2004 - My Favourite Year

So we drove to Manchester Airport early today because Stacey had to fly back to the States. 

None of us want her to go obviously. Not me, our son Vince, my family, our friends, relatives and cousins to whom she's cool Aunt Stacey. Just the small fact that because she's not from round here the Government says she's gotta go.  

Vince and I had a good dad & lad day in the North West for a couple of hours afterwards, well as much fun as you can have when your hearts broken into 18,600 pieces and you can't tell your son when his momma is coming back. 

So back to being a jobless temporary single parent for the time being. This does remind me of the last time a year started so inauspiciously, exactly 10 years ago in fact, so indulge me while I recollect how 2004 turned out to be the best year of my life. 

I began the year much like this one bathing in the ashes of personal defeat. I had just come back from a mostly agreeable New Years Eve party with my friends in Bicester that unfortunately, for me, culminated in seeing my former fiance from six months previously snogging her new boyfriend. I went back to our, now my house, and took it out on the less expensive and replaceable kitchen equipment. 

I needed a change of scene and as luck would have it, I was able to join my parents on a trip to Oman, where my dad was working at the time. 10 days of sun, beaches and the secluded silence you only get in the Mountains was as good a place to take stock as any. 

As it turns out the trip was exactly what I needed. A chance to recuperate and take stock, mentally as well as physically. Being able to run at a higher altitude in a higher heat or work out in an air conditioned gym,  catch up on movies at home, eat the finest Indian food I've ever tasted - mainly thanks to the Indian expat community just over the gulf from home - a chance to take in some genuine Arabic culture and catch up on sleep.  

I mean real sleep, I have never slept as deeply or as well as I did in the Desert, going to sleep and waking up naturally, getting over eight hours every night, I felt like Superman waking up every morning. I enjoyed swimming in the sea and could not stop myself from laughing after running on the beach from the hotel and back.  I even had an improtu kickabout with a bunch of expat Iraqis - my 'Beckham 23' shirt helped and proved that despite their being a 'war' on, the beautiful game is the universal language - especially if you're far from home. 

While I was away, I was keeping a close eye on unfolding drama at home. The BBC was awaiting the publication of the Hutton Report so I was due for a busy time back in the Press Office and equally pressing, Middlesbrough were taking a 1-0 lead into the second leg of the League Cup semi-final against 'The Invincible's' Arsenal side that would not lose a league game that season.  

A momentous night at the Riverside Stadium saw the Boro triumph on aggregate and travel to Cardiff for the first time to contest a major Cup final against Bolton Wanderers on the fateful date of February 29th. The whole family went to Wales for the weekend and we enjoyed a tremendous day beforeout and about in the Capital running into friends and familiar faces at every turn. 

Not getting to a major final every season, we decided to do things in a little bit of style and managed to book a Corporate Box for the whole family to watch the game from. The game has been well covered in other places but despite leaking a goal just before half time, the two we had scored in the first 15 minutes saw that 128 years later, Middlesbrough FC had won it's first major trophy and I, and pretty much everyone I loved and cared about, was there to see it. 

The year continued without much negativity or drama and we enjoyed the rarity of a real, warm British summer. I celebrated my 31st birthday in Bicester during the European Championships and despite being ejected from The Litten Tree for being too drunk to speak, a good time was had by all. 

A week later, I started chatting with a bright, sparky, clever and amazingly attractive girl from Atlanta called Stacey - and so it began, although I had to pull out the big guns to keep her interest...

Suddenly my life was transformed and energised even more, by a relationship I wasn't even looking for when it exploded into my life. I still feel that way when I look at her. 

I had been planning to take a trip to the USA later that year anyway but now I had a specific reason to go and a city to visit - Atlanta - for the first time. I've never been so nervous, excited and alive as when I saw Stacey for the first time at Hartsfield Jackson airport. The busiest airport in the world it may be but it still stopped when she spotted me and smiled.  We had a great 10 days together - I've always been an Ameriphile and we hung out, passed the friends test, went to the Baseball and clicked like we'd known each other for years. It was just right. 

I reluctantly headed back to England and reality but we had already made plans for Stacey to spend Christmas with me back in England. In the meantime, I had Middlesbrough's first European adventures to look forward to, starting in with a trip to the Czech Republic and Banik Ostrava. Leaving from Teesside Airport, my brother, Dad and seemingly half of Teesside descended on this Eastern European steel making town and felt decidedly at home with the locals. Boro progressed over both legs but lifelong friendships were made in our twin Steel City

Stacey and I kept on chatting throughout the Autumn and Middlesbrough shrugged off their history of mediocrity, beating the likes of Liverpool, Man City and Villa in the league and in one special evening making Lazio look like a Northern League outfit in the UEFA Cup. 

