Sturminster Newton

When young, it’s always your parents who have to drive you to a friend’s house. When I lived in Poland five years ago, I remember my mum driving through blizzards just so I could play with my friend on the other side of Warsaw. When I got older, she would still pick me up from the shopping mall on a Saturday after going bowling, or a skate park near where we lived. I suppose this was a consequence of living in a foreign capital. Poland joined the European Union in 2004, so not only was I a lazy student who never learnt Polish, most young people already spoke English out there. I never bothered to understand maps, or read signs.

Today, the roles were reversed. I was enlisted by mum to drive her south to Sturminster Newton in Dorset. Once home to the famous author, Thomas Hardy, it now accommodates my godmother and for the next couple of days, my mum. Unlike Hardy, who only bothered me during my English Literature exams, I still have to see my godmother every now and then. But joking apart, I do enjoy it. We caught up and for some reason spoke about the AV vote, which by the way is a resounding yes from me.

During the journey several things came to mind. Firstly, and at risk of sounding road-mad here, I’d never driven out of Salisbury on that specific road before. The A354 is a road that travels through Wiltshire, Hampshire and Dorset and all the tiny villages in between. I’ll always regard Salisbury as my hometown, but it seems strange that I’ve never left it in that direction. Of course, when I had to be careful on directions when I drove back on my own, but small changes and revelations do add colour to what could be considered as a routine journey. How many times in life are we prepared to take different routes or options and try something different?

One of the small villages we passed was Shillingstone. Like Sturminster Newton, it’s in the Blackmore Vale area or Dorset, but I also have family there – or more fittingly had. Unbeknownst to me, it was actually the village I lived in for two weeks after being born. It seemed strange how a place I have no recollection of had a substantial impact on my life. Mum told me of how she took me throughout the village on a pram, although I’ve upgraded to a Renault Clio now.

But it reminded me of my sister and my nephew and put everything into perspective. There I was thirty minutes before talking about the voting referendum, whereas at home Steph was experiencing exactly what my own mum felt nineteen years ago. For all this talk about trying new routes in life, the main things we cherish will always stay the same – whether it’s simply seeing my godmother, or maternal love itself. 

Roast Dinners - Happy Easter!

It’s undeniable that university has a huge personal impact on every student that attends. It introduces you to people from around England, gives you a different outlook on life and helps to develop independence. You undertake new challenges and experience new feelings, but, at the same time, you also say goodbye to certain things at home. It might be your old bed, the family dog or your mum’s cooking. This isn’t to say they’re irretrievable. In fact, when you do see them again it’s important to make the most of it. Personally, I miss roast dinners.

I'm a big fan of roast dinners too!

I often cook with my girlfriend at university. Not only does it cost less but we really enjoy spending the time together and making something nice in the evening. But that isn’t to say we’re amazing at cooking. It’s safe to say that we’re pretty good at making fajitas, but anything more complicated than a stir-fry and we’re punching above our weight. At the start of the spring term, we attempted cooking jambalaya, a rice dish with French and Spanish influences. In my recipe book, it is described as a relatively easy dish. We still haven’t mastered it.

Seriously stay away from the jambalaya

I suppose this is one way in which I miss roast dinners – because I’m not skilled enough to cook it, I don’t eat it away from home. But there’s also a psychological element in it. The majority of roast dinners I’ve eaten have been with family which leads to an attribution between the two. Technically speaking, I am conditioned to eat roast with family. This might explain why I don’t like it at university.

Big respect for my Granny's roasts!

So, isn’t it ultimately up to me to ‘get over it’ and just enjoy a roast dinner away from home? Surely it’s only a minor detail upon my life – I don’t wake up in the middle of the night in cold sweat thinking about roast dinners. Well yes, it would be an easy thing to overcome – but would I want to?

Did someone say Roast?!

For all this talk about conditioning and being incapable of cooking it myself, isn’t it possible to take a step back and think, “I prefer eating roasts with my family”. And it’s not only because my mum makes the best roasts, but also because I get to spend time with everyone that I’ve left behind. If I were to eat roasts at university, aren’t I undermining an experience at home which I cherish?

The baby claims his first victim!

Today’s lunch proved to me exactly how much I miss family life away from home. My grandparents came over and we had a great time watching the day’s midday football fixtures. My Granddad still thinks he’s my driving instructor and spent the whole day telling me how to drive to Ipswich and Heathrow – two big trips that I have to undertake in the upcoming week. The meal was also expertly handled by my sister with outstanding Yorkshire puddings. Even Harry had a few bites.

Bathed and ready for bed!

