LEE PAYNE

Category: Personal

  • Christmas was better when I was a kid – and 12 years in retail might have something to do with it

    Christmas was brilliant when I was a kid.

    It’s far from the only thing that I would say was better when I was younger, but I’m not sure it rings true quite as much with anything else. Christmas began as soon as I finished school for the year. I can remember once when the suburb of Norwich I lived in was covered by fog for what felt like a week, combined with the festive films on the TV lending a wonderful winter atmosphere to the build up. On Christmas Eve, a family tradition was to go to KFC for tea and then drive around the city looking at the lights on people’s houses. It really got you in the spirit.

    As an only child (I have a half-sister, but she’s quite a bit older than me), I got lots of presents, as shallow as that makes me sound. I wasn’t one for getting up ridiculously early to open them – I once had to be woken up by my parents on Christmas morning – but there were definitely years when it was still dark outside. My dad would pretend to be interested in what I was unwrapping, but his real role was being in charge of the bin bag that all the paper went into.

    Christmas Day would usually mean going to my grandmother’s house, where you were guaranteed a meal that would leave you unable to move. You were never knowingly underfed at nanny’s. She was an excellent cook, and her Yorkshire puddings were divine. We’d then collapse onto the sofa, slipping in and out of a food coma watching the big Christmas shows on TV.

    Boxing Day saw us play hosts to dad’s side of the family. My sister and her family, along with my nanny and grandad (the one who would buy my hand-drawn comics from me) would come to our house. I would get to play with my nephew and niece, my mum would cook another lovely meal, and then the adults would play cards. I played along on a few occasions, but more often than not that time would be spent putting on a little show for my grandad. The great man would sit through whatever awful acting, singing or dancing (my niece would do that last one, rather than me) we put in front of him. One year, the three of us made our own film using a camcorder. I can’t remember if the camcorder had been a present for someone, but I can definitely remember filming my nephew at the top of the stairs, apparently murdered. The rest is sketchy. I think one of the characters was called Barry.

    The fun didn’t stop there. New Year’s Day would be my sister’s turn to open her home. We’d have buffet style food, rather than a full meal, and we would watch the football scores coming in. These memories are incredibly vivid. Yet there are Christmases in the last decade that I couldn’t tell you about, as I have forgotten them.

    Times change, of course. My mum and dad split up in 2007. All of our Christmas traditions up to that point ended immediately. In 2010, my mum couldn’t taste her Christmas dinner and ended up in A&E, eventually being diagnosed with bronchitis. On Boxing Day 2012, I took my dad – who had been suffering from Alzheimer’s disease for a few years by then – to his last ever Norwich City match at Carrow Road. It had just become too difficult to get him there and back. We lost 1-0 to Chelsea. Then, on Christmas Eve 2013, dad was taken to hospital from his care home. He died on 1st February 2014. He was not well enough to read the card I’d bought him that year.

    Another big difference between Christmas as a kid and now is that I’ve spent the last 12 Decembers working in a supermarket. Provided I haven’t been sacked and not told about it yet, this will be my 13th. Plenty of funny things have happened at work in those years. My favourite is probably when a woman came to the kiosk to ask me for ’50 grams of Golden Virginia’ but instead asked for ’50 grams of Golden Vagina’. Obviously, Christmas is the busiest time of year in that industry so, not only does the build up to it start before the kids have gone back to school, by the time the big day gets here you’re knackered. It wasn’t too bad when I first started, when I was just on the checkouts. I’d just go home with the same six Christmas songs ringing in my ears. But when I moved onto doing the trolleys, it would be like painting the Forth Bridge. By the time I’d brought a line of trolleys to the front of the store and gone to get another, the first line would be gone. It’d also be difficult to get the trolleys in at all, what with the cars queueing round the car park. In 2018, I came home from work the Sunday before Christmas in a state that I can only describe as broken.

    Christmas 2018 – I was broken.

    Since I’ve gradually been given more responsibility, Christmas is busier than ever. It sounds quaint now to think that when I was at school doing anything before 8am felt excruciatingly early, and after 4pm incredibly late. These days I can be at work at 5.45am, or I can still be serving someone with a massive trolley full of stuff at 11pm (though not on the same day, thankfully). All to the soundtrack of a choral cover of Santa Baby, or the frankly bizarre I Want a Hippopotamus For Christmas. Last year, for the first time I was given the task of handing out food orders to customers, some of which they had put in as far back as October. It was superbly organised, but did involve me spending time in a dark and cold shipping container in the yard.

    The company are kind enough to allow us to wear a Christmas jumper at this time of year. I cannot stand wearing a collar (I have a thing about things touching my neck) so I will take any opportunity to ditch the usual uniform. As I’m tight – I’m my father’s son – I have worn the same one every year since 2017 and that tradition will continue in 2022. It’s grey with a polar bear on the front. The bear used to light up but the jumper smelled so bad one year that we had no choice but to remove any battery-powered parts and put it in the washing machine.

    The trusty jumper I’ve worn for work every year since 2017

    Christmas is still something I look forward to. Even though work is busy, there’s a nice atmosphere of ‘we’re all in it together’ with my colleagues. The World Darts Championship signals the beginning of the festive period for me, starting a week or so before Christmas and finishing at New Year. As soon as I see the arrows on the telly, I feel warm inside. The day itself is spent with my mum and her other half Dave, the two most important people in my life, and we eat lots of food and have a great laugh.

