on it, and I realised that the feeling was in fact guilt. A twinge of good old fashioned god fearing guilt. And then it was done. That guilty feeling simply underlined why I reject this and all religions. Why would I feel guilty at thinking this, just because I was in church? There simply is no rational reason, and the guilt comes from years of indoctrination that someone, something, some God, was monitoring what I thought and did at all times. But somehow if I really believed in all this stuff that I saw and heard around me, believed in this one true God, then I'd be fine. But I don't believe. I have no faith to hold on to. Not a shred left. So on Friday night, I said goodbye to God.

That wasn't enough for one evening though. There was more. I headed across town, got lost somewhere in Bexley, before finding the venue for my next goodbye. There were lots of smiles. Plenty of laughing. More than enough drinking. A different kind of goodbye. A smile, a hug, a kiss and a twinge of regret and it was done. Back home to bed, to get up for the next day's goodbyes.

An early start after a restless, sleepless night, kept awake by the sound of my own thoughts. I'm fairly sure it wasn't God keeping me awake. He doesn't exist, remember? The next goodbye was to my erstwhile house mate as he moved into a shared flat with another friend. I spent the day helping them move, and as I did I discussed the goodbyes of the previous day with one of them. As we talked, it seemed to me that as each day goes on, I'm in the process of saying another goodbye. A long goodbye to my youth, if you like.

It's not something I'm concerned about. Quite the contrary, I'm actually quite pleased that I'm becoming more comfortable in myself as I approach a new time in my life. I'm not keen on staying out all night drinking. I'm not likely to go to night clubs. Shhh. Don't tell anyone but I think I quite like acting my age. That's not so bad. But things are definitely changing for me. I'm quite certain that I've said goodbye to a lot of aspects of my life as a younger person.

With that amount of farewells in such a short amount of time, I escaped to the woods to mull over my thoughts. It was muddy. Glastonbury muddy to give you an idea. Despite the clocks going forward, I left quite late, so I had to walk as fast as my legs could carry me. The mud was therefore a challenge. In order to make it to Epping for sunset, I couldn't afford to get bogged down in the mud. As I walked, as I thought about the previous two days, I constantly struggled with the mud. I found the best way to deal with it was to keep up the pace and plough on regardless. Any other way meant that I got stuck, or slid about. In any case, it would hold me up as I pussy footed my way through. And with about 15 miles to walk, that could be an awful lot of pussy footing.

Saying goodbyes are hard, I thought to myself. But as I strode onwards through the mud, it occurred to me that you have two choices in dealing with it. You can dwell on what's gone before. Never let it go. Never move on and become bogged down in the the past. Or, alternatively, you move on, accept that change is good and find something new. The key to dealing with the mud was to move quickly through it. It's no different in life. Choose your path carefully, but move swiftly. Don't hang about and keep moving forward.

I stopped in the quietest bit of the forest and listened to the birds singing and the rain falling on last summer's fallen leaves. The sun barely illuminated the tops of the tallest trees. Time moves relentlessy onwards. Things change. People change. Seasons change. We all change. Its part of what makes life so good.

For me, as with a lot of people, Easter signals the end of Winter and the beginning of Summer. It's always a good time as you begin to think about your plans for the coming months, and start to pack away the warm winter clothes. Spring cleaning is often on the cards. Holidays are planned. The dark days of winter become a distant memory. The trees begin to bud, and the daffodils look beautiful. It's a time for hopes and dreams.

It's no different for me, as I look forward to the months ahead. I've got plans for the summer. Not only have I packed away some of my clothes, in a fit of enthusiastic spring cleaning I tossed about 4 bags of clothes out for recycling. I'm really pleased with the way I'm looking, and for the first time in a long time, it actually wasn't an unpleasant experience buying clothes the other week. There's still a lot more work to do, and I can't afford to rest on my laurels at the moment, tempting as it is. I'm really pleased I set my target. I'm not going to make it, but I've given it a damn good go. I'm so pleased with the really nice compliments that friends and family have given me. Each kind word has meant such a lot to me, more than I think anyone will possibly know. I've got a revised target in the back of my mind and I'm sure they'll be an update on this just after my birthday.

As well as looking after my health, I've got a new focus on looking after my wealth. Or rather addressing my lack of it. It's going to be a more frugal Summer, as I attempt to maintain the financial discipline of regular saving. There's a reason for this, as it's about time I started doing the things around the house that I'd like to sort out that I don't want to borrow to finance. This year the project is to sort out the garden. The target is to have a BBQ this summer and to be proud of the way my garden looks. At the moment, this looks a long way off, but with the help of a good friend who's given me some great ideas, I think I've got a plan to get things moving forward.

Health and wealth are important, but they are as nothing without happiness and this isn't one quite so easy to plan for. I'm fairly sure that if I stick to my recipe then it's a good start. But it's fair to say that right at this moment I'm neither here nor there. Neither happy nor sad. But both. Neither contented nor frustrated. But both. I'm in the in between place. But it's a good place to be. Let me try to explain.

How is it I can be happy and sad at the same time? I've been asking myself the same question and no matter which way I look at it, that's exactly how I feel. It's difficult to put into words without saying things here that should be kept to myself. But I'm feeling sad at losing a friend who's going away. I'm feeling sad as I think about things that might have been but never were. I'm feeling sad that my time ran out even before it began. And I'm sad because there's not a damn thing I can do about it.

