The Return of Blogger Boy ...Part I

Fridays …they’re back!

It was another glorious Friday and as I stood at the platform awaiting the train to take me home and officially bring my working week to its close, there was time to stand quietly.  And think.

It was already the end of the second week of my new job with the BBC and what a wonderfully jubilant feeling it was to have that classic 'Friday Feeling' coursing through my veins once again.

This hugely underestimated and wonderfully triumphant 'Friday Feeling' is something I recalled writing about a lot in my dark days of unemployment, and during that time, I made a vow to myself never to take this awesome end-of-week celebration for granted ever again.

After all, 'that Friday Feeling' is a well-earned privilege and is also one that should be exploited in full by those who deserve it.  Sure …'normal' stuff still needs to be done, whether it be house work, responsibly looking after the kids or doing your 'Friday-Big-Shop'.  But the sheer release of your work-related responsibility, the cooling of that organisational pressure gauge and the clearing of your mind is always a delight to behold.

It’s akin to a green light for that Ferrari driver, with nothing but a clear highway and a blue sky ahead.  It's that 5’o clock whistle that represents the ultimate thumbs-up to two entire days and nights without suit, corporate IT restraints and over-pleasant telephone mannerisms!  The weekend has landed and with it, you’re given the permission to unleash and do whatever it is you enjoy doing the most.  

Wanna get plastered? Wanna get your hair did and go shopping? Wanna watch a DVD and have a bottle of wine tonight? …You got it!!

Perhaps you can't be bothered cooking and fancy a take away?

Perhaps you want to eat take-away’s for the next three days solid?

Perhaps you want to walk for miles and miles, up fell and down dale, with your faithful doggy companion?

Perhaps you want to spend hours washing the car, watching your favourite football team or maybe you want to go ballroom dancing?

Maybe you want to lock yourself in your bedroom, watch a shelf-full of box-sets and do a big fat bugger-all for 72 hours!

Whatever is it that tickles your fancy, the whole weekend is in the palms of your hands and it all starts with that Friday Feeling.  It was my first 'proper' Friday back in the real world ...and it was damn good to be back!

Familiar faces …and forgetting names.

As I walked up the platform at the station that Friday to catch the train home, I saw a man that looked strikingly familiar.

As he chatted away to his friend, I could see that he still had that oh-so-recognisable smiley face.  That very specific kind of mouth that naturally seems to curl upwards at its edges.  I looked again and realised that this was one of those human beings that's permanently blessed with a cheery disposition.

I looked at him again, but still couldn't put a name to his cheery face.  He still had on his trademark brown overcoat, but I was struggling to put even a time, or even a place to his face.  Where the bobbins did I know this guy from?

I inquisitively moved closer and hit the mute button on my iPod. The voice was now becoming annoyingly familiar, but despite several scratches of the head and long strokes of my imaginary long whiskers, I still couldn't figure out where the heck I knew this suited and booted soul from.

And even at the time of writing, I sit a picture his boat race as clear as a bell, but I STILL haven't managed to work it out.  So why am I telling this little tale then?

Well, after all that platform pondering about the 'mysterious smiley man', and further pondering still as I sit to write this passage, I’m guessing that once upon a time, I used to work with this gentleman.  Perhaps I didn’t work with him directly, or perhaps I didn’t work with him for long, but I’m almost certain that I worked with him in some capacity, even if he was just a work-related external contact or someone within a former professional network.

The point I'm badly trying to make is, as I’ve had sooooo many jobs over the past few years, I’ve actually lost track of all the different people I’ve met!  I've been and worked in so many different places, it's little wonder I couldn’t remember his bloomin’ name!  And this makes me feel a little sad.

Thinking back, there’s been so many times over recent years when people have come up to me and asked "How’s it goin’ Jason?" or asked a random question like "How’s your Dad getting on”,or "Are you still playing football". I’ve walked away after full ten-minute conversations some times and I still haven’t had a bloody clue whom it was I’d just been speaking to!