    Whatever December means to you, I hope it’s a good one. I think we all deserve it.

  • I’m probably never going to be a writer – it might be time to do something else

    You will have to excuse the irony of this. I’m writing about how I’ve been wasting my time writing.

    For as long as I can remember, I have wanted to write for a living. Since I was a child. I think it stemmed from getting The Beano and The Dandy delivered to the house, as well as MATCH! magazine. I would also have a look at my dad’s copy of The Sun on a Saturday (forgive me, I was young). I was fascinated by the different styles of writing, and how the written word could make you feel depending on how it was presented on the page. When I was around 8 years old, I made hand-drawn comics called The Jumbo for my grandad, which the wonderful man paid me the cover price for. I think I ‘borrowed’ the character of Dennis The Menace for it, too, but thankfully I never received a copyright claim from the publisher of The Beano. A couple of years after that, I was mocking up newspaper front pages.

    Now, aged 30, it is clear to me that writing – communicating with the written/typed word – is probably what I’m best at. Despite being the grandson of a respected mechanic on one side and a talented carpenter on the other side, I am entirely useless at anything practical. Actually doing anything with my hands is beyond me. On one attempt to learn how to cook, I tried to crack an egg into a jug and ended up with the yolk all over the worktop and all of the shell in the jug. I also can’t communicate easily by other means. I’m debilitatingly awkward in face-to-face situations, and irritatingly inarticulate when speaking to someone. I have been asked to do a TV show and a podcast before, but tellingly never been asked to do them more than once.

    My TV debut, on the short-lived Mustard TV, in 2016. I haven’t been asked to do TV again in the six years since.

    I did work experience at Archant, who publish the Eastern Daily Press, Norwich Evening News and other local titles in East Anglia, in 2009. I didn’t actually have much work to do – I got a piece in the paper about a couple’s landmark wedding anniversary – but I was able to observe this huge office putting a newspaper together, as well as sit in on an editorial meeting. I really enjoyed it, and I was left feeling even more sure that I wanted to be a journalist. In 2015, the EDP advertised for contributors to a new Fan Zone page, all about Norwich City Football Club. I went for it, not expecting to get picked, but to my surprise I was chosen as one of four columnists and I’m still doing it now. In fact, I’m the only one of the original four still doing it.

    The closest I’ve ever been to getting paid for writing was when I had an interview at Archant in 2017. They were looking for a trainee reporter. Unfortunately, I failed to impress in the interview (face-to-face interactions letting me down again) and I didn’t get the job. Since then, I’ve never even applied for another job, carrying on with pretending to know what I’m doing in a supermarket.

    I have kept this blog going, as I like to write, but I have never pushed it to the extent that would get me noticed. As an introvert, it’s not in my nature to blow my own trumpet. In any case, when I do share what I’ve written, I don’t get many readers anyway.

    This is why I think that’s the case: TikTok. I’ve never been on TikTok myself because I can’t really see the point of it. My mum, however, is borderline addicted to it. She will spend ages scrolling through the app. I’ll often be shown videos from it. I can’t really get my head around it, though, because there is just so much crap on there. I can spend hours writing something, share it, and get maybe 50 readers if I am exceptionally lucky. Someone can record a 30 second clip of their dog farting, upload it to TikTok, and get millions of views. Short attention spans have ruined the art of writing.

    I’m not bitter though. That’s just how it is. After having this dream for twenty years, I have to start to wonder if my writing is really better than anyone else’s. Perhaps it is time to change tact. Do something else. I don’t know what that might be. But maybe the first step is to admit that writing is a dead end.

    Thanks for reading if you’ve made it this far.

  • The theatre, the sights and the hilariously awful hotel – my 26 hours in London

    Sitting outside a cafe in Whitehall, with one of London’s finest Wasteaters in the background

    I’ve been finding things a bit tough recently, so a week off work was very welcome. Unfortunately, on only the second full day of my holiday, I woke up with a horrendous sore throat and spent the rest of the week somewhat under the weather, even spending one day in bed.

    Still, I was not to be defeated and after a bit of a walk at North Elmham and lunch in the grounds of Wymondham Abbey with an old friend from university on Wednesday, it was off to London on Thursday morning. I had bought my mum and her other half Dave (Stephen to me) a gift voucher for Christmas, enabling them to go to a show of their choice at one of the capital’s theatres. They, in turn, bought their friends one and planned to go to Jersey Boys together. I have loved going to London ever since a school trip to the Natural History Museum in 2006, and am reasonably good at finding my way around the city, so I tagged along as their guide.

    We caught our train on time from Norwich and it sailed into Liverpool Street without delay – so far, so good. It was then onto the Tube, headed for Victoria. Our hotel for the night was within walking distance. There are many hotels in London that look like The Grapevine from the outside. It’s common for an old townhouse to have been turned into a hotel. I’d even stayed in one on a visit last year, the Berjaya Eden Park overlooking Bayswater Tube station, and that was fine.