But I'm happy even as I write about the sadness. I've had this feeling for the last few weeks, but I've been unable to work out what it is that made me feel so positive and happy about it all. And strange as it might sound, it's that sadness that's the source of the happiness I now feel. I'm sad because I'm mourning the loss of something I never really had - a mere possibility. But it's that possibility that has awoken something in me. It's lead me to have feelings that have long since been buried.

It's interesting that when I wrote about knowing what I want in a previous blog entry, I still didn't see it then that I was still missing something. I think I understand it now. Even though I've known what I want, I've never really allowed myself to believe that I could have it. Looking back now, it seems obvious but I wasn't aware of it. It seems that the pain of the past really did cast a longer shadow than I thought. But now, as I look back over the last few weeks I can see that the feelings that I've had, however misplaced, have been free of that shadow. And that makes me happy. Happy to look to the future. Happy to be liberated from the past. Happy to be looking forward to being happy.

And I'm happy too for my friend. I hope she finds all she's looking for as well as we continue on our own journeys through life. It seems like we've both got things to look forward to. Spring has sprung. Winter is over. Summer will soon be here. And I can't wait for it to arrive.

Welcome to the first entry of my blog written "on tour". It's actually been written at my parent's home in Norfolk. Even this is a bit strange, as there's a distinct possibility that they will read this entry while I'm still here. Better not be too controversial then I guess.

It's been a good couple of days away from London. I've been able to go on a couple of nice walks (neither of them anywhere near Epping which makes a change). They've been great and it was good to go out with Mum and Dad. I'm glad I've had chance to not be at home for a little while. It's given me some time to reflect on what's been (or not been) happening in my life in the last few weeks.

As every day goes on, I do feel my sense of direction get stronger and I feel that I'm growing in confidence as I start to take control much more of what I want to do and where I want to be. In some cases, this has meant some changes. Some of them are more noticeable than others. Who could have missed the facial fuzz, my comic attempts to deal with my lengthening hair, and the fact that some of my clothes just don't seem to fit quite as well as they once did? Hassan, the proprietor of my local 24 hour shop, bless him, actually didn't recognise me, and when he did felt sure I was ill. Thanks, mate. I'm fine. Better than ever.

Others have been less visible, but nonetheless important. I've been thinking about the person that I am, and if I am happy in my own skin. Now, obviously, I've made some changes on the outside, but what about the inside? Could I make some changes there?

That's a difficult subject. I'm not going to be so stupid and arrogant to say that improvements couldn't be made (which is ironic, as I would say that I'd like to be less arrogant at times). But, I'd like to think that I'm seen as a fairly decent, nice, honest kind of chap. And that's really important to me. I'm a great believer in that great maxim of "do unto others as you would have them do unto you". As a moral compass I think it's a great guide, and I try and follow it as much as I can.

What bothers me about living this way is that it's got an obvious flaw. Not everyone sticks to it. Life is a balancing act between the conflicting needs of self interests and supporting the interests of others. If you strongly favour the former, you find that you might be staggeringly successful, but you find you don't have any friends, and your quality of life is diminished. If it's the latter you favour, you find yourself constantly helping other people to achieve their goals, but neglect your own in preference to theirs, and your quality of life is also diminished. Finding the right balance between the two, and knowing when to favour one side over the other is the key to finding happiness from within. I think. I also think it's very hard to achieve.

I've been wondering over the past few days if I favour one side too much over the other. It's a difficult one. I think I probably do. And a lot of the time it doesn't do me any favours. Life is a competition, especially in matters of the heart. Would I be better off looking after my own self interest at the expense of others? Should I say things that other people want to hear just so I can get what I want? Should I pretend to be a person that I'm not? I know an awful lot of people do. And more often than not, they on the face of it have greater success than I.

But what would I truly achieve if I made an effort to change in this way? In effect, to become more selfish. What sort of person would I become? Would it be a good strategy for me? I honestly don't think so. To do this, I would have to become, even in a small way, more cynical, more calculating and a less honest person than I am now. It's not something I'm prepared to do.

How can I truly expect to find someone who's decent and honest who respects me if I can't offer them the same in the first place? If that makes me too nice, then so be it. I don't think that I'm ever going to change that - nor would I want to. I know it means that I'm going to find it more difficult to find the right person. But I'm still sure that it's the right thing to do.

There are up sides to all of this, however. I've got 35 years of practice of being me and knowing what I'm looking for. It's not often that I meet someone who I know I really like, but I'm damn sure about it when I do. I'm even mature enough to express it these days when given the opportunity. And you won't catch me messing about when I find that person either. I might not always be successful, but I know I'm not going to compromise now. Not a chance. That would be a change too far.

Finally the days are beginning to lengthen and after my misadventures with Waltham Forest Borough Council, I decided that this week's walk was going to not involve anything to do with London and it was therefore time to start to venture out further afield. Being the adventurous type, I unfurled the map across the campaign table at roblog HQ, and aimed for the furthest place I could get to. After I had overslept. Again.

After a quick calculation, I determined that I could probably walk for 5 hours and as the sun set at 17.30 and it was then 11.30, the furthest I could really get to was Essex. Or Kent. I thought about that for a while then decided that although I was going to be charged 2 quid to go to Kent across the Dartford crossing, I actually fancied feeling the Kentish mud beneath my feet. it had been a while.

So, after a quick flick throught the book of Kent Walks (I don't have one for Essex, making more of a case for Kent) I decided upon a walk around Penshurst. It looked quite a nice one, as not only did it look like it was going to a good route, but also I could revisit places that I hadn't been to for a while, such as Hever, Chiddingstone and of course Penshurst itself. It was a 12 mile walk, so a little shorter than my usual, but it was good to get out of London and walk somewhere new. Well... newish.