I've often thought that these random chats are of a result of my DJ’ing, where I’ve been in a whole host of social environments and perhaps people have known me, a little better than I have known them?  Perhaps I’ve just drunk too much alcohol in said environments and then totally forgotten about meeting my new found friends? Or maybe it’s just that I’m terrible at remembering names?  Either way, I feel a little guilty about this and at this point, I feel it important to point out that I’m not 'boasting' about the fact that I'm known by lots of people.  And I’m certainly not proud that I don’t remember their names. 

In fact, I’m so used to being ‘the new guy’, that I usually always go out my way to say “hello” when I’m in a meet-and-greet environment.  I’ll often be the first to go over and introduce myself and politely ask what the other peoples names are.  The problem is, I’ll then walk away and instantaneously, I'll forget it!!!

So, this simple rendezvous with ‘the man-with-no-name’ actually helped me draw a huge, thick, double underline under the story I'm about to share with you.

It's been a huge couple of weeks.  And after all, I never want to be in a position again where I’ve moved on so much, that I can’t remember peoples names.   It was time that I finally planted some roots ...and laid some foundations that would stay for a long time to come.

Back to the future

I kicked off today’s blog with all that marvellous talk of a Friday Feeling, experienced on the second Friday of my new job .  But what of the previous Friday?  And what of my first fortnight at work with the BBC?

By the end of week one, I was greeted by a warm sunshine in a bright blue sky, but I was so glad to get to the end of this particular week, that it was 'a Friday Feeling' from a totally different dimension.  It had been a week in which I'd been fighting a losing battle against three evil enemies, and I was almightily relieved to have gotten to the end.

Enemy number one

Now, I'm not well known as being a sickly-child.  'Injured' …Certainly.  But ‘poorly’ …Nicht.

Like most people, I'm prone to the occasional cold or an achy limb, and I openly admit to being absolutely terrible at handling a hangover.  But other than my reoccurring knee problem, I rarely suffer with headaches, tummy aches or any of the usual suspects that might keep us from attending work.

Imagine my frustration then, when my first week of work was blighted by a full blown, totally out-of-the-blue, full-on-snotty common cold of epic proportions.  Yes, those dastardly buggers had got me good-and-proper and decided to take their spring break right inside my sinuses.  And they weren't willing to pack-up and go anywhere else without a fight. 

Female readers in particular will know exactly the kind of cold I’m talking about.  It’s that mysterious variety that only seems to attack us poor people with tinkles in our pants.  I'm certain that these supersonic-germs prey only upon us blokes and when doing so, execute their onslaught with great skill when man is at his weakest.

Right on cue for the start of my new job, I’d been totally slam-dunked by a full-on bout of man-flu, hitting my system like a truck-load of Accy Nori's and rendering me in a less-than-perfect condition for the hugely important week ahead.

Starting off with the traditional 'scratchy' sore throat the day before I was supposed to 'burst on the scene', the wind was well and truly knocked out of my sails in the days that followed....

With a bunged-up nose, a sore throat and "atishoo"s aplenty, my cold was followed by the ever-so-attractive 'Tommy Tap-Nose' look, in which every orifice leaks seems to leak a constant green gloop.  Mix-in a red raw conk and a banging head-ache for three days on the trot and it's fair to say I was a bit ‘off-colour' for my first week at work.

All this though, was compounded by evil enemy number two, which, with the common cold as its evil side-kick, comprehensively body-slammed me right from the top rope!

The cold had flattened me to the canvas, but in hindsight, I did receive a little forewarning about the second enemy in this tag-team assault.

Enemy number two

For some time now,  I've been struggling with sleep.  Perhaps I should have tackled this issue a long time before this war got ugly, but what with my relatively 'inactive' lifestyle over the last couple of months, the pressure was off to maintain normal sleep.  I was hoping I'd slip back into a 'normal' sleep-pattern, when my 'normal' life resumed...