    The Grapevine was not fine. A sign on the front door told us to check in at The Sheriff next door, and we received the keys there. Not only the keys to our rooms but to the hotel itself. Despite check-in time being 2pm and it being just past then, I was told that my room (ominously, in the basement) was still being cleaned.

    To be fair to them, it was ready within about five minutes and, while the others went to their respective rooms, I descended to the basement. I was to be in room 19A!

    Come on in, sleepy head, a comfy bed lies just behind this, er, cupboard door!

    Ah. Had the door not had ’19A’ on it, I would have assumed it was a storage cupboard of some sort, and I don’t think that’s an unreasonable leap to make. My hopes were not high as I passed through the door. There was a kind of air lock between it and another door, which thankfully the key I had been given did unlock.

    Room 19A at the Grapevine Hotel

    I have never walked into a hotel room and burst out laughing before, but that was exactly my reaction to room 19A at the Grapevine. It was so hilariously bad, so miserable, so dirty, that laughter was all my brain would offer me. Being in the basement, I had feared that would mean no windows, but my eyes were drawn to light coming from behind a pair of curtains. The curtains were drawn, but hanging on to the rail for dear life. Some daylight would improve the situation I thought. I pulled the curtains and immediately discovered why they had been closed.

    The stunning views from my original hotel room window

    I wasn’t expecting to see Sydney Opera House, the Hanging Gardens of Babylon, or even the sea – but my laughter became almost uncontrollable upon seeing the view from my window. I quickly shut the curtains again, deciding that darkness was preferable. My phone received a text.

    “Omg it’s appalling” were the words my mother had sent me. Any thought I might have had that it was only in the basement that the Grapevine became more Nits than Ritz was dispelled in an instant. Most people on arriving at a hotel would settle in, maybe have a shower, relax – it turned out that all we wanted to do was leave again as soon as possible, and sure enough as I went back outside mum and Dave’s friends were already on the pavement.

    We did that very British thing where we tentatively enquired about each other’s thoughts on the place, just in case one of us was a big fan of having curtains hanging off the walls. Once we’d established that we all thought the place was indeed an almighty shithole, we discussed how we would deal with the topic around my mum, who had booked this hotel in the first place. We adopted a policy of not playing a blame game, instead laughing about the whole situation and saying that it would be fine for just one night.

    As we walked towards Buckingham Palace past Victoria Station, I spotted a Greene King pub. I know it’s a bit rubbish to go for a chain when you’re in one of the world’s great cities for food, but after the introduction to the hotel, I was keen to stick with the tried and trusted. Thankfully, the food was tasty and we walked toward the theatre in good spirits.

    It still doesn’t feel real that the Queen has died, and this was the first time I’d been to anything royalty related since. My mum had never been this close to the Palace before. We couldn’t walk up the Mall as it was closed in preparation for that Sunday’s London Marathon, so we had to take a diversion that did eventually get us to the familiar sight of Nelson’s Column. The journey took in Pall Mall, a street famous for the many clubs and societies based on it. Men in suits came out of the Royal Automobile Club and the Army and Navy Club, often into sports cars parked outside.

    We arrived at the Trafalgar Theatre. It was going well for me. I might have been on the trip as the guide but I am well known for getting myself lost (missing my turn off the M11 to Harlow and ending up in Walthamstow being my most famous misadventure) so to have got everyone safely to the hotel and then to the theatre was a big success. We had coffee and cake sitting outside an impossibly posh-looking cafe opposite – people walked past in bow ties as I sat there in my joggers and wearing an England Cricket jacket.

    I wasn’t going to the show myself, partly because I have no interest in musicals. So, having left them at the theatre, I had about three hours to kill in London. I love the place, I have a fairly good knowledge of how to get around it, but I had never really been out in it at night before so decided to stick to well-populated and well-lit areas. I walked about seven miles in the end, taking in Trafalgar Square, Covent Garden, the West End, the Savoy, the South Bank, Waterloo Bridge, Chinatown and Piccadilly Circus. Here are the photos I took:

    I had a great time. As an introvert, one thing I love about London is how I can wander through it anonymously. There are so many people there, all doing their own thing, that no one notices you. I could go anywhere and no one would pay any attention to me. The only trouble was, I felt distinctly rough.

    I met the rest outside the theatre around 10pm, was told I looked “crap”, and our plans to go for a drink were abandoned. We made our way back to our lovely hotel in a black cab, no less – the first time I have ever been in a proper Hackney Carriage.

    From talking to the others, it appeared that, remarkably, I had actually got the best hotel room. I had a reasonable-sized bathroom, while they were struggling to put into words how small theirs was. I agreed to swap rooms with mum and Dave’s friends, so they could benefit from the extra space. I was upgraded to the ground floor and to room number 1. Was I moving up in the world?

    No. I now had a view out onto the street, at least, which was much nicer than the tip I had overlooked down in the basement. But inside, the room was just as filthy and ramshackle. The size of the toilet and shower needs to be seen to be believed, so here’s a picture:

    My mum demonstrates the size of the toilet in the Grapevine Hotel

    It’s quite obvious that the wardrobes in these rooms had been converted into toilets and showers, allowing the owners to market the hotel as having en suite rooms. I have never seen a toilet so small. My mum could have brushed her teeth whilst sitting on the throne, and we blokes had to stand at an angle to have a wee. That uncontrollable laughter from earlier in the day returned with a vengeance at my first sight of the loo-in-a-cupboard. It was quite a step down back into the room from the toilet, but I had nothing to worry about because if I tripped I would have landed safely on the bed.