So, with all things considered, I think the things we leave at home aren’t irretrievable – but there are almost certainly things we shouldn’t take away with us.  In the case of roast dinners, I want to make the most of them at home before I start making them myself. 

Happy Easter!

Working Outside the Comfort Zone - Manchester City

Hi, you can find my new article on this link:

http://www.mcfcforum.com/latest-news/30-home-or-away-man-city



Hope you enjoy reading! :)

Jon

Guitar Strings

Whenever we experience the thrill of driving or the excitement of seeing a new film, it’s always accompanied by something that’s significantly less attractive. No matter how much I enjoy driving, I have to wash my car at the end of the day. At the cinema, I could be seeing the film of the decade but there’ll always be people making noise.

Of course, some people enjoy washing their car. Rather than simply sending it through the local car wash or a fiver, they love to soap the bonnet, windows and rims. After a hard hour’s work, they step back to admire their handiwork – cue the generic sigh.

Unfortunately, I’m the complete opposite. I don’t always see the logic in knuckling down, washing the car and putting in the effort. The car wash is there for a reason, regardless of the weather! But is this really how we should live? In Kazuo Ishiguro’s book, Remains of the Day, it is said: "The evening's the best part of the day. You've done your day's work. Now you can put your feet up and enjoy it." Therefore, it’s inherently wrong to put pleasure before pain, but why?

When I started playing guitar six years ago, I had no idea how to change the strings. Whenever one broke, which it eventually did considering how hard I battered the guitars, I took it to the local guitar shop and had it repaired. It cost me ten pounds in total, an extra fiver on top of the strings. Of course, I was young and this was a price to pay for my novice experience.

However, money soon stacked up. Because I was neglecting effort on my part – I wasn’t bothering to learn how to resting my guitar – it cost double the amount of money. Needless to say, three years later when I realised how much money I was wasting, I quickly learnt how to do it!

So what am I getting at? As I said, it’s wrong to put pleasure in front of pain. In this case, I was being lazy and paying the guitar store instead of putting in the effort myself. How many times in our lives do we neglect hard work for simple pleasure? Whether it’s not doing the coursework now and leaving it till later, or not giving up smoking and saying we have the rest of our lives to deal with that. This isn’t true.

We cannot afford to rest on our laurels and worry about it later. We need to take responsibility and put in the hours. Only then can we relax.

I know that when I next look outside the window and see a dirty car, I’m going to be one of those guys who enjoy washing it. Afterwards, I can drive with pride, in the knowledge that not only did I save money, I accomplished something for myself through hard work and effort. 

Wetherspoons

Last night, I went with a couple of friends to our local, Wetherspoons. We chilled out, had a few drinks then went home. It seemed quite a shock to come from the mass drinking culture at university to Wetherspoons, a humble location in comparison. Overall, it was a good night – but one thing took me by surprise. I got asked for ID. In Leicester, I rarely produce my driving licence. In fact, it made me think of when I turned eighteen.

Can you remember when you bought your first beer? And not just over the counter in a Tesco, but your first time in a pub? I’m sure lots of people reflect back and recall a distant summer in a Cornish pub (possibly in Devon). Surrounding by family and friends, they sipped upon a cool cider, revelling in the picturesque backdrop.

I turned eighteen in February, in a boarding school. With a couple of mates, I snuck out after nine to the local pub, careful to avoid patrolling teachers. We were met by silence at the pub – it was a Monday in Warminster.  No worries, great atmosphere! I ordered a pint at the bar. What brand? I looked at the nearest tap. I’ll have a Guinness - rookie mistake. Oh, and sure here’s my ID. The barman handed it back without a word. I hesitated. Did you notice it’s my birthday today? He grunted in reply. It was a pretty poor Guinness and I haven’t ordered one since.

Okay, so my first pint was pretty anti climatic. It wasn’t perfect – but not many things are. Indeed, when we try something for the first time, it’s rarely ever that great. Whether it’s the experience, the feeling or the after effect, it’s never quite ideal. Whether it’s when we try a new dish for the first time or read a new book, it might taste or feel awkward, but it will get better if we stick with it.

When I started playing guitar, I was awful. Not only could I barely play a decent chord, I got calluses on my fingers. It was easy to get disillusioned, but I stuck with it. Four years later, I passed my Grade Eight Guitar with a merit – the tips of my fingers are rock.

In this sense, I believe I’ve matured at least a little bit. My first pint at eighteen was awkward, my subsequent ones at university were indulgent and almost regretful at times – how did I approach drinking last night? As stated, we had a quiet evening with a pint. When asked for ID, I didn’t rebuke them but accepted it as part of their job. I didn’t feel the need to stay out longer than I did. Admittedly, the odds were against us – a night out in Salisbury is bad by any measure, on a Tuesday it is categorically poor. But the point is that I can now approach drinking differently, in a more mature way. 