Now that the hyena-like common cold had sneakily crept its way into my immune system, it was time for the lion to come the party.  A cold was child splay to deal with, but now, my long-term nemesis and true arch-enemy was to make his move and reap sheer havoc.

Step forward, the evil bastard that is ....Mr. Sandman.

As expected, I didn't have the best of night's sleep the night before my first day at work.  In fact, it's probably standard practice that most of us don't sleep particularly well the night before a big day.

Personally, I've often wondered how professional footballers manage to get a good night’s kip on the eve of a big match, particularly when it’s a big final or a World Cup game.  Surely they get nervous?  And surely, they’re banned from taking any sleep-inducing drugs or drinking alcohol.  In my book, they really must have nerves of steel, particularly to handle the pressure of the modern day game and perhaps that's one of the reasons why they get paid so much?

So, I didn't sleep at all well the night before my first day and with a restless night’s sleep, I would be relying on pure adrenalin alone to help me get me through day one.

And so it was that day one passed, as I met my new colleagues, completed the usual round of induction tasks, and took the fledgling steps into my new role.  Day one was also interspersed with a lunch Monica ‘the big boss’ from capital city, a conference call with my Newcastle-based colleague and a building-wide presentation about the forthcoming move to MediaCityUK.

By the time I got home, my mind was jam-packed with a plethora of new information, which I’d been trying to take on board despite the restless night before.  I was well and truly ready for a good night’s sleep.

That night, I did all the right things, including ‘chilling-out’ for a while, watching a bit of TV and relaxing with a hot milk before lights-out at about 10pm.  With that rubbish night of sleep the night before, I was determined to get a good eight hours in, and so I led there and attempted to stack some zeds up.  But I led there.  And I led there.  And I led there.

Before I knew it, it was fast approaching 2am and I was STILL no closer to getting to a wink of sleep.  My mind was awash with all the images, information and experiences of the day and despite trying my very best, I just couldn’t seem to switch-off at all.  As time passed by and the wake-up alarm drew ever-closer, panic started to creep in: The clock continued to tick, and I was acutely aware that I needed to be up for work in less than five hours.  But suddenly, those five hours became four and then, those four hours became three.  The more and more I thought about it, the harder it became. 

I think it was around 4:15am that night when I last looked at the time, and with less than two hours sleep, I arrived for my second day in work in a complete and utter mess. 

Full of a cold and now desperately tired, it was already becoming difficult to take on board the myriad of information before me, the new-how-to-do instructions and soak up a brand new way of everyday-working.  By way of apology, I explained my sleep disaster to my boss and new colleagues, whilst still frantically trying to make the best first impression possible.

But being friendly and eager is one thing; However, attempting to be full of beans and bounding with exuberance - when all I really wanted to do was sleep - was quite another.

Step forward then, the friendly and helpful world of the Facebook community.  Briefly documenting my troublesome lack of sleep via my status update, I got a whole host of helpful advice and handy tips.

On the train home, I checked the eclectic mix of Facebook responses:  “Do some calf, quad and stomach stretches”, advised Andy, “How about a bit of ‘how’s your father’” suggested Jodie.  “Lavender spray might do the trick” said Victoria, whilst Kitty reassuringly blamed the position of the moon in its current cycle!  The Dunston’s suggested a Nytol washed down with Horlicks, whilst my old mate Jack Daniels was also thrown into the mix on more than one occasion by a number of different sources.  With an ever-increasing shopping list, I hit Sainsbury’s and collected a plethora of goodies that Grotbags herself would have been proud to concoct.

A wizards brew: Add lavender spray, and a sleep-mask for full effect.