    Here are some more photos of this marvellous accommodation:

    One saving grace was that the bed was clean, and I managed about four hours of sleep, about three more than some of the others. We’d left the Grapevine by 8.30 on Friday morning, having handed in the keys and told the guy on reception what a dump it was.

    Our train home wasn’t until 3.30pm, so we had a nice stroll around London, past many of the places I had seen the night before.

    We got to Liverpool Street without getting lost. The train home was on time, my job was complete, and none of us would ever forget our 26 hours in London. Or the Grapevine Hotel.

  • This is what Norwich was like just before Elizabeth became Queen

    This is a post I’ve been planning to write for a few weeks. With the events of the last few days marking the end of the second Elizabethan age, I realised that it will be more poignant.

    I recently returned to the ‘retro shop’/garden centre that I had found a football magazine from 1964 in back in March. The pile of magazines and comics had gone, but I did discover a fascinating artefact of local history: the official guide to the Norwich Festival of 1951.

    The Second World War was still fresh in the memories of the nation. Times were tough – austerity and food rationing had people in low spirits. The Labour government of the time planned a celebration of Britain and its achievements, to be held in the centenary year of the Great Exhibition. While the centrepiece was on the South Bank in London (it’s where we got the Royal Festival Hall from), events took place across the country, including in Norwich.

    On 18th June 1951, Princess Elizabeth – later, of course, to become Elizabeth II – opened the Norwich Festival from the balcony of City Hall.

    Princess Elizabeth arrives at City Hall in Norwich, 18th June 1951

    At the time of the Festival, the country was under the reign of King George VI. Elizabeth would ascend to the throne upon her father’s death a year later. This means that the Festival, and its guide book, are a wonderful insight of what Britain was like immediately before the Elizabethan age we have all lived through.

    The book is full of articles about the city and adverts from local businesses. The two are worth a post each, so I’m going to focus on the adverts today. They provide a window into a Norwich of yesterday – a city that made things (mainly shoes) and a city dominated by local names rather than high street chains. But they also show names that are immediately familiar.

    I’ll start with this one, advertising the local newspapers of Norwich and Norfolk. The Eastern Daily Press and the Evening News are still in publication, though the EDP’s claim that ‘nearly one of every three Norfolk homes’ will have one is fanciful in this internet age. I bet their overworked staff wish they still had 200 correspondents to call upon as well.

    The Eastern Football News, due to the pink paper it was published on, was known as The Pink ‘Un, a name still used by Archant today for its football coverage.

    Recognise this place?

    The Bell Hotel has hardly changed, on the outside at least, for 71 years.

    Now, we’re off to Chamberlins.

    The building was until recently partly used as a branch of Tesco Metro, opposite the Guildhall. Plans are to turn it into a hotel.

    This advert for Boots caught my eye only because the pharmacist’s logo is almost the same as it is now.

    The Town House is advertised, with a photo taken from its more attractive river side. You can still enjoy a meal and a drink there today.

    Bonds department store in the city was destroyed in the Blitz. By 1951, its shiny, new building was nearing completion. The architecht’s drawing featured is pretty much exactly how it turned out.

    Bonds became John Lewis in 2001.

    The Bonds building as it stands today

    Caleys used their space in the book to show off their new chocolate factory. The building is now long gone, demolished and replaced by what is now called Chantry Place shopping centre.

    The cost of living – now there’s a phrase we hear a lot these days. It was a problem in 1951, as well, but Curls thought they had the answer. Curls would go on to be Debenhams, though even that has gone now and the building remains empty for the moment.

    And finally, here’s an advert from hat maker H. Rumsey Wells. The shop closed in 1974 but, if the name sounds familiar, it’s because the name of the shop lives on in the name of a pub that now stands on its site.

    The pub carries on the name of the hat maker on the site of his shop

    This is merely a few of the many adverts that give a glimpse into the Norwich of 1951. I may well dip in again some time. I hope you’ve enjoyed reading this, and may we enter the reign of King Charles III with optimism. Stay well, everyone.

  • Listen To This: There’d Better Be A Mirrorball by Arctic Monkeys

    My favourite band, Arctic Monkeys, released their first new material in more than four years this week.

    There’d Better Be A Mirrorball is the first single to be released from their new album, The Car, which is out on 21st October.

    The Sheffield band spent some time recording last summer at the 14th century Butley Priory in Suffolk. People there said: “Being serenaded while watering and weeding the garden, listening to the double bass, drums and piano wafting out of the open double doors, was pretty nice.”

    I’ve been playing the new song on repeat since it was released, and when I haven’t it has been running through my mind like a particularly voracious earworm. The word I would use to describe it is sumptuous – there are so many layers to enjoy. Alex Turner’s voice sounds better than ever, deep and brooding, with the strings giving it Bond theme vibes. Lyrically, it’s a break up song; I’ve heard it described as “Mardy Bum for grown ups”. Here are my favourite lines:

    Darling, if I were you
    And how’s that insatiable appetite?
    For the moment whеn you look them in the eyеs
    And say, “Baby, it’s been nice“

    There’d Better Be A Mirrorball by Arctic Monkeys

    Arctic Monkeys played their first gig since 2019 in Istanbul, Turkey at the beginning of August and made their way across Europe performing mainly at festivals before headlining Reading + Leeds Festival last weekend. You can see highlights of their set here.