It’s not until after the pain or hangover that we realise the value of something, but it’s equally important that we break through the initial barriers and obstacles to achieve something. 

Elizabeth Gardens

The River Avon runs through Salisbury, dividing the city into two. You can walk alongside its banks from Wetherspoons Pub, where men and women in sip coffee, read the papers and smoke in the April morning air. Down the path, one man sits on a bench and observes the southern flow of the river. On Crane Bridge Road, a small art shop, acts as a warden to the 7am traffic. The commuters saunter by to open up their shops.

But further downstream, the river is flanked by Elizabeth Gardens. Fishing is allowed, but only through permission – a steel sign nailed to a tree says so. No one is fishing at this time. Only I walk down the riverside path. It’s not the first time I’ve been down here either.

I remember when I came to the Gardens four years ago. Fifteen and reckless, I sat around with friends experimenting. We smoked our first cigarettes. I can remember buying them for the first time – Mayfair, ten pack. We didn’t even inhale the smoke, just circled it around in our mouths and pretended. For a month we did this, until one day we coughed and hesitated. Four years later, I stopped smoking.  

We binged for the first time – cider and vodka. One evening, I stumbled home drunk and couldn’t afford a bus home. I look back and realise, I had plenty of money.

I follow the river to the point where it splits and meets open fields. Mallard ducklings climb onto dry land, hassled by their mother who rounds up the group. They crawl over to a willow tree and search for breadcrumbs. The cathedral rises above in the distance like a lighthouse. It directs you from the Plains towards the city centre.

I walk on through the gardens – Salisbury gradually begins to awaken. Tourists brave the morning and explore; a teacher wastes times with her pupils before a visit to Stonehenge. Builders swarm around a playground preparing sacks of concrete mix. I’ve been to this playground before. My dad and I took my step-brother there once. Only a year old, he loved playing on the slides and seesaws. We hoisted him onto the monkey bars and carried him on our shoulders. Now, the gates are locked and the apparatus has been torn down.

In science, the second law of thermodynamics is the only quantity to suggest a particular direction of progress: entropy, the arrow of time, an egg timer and sand. The playground is in a process of change – the cathedral looms in the background surrounded by scaffolding. When will the thirteenth century foundations begin to crumble? The Avon entrenches its banks, reaches for the path and benches. It gradually peaks and starts to shrink.

With no water, the mother duck wanders down the path towards the city centre. Her children lead the way.

Snooker

So recently I’ve become really interested in snooker. Since going to university in September, I’ve started playing pool - I’m nothing special and get beaten most of the time. Although I can be competitive, I enjoy the banter and drinking more than anything. I even had a few games with my dad last Christmas. But when I started watching this year’s Snooker World Championship on TV, I knew things were going slightly awry.

Me 'playing' pool

Unlike football, snooker’s not really that exciting – or at least to me it isn’t. With football it’s hard not to cheer on a side, even when it’s not your team playing. The main difference is passion. We see passion and commitment in the players, managers and supporters. Whether it’s Stoke City making it to the FA Cup Finals, Brighton and Hove Albion getting promoted or a Sheikh investing in a new team, passion is literally what makes football work.

Brighton and Hove Albion and their passion

Today, Arsenal played Liverpool in a 1-1 draw with two penalties in extra time. Arsenal manager, Wenger, complained to his counterpart, Kenny Dalglish, who told him to ‘piss off’. This may be a negative example of ‘passion’, but it certainly makes for compulsive viewing. Although considerably ‘downmarket’, we all like to see players get angry – just as much as we like to see them win.

Piss off, Wenger

On the other hand, when I watch Higgins, Williams or Hendry play, I’m confident that with every shot, they’ll pocket the ball. The systematic precision these snooker players bring to the table actually makes the game less exciting. It’s impossible to be an underdog when the difference between players is superficial – this year, defending champion Neil Robertson was felled by Judd trump in the first round.

On the topic of passion, snooker players rarely cheer, get angry or even smile. How can I empathise with these players when they look indifferent and bored? Sure, when they get a 147 they cheer, but then again they do win a hefty prize. Footballer Jack Wilshere posted a picture of himself kissing his team’s badge on Twitter. When will we ever see Ding Junhui kissing his carefully ironed waistcoat? Football supporters stand on edge and shout throughout the match – snooker supporters sit in silence and get told off for eating sweets.