I got there in about the hour I'd figured it would take me, and I parked up in the village centre. It's amazing how much a whopping great parking fine makes you check and double check, so I made sure there was no possibilty I was going to get my car towed this week. I must have looked like a right old London tosser checking for parking restrictions in a village with 9 or 10 (rather lovely) houses. Once I'd convinced myself that all was well, I then set off on the stroll around some beautiful Kent countryside.

It's a nice route, taking in 2 or 3 crossings of the River Eden. The area is rich with historical connections, as Hever Castle is the seat of the Bullen family and it is there, so the story goes, that Henry VIII fell in love with Anne Bullen, or Boleyn, which of course lead to the establishment of the Church of England and also to Anne's untimely death on the scaffold. Chiddingstone, is also delightful, with it's beautiful old houses and it's stunning church. The scenery was superb and I was so happy to see some snowdrops on the way.

As I walked, I couldn't help but notice a feeling that I find difficult to put into words. The nearest I can put it is that I had an incredible sense of feeling "at home". I'm not sure where it came from, but I'm guessing that growing up in Kent has left me all these years later with the feeling that it's still home. Funny enough, I've lived in London for 13 years now, which is the longest I've lived anywhere. But I still don't think I've put roots down here. I'm not sure I will. But I suppose I've not really given it time anyway. Up until I bought my house, I'd moved on average about once a year, managing to live in Ealing, Shepherds Bush, Ealing again, Marylebone, Belsize Park, Camden, Golders Green, Winchmore Hill and finally here in East Ham. It's not bad here, and I do grow more fond of it day by day, but I can't see myself staying here. Although given my capacity for laziness you never know. But as I've said in a
previous post, London is a varied city. So, although there are common aspects about living here that are shared, each place really is different.

So it seems that I've got a long way to go to match my nearly 20 years I spent in Margate and Ramsgate in my home county of Kent. And naturally, throughout the years, I came to see a fair bit of the places in and around the county. There are many beautiful places in Kent spread right across the county. Many of them have real significance for me as I grew up to become the man I am today. I've got so many pleasurable memories of happy family days out, or Sunday afternoon walks with my dad and family holidays at my grandparents.

I'm coming to realise that deep down that such things are important to me. I'll readily admit I'm a sentimental person, but I don't think that's such a bad thing. It's nice to know your roots and more importantly, it's nice to be able to return to them once in a while. It doesn't mean that I want to live in the past. That would be foolish of course. In fact, I think the opposite is true as I think you are the sum of your experiences in life. Without new experiences, one cannot grow. But I think, for me at least, it's important to know where you are from, and who you are, and learn from past experiences.

So as I walked through Kent countryside, I decided I was well overdue to go for a walk with the old man. Arrangements will be made. I'm sure it won't be in Kent, but it's the Kent countryside that reminded me to do so. I'm off to Stanfords to get some ideas.

It's been a good weekend. The sun has shined. QPR won away and I was there to see it. I've been for a lovely walk with a very good friend. And I'm in a frightfully good mood. It doesn't come much better than this I think.

It's good to feel good isn't it? I mean, the very nature of being means that it's not always possible to feel good all of the time no matter what's happening in your life. But when these times come by they are certainly to be treasured. Even writing this blog entry is a real pleasure. I'm listening to some fantastic music (The Brute Chorus and also Tom Hickox, and they're worth checking out) while I write it.

I started the year feeling good about myself, and although I didn't set myself a new year's resolution (I don't believe in them to be honest), I told my friends that I felt this year was going to be a good one for me. I've written about it before. And so far so good. I'm continuing to eat well and drink less. I'm losing weight. I've even grown a beard and I've received lots of lovely compliments about it (although to be fair, most people have been honest and not everyone thinks so). I think my mother will make or break it for me if the truth be told!

I've been thinking about why I'm feeling positive about me and about my life and my future. And I think it's quite a simple difference in my approach. I just feel a little bit more in control of my own destiny. I've got a plan. Well, several in fact. I'm not drifting, waiting for things to happen. Because they won't, not unless I make them happen.

I'm quite sure it's easy to over analyse one's life and life in general, but I do think it's really important to learn what makes you tick, what makes you laugh and what makes you cry. Without knowing this, then I think it's really difficult to know where you're going and that for me isn't a good place to be. For me, life isn't about material wealth, or success in business or career. It's not about driving the right car, or being seen at the right bar or about wearing the right clothes. It's not about accumulation of wealth. Or a bigger house. Or getting a high powered job.

I've realised that for me, it really is something as simple as this. The pursuit of happiness. And that's no easy challenge. Many intelligent and gifted people have tried to identify what makes us happy. They've all failed. We're far too complicated to come up with a recipe for happiness that suits everyone, so we need to know enough about ourselves to try and learn our own recipe. So here's my first attempt at mine:

1. Find some activities that you love and make sure you continue to do them in ways that you enjoy. Ignore the activities that you don't love where possible. Never ever stop looking for new activities that could add to your happiness.
2. Make sure that whatever it is that you do for a living, the most important part of it should be that it engages you and that you continue to learn and grow as you do that job. Move on whenever this isn't the case.
3. Make lots of friends. Take care of them and cherish them. Pick them up when they're down. Share as much of your time with them as you can. Encourage them to find their own recipe for happiness. Don't lose touch with them. Never be too proud to be the one who keeps the friendship going.
4. Smile as much as you can. Never ever forget the power of a smile. Remember what makes you smile, and try to do the things that make you smile. Try not to do the things that make you sigh and frown. Laugh whenever possible but never be afraid to cry.
5. Love and be loved. Love your family. Love your friends. Find the love of your life. Never be afraid to put your heart on the line for love. Don't be afraid of getting hurt, as those that love you will surely help you in times of need. Love yourself and remember if you don't love yourself, then no one else can.
6. Never stop learning. Don't close your mind to new ideas. Don't be afraid to change your opinions when you've been wrong in the past. Read as much as you can.
7. Look after yourself. You're ultimately the only person who can.
8. Don't ignore problems that prevent you from following any of these steps. They won't go away and will most likely get worse if neglected.
9. Above all, remember that this life isn't a rehearsal. Avoid regret at all costs. Regret is the cancer of happiness.

It's interesting as I wrote these down that I was thinking about so much of my life past present and future. Some things I've got right. Some things I haven't. I think it's easy to lose sight of simple things that keep us happy. We all get lost sometimes in the things that life throws in our way. But I do truly believe that if you follow simple principles in your life, then it really is possible for life to get better and better each day.

I hope I'm right. And I'm going to leave this weekend as a benchmark of where I want to be. I said at the start that it doesn't come much better than this. Maybe it does. Maybe it doesn't. But that's no reason to give up on trying to make it better every day.

Last year I gave up eating meat (but not fish) for Lent. I found it quite a useful thing to do. I think it's nice to be disciplined once in a while. So I'm going to give up something else this year. Up until now, I've been fairly on and off about the drink, but since I'm only half way to my weight loss target, I thought it would be good for me to be alcohol free for the next 40 days.

Although my target is beginning to look like a real challenge now, I'm not giving up. I'm just going to up the stakes a bit now. And actually stick to my no booze thing. On accounts of it being Lent, which of course means I'll stick to it. Even though I'm not religious, that indoctrination as a child should keep me in check to make it for these next 5 or 6 weeks.

Piece of cake.

Well, obviously that's out as well. Dammit.

I've been playing video games for as long as I remember. I'm one of those mid thirties guys (and let's be honest we're mostly chaps, sorry girls) who've grown up with them. I've played on many different platforms. Arcade, ZX81, Spectrum, C64, Game and Watch, Atari 2600, Amiga, Dreamcast, Playstation, PC, PS2, N64 and Gamecube. Probably many many more.

There are so many favourite games that I've spent time (and certainly not wasted it) playing. Elite, Rome Total War, Elder Scrolls Oblivion, Kick Off, F/A 18 Interceptor, Battlezone, Soul Caliber, Pro Evo, Zelda, Way of the Exploding Fist, Yars Revenge, Impossible Mission, Frogger, Silent Service, Resident Evil, Ico, Mario, Mario Kart, Shadow of the Colossus, The Hobbit, Half Life 2, International Karate, Parappa the Rapper, Winter Games, Leaderboard, Boulder Dash, Worms, Stunt Car Racer, Gran Tourismo, Shenmue, Sonic, Soul Reaver, God Of War, Crazy Taxi, Grand Theft Auto. The list goes on and on.

But there's a common affliction that my 30 something gaming peers are suffering from. The lack of time to commit to our pastime. Where once there wasn't much to get in the way of playing your games, we now find our adult lives getting in the way. We've grown up and some of us now have families. We all have commitments. And other interests outside gaming. And we've got other financial priorities to worry about. Like, you know, paying the mortgage, saving money for holidays, saving money for pensions, paying bills. So many bills.

And what happens is that your list of games that you want to play just gets longer and longer.

2007 was a pretty good year for games. Edge magazine awarded three perfect tens, a total in a year that exceeds the total number given in the past years. Obviously I've got to play them.

The next generation of consoles has been with us for a year, and I've got none of them. Sitting under my alarmingly non widescreen, non HD, non flatscreen telly is a worryingly old looking PS2 and its pal the gamecube. Not a PS3, Wii or 360 to be seen. In fact my only relatively up to date gaming equipment is my beloved DS and my PC (which still needs an upgrade).

My list of unplayed games that I want to play is getting worryingly large:

Half Life 2 Episode 2 / Portal (aka Orange Box) - PC
Bioshock - PC
Zelda: Twilight Princess - Wii
God of War 2 - PS2
Okami - PS2
Rock Band - Multi
Super Mario Galaxy - Wii
Assasin's Creed - Multi
Medieval Total War 2 - PC

Somewhere I want to find the time to play these games. And for some of them I need new hardware. I want a Wii. And either a PS3 or 360. And a HD TV to go with it. It begs the question though. Is it worth my time and money to keep playing? Am I still getting the same kick out of games as I used to? Its a difficult one to answer.

In the end I think it's going to be the same thing that keeps me playing games that kept me playing all my life. It's that same thought that's kept me on the sofa. It's the same thought that as a consequence of playing God of War tonight, I'm writing this in the wee small hours, despite thinking I might write it at a much more reasonable hour of the day. What is it?

GAME OVER
"Just one more go...."

Last week I and a few friends bade farewell to another one of our friends as he returned to the land of the long white cloud. We'd met up in Victoria station, which doesn't sound too glamourous I know, but trust me the bar in the Thistle Hotel in the station really is pretty good. Head and shoulders above any of the other pubs and bars in the immediate vicinity of the station. Highly recommended.