    The photos above are just a snapshot of my bedroom, which since being redecorated recently has become something of an Arctic Monkeys shrine. Now you’ve seen those, you’ll hopefully understand that for me the release of new music from them is like Christmas. I already know what will be the soundtrack to my autumn.

  • 30 for 30 – songs that bring back memories

    My 21st birthday, 2013

    I’ll be 30 on 25th August – despite my protestations about not being done with my 20s yet. Anyway, the other night I made a playlist of songs that hold memories for me in my life so far. These are not necessarily favourites (I haven’t listened to Cher for a while, I have to say), but ones that take me back to a particular time and place. I hope you find a song you really like here, and look out for the links that look like this – clicking on them will give some extra information about what I’m banging on about.

    SNAP! – Rhythm Is A Dancer

    The number one single in the UK on the day I was born, 25th August 1992.

    Scatman John – Scatman (ski-ba-bop-ba-dop-bop)

    My mum won a hifi system in a radio competition, the kind that would have been way out of our price range, and somehow it ended up in my bedroom. I remember listening to this song on it and being fascinated by it.

    Cher – Believe

    Brings back memories of being driven around Norwich by my mum with this blasting out very loudly.

    Cartoons – Witch Doctor

    Hearing it now, this song is completely ridiculous – but I can definitely remember hearing it at home, where we had it on CD. Some people had Abbey Road… I think it sounds a bit like Scatman John in terms of playing around with mouth sounds, so there could be a link there.

    Dario G – Carnaval de Paris

    Originally released for the 1998 World Cup, though I have no memory of that tournament (2002 was the first one I can recall). This was actually used by Sky Sports as the theme tune to their Premier League coverage in the early 2000s, and that’s where I remember it from.

    Heather Small – Proud

    We all sang in this in the school hall on our last day at Norman First in July 2000. Corny? Yes. Memorable? Definitely.

    U2 – Beautiful Day

    You’ll notice a trend of songs I remember from being theme tunes to TV shows. This was what ITV used for their highlights programme The Premiership, when they briefly held the rights away from the BBC’s Match of the Day in the early 2000s.

    MIKA – Grace Kelly

    A massive hit in 2007, this seemed to be on the radio every morning on the way to school. I was surprised to see MIKA turn up as one of the hosts of this year’s Eurovision – I’d not heard a peep from him for years.

    The Killers – Read My Mind

    I remember listening to this a lot when I was at sixth form – 2008 to 2010. Seeing The Killers perform it live at Carrow Road in June this year was a special moment.

    Arctic Monkeys – Brianstorm

    There will be a lot of Arctic Monkeys on this list – after all, they’re my favourite band. The first album of theirs I actually owned on CD was their second, Favourite Worst Nightmare. This song was track one.

    Arctic Monkeys – I Bet You Look Good On The Dancefloor

    Their first single and the Arctic Monkeys song I reckon most people will have heard of.

    Alex Turner – Piledriver Waltz

    My Arctic Monkeys obsession led to me discovering Submarine, which is my favourite film. Arctics frontman Alex Turner did the soundtrack and this is my favourite song from it.

    Arctic Monkeys – Black Treacle

    Reminds me of driving backwards and forwards between Norfolk and Essex when I was at university. This is from their 2011 album Suck It and See.

    Pulp – Do You Remember The First Time?

    I can’t remember the first time I heard this song but it always stops me in my tracks when I hear it. Makes me feel nostalgic and sentimental. It’s between this and Babies for my favourite Pulp song.

    Arctic Monkeys – Cornerstone

    Probably my favourite of all Arctic Monkeys songs and one that reminds me of an unrequited love.

    Depeche Mode – Just Can’t Get Enough

    Was played a lot at Carrow Road during the years Paul Lambert was manager (2009 to 2012). Some of the happiest and most successful times Norwich City have had in my lifetime.

    Grandaddy – A.M. 180

    The theme tune to Charlie Brooker’s Screenwipe, a programme I have seen many, many times over and still go back to now and again.

    Harvey Danger – Flagpole Sitta

    The theme tune to Peep Show. I first saw the sitcom starring David Mitchell and Robert Webb in a Media Studies lesson at school, oddly enough, but I loved it and have seen every episode more times than is healthy.

    Morning Runner – Gone Up In Flames

    Another TV theme tune – this one is from The Inbetweeners. The sitcom about four lads and their time at sixth form was broadcast exactly when I was at sixth form myself and, I can tell you, it was very realistic.

    The Wombats – Anti-D

    I spent a fair bit of time as a uni student being miserable – this song was released around that time and I can remember listening to it in my more self-indulgent moments in the room I rented in a lady’s house a short walk from the college.

    Cage The Elephant – Shake Me Down

    Another song I can remember hearing a lot during my time at uni.

    Underworld – Caliban’s Dream

    I watched every minute of the opening ceremony of the London 2012 Olympics and can remember being spellbound by this song. They were a great Olympics and they happened just a month or so after my mum and I moved to a little terraced house in Dereham. Happy times.