An example of a passionate snooker referee

But still I find snooker interesting – and yes, it is because of passion. Unlike football, I believe passion in snooker is more withdrawn and understated. Around the table, a calm respect is observed by all involved; from a player waiting patiently for his turn to the silk gloves of the referee. Of course all the players are unlikely to miss their shot, but you must respect the time and dedication it took them to reach that standard of playing. Not only that, you have to respect their fortitude and measurement throughout the match. Unlike footballers, snooker players don’t break a sweat, even if they’re one frame away from losing. I believe snooker players uphold a huge degree of dignity in their game. It’s impossible not to appreciate that. 

Semi Final

16 April 2011, the Poznan will be remembered in Wembley history – and not because of the Polish football team. A 1-0 win over Manchester United secured Manchester City’s place in the FA Cup finals. Facing off against either Bolton or Stoke City, it will be Man City’s first chance to win the tournament since a 3-2 loss to Tottenham in 1981. Almost 90,000 fans watched the semi final – the blue half envied by every City fan across the country.

I believe City’s placement in the FA Cup final isn’t the true victory – triumphing over cross-city rivals, Manchester United, is just as vital a win. And this isn’t just because the two teams are bitter rivals. United are a leading European team and represent far more than a local derby. Indeed, I believe City are making a huge statement by winning – we are future champions and we’ve left the past behind. Manchester City has proved to Europe it is a force to be reckoned with.

Going into the match, I was extremely worried. I believe City plays as a different team without its captain, Carlos Tevez. I have previously championed him to be PFA Player of the year and it’s no secret that he’s the main driving force behind the team. How could I be so wrong? Every player on Saturday performed at 100%. £200,000 a week Yaya Toure snatched a goal through ambitious and determined play. Adam Johnson and David Silva added flair. Vincent Kompany and Joleon Lescott held a solid centre line throughout the game. Even Mario Balotelli held up the ball decently and forced a magnificent save from van der Sar.

But what does this mean to me? I see this win as City’s ‘coming of age’ game. I can’t help but see comparisons between me and University. I’ve made it through the first year with grades I can be proud of. I’m extremely motivated to do well in the upcoming two years and I’ve enjoyed myself. Manchester City has done the hard bit of settling into their new surroundings and wealth – now they have to push through and win silverware. Trophies can be gained in May, but also next season. Both Manchester City and I have an extremely valuable opportunity to succeed – and it would be disastrous to waste it.

Admittedly, this might be a bit grandiose and exaggerated, but the fact we must take all opportunities when given to us rings true. Of course, it would be wrong to be Machiavellian about it – you need to hold back sometimes. I believe City should hold back on the big money spending for a bit and stop trying to buy success. With University, it would be wrong to dive into work and not enjoy life around me. But there is no point in sitting still all the time and letting chances pass before you. It may be a clichéd saying – but life isn’t a dress rehearsal. Manchester City need to approach the match next May with vigour, enthusiasm and confidence. We’ve made a statement, it’s time to back it up with silver evidence. 

Anokaa Restaurant

Indian food has been enjoyed in our family for generations – my sister and I were practically brought up on it. We would be surprised if my nephew, Harry, didn’t have a curry before his birthday in June, though we’ll be holding back on the Lamb Madras for a while.

To celebrate Leonie’s birthday, we went to a local restaurant in Salisbury called the Anokaa. Although my family have always gone to a different restaurant in Salisbury, my sister and I prefer the Anokaa. It’s newer, more people go there and the food is considerably better. I’m also convinced they give you more papadums – a definite plus when you get mango chutney on the side.

Balloons and Jacks

We had a great dinner highlighted by the appearance of the magician, Matt Daniel-Baker, at our table who performed some tricks for us. I’m always amazed whenever I see the big names on TV pull of big stage tricks. I’ve also seen Derren Brown live in Bournemouth, but nothing compares to when it’s performed right in front of you. Daniel-Baker was friendly, funny and, most importantly, amazingly good at his job. It’s no surprise, then, that he’s performed in front of big names such as Barack Obama and Victoria Beckham.

Leonie being amazed!

But our meal out made me think of a few things – like the tricks we saw that night, the power of family tradition is both elusive and astounding. Just because generations do something before us, why should we do always do it? This conservative attitude is prevalent in all English families, and is exemplified in the elaborate decorum of the Royal family.

At a glance, it seems that the Royal family often dominates England. From William and Kate’s upcoming wedding and it’s control over the headlines to when over a million people lined London roads in memory of Diana, Princess of Wales. The procession lasted four miles – an estimated two and half billion people watched the funeral on TV – the whole country froze in silence.