After some time, we retired to a local Lebanese restaurant, Noura where we enjoyed a fabulous meal and enjoyed each other's company. After we'd eaten, I leant back in my seat and reflected on my friends. We'd gone to the same school, and stayed friends ever since. I remarked at the time how impressed I was that I was sat in a fine restaurant with a talented author and photographer, a historian and a scientist.

The funny thing was I'd never really thought about them in those terms before. But as I thought about that, I felt both humbled and inspired that all three had followed their passions and interests thoroughout their lives and still pursue them as adults and I have no doubt will continue to do so for the rest of their days. I felt humbled as we talked about this, as one of them mentioned that it would be sad to go through your life and not leave anything behind to show you'd once lived. At the same time, in some small way I felt inspired to follow my own passions myself. I suppose this blog in a way is a step in the right direction, but I feel quite sure there's a whole creative side to me bubbling under the surface wanting to break out. It's never too late.

So here's to you chaps. Keep up the good work and keep doing what you love.

Regular readers of my blog if they haven't seen me lately might be wondering how I'm doing after my unexpected trip to hospital.

The answer is pretty good. On Friday, I thought I'd give myself a little work out, so seeing as the weather was good, I got up earlyish (for a day off) to do my usual route to Epping, but with the express aim of doing it quickly to see if I was feeling better. And I have to say it went pretty well, and I felt better than ever. The weather was great, I was in a great mood and the air smelt wonderful. And I was going at quite a pace that I think I got to Highams Park in record time, despite the mud, which makes walking fast a little problematic.

In fact, I practically skipped up a small incline, between the trees, such was my enthusiasm. Which was then tempered by the painful pinging of one of my muscles in my lower back. I don't know, you get one thing sorted and another thing goes wrong. But I thought it was better to carry on, which I did. But by the time I got to Epping station about 4 hours later, my back and legs were complaining.

The good news is that my chest felt fine though, which was what I set out to reassure myself of. So that was good. But it got better, as I was meeting up with the guys from work for a night out at a Greek restaurant. The meal wasn't bad, but I didn't much want to get involved with the slightly naff disco afterwards (it doesn't help when you're not drinking). Fortunately, the pain in my back prevented me from getting involved. What a shame.

After that, a few of us went to Langleys for Jon's birthday. Now admittedly I was sober and I did turn up at about 11.30, but boy that place is nasty. It actually smelt of sick. The service was poor, and even the glasses weren't clean. Absoultely disgusting. I will never set foot in that place again. Bad back or no bad back.

It's not often you find yourself hooked up to a heart monitor, wearing an oxygen mask staring up at the lights in the resuscitation area in hospital. But that's where I found myself on Wednesday night, bewildered and somewhat concerned about my health. I don't want to end up there again. Well, not for a long while anyway.

I'll start at the beginning. I played in a Inter Regulatory Body football tournament a week ago last Wednesday. I played in goal as usual. It was a fantastic evening. The football was good and it gave me a chance to catch up with old friends. And we did pretty well. I think our team's average age must have been about 35, which meant we were probably lacking in a bit of youth over the other teams. But we got to the semi finals where we met the GMC. Oh how we wanted to beat them. Even though as a regulatory body the NMC is (we think) the biggest such body in the world, it always seems to me that we sometimes live in the shadow of them. So there was a bit of an edge to the match. So obviously it didn't help that we quickly conceded two tame goals. It was uphill from there, but there was some fight left in us. After conceding a third we got one back, and tried to force our way back into the game. But they caught us on the break. They fired a shot to my left which I dived for and got my fingers to, but unfortunately the ball went in.

But I'd hurt myself. I'd taken a hefty blow to my left hand side, and I remember feeling the judder of pain. But it's a man's game right? So I got up and carried on, and the score finished at 4-1. But the pain didn't go away. I put that down to either muscular damage or a cracked rib. Over the next few days it seemed to get worse. But the worrying thing was that it felt worse when I was walking. Then last wednesday, I walked my usual 10-15 minutes to the tube, and I was struggling for breath. And it didn't stop when I got on the tube. In fact, I only felt better after I'd been at work for a few minutes.

So it was with a certain sense of trepidation that I set off home that night, and I found the same thing. My chest felt painful, and I was struggling to breath again. It was scary on the tube, as for the first time I can remember I had to sit down. Standing wasn't an option. Anyway - I made it home eventually, and I thought about what to do. I was going to see the GP in the morning, but I checked the NHS direct website to see what they had to say about my symptoms.

The interaction went something like this:

"Chest Pain?" Yes.
"Breathing Difficulties?" Yes.
"Phone 999. Now. We mean it. Now."

Oh dear. That looked serious. I checked it again. Maybe I'd made a mistake.

I hadn't.

I didn't dial 999, but I got a taxi, and off I went to Newham General not knowing what to expect. I think the triage system favours people with my symptoms as I didn't wait long with the usual bunch of nutters you find at night in an A&E department. It didn't take me long to be hooked up to an ECG machine for initial assessment. It got worse when the nurse took more and more readings "just so the doctors can be sure". Oh. My. God. Shit shit shit. What was happening?

After about half hour, I found myself in the resuscitation area. This was beginning to look serious. I was wired up to the heart monitor. Constant observation. Then came the oxygen mask. I really thought this was looking bad at this stage. I talked to some nurses, and to a doctor. They took blood tests. Lots of them. And Chest X Rays. They prodded, listened and talked. And all the time I couldn't begin to imagine what was going on.

After what seemed a life time, the doctor spoke with me. She told me that she thought it was most likely damage to my rib cage. I asked her why I was struggling for breath though. She told me she didn't know. Then she went off to ask the medical registrar.