    Arctic Monkeys – Do I Wanna Know?

    From the fifth Arctic Monkeys album AM, released in 2013. An absolute banger – I saw them live in their native Sheffield in 2018 and this sounded amazing.

    Foster The People – Pumped Up Kicks

    For a little while, I taught my friend to drive in the empty Sainsbury’s car park after work on a Sunday. Our musical tastes were very different. This is one of the only songs we both liked so we played it a lot while she was driving around.

    Arctic Monkeys – One Point Perspective

    Arctic Monkeys finally released a new album in 2018, their first for five years. This masterpiece is my favourite track from it.

    Joe Cocker – With A Little Help From My Friends

    As I mentioned before, I saw Arctic Monkeys live at Sheffield Arena in 2018. This song was played over the speakers just after the gig had finished and the audience were filing out. It reminds me of the complete euphoria of seeing my favourite band in the flesh for the first time.

    Talking Heads – Take Me to the River

    A more recent memory, I can recall driving around listening to this song, just driving for the hell of it and lost in thought.

    Blossoms – Your Girlfriend

    I first heard Blossoms in 2016, when their single Charlemagne was played a lot on Radio X. I really got into them when I heard this song for the first time, sitting in my car at work during my lunch break a few years ago. They are now one of my favourite bands and I’ve got tickets to see them live in Norwich this November.

    The Rolling Stones – She’s A Rainbow

    During the first Covid lockdown, the Wednesday night trip to the pub was replaced by drinks and music in the living room. This song was one of the highlights.

    The Turtles – Elenore

    Another lockdown discovery, and in my opinion the funniest love song ever written.

    If you’ve got this far, thanks very much! This was just a bit of fun for myself really. If you want to carry these songs around with you, I put them in a Spotify playlist.

  • A sporting break – my July 2022 trip to Manchester

    My view of England v South Africa, Old Trafford, Manchester, 22nd July 2022

    I’ve been back from my holiday for a week now, but as these things often do, it feels like a lot longer!

    I usually go away around my mum’s birthday (19th July) and this year was no different. In 2021, we stayed in Salford to make it easy to get to Old Trafford for a T20 cricket match between England and Pakistan. On this occasion, we actually stayed in a hotel right in the middle of Manchester.

    The Portland Hotel, Manchester

    My room was on the third floor of the hotel, with mum and her other half Dave a couple of doors down. It was clean and comfortable with a Queen size bed. You could hear the trams rumbling through the city centre, but rather than being irritating it was actually quite a pleasant sound.

    On our first night, we walked across the road into Piccadilly Gardens and found a fan park dedicated to the Women’s Euro 2022. There you could buy merchandise, eat and drink, and watch the matches on a big screen. I had been enjoying the tournament and England had North Walsham’s Lauren Hemp in their squad, so it was fun following the progress of the Norfolk girl. Our first night in Manchester happened to be the night of England’s quarter final against Spain, so we sat in the fan park with hundreds of others and cheered the Lionesses on.

    The fan park in Manchester’s Piccadilly Gardens

    England went behind – conceding a goal for the first time in the tournament – but battled back to win 2-1 in extra time. The atmosphere was fantastic and it really made you feel part of the event.

    The moment the final whistle went in the fan park

    The next day, we had booked to go to the National Football Museum. I’d been to the museum a couple of times before, but there is so much to see that there’s no chance you’ll ever see it all. We spent two-and-a-half hours browsing the exhibits, which include the original written laws of the game, the ball used in the 1966 World Cup final and a seat from the original Wembley stadium. Afterwards, we did a bit of shopping. I used to hate buying clothes but these days I actually quite enjoy it.

    The National Football Museum

    Friday was the day of the One Day International between England and South Africa – the reason for our trip up north. Now, cricket is obviously the best sport in the world but, famously, it is at the mercy of the weather. You can’t play cricket in the rain. Not because the players are wimps, but because water and a cork ball wrapped in leather don’t mix. Opening the curtains, I was met with typical Manchester weather – grey skies, damp pavements and drizzly rain.

    Undeterred, we were at the ground when the gates opened at 11am. We were well aware that the game wasn’t going to start at the scheduled time of 1pm. We went to the club shop, we had a drink, and then a chance encounter meant my mum got a photo with England’s star batter Jonny Bairstow!

    Mum and Jonny Bairstow

    At one point we thought the match would be abandoned without a ball being bowled, but the weather did eventually relent for long enough for us to get a game on. Play finally began at 4.45pm, reduced to 29 overs per side from the 50 it was supposed to be. England were sent into bat and I didn’t think they played that well, being bowled out for 201 towards the end. It turned out to be more than enough, however, as South Africa were bowled out for just 83 to give England a win by 118 runs.

    We (literally) squeezed onto a tram to make the 15 minute journey back to our hotel, pleased that we’d seen a match despite the rain and that England had won.

    On Saturday afternoon, after a leisurely breakfast we travelled back to Norfolk in the car. On Sunday, it was back to work…

    When’s my next holiday?

  • I’m nearly 30. Where am I going?