Procession of Princess Diana

I was too young to realise what had happened, or understand the importance of the occasion, but respect for the Royal family has been ingrained upon the nation consciousness. I believe family traditions on par with the Royal family are evident in all families of England.

Admittedly, my sister and I prefer the Anokaa to the traditional family restaurant, but this isn’t just because it has better food, as mentioned before. We would never have made the switch had we not known the owner. The reason we know him is because he used to be a waiter in the traditional family Indian restaurant. My sister and I have known him for as long as we can remember. But why is this relevant to family traditions?

The waiter was the son of the traditional restaurant’s owner. In other words, that waiter branched off from his father to start a new business literally less than a mile down the road. In a way, isn’t our preference of the Anokaa parallel to the waiter’s choice to start up anew? I believe that although family tradition is significantly conservative, it also breeds new ideas and ultimately encourages progress.  

Southampton

It’s amazing how many memories can be associated with one place. But unlike Warminster, which I visited every day for school, Southampton was only visited occasionally. Is it that infrequent visits produce more poignant memories?

I used to travel to Southampton quite often with my cousin, James, five years ago. We were young and our main aspiration was to be skateboarders. Although I’d like to say we were amazing – we weren’t. At best we were average and, in fact, we spent most of our time chatting and lying around in the sun. , That said, I could pull off a decent heelflip.  But it was no surprise I kept a precautionary second profession. Being a famous guitarist was always an available option should skateboarding fail.

Dropping in at the deep end.

However, the difference between my cousin and I is a striking memory for me and still is. In skateboarding, to skate in from the top of a half pipe to the bottom is known as ‘dropping in’. Throughout three years of skating, I could never accomplish this actually quite basic skill. Even from a drop of about four feet, it was still a daunting task. I believe it was the risk of being hurt – I wasn’t prepared to be hurt to achieve my goal. But my cousin was. James was a significantly better skateboarder than I.

So I worked hard to try and overcome my fear. I remember spending five hours at a half pipe near where I lived simply rolling up and down the sides, trying to psyche myself up for the fall. Not once did I 

actually try it.

And I regret not trying it. I wasn’t prepared to take the risk, and I was worse off because of it.

Would you take the risk?

Although I’ve used an example in the past that obviously didn’t have a huge effect on me (I’ve become neither a professional skateboarder nor a famous guitarist), taking risks is an extremely important part in our lives. Risks add excitement to our lives – jumping onto a train that’s just about to leave or driving at 80mph in a 60. But they can also be beneficial – we can speak out in class when we usually would have stayed quiet. We can experiment with our work and try to produce something completely new.

e e cummings was infamous for his experimentation with poetry

When I write poetry, I often take inspiration from famous poems that have already been published. But when drafting it, I try to experiment with form and language – I try to create something I’ve never seen before. If I don’t take risks with my work, then I will never know if it works. I will be no better off than if I had simply stuck with what I’d seen before.

With skateboarding, as I said, I regret not even trying. But how many other times has this happened? Rather than staying at home, we could have taken a risk, joined a society at University and met new people. Personally, I know that taking risks is something I’ve strived to do at University, and it’s certainly paid off. 

Wagamama

Etiquette at restaurants is often held in high esteem, but how far can you push social boundaries? Today, I almost crossed the line between ‘pushing the limits’ and just being plain rude.

Leonie came down to visit me for a couple of days from Ipswich and we spent the majority of the day in Salisbury. For lunch, we decided to go to Wagamama. We occasionally go there in Leicester and regard it as a restaurant where we can order and eat with minimum hassle. Two cokes, two chicken katsu curries, no desserts and ‘sayonara’.

But today, I decided to be a bit adventurous. One of my favourite parts of the curry is the salad, so I decided to order salad and sesame chicken. It was risky, but highly recommended by my sister’s partner. We sat there chatting and eagerly awaiting our meals. Mine came earlier than Leonie’s.

It had nuts. Okay, I don’t regard myself as particularly fussy with food, but nuts are one of my pet hates. It could be the sandpaper flavour or that crunchy warm texture. I started picking them out one my one, but this was clearly a futile task. Leonie sighed – I’m sure she edged slightly away from me.

When her Katsu came I had to grab the waitress and make a quick excuse. It’s not one of my proudest moments, but I claimed I had an allergy to ‘big nuts’. She paused. She went to get the manager. Leonie looked away. The manager came and the situation was quickly ‘diffused’ and I managed to get away with a chicken katsu five minutes later. Although I started to enjoy it, it felt dirty – like blood money.

