Penblwydd Hapus i Fi!

Or Happy Birthday to Me! As they say in English. I am 39 today. Not a particularly special birthday numerically speaking but a poignant one for me nevertheless, as it's very likely to be the last one I spend in the bosom of family and life-long friends.

And what do I have planned for this momentous occasion you ask? Nothing special really. I've got an electrical repair to carry out at my brothers place which I may or may not do. To knock the skin off a few at the driving range is the next goal followed by a visit to my folks seeing as we go back such a long way and , who knows, there may even be a birthday gift there to mark the occasion. My plan then follows a rather predictable pattern. I intend to rock up to the Esp (my local), find myself a pew, probably the one by the fruit machine and get cooked, nice and slowly, the way it's meant to be done.

At some stage I'll be watching my beloved Everton take on Newcastle on the foreign satellite broadcasts widely available in pubs and clubs in Rhyl these days. It'd be a nice birthday treat for me if the Blues bucked their recent trend of being the least entertaining team in world football and produced a display that warranted my thirty five years of unquestioned loyalty to them.

For it was on this very day in 1971, my fourth birthday, that my Dad gave me the wonderful gift of a blue shirt with a white trim, white shorts and stockings. Why Dad picked this kit is a mystery that I've never ventured to solve. Most parents, especially amongst my peers, virtually force their offspring to support the same team as they do. Employing such despicable tactics as dressing their infants up in miniature replica kits then photographing this heinous crime in order to brandish this photographic evidence at any stage during their childs life when they show the merest hint of showing favour to another team.

This is important stuff too. Very important stuff. For the ardent fan, which is almost everybody in the U.K., you are forever linked to your teams fortune. They suffer, you suffer ten-fold. Likewise with all the other emotions involved. Success for the vast majority, especially Evertonians like me, is an all too infrequent and fleeting visitor. Probably unbeknown to him at the back-end of 1971 my Dad made a decision that has had a massive impact on my life. A massive impact.

Dad's a Liverpool fan from Billy Liddells days, Evertons deadliest and only real rivals. I hate them, which makes his decision all the more difficult to fathom. We lived in Hampshire at the time and I was an easily pleased kid, he could easily have palmed me off with a more local team, Southampton perhaps or one of the London giants like Arsenal maybe. Imagine my delight in this day and age if he'd have picked blue shorts to go with that blue jersey - Chelsea would have been my team. Urrrgh! Even contemplating supporting someone else sends a shiver down my spine.

Like I said I've never questioned Dads motives, I've just been grateful, very grateful. But for what? For the vast majority of my life Everton have been an average to poor side rarely providing value for money for the paying fan. We've had our moments of course, the mid-eighties was terrific but failed to materialise into a dynasty the like of which seems to occur these days following a period of great success which 1984-87 truly was for Everton. The remainder of the time has found me at the mercy of mocking work-mates and friends who, fortunately, have grown bored of such easy prey and turned elsewhere to get their kicks.

Having said all that, me following Everton right or wrong, great or grim has helped to make me what I am. A character who appreciates the good times and has learned to roll with the bad. With sharpened wit due to having been forced to seek verbal repertoire elsewhere than the football based responses spat out by supporters of 'corporation' teams. It has bonded me with like-minded individuals the world over whose company I have revelled in and will continue to do so.

In song the great Johnny Cash named his boy Sue to prepare him for anything the world could throw at him, my old man made me an Evertonian. Being an Evertonian hasn't made me what I am, my Dad has.

So Dad, for this and so much more I thank you. If you present me with a gift today that provides me with a nano-fraction of the stimulation and entertainment that the one you gave me thirty five years ago has done then you would have achieved something impossible. A win for the Blues would be nice!!!!!


P.S. My mum's not a bad old stick either!

Where Streams of Whiskey Are Flowin'...`

Our visa has arrived. We now have the right to live and work in Australia for the next three years. Great eh? We think so.

It's been a long road of application process and at times it's been a right royal pain in the arse. Fortunately for me the burden of paperwork and hoop-jumping has largely been taken care of by the wife, who's given it everything and some more to ensure our success in achieving our goal.

All we have to do now is sell the house. If you're interested it's going on the market for around £175,000.

Christmas Do's......and dont's.

Monday today. Not any old Monday but the Monday following the works Christmas do. A nerve-wracking and cringeworthy day for many as their Saturday night exploits are re-lived in the cold light of day. This year wasn't too bad for me in comparison to previous years embarrassment. I can't deny I was well and truly spannered and was guilty of a bit of profiterole-throwing and a couple of episodes of dirty dancing but that's about the long and short of it. Just to confirm my behaviour wasn't too offensive I made a furtive Sunday afternoon phone call to a more sober colleague who agreed that I hadn't upset anyone too badly on the night as far as he was aware.

Whilst this was of some relief to me I still wasn't feeling totally confident this morning. Given that, on the equivalent Monday in 2003 following my most notorious Christmas do experience, I had been completely oblivious to the storm that awaited me on my arrival at work, it was with no little trepidation that I entered the office today.

Everyone was quite quiet for the first half hour- so far so good thought I. In time little tit-bits of Saturdays activities were discussed confirming a couple of my misdemeanors but thankfully no skeletons were emerging . As the day wore on I was becoming more confident that I had come through this festively decorated minefield pretty much unscathed.

I was pleased. After all, this had been my 'comeback' do following my year-long suspension from works functions following the 2003 Xmas bash when I committed a catalogue of faux-pas and my own, self imposed two year sabbatical in protest at the afore mentioned suspension. I wouldn't have gone this year, to be honest, were it not for the fact that it was possibly my last Xmas do seeing as we will hopefully be living in Australia this time next year. But went I did and determined to have a blast, I succeeded.

They're an odd concept works do's. Drinking with people you don't really count as friends, people you wouldn't normally socialize with. People you don't know that much about really, even though you spend the vast majority of your waking life with them. So they can be quite awkward events to say the least, the very least. I think my little break from such gatherings helped, plus the fact that I'd spent a good portion of the afternoon in various Chester pubs by way of 'warm-up'. All in all it was a blinding night and more importantly I didn't make too much of an arse of myself for once. Which is nice.