    I just looked it up. It’s 52 days until my 30th birthday. Entering my 30s feels like a big deal. It feels like I should have my life sorted by now. I look around me and everyone seems to be on the right track – my friends are all either in relationships, engaged, have bought their own homes or started families. I haven’t done any of that. I am nowhere near doing any of that.

    I’m well past the days when I would get excited about my birthday (I have a vivd memory of telling someone “it’s my birthday tomorrow!” when I was about to turn 10 and that feeling like the best thing in the world) and I wouldn’t say I was dreading turning 30. It is a milestone, though. It’s as if I could still claim to be youthful at 29, but 30 is where sensible adults are. At work, I still associate myself with colleagues who have just come out of uni. I mentally attach myself to that 18-21 age group. I left uni in 2013! This is a natural time to take stock and wonder whether I am where I want to be in life.

    Well, I mentioned work. I’ve been doing the same job for the last 12 years. It was only ever meant to be a little part time job I did to give me a bit of extra cash while I was at uni, but it has been my only meaningful income since I was 17. Gradually, I was given more responsibility at work – god knows, my brain would have melted through boredom if I was still doing the same thing after all these years – and I go around trying to make it look like I know what I’m doing when really I feel like a total impostor. I have low self esteem anyway but bad experiences have made me believe that my best isn’t good enough and it would all work a lot better without me. Minor things that go wrong will play on my mind for days.

    I am acutely aware that my colleagues probably see me as awkward, uptight, maybe even a bit weird. I wish they could see the real me, who is actually easy going, prefers deep conversations to small talk and likes silly jokes. I just feel like, when I put that uniform on, I have to be serious and I know that alienates people.

    Of course, I’d like to do something more interesting. I went to uni for 3 years and left with a journalism degree, even if I have been known to say it’s not worth the paper it’s printed on. I have always loved writing, it is my only discernible skill or talent in my eyes, and would love to make a living out of it. It’s a very hard industry to get into, though, and as I approach 30 I have never been paid for a single word. I do browse the job sites on a regular basis but am yet to find anything that sounds better than what I already do. Maybe I’m too comfortable.

    If I got a job that paid more, I might able to afford to live alone. I do wonder why women never show any interest in me, but at the moment it isn’t bothering me and I would say my relationship status was “single but not looking”. I’ve got a lot of work to do on myself before anyone will come close to me. My mum is wonderful and her other half has been very accomodating since I had to move in with them recently, but ultimately I would like my own place.

    My passions are things that define me: football, cricket, music, comedy. These pursuits have all made hero figures in my life, and I think that’s because they are the living emodiment of what I would like to be. I want to be as good at what I do as Joe Root, I want to be as cool as Alex Turner, I want to be as funny as Dave Allen. I can’t help but think I should just make the most of what I actually am and it’s possible I might be happier for it.

    I have never smoked, I hardly ever drink and I have never been anywhere near drugs. My vice is junk food. I eat way too much chocolate, crisps, biscuits and sweets. I comfort eat. This was alright when I was more active but since the pandemic started I am going on fewer walks and have stopped playing cricket, so I am noticing my increasing weight. It sounds like an easy thing to address – just stop eating rubbish – but to me it doesn’t seem that simple.

    Well, to bring this ramble to a close, it’s been cathartic to get these thoughts out of my head and onto a screen. Am I where I want to be in life? No. Is there any reason why my 30s can’t be the making of me? Absolutely not.

  • I bought a 58-year-old football magazine

    Garden centres are usually my idea of hell but a few days ago I went to one that was a bit different. It had all the boring things, of course, like pots and plants, but it also had what they called a ‘retro shop’. An eclectic mix of items for sale with the only thing in common with each other being that they had spent years unused in someone’s house/shed/garage. There were old radios, guitars, weird wooden ornaments; it would take hours to go through it all.

    As a former collector of The Beano and The Dandy, my eyes were drawn to a pile of comics and magazines. While neither of those were anywhere to be seen, there were several Marvel and DC Comics titles, including a couple where the ‘new hero’ Doctor Strange – a character first seen in 1963 and recently played by Benedict Cumberbatch in a film – was mentioned on the front cover. Eventually, I stumbled upon a copy of Charles Buchan’s Football Monthly.

    The August 1964 issue of Charles Buchan’s Football Monthly I bought at the retro shop

    I love this sort of thing. Just like the comics, a magazine is like a time capsule. They quite literally document the time they were published. I have to admit, I’d never heard of Charles Buchan’s Football Monthly. The issue I found in the shop was from August 1964, a full 28 years before I was born.

    The first thing I noticed was that it was in colour. I doubt many people will have seen colour photographs of football matches in 1964. Newspapers were still very much black and white and on the rare occasions a game was televised it would have been in monochrome too, as colour television did not begin broadcasting in Britain until 1967. You can really see this standing out in a newsagent’s.

    I’ve always found something charming about old adverts. They were usually straight to the point and back then there was little regulation of the advertising industry, so the claims made in them were bold to say the least. Look at these two, for example. ‘Actual Tests’ (what actual tests? Who did the tests? What were they testing? How did they do the tests?) prove you can increase your strength 20% in 1 month (how do you measure strength to such degrees?) with astonishing new 6-second exercises! This company even offers to give you your money back if you don’t ‘get the kind of physique girls admire super quick’.