But jokes aside, it’s strange how you can become so attached to a seemingly unimportant place. Indeed, I don’t think I would have been so rude as to ask for a new meal for the fact that they know me - I’ve always been to the Salisbury Wagamama since it set up. I’ve often gone there with my sister when I’ve come down from Leicester. It gives us a good opportunity to catch up – and for me to hear the latest gossip on my dad. My sister is also a devout fan of the chicken katsu curry.

But this attachment also applies to other places. I choose to buy my morning paper from my nearby Spar, rather than the one on University campus. This isn’t just because of the friendly staff or the proximity – it extends to routine. How can I be so sure? I am less likely to buy a newspaper down in Salisbury than in Leicester – in fact, I rarely buy a paper in the South. It sounds petty, but routine really does have a strong impact on everyone – and I’m the least OCD of people.

But ultimately, what I think matters, is that we must take risks and try things different all the time. It might feel wrong, but you’ll never know what that dish tastes like until you order it. Today I was ignorant of what was actually on the menu, but if I never experimented a little bit with what I ordered, I would have just had the usual and not know any better. Although I didn’t like the dish, I’m glad I took the risk. 

Rigidity or Versatility?

My new article has just been published on Ultimate Guitar.

Although directed at guitar players, it's principles of practice also apply to areas such as revision, training etc.

Hope you enjoy it and find it useful :)

http://www.ultimate-guitar.com/columns/general_music/practice_-_rigidity_or_versatility.html

A360 and B390

From March last year, I would travel the same route to school every day. When the summer of 2010 peaked, bombing across the Salisbury Plains in a ’96 Renault Clio became something of a guilty pleasure. I would wear sunglasses and wind down the windows manually even if the weather really wasn’t that nice. Fitting proper speakers into the car was also a problem, but it never stopped me blasting out gangster rap when speeding through remote Wiltshire villages.  25 miles and 40 minutes of tinny music and bad shades – it was obvious, I was living the dream.

Yesterday, I took exactly the same route to school and noticed something different. Although I did wear sunglasses and played music, it wasn’t quite as loud and speed limits were adhered to. Instead of ignorantly cruising through Shrewton and Chitterne, I paid attention to exactly where I was driving through. This was fortunate as through one village a pair of policemen stood trying to catch speeding drivers, but this isn’t the point. Did my new found respect for the old route help me reflect on times of old?

Because I went to Warminster School for four years, I wasn’t the only one taking this route. I remember the many times my mum offered to ferry me back and forth across the Plains.  I remember when my Granddad picked me up once after school in the middle of a storm. On the way back, his windscreen wipers stopped working – I remember leaning out of the window the entire way trying to get a better view – we got home safely, but I had a cold for weeks. I remember when my mum drove me and a friend to the Year 11 Summer Ball of 2008. It was the first time either of us had worn proper dinner jackets and we both had no idea how to do a bowtie.

Of course, memories from the journey aren’t limited to before I drove it myself. There was many a time when I drove behind a friend racing him back to Salisbury. He also had a Renault Clio and an equally reckless disregard for road safety. We were lucky to never have gotten caught, or at worst, crashed the cars.

But this journey represents something much more than memories for me. It took me four attempts to pass my driving test in 2009, but when I eventually passed in December, it symbolised a milestone for me. It was the first step to independence. The feeling of being able to drive wherever you wanted and the thrill of freedom was palpable.

It is this that made me act in such an ignorant manner a year ago. I wasn’t driving a Renault Clio, it felt like a Ferrari. Sunglasses blurred my identity – I was anonymous and could go anywhere. Do anything. In retrospect, driving to school was almost as satisfying as being at school itself. Yesterday, driving along that route allowed me to feel that thrill again. 

Leicester Streets

She translated the Spanish suburbia:

rooftops, balconies and sunbeds

sleeping under an October sun.

She told me of Plaza de Toros de Las Ventas

where bulls are trapped and slaughtered

among the veins and channels of Spain’s heart.

I would tell her of Salisbury’s spire and how

“we can make it to the top any day.

We can last longer than those stones on the Plains.”

A Neolithic burial ground

 where around it tourists watch

as the Territorial fight in the distance.

Yet here, only rain filtered

through streetlights on Leicester streets

and Volvos speeding in the torrent can be seen.

Like an encierro, they charge

at the pulsing of red traffic lights

before an estocada is granted to the sound of applause.  

This is the poem I wrote previously. It felt fitting to put it in after the blog post about Stonehenge. I hope you enjoy it! :)

Duality

Whenever I write prose, I always aim to contrast two themes against each other. I believe this gives the text a fresh level of meaning that goes beyond what the plot merely states. To every Jekyll, there is a mister Hyde – but duality is also relevant to real life. Who would have thought that doctor from Great Ormond Street hospital would face allegations for child abuse? Heart specialist Phillip Bonhoeffer’s case was dropped last week owing to a legal loophole. Duality presents the reader with a new dimension that, most importantly, makes the story authentic.

