Face the Truth

Here are some more faces to add to the ‘Things That Look Like Faces’ project.

Face 10. This is the corner of my parents’ dinner plater holder thing. It’s a complete face, with hair and everything! I think it’s my favourite. It looks a bit like the character that used to advertise Sprite.

Face 11. This is a cheeky little face on the back of a Nintendo Wii controller. It seemed to be saying to me: “You are rubbish at MarioCart, dude”.

Face 12. This face seems happy enough. He’s perched on the bottom of Jon’s coffee making machine.

Face 13. Want to make a toasted sandwich? Well, first you have to get past this evil looking chap. He looks like he might bite your hand off!

Face 14. Another door in Tunbridge Wells. What is it with doors around here? Do theymake them look like faces on purpose?

Face 15. The top of Jon’s coffee making machine. Look at his cheeky little mouth. He looks like he’s just enjoyed a skinny latte.

Face 16. Owen’s cooker, looking inviting and friendly, in a kind of Tim-nice-but-dim way.

Face 17. The bottom of a Waitrose own-brand toilet roll batch. It looks like an old man with big, bushy eyebrows.

Face 18. The top of my reporter’s notepad. I’ve cheated a little but drawing in the nose and mouth but it’s still good, right?

Face 19. This sorry looking face was staring back at me on my flight to Barcelona. We became friends. Muy Bien!

Face 20. This surprised face is on the side of a house in Sevenoaks. I wonder what makes him look so shocked?

America countdown…72 days to go

There are just over two months left until I leave for America. To compensate for the wait I’ve been gorging on old photos and stories, so here are a few to keep you busy before I leave.

Photo 1 – Montana.

The moment we got to Montana in July 2006 Jordan, the dad of the family, grabbed me. “Thank God,” he said. “Finally someone who might be able to beat Sam at Hit the Stop Sign.”

Sam was his 7-year-old son who was a mightily talented soccer player. Jordan, despite lots of effort, was not. The two often took each other on in their homemade game: Hit The Stop Sign with a Soccer Ball.

The stop sign was on their front lawn and Sam was reigning champion. Jordan had never beaten him. But now we were here Jordan was hoping Sam’s reign may end. All the pressure was on our shoulders.

I stepped up first out of the three of us coaches. I always considered passing to be my best (and only) strength on the soccer pitch, but now it was really under scrutiny. Hit the sign and I was an instant hero. Miss and I was a fraud.

Ten yards. That’s all it was. Ten yards to a square foot of space. Easy, right?

I positioned myself behind the ball. Like a golfer about to try and chip onto the green at Augusta, with the Masters in his sight.

Right foot back, sweep through. Ping. The ball flew towards the sign. Like an arrow. SMACK! Bullseye.

Jordan erupted. I arrogantly waved to the immaginary crowd. Sam begrudingly shook my hand. It was going to be good week.

Widespread Problems

Surprises are nice, aren’t they?

Material surprises, like presents are lovely. And phsyical presents, like someone turning up to your house or a surprise party are great.

But just the simple act of someone letting you know you are liked is almost the greatest surprise of all.

Today was my last day at the newspaper. It started with a probably-pointless exit interview, where I had to give my opinion on a range of company matters now I was departing.

I made a point of making sure the people who somehow helped to carve me into a half-decent reporter got the recognition they deserved. God knows they do because I haven’t exactly been the most compliant employee, but I’ve still improved  a hell of a lot since I joined.

It seems like years (well, it is. Two in fact) since I started as a trainee reporter, fresh from university, with no qualifications and a will to impress. I leave as a trainee (still), with seven out of nine qualifications, a threat of a £250,000 writ and keen to do something else.

I also took the chance to criticse the company’s failure to get information spread to those on the ground, the reporters. They always seemed to be the last to know. Especially now, where all jobs are up in the air. For the work they do, they desrve to be kept in the loop.

The last question in the interview was “would you consider re-joining the company in the future?”. I was in a rich vein of truthfulness so put “maybe”, but after a few minutes of reflection realised that I might need a job sometime down the line so changed my answer to “yes”.

Then, when I got back to the office, I was presented with my leaving presents. That wasn’t the surprise, because I was half-expecting them, but the amount of effort that had gone into them blew me away.

It is tradition in print journalism that when a reporter leaves the paper, a mock-up front page of the paper is presented to them with memories from their time at the company. I got two pages because there were too many stories of my stupidty. It was both flattering and embarrasing at the same time.

*The ‘Widespead Problems’ headline refers to one of these stories. I re-took my driving test, hypothetically, for a feature for the paper, alongside three members of the public. We all failed and I was told by the instructor I had “widespread problems”. My colleagues have never let me forget that.

Everyone had really put a lot of effort into it, not least Kirsty, and it was lovely. I also got a leaving gift of £60, which everyone had donated towards. £60! Amazing! How kind.

And so brings to an end my last day at the paper. While one edition is closed, another opens.*

Wow, that was a really crap ending wasn’t it? Apologies.

So, to summer…

It’s going to be a good summer.

Last Sunday I organised a kick around at the park in Tunbridge Wells. A dozen or so people showed an interest, which is more than enough for a decent small sided game.

Two of us turned up. And neither of us had a football.

While we were sitting on the park bench, football boots in hand, wondering what to do a young chap ran over from the other side of the park towards us. Behind him about 15 adults and kids were setting up two plastic goals for a small game.

“Do you guys want to join in?” he said.

“Yeah!” we replied as well as “phew” under our breaths.

It turns out Ben and his friends and family have been turning up at the Tunbriudge Wells common every Sunday at 3.30pm for the past six years for a kick around.

It was really fun. Played in just the right spirit and everyone seemed to be having a good time. Some of the kids were super cute I had great fun generally mucking around and making an idiot of me (which seems to come naturally).

It reminded me of my summers coaching soccer in the States and gave me hope that this summer, when I go back to do it, is going to be a blast.

The Burning House

Computer update – I managed to get in, get my files and get out like a fireman saving a baby from a burning house. I felt very brave. Where’s my Victoria Cross?

Thanks to ubuntu (which sounds like someone sneezing) I’ve saved my important files. I even then copied them onto three DVDs so I’ve got them saved twice. Paranoid? Moi?

I was about to format the hard drive, and install ubuntu as the operating system. I have no idea what the perks are but I thought ’screw it, why not? Computer can’t any worse’. Just as my finger hovered over the ‘install’ button I remembered something. Something I needed to save from the burning house before I tore it down.

My emails. Hundreds of the things. All stored away in Outlook Express. I can’t lose them! There is all sorts of important information stored there – passwords for various sites, friend’s email addresses, links. Damn.

But saving them may not be as easy. Can you just reach in and lift them out?

So now I am trying to figure out how to save them before I wipe the computer again. Man, this computer stuff is hard work. All I want it for is to download music, new episodes of Scrubs, write stuff and upload photos. Is that too much to ask?

Apparantly so.