    This one promises to ‘enable to gain up to 6 ins. in height’. I’m pretty sure I get emails about this kind of thing nowadays, but they are usually pledging to help me gain six inches somewhere else.

    I suppose once you had become 20% stronger and 6 inches taller you might then have had the physique that the Manchester City Police were looking for.

    Now for some of the actual football content. As this was a summer issue looking back at the previous season and ahead to the next, the team photographs of the champions of all four English leagues were featured. The Liverpool photo is notable for the presence of both Bill Shankly, who was manager at the time, and Bob Paisley, who was merely ‘trainer’ (first team coach in modern terms) then but would of course go on to take the top job and win six league titles and three European Cups in charge of the Reds.

    Below them are second division champions Leeds, promoted to the top flight under Don Revie. This was the start of a golden period for the club, in which they would be league champions twice and win the FA Cup in 1972. Several of the stars of that side were already present – Billy Bremner, Jack Charlton, Norman Hunter and Johnny Giles.

    This might have been my favourite page in the whole magazine. Readers would write in, offering to exchange, for example, ‘Man. Utd. [programmes] for Sunderland and Arsenal’. Charmingly, many would also seek pen pals so they had someone to talk about their interests with by letter. When you think about it, this was an early form of social media. People have always wanted to reach out to others, it’s just that these days you simply write a tweet and can be bombarded with abuse just seconds later. The best one on this page, for me, was from S. Baird of Accrington, who was offering ‘200 First Division Autographs’ in exchange for ‘Screaming Lord Sutch Wig and Top Hat’. So many questions.

    With my beloved Norwich City dropping like a stone towards the Championship once again, I scoured the magazine for mentions of the team in the hope that things might have been going slightly better in 1964. Alas, the second division table has us sixth from bottom.

    Now we come to the letters page. Paul Carter from Liverpool wanted football to do more for charity. The Charity (now Community) Shield had been going for decades by this point, so he can’t claim the credit for that, but football is certainly used for fundraising purposes on a frequent basis now.

    Finally, I give you D. Kilbride, who doubted Bobby Moore’s suitability to be the captain of England and suggested Jimmy Armfield be given the job instead.

    Two years later…

    Thanks for reading.

  • Things that are winding me up today

    Ahh… it’s Valentine’s Day. Love is in the air. As I write this it’s bang on the time that the lovers amongst us are tucking into a love sausage or making the most of a 2 for 1 offer at Pizza Express, but alas not me. I’ve been repellent to women for a whole 30 years now – an impressive record I’m sure you’ll agree.

    I don’t think it’s related to being alone on 14th February – God knows I’m used to that – but for some reason a lot of things today are getting right on my nerves. Here’s a few of them.

    Hair

    If I had a superpower, I wouldn’t want to be able to fly or shoot webs out of my wrists or anything like that. I’d just like to be press ‘pause’ on the growth of my hair. As someone who has what you might call social anxiety, I find the whole process of going to the barber’s and getting my hair cut difficult. Having gone through it and left with my hair looking nice and tidy, I’d love to be able to halt its progress instead of the bloody stuff being all over the place again four weeks later. The same goes for facial hair – I can’t stand the feeling of a hairy chin so I stand in front of the mirror holding a razor way more often than I’d like.

    Earphones

    How do people get them to stay in their ears? I wear mine while hoovering or on long car journeys (as a passenger, of course) – I don’t know if my ears are just a weird shape or something but they just won’t bloody stay in! The sound they produce is disappointingly tinny as well.

    The lack of an affordable ad-free YouTube

    You’re welcome to say this is a First World Problem, but I watch a fair amount of YouTube (I’m too old for TikTok) and it is infested with ads. Want to watch an Alan Partridge clip from the 90s? Well you’re going to have to sit through two noisy 30 second adverts first! You can actually pay a monthly fee to get an ad-free YouTube, but because it comes with bells and whistles like being able to continue playing in the background and download videos to watch offline, they charge £11.99 a month for it! If they just offered an ad-free option for, say £5.99 a month, I’d be right there.

    Waking up early on a day off

    My work pattern these days means that I have one day in, one day off, two days in, one day off, one day in and then one day off. Why is it, then, that on the days I’ve got to go to work I feel like I could turn the alarm off and sleep for several more hours but when it’s my day off and I have no alarms set I am wide awake before 7am? It’s infuriating. Going back to sleep isn’t an option, either, as I’m very much a ‘you wake up, you get up’ sort of person.

    Anyway, that’s enough of the moaning. I’m going to leave you with a love song for Valentine’s Day.

    If you know me just a little bit, you’ll be aware that I am a huge fan of Arctic Monkeys. While I wait for their new album (due this year), today I was listening to their early work. The Bakery was a B side to Fluorescent Adolescent, a song from the album Favourite Worst Nightmare that reached no. 2 in the UK singles chart in 2007.

    Alex Turner is a brilliant lyricist and in the early Monkeys stuff he was particularly good at taking very relatable scenarios and putting them to music. In this one there’s a girl he fancies and he like seeing her about the place, and gets a bit annoyed when she’s not around. 2 minutes and 57 seconds of adolescent innocence. Enjoy.

    Thanks for reading this load of old moaning. I’ve not been doing much writing recently – not been in the best place, mind wise – but hopefully I’ll soon be back on track!

    Lee