The reason for this is obvious – nothing in life is perfect. We approach everything in life with a degree of ambivalence. On one level, with everything we do, we have to make a decision: Should I get up or have a lie in? Wear these clothes or not? Wash the dishes now or do it later? But it goes deeper than this.

Whenever we have a great day and reflect upon it, it’s never truly one hundred percent perfect. I remember spending time with my dad in Athens. We would argue on the beach, but would soon get over it and enjoy ourselves playing cards later. In football, you must share the thrill of victory with the occasional loss.

Today, through determination and effort, we managed to make the most of the day that could have turned out very differently.  Only Jess joined me to Stonehenge in weather that shone dully over Salisbury Plains. We got lost in Amesbury and had to navigate through road works to finally arrive. I got out and instantly realised one thing – there were coaches, tourists and cameras, but no dogs. They weren't allowed near the monument. Either I had to see it on my own or we had to move on. For Jess, Stonehenge couldn’t have been further away.

However, we refused to give up go home. We drove on to Warminster where I used to go to school- the weather improved and, on the off chance, managed to meet up with an old mate, James. We enjoyed a walk around the school grounds and a good catch up. It surprised me how much things have changed with people from my old year but mainly, it was good to talk with someone who was in a very similar position to me in life.

In retrospect, I feel annoyed because I almost gave up early on in the day. But I moved on and had a memorable day out. It has proven to me how life is equally measured in good and bad.

This evening, Manchester City lost to Liverpool in a three goal rout. City didn’t turn up and suffered from complacency throughout the match. Upon being substituted, James Milner threw a tantrum at blues manager, Roberto Mancini. Next Saturday, City play in a season defining match at Wembley in the FA Cup semi-final against Manchester United. As with me today, I believe that City need to move on and work even harder towards their goal. Eventually, they will achieve it through determination and hard work. In such a high stakes match, they must never give up, even if the odds are stacked against them. 

Should Tevez be Player of the Year?

Hi everyone.

A feature I've written has just been published on a MCFC forum. It would be great if everyone had a look.

http://www.mcfcforum.com/latest-news/21-pfa-player-of-the-year

I hope you enjoy the read! :)

Jon

Moors Valley Country Park

What do a Bloody Mary, canned fish and moist river sand all have in common? They are all meant to supposedly cure a hangover. Okay, canned fish has plenty of minerals and a Bloody Mary has tomatoes and celery, but why ‘moist river sand’? In Ireland, it is said that burying a drunk up to the neck in mud will cure them. I cannot fault their logic.

"I don't want to be buried in moist river sand!"

I find the best way to get over the night before is to wake up and get on with things. Charlie Sheen admitted to being drunk when filming the majority of the film, Wall Street. He said: “I'd begun drinking all the time. We shot in New York City, so I'd be out to the bars every night till 3 or 4 a.m., then try to show up for a 6 a.m. call to stand toe-to-toe with Michael Douglas and handle 50% of a scene.” Wall Street went on to make $43.8million dollars in Northern America alone – not bad for a guy that acted when drunk. The Charlie Sheen of today, however, has been in rehab three times but still isn’t afraid of relapsing – how did he cure himself? “I blinked and I cured my brain, that's how.”

Waking up with a hangover is significantly different than overdosing but the same principle applies. This morning I decided to get over my hangover with a trip to Moors Valley Park with my sister, her partner and their son. To get to the Park, (which is about ten miles north of Bournemouth) we went by car and travelled through the New Forest. This meant driving through the network of country roads, bypassing remote Dorset villages and towns: Alderholt, Fordingbridge, Downton.

A brook in Moors Valley

At the Park, it was great to walk around Moors Lake and down small paths to the woodland area. Harry, who celebrates his first birthday in June, seemed to like the sun more than the ‘grown ups’ did. He would throw off his sunhat every five minutes; we would try and stay in the shade underneath Dogwoods and Maples. Jess was, as far as I could tell, indifferent towards the weather.

Richie, Steph and Harry

Overall, it gave me the chance to recover and reflect upon how things are in the South as well as spend time with my family. It’s the small things like returning home and eating my first roast since the Christmas holidays that make you realise how much you miss things. But not in a sad way – I never regret moving to University. Spending time with family instils you with a nostalgic sense of pride.