Bugger. The registrar? Basically she was unsure. After a long while she told me that she'd need to take some more tests, and they moved me from Resus to an area called Clinical Decision Unit. This was better, but it was an area for observation where they collect data to work out if you're ill enough to get admitted. So it was back to the ECG, and back to more blood tests.

And then at 6 in the morning, I was discharged. I was fine. They'd found nothing. My tests apparently were "unremarkable" apart from inverted T waves in AVF whatever that means. But the medical registrar was unconcerned. Thank God. The only thing that they had found was that my blood oxygen level was down, which at least confirmed my breathing difficulties and dizzy episodes. They told me to take it up with my GP.

So - it turns out that my problems were relatively benign. I'd most probably damaged my ribcage which was causing pain, which meant that my breathing was much shallower, causing me to try and breathe more adding to my chest pain. It also transpires I was catching a cold again, so my breathing capacity was much reduced. My GP also told me that rib injuries generally peak in terms of pain 7-10 days after they occur. Whether that's true or not I don't know, but at least I've got nothing to worry about.

Still, in a way it's been a bit of a blessing. I was told once more that my blood pressure is higher than it should be. The nurse in the CDU asked me about it, and I told her I kind of knew about it, but I'd not really done much about it. "Wise move", she muttered as she walked off. She's got a point though. It's about time I got on top of it. Which gives me all the more reason to lose the weight I'd set out to last year. If I need any more motivation than casting my mind back to being in the emergency ward then I don't know what else will persuade me.

At the turn of the year, I really thought it was going to be a good year for me. For a brief moment this January I thought perhaps not. But now - in a strange way I'm more convinced than ever. I'm now looking forward to the rest of the year more than ever.

This isn't really a review of the film as I don't think I'm up to writing a decent film review. What I can say about it though is that it's not often that I watch a film that is as good as the book it's based on. But I do think in this case it's true. It's beautifully shot, and is incredibly moving. The cinematography brings Afghanistan alive just as the prose in the book did before it. The soundtrack is superb. I whole heartedly recommend it.

As I was watching the credits - I was thinking about the comparative value of what I pay for. I paid nearly 12 quid to watch this movie. I paid 10 quid to watch the football yesterday. What was better value I thought? I came to the conclusion that this was a stupid question. They are so far apart in the way that I am entertained.

What appeals to me for the football is complex yet astonishingly simple. Theres a lot of different emotions that a fan will go through especially on a day like yesterday, especially as it was a long journey to an away match. Theres the anticipation, the banter, the excitement, and the chat about the game and past performances on the way up. The sounds and smells of a football match, and the excitement of walking in. The singing. The shouting. The cheering and the inevitable moaning. Then there's the long journey home. But what it really boils down to is spending time with your mates. And hopefully meeting new ones. And if there's some decent football to watch so much the better. And it's difficult to put a price on that. Whcih is why some people will pay a lot of money following their team I think.

The movie was a completely different experience. I'd spent the day with a friend, and after she left, I decided to go see the movie as I want to watch it and I thought rather than try and persuade someone to go with me (which I think is a little bit silly seeing as you're sat in the dark and you can't talk) I'd go and see it on my own. It was once again an emotional experience, far less a visceral one, but a much more engaging intellectual one. Not that I'm saying that this film is intellectual or high brow. My point is that film and football engage with very different parts of me, much as music does as well. Which means I think it's a rather pointless exercise comparing the value of one to the other.

Mind you I'd not hesitate in recommending "The Kite Runner" to anyone. I think I'd struggle to do the same for the Barnsley game next week.

As with a lot of people at the moment, I'm keeping it quite quiet after Christmas. I fancied reading a book when I went to bed the other night but I don't have one to read.

So does anyone have any suggestions? Let me know...

I found myself in Lewisham the other day, and I caught the DLR to Stratford on my way home. Perhaps it was because I was in a really good mood, but as I sat on the train, I started musing on London and what a really quite fabulous place it is. It was the diversity of the place that really struck me as a one of the special things about the city. Take the DLR route that I took. Starting off from Lewisham, the train heads north through Deptford, then onto picturesque Greenwich. From then it travels up to the Isle of Dogs, and through the striking modernity of the architecture of the homes and offices there. As the train moves out from Canary Wharf, it heads in to Poplar, which is a proper slice of East End life still thriving in the shadow of Global commerce just as it always has. I nearly stopped off in Chrisp Street market to wander about, but I realised that was just an excuse to get some Pie and Mash. So I carried on up through Bow and on towards Stratford, where I saw the already impressive earth works for the Olympics. And finally I got off at Stratford itself, which is surely heading for great things as a result of those same Olympics.

As I went to catch my bus home, I bought a paper and I read this article. Basically it said that London for a number of reasons is the best city in the world.

And I found myself agreeing. I often joke that I'm not the most travelled person in the world as I let the world come to me here in London. And when I considered this that morning, I don't think it's that far from the truth. But it's not just the diversity of the people, but it's the sheer diversity of the places, the environments and the communities that strikes me. Just look at the list of places that a typical Londoner (ie me) has been to in the last few weeks.