Earlier that day, I’d also spent my entire lunchtime googling ‘Sleep deprivation’ and ‘Insomnia’ and came across “Sleep Right Now: the answer to all your sleep problems” - a sleep psychology CD from a Dr. Mike Brescia, based in New York City.  I was desperate for a good night of sleep, so I popped it in my online basket and paid the required $41.00 without a second thought, in order to get the bugger quickly shipped across the Atlantic without further ado.

As I was still with the sniffles, the sneezes and the dribbles, I guessed the Jack Daniels wouldn’t go amiss and might even help kill off some of those pesky Man-Flu bugs.  Upon my return home, I immediately sunk a couple of glasses of the goodstuff, washed down with a cold can of Coca-Cola.  Then, at around 8:30, I mixed up a Horlicks, popped in a Nytol and sprayed my pillow with a healthy helping of fresh-smelling lavender spray.  I dug out an old in-flight sleep-mask and probably through sheer exhaustion above all-else, I actually managed a decent night’s sleep.

With a couple of wake-up’s, it wasn’t a perfect sleep by any stretch of the imagination, but it was certainly much better than the two nights that had gone before.  The next two night’s followed the same pattern, with various chunks of sleep-time, peppered with a wide variety of emotions from panic to excitement and anxiety to peacefulness.  Rather strangely, I began experiencing a whole host of very weird, very random and even a few explicit dreams!!

By the end of the week, I had a mouth full of ulcers, the skin complexion of a pair of tough old boots and bags under my eyes that were so big, even SJP herself would've been proud to carry them.

But worryingly, I was finding it extremely difficult to take in all the new data, new details and new processes at work.  I was finding it tough to concentrate, and was beginning to worry if this really was the job for me.  In short, I was a confused, exhausted and an emotional wreck ...and I really hadn’t enjoyed my new job at the BBC at all. 

After experiencing such excitement, anticipation and the unbridled joy of relief in the two weeks leading up to my new job, my world had flip-reserved in the short-space of just four days.  I was desperate for that Friday feeling to arrive, but for all the wrong reasons.

Thank God then that it was the weekend, and a perfectly timed opportunity for some much needed rest and battery re-charging.

Unfortunately though, it was about to get a whole lot worse...

The night from hell

It all started so well.

Although I hadn't had any late lie-in marathons over the weekend, I did have myself a couple of fairly decent sleeps by the time Sunday had arrived.

The itinerary for the day was one to look forward to: Meet up at around 1pm with my Uncle John - an uncle by name, but one of my best friends by nature.  We were then scheduled to catch the train to Manchester, check into our hotel, have a few afternoon scoops, watch a bit of football, snaffle some tea and finally, we were heading off to watch Liam Gallagher's new band 'Beady Eye' at the o2 Academy in the evening.

What’s more, the hotel I'd booked just a few days before commencing my new job was in a bang-tidy location!

I knew it was 'close' to New Broadcasting House...but it was actually right across the street and literally just a few steps away from work. ...Bingo!

This was the view from my hotel room. Note the distance from
New Broadcasting House, just over the road: "Perfect".

So, not only would my commute time and distance be reduced by an entire 99.9%, but I'd also have the added bonus of a Monday morning lie-in! ...Score!

But my picture-perfect vision of a pleasant Monday morning in Manchester was to be a long way from the reality.  This is the story of what happened next:

Perhaps I'd been given a 'sign' that it wasn't quite going to be as straightforward as I'd originally planned.  After a few shandies and a chance meeting with my old friends Babs and John, we headed off further away from the hotel in search of Sky-TV-football and sustenance.

Wherever there's a full English on the menu, it'll be ordered by your writer and true-to-form, this particular plate-full of stodge was gobbled down with glee and my usual level of lip-smacking enthusiasm. Simple pleasures for a simple man anyone?

My tea-time British Brekki came with all the usual trimmings and also, with a hugely generous pot of tommy sauce. Yumtastic!

...But as I dipped my toast into my sauce-pot, my focus was on the game and not on what it should have been; what was coming towards my mouth!