Moors Lake

Tomorrow, we are all visiting Stonehenge – a place I would pass on my journey to school every day. It’s been a year since I’ve seen the Salisbury Plains so I’m quite excited. In fact, both the Plains and Stonehenge have crept into one of my poems at University – I achieved three percent under a first. 

Most importantly though, Stonehenge means I can spend time with my family. 

I can't wait for my next trip with Uncle Jon!

School Trip

 When I was doing my History GCSE at school, we went on a trip to Old Sarum. The justification for going on a trip to an Iron Age hill fort was to gather evidence and facts for a five hundred word essay. In the summer of 2006, we were just glad to have a day off our ‘strenuous’ activities at school, and that was exactly how we perceived things. We lazed around chatting and eventually wandered into Salisbury to look round the shops. Although I did get a high grade on that assessment, I couldn’t help 
but think how things could’ve been different.

Entrance to Old Sarum

This morning, I went back to Old Sarum to take Jess for a walk and thought exactly the same thing. I thought about what a waste that trip had been. There was the aspect of not actually appreciating an ancient place like Old Sarum for what it really is - an impressive testimony to our ancestors’ survival instincts. The Iron Age fort was built around 500 BC near safe supplies of water, it is high up and the neighbouring land could be easily farmed. Hunters and farmers had exploited this since Neolithic times in 3000 BC.

However, it is also a place of astonishing natural beauty – like the trip six years ago Salisbury is 18 degrees, sunny and clear. From the top of the hill, it is possible to see far over the Wiltshire landscape. Jess and I loved exploring the remains of the first cathedral of Salisbury, demolished in 1219 and wandering around its perimeter. Five years ago, I didn’t notice any of this. I was too busy concentrating on matters of inconsequence such as who was doing what at school, where we should 

go to in town.

Exploring ruins

In regards to things I regret in life, it’s not a main worry because I still passed with a high grade and I have the opportunity to return whenever I want. However, it is reflective on the way things were back then and how easy it is to ignore the significance of my past attitude. Indeed, when else did I choose to not do something when it could really have benefitted me? Revision, attention in class and social mistakes are all things that have ultimately affected who I am now.

So, how should I counteract this now? If I had paid more attention, I could have ended up with a higher grade and have advanced my perspective on things. Therefore, if I apply this past mistake to ‘now’ and learn from it, it’s telling me a very important lesson - I should always pay attention as it will always benefit me.  

In going to Old Sarum today, it’s taught me to look at things in a slightly new way, especially in reflection. But, in saying that, I did enjoy the walk with Jess and will return later in the week to go 

around the palace remains, take notes and hopefully write a short story about it. 

Jess shattered after a long walk

Salisbury

When people often think about university, they often think about cuts, student protests and Nick Clegg. I go to De Montfort University in Leicester and so far there has been no official word on if the yearly tuition fee will rise. Similar ‘new universities such as Oxford Brookes have just announced the increase to £9,000.  I study Journalism and Creative Writing and aspire to be a journalist in the future –will cuts have an impact on me? Absolutely, but should I be worrying about it now? Not necessarily and, in fact, when I think of University, politics rarely crosses my mind.

I think about the many things I have learnt over the past six months and how they’ve enriched me as a person – the philosophy of identity, going out in Leicester to report for the first time. I remember all the unique people I have met and how I’m looking forward to seeing them again – nights out, banter, my girlfriend. I remember trying to motivate myself to finish an essay the night before, but also the satisfaction at getting a first on a football report. My proudest moment was finding out a prose I had written was going to be published in a young writer’s magazine.

Now I have returned to the South for the Easter holidays, it might be time to reflect on the year and kick back. Instead, I find myself thinking exactly the opposite – how can I make the most of my time off? Salisbury holds plenty of opportunity and inspiration for writing with historic places such as Old Sarum, Stonehenge and Salisbury Cathedral. There’s also surrounding villages to get lost in and write about. I can also increase my online presence from home with my time off by writing articles and blogs.

However, because of my absence from a place I regard as home, I have been yearning to do things I haven’t done in a while – go to places to such as my old school, meet people I’ve lost contact with and even do old chores I haven’t done in a while like washing the car. This might be attributable to conditioning i.e. this is what I’ve done at home before and I want to redo them because it’ll make me feel more secure. It could be true, but I want to look about it in a different way.

I want to feel as if I am rediscovering Salisbury. I can look at things in terms of how it can be used for my prose, but it goes deeper than that. Because my identity has changed significantly since going to university, it is possible to look on things in a new light and reflect it onto the new me. How does the new Jon Margetts perceive things, how has he changed? I think therefore, my journey back to Salisbury and the next few months are a chance to rediscover not only who I am, but the person I once was and might have forgotten.