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...