Unbeknownst to me, the toast had picked-up the entire sauce pot and as you can imagine, the following image brought tears of joy to my Uncle!

A spot of bother: Ooooh ...Saucy!

So it was back to the hotel for a quick change of my bottom-half before heading back to the nearest watering hole.  Although I didn't know it at the time, this was the part of my night when my entire plan of perfection truly started to go tits-up!

As my previous week had actually started on a Tuesday, the following day was to be the first Monday.  I was still very conscious of making an excellent first impression, so I certainly didn't want to be sloping in the office in a dishevelled state, stinking of stale ale.  What’s more, with my poor track record of handling hangovers, I didn't know if I'd be able to handle it if truth be known!

So, at this point, I decided to cease with the lagers and start drinking coffee instead. Already, I'd been spending sporadic sections of the day 'worrying' about getting a good nights sleep and here I was, drinking coffee, so I wouldn't be waking up rough the following morning.

As further friends began to join us and the party got louder, I concentrated on the main event of the gig ...and more importantly, the even bigger 'event' of a good night's sleep.

It was already 20 past nine when Liam Gallagher swaggered his way on to the stage and I was getting to thinking that this was usually about the time that I'd indulged in my weekly testosterone hit of Top Gear and should really be tucked-up with my flat-cap and Horlicks by now.

As it was, the gig was awesome and we wandered home on foot in the fresh night air, arriving at our hotel just after 11pm, via a trip to Subway.

I had a wash, laid out my suit for the following day and snuggled under the sheets whilst our John tapped away at his phone and watched a bit of TV.  An hour later, it was reassuring to know that even though I couldn't get to sleep,  John was in no rush to sleep either.  But as soon as he switched off the TV and switched-off his lamp on his side of the room, I clearly remember saying to him "I'm going to be well peeved now, if you fall asleep before I do".

Within five minutes, he was snoring like a trooper.  And I led there staring at the ceiling.  And I led there again.  And I led there again.

The most annoying thing of all was that I was physically, and mentally tired.  I wanted to go to sleep and my mind and body needed a rest.  But try as I might, I just couldn’t switch my brain off once again.  I'd already started to think about work and was scanning through all the things that had passed by during the previous week, surveying the conversations that had taken place.  But then I’d start doing stupid things like planning my make-believe future or spending my lottery win.  At some points, I was even singing obscure songs in my head!

Now to quote bad boy rapper Eminem, this was "when some real crazy shit started going down".   I was now getting desperate for sleep now and thinking back now, I was actually in a state of utter delirium.  'Almost-sleeps' clashed with b
ad, bad dreams and paranoia began to creep in.   All that thinking about travelling and commuting had merged into thoughts of train tracks and what I'm about to tell you was waaaay off the scale.

Now, don't get me wrong.  I'm a totally normal, totally rational sort of guy.

But as 5am approached and I still hadn't slept, those train-track thoughts began to merge with my sub-conscious and I was so tired, I started to think of excuses for not being in work, in just a few hours time.  I don't know where my head was at during this flash point, but I created an awful vision of falling off a platform and landing on the rails, just in time for the Express train to slice me up! 

My Uncle John awoke for a toilet visit as six am approached, and I was STILL awake.  A short time later, I eventually fell asleep.  Why, oh why didn't I just get pissed!! ...It really was the night from hell. 

By the time the morning arrived, I was a dead man walking, totally transparent and completely devoid of any passion, excitement or zest for my new job. As the great man famously sang "as he faced the sun, he cast no shadow".

I was dead in every sense of the word, other than the fact my heart was beating. Still carrying the remnants of a particularly bad cold, I'd gone an entire night without a wink of sleep and I was in a bad way.

Enemy Three

After the night from hell and the difficulty of week one, self-doubt had started to creep in.  Was my dream job at the BBC already over, before it had even begun?

To find out what happened next, check out "The Return of Blogger-Boy…Part 2” tomorrow!