East Ham
Chinatown
Islington
Shepherds Bush
Covent Carden
Woolwich
Richmond
South Bank
Crystal Palace
Epping Forest
Dalston
Hammersmith
Hoxton

You may know all of these places, or only some. But if you know any, have a think about them for a moment. And think about how different they all are to each other. Thats what I'm amazed about. All of this on my doorstep in a relatively small area. And it's not just the areas of London, it's also about the sheer number of things to do, the parks, the cafes, restaurants, pubs, clubs, sporting arenas, museums, galleries, shopping, and business. And all of them are world class. Its unbelievable that there's so much and all so accessible with a very flexible public transport system.

But we all have our gripes about London. Even if we don't live there. There's the crime, the traffic, the cost and even the little things like the crowds and the times when our tube is delayed. But I do really think it's a small price to pay to live in one of the greatest cities in the world.

So, is London truly the capital of the world? I don't know. I haven't visited nearly enough other cities to know. But I do know that when you sit down and think about it, it takes your breath away.

I was going to write a little diatribe about what I can't stand about Christmas. On the grounds I can't stand all the nonsense and the commercialism. And the hassle. The tinsel. The secret santas. Piped Christmas Carols. Pissed office workers in Santa Hats. Slade. The endless supplies of bad food in the office. And the shopping. Especially the shopping. And..

...and then I had the strangest feeling. I realised despite all of this crap there really is a lot about the season that I love. For instance I'm not going to pretend to anyone that I love the shopping. I despise it. But oddly enough yesterday through the evil that is Christmas shopping, I spoke to my brother, my mum, my dad and my sister in law. All in one day. And the only other day that's likely to happen is on Christmas Day itself.

And between now and then, I'm going to have met up with, written to or emailed some wonderful friends in this country and around the world. Some I haven't seen for quite some time. Some of them are only in the UK for a short visit. And all because of Christmas.

I'm not a religious man. But there is something special about this time of year for most people. And I recall one year telling my Mum I'd want to spend it at home on my own having a quiet one. This year? Despite my grumblings, moans and general grouchiness (or even Grinchiness) I think I wouldn't have it any other way than what I'm doing this year. I think it's good to remember how lucky we are to have loving friends and family around us.

Then again, all this love and joy might just be down to the fact I've finished my Christmas shopping...

I've been bugging some of my friends this week with a bit of a puzzler that's been bothering me lately. It's a question I've been asked a few times by different women* over the last 2 or 3 months. And because the question is the same, but that it comes from different people and in different circumstances, it got me to thinking why I'm being asked the same question.

The question in (ahem) question? "How come you're still single?"

OK. That's a simple question. But I find I have great difficulty answering it. I think the first thing that I find tricky is whether the question itself is a good or a bad question to be asked. I mean, it could be interpreted as something like "Wow. You're pretty amazing. I'm actually staggered that a man like you hasn't been snapped up. What is wrong with the women in the world?". And that of course would be good. On the other hand it could be interpreted as something like "Wow. You're pretty weird. I'm actually staggered that you haven't found a woman yet. What in the world is wrong with you?"

The fact of the matter is I couldn't quite work out all by myself, so off I went to my friends and asked them a very simple question about this. My question was this:

"If a woman asks me 'How come you're still single?', is this on the whole a good or a bad thing?". No context. No names mentioned to protect the innocent. That's all they had to work with.

And the results were pretty interesting. I asked men and women. And all of them said pretty much that the question was on the whole a positive one. However each and every person I have asked has then followed it up by asking me why I was still single. Oh dear. This was getting complicated now. All I wanted to know was if it were a good or a bad thing, not to have the same question back from a few more people.

Which brings us back to the same question. If on the whole it's a postive question, then thats a good start. But that doesn't help me in answering the damn thing. And what do I mean "on the whole" it's a positive question? What are the negative aspects? And are they the root of me having difficulty with the question in the first place? And why's everyone interested in why I'm single? And why the bloody hell am I that bothered I'm writing it on my blog?

Back to the question. What are the potential negative aspects? Whilst I don't think that anyone sees being single as in itself a bad thing, it would appear that remaining single for some time (short term interludes excluded for the sake of this discussion) has potential for raising perhaps a question or two. Does this person actually want to be in a relationship? If not? Why not? If they do, how come they're not actually in one and haven't been in one for a while? What are they doing (or not doing) to find themselves in a relationship?

Wow. That's some pretty heavy stuff there. So I thought I'd meditate on it, which for me is a brisk walk through the woods, and I had a good think about why this question is difficult and what my friends have told me and what I've learnt about myself.

So here goes. Do I want to be in a relationship? Yes. That was easy, but I don't think it's actually occurred to me to say something like that to myself. And I think without saying that to yourself then unless all women are mind readers (and God knows I wish they were) then it's going to be a little tricky to find me the right woman. But I looked back over the past 2 or 3 years, and I think it's fair to say that I haven't always wanted to be in a relationship during that time. In fact, I think rushing in to one or two when I wasn't ready put me off. At what point that situation changed I don't think I know. But it has changed. I'm ready now but what is clear to me is that without recognising exactly what it is I'm looking for, then simply hoping for something to happen is somewhat of a silly thing to be doing.

As I was walking yesterday, some quite simple things came together in my mind. I know what I want. I've known what I've wanted for years. I thought I found it once. But it didn't work out. That doesn't mean you stop trying. It means you try harder the next time. That doesn't mean that you settle for second best. I'm not going to waste mine or anyone else's time being in a relationship that I don't think has some kind of future. Which is great, but when you consider that for two people to find "the one" for them is still fairly difficult, then obviously you've got to make efforts to try and find one another. Or at the very least be a little bit more upfront about what (and who) you want. In fact, thinking about this now, this seems to be a fairly common complaint about men from women. A lot of us men just need to be a bit bolder I think. And, well, stop writing about it on a blog and get out there and find that woman.

So, what will I answer next time I'm asked the question? "I'm still single because I can't answer this damn question". That should sort it.

* This doesn't include my Mum, who asks pretty much the same question whenever I see her, although it usually asked in a way that only a Mother can ask her son

So I rather boldy set and made public my goal. I thought it was about time for an update. So how have I done? Well, the good news is that I have lost weight. And apparently it shows as a friend of mine did say I looked skinny the other night (bless you, you know who you are!). And I'm ahead of my schedule. Which is great.

On the other hand - I haven't been quite as good as I'd set out to be. I've had a few beers. But not quite as many. And I've had crisps. But a lot less. And there's been other times where I've just caved in, like the day we decided we'd all cook some nice food for work. I of course didn't cook healthy stuff (and rather unexpectedly realised that cooking tasty buttery biscuits is splendidly easy). And nor did anyone else. But I have been eating and drinking a lot better on the whole and I have lost some weight. Trouble is, we all know that I'd be expecting to lose more at the start and less at the end. Which probably means I can't be complacent. Which probably means that those roast potatoes I cooked on Sunday need to be the last for a little while.

So how much more do I need to lose to meet my target? 30 of your English pounds. Will I make my target? Place your bets...

It's been a bit of a good weekend all told. Friday was spent with the boys playing poker, and I only sulked a little bit as I parted company with 40 quid. I obviously played well but the cards were against me. Honestly.

And then on the Saturday I went to an old university friend's wedding. I have to admit I wasn't really looking forward to it. I was going on my own, and I only knew the bride and the groom. And I was going to miss a home game against Ipswich, and also (shock horror) the rugby final. But, as with most things, the reality was much better than I hoped. I had a great time and met lots of nice people. Most of them married (sigh) but you can't have everything. The venue was also amazing. It made me want to take up golf.

As for sunday, I thought I'd take a different walk instead of the usual one, so I went to see how long it would take me to walk to Charlton. And I actually enjoyed the walk. I walked under the thames through the Woolwich tunnel, although it's actually quicker to take the ferry. But it was a lovely day and I'm glad I got out. But the really interesting thing is that doing this blogging and walking has reminded me how much I enjoy photography, so I'm going to get a new camera at some point (or dust off my old film slr). My current digital camera's broken, but I'm feeling the need to take some photos. I've put a couple from woolwich in my photos section.

I ended up getting to Greenwich, so I popped into Chris's new place there. And they kindly fed me Roast Lamb. And then I had the most amazing surprise. I had peas with my dinner. And they were tasty. I had seconds. For anyone who knows me there's not much I don't like, but nuts and peas are the things I don't like. Until now.

So what's the magic? Well, the secret is to cook them with Leeks. Butter. Leeks. Fry. Add frozen peas. No water. Cook. Serve. Watch Rob go back for seconds. Be amazed. I know my family will.

I went on a walk today on my usual route to Epping. I usually go on a Sunday, so the mix of people out in the Forest was a bit different to what I was used to. The usual mix is families out for a walk or on their bikes, or couples taking a stroll. On a Monday, the place is taken over by dog walkers. Lots and lots of dog walkers.

Anyway - that's not the point of my post. I'm sick and tired of hearing about how unfriendly London is. What utter tosh. It's impossible to say hello to everyone you meet in the course of one's day in London. No matter how much northerners think they can. But I really don't think people are any less friendly here at all. Just go regularly for a walk in Epping. There are people there who always say hello. It's simply because there's just more time and space between each hello. Otherwise we'd be saying "Hello" and "Goodbye" like Frank Spencer in that Scottish dancing scene from all those years ago.

And while I'm on a rant - I couldn't believe that Newham is the 3rd worst place to live in in the UK. I admit that I wouldn't mind moving at some point. But to tell the truth the more I think of it I wonder why. It really isn't that bad here at all. If only that refurbishment next door would end I might actually like it. And besides. How many people can walk up to Epping from their doorstep. Channel 4 can preach all they like. Newham isn't as bad as the figures would suggest. So there.

I've been told that the best way to achieve something is to do 2 things.

1 - Set a target that's both challenging but achievable
2 - Tell people about it.

So, here it is - my target.

Lose 3st in 6 months. Yes. I want to be 3st lighter by my 36th birthday. That's half a stone a month. Which is possible. I think I can do it.

There will be 3 simple rules

1 - No booze
2 - No crisps
3 - Much reduced (but still some) carbs.

OK - and no other unhealthy stuff, but you get the picture.

I'll record my progress over the coming months. Should be interesting.

Well, I actuall can't remember the last time I went to the dentist, so I thought I had better see one. So I registered at the local one on Tuesday. Now, it's fair to say I haven't really had a problem with my teeth, but would you believe it? The very night that I had registered a crown came out! So lucky I could go to the dentist today and have it put back in. I don't know how long it will last for though.

Still it was nice to have no problems getting an NHS dentist.

Oh - and one filling required. Not bad I suppose.

OK so in my last post I said I wouldn't go to the pub. But the very next night I did. Then I went to the pub and then on to a gig. Many beers then missed the last tube home. And true to form I've eaten badly again. Dear oh dear.

Better luck tomorrow hopefully - It's Ruth's leaving, but I'm going to a DotNet London User group meeting for the first time in ages. Dino Esposito is speaking about Ajax. I'm looking forward to it. Then I'm going to try and hot foot it over to the pub for Ruth at about 9 I think. And no beer.

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