The year ended with Stacey coming to the UK for the first time and despite the tactical error of taking her to Whitby in December and actually making her cry with the cold, she met my family and friends and actually decided to come back again. And again, and again.

So as I sifted through the broken sugar bowl and spilled milk of the kitchen lino before I had to take a cold shower and drive to work in London that cloudy New Years Day not knowing the filips and fun awaiting me in the year ahead, so we don't know what's round the corner this except for one caveat.  It will be better than last. 

It has to be. 

Happier Birthday

So, it was Vincent and Stacey’s birthday on Friday.  Stacey is still in Atlanta so could only view proceedings virtually but I was determined to put on the best distractions around for Vince.  He was at school on the actual day which was a relief for me as I was able to run around and get all the last minute decorations, cakes and other sundries which of course, I had left to the last minute. 

We had a birthday tea at my mums for him with his cousins Claudia and Lucas and he enjoyed his latest, greatest present – a Wii. Frankly, he would have been just as a delighted if I had downloaded two or three new car racing apps for him on his iPad but then I’d be featured in the Daily Mail as a deadbeat modern dad (married to a foreigner no less), who symbolises everything that’s wrong with our post-modern, techno-obsessed culture – oh and did you know the Daily Mail website is the most popular in the world? Etc.

Saturday saw our traditional Saturday morning swimming session. Here is one area where I can see real improvements in him, he is so confident in the water now and can backstroke and doggy paddle really well.  

He always enjoyed swimming in the community pool at our old subdivision in the States so he is something of a water baby.  Mind you it helps that modern swimming pools are a far cry from the draughty, cold, bare brick Stockton Baths I got my 10m and 25m certificates in.  I never graduated as high as the superior class that got to wear pyjamas and dive to the bottom to retrieve bricks but maybe it’s something Vince can aspire to.

Saturday afternoon came and the big party itself, held at a local funhouse attached to a pub round the corner – so there truly is something for everyone.  After an initial mix-up over the number of seats, the kids had a rocking time, all having to be dragged forcibly from the playhouse to eat their dinners and get their party packs and cakes afterwards.  The number of presents and cards filled the boot of my Mercedes C class, to give you an idea of how many he got, and I seriously considered hiding half of them when we got home to take care of the Xmas shopping but that would be cruel.  

He got 26 cards in all, which is more than I ever got but he’s a cute, charismatic and charming individual, ideally suited to a career in the media or as a cult leader – whichever pays more.

Sunday saw another birthday party on the social circuit for one of his friends and in a charming, generous gesture, gave Vince a present and card for missing his birthday the previous day.  Typical, the only kid I know who can go to somebody else’s birthday party and come away with a massive present and a card (as well as cake and a party bag)!

So he’s six and already wants to know when his next birthday is.  

The most touching part of the weekend was being able to listen in to him skyping with his mum and telling her everything he got up to over the weekend and how much he missed her can couldn’t wait to show her his wii and other new presents. It’s funny how you can be stronger for others than you can for yourself. You just are.

#VinceStrong.

Wedded Bliss

Last week my cousin Ross got married to Karina, his Latvian girlfriend at a small castle just south of Edinburgh, Scotland called Dalhousie.  It was the first time Vince and Stacey had been North of the border and my first time for a while too.

Rail is the most romantic of transportation, that much we know, although lugging two large suitcases onto an East Coast mainline train, trying to find your seat in a busy carriage and get a little boy settled all before you pull out of the station is a bit of a passion killer but this dissipated once we were underway and heading north. The journey itself takes in some beautiful countryside in County Durham, Northumberland and the border country including Durham Cathedral, the Angel of the North, Newcastle and Berwick themselves before running along the East Coast to Edinburgh. In a thoughtful way, the train staff did their best to acclimatize us to Scotland by leaving the air conditioning on so when we got to Edinburgh Waverley, we were literally and figuratively chilled.  Some of the other attendees had spent some time in Edinburgh itself and gone to the Zoo and other attractions but its a hilly city with no real central transport system so the only way to get around is on foot and in this arctic Spring we're having, not one for delicate Southern constitutions to bare.

My dad met us at the station and drove us south to the castle via that rare mix of great Edwardian and Victorian grand buildings and pebble-dashed grey tenament housing.  The Castle itself is set in some beautiful picture book grounds which would tick any spotters guide to Scotland - rugged landscape, wildlife, a stream, battlements.  The rest of the family arrived in dribs and drabs throughout the day and congregated in the added sun lounge which was attached to our room. As superfluous in Scotland as a screen door on a submarine you may think but as one of the few rooms with a TV, we were a destination.  This also meant going out to stock up on other Scottish curios such as Irn Bru for the kids, Sweetheart Stout, my late Nana's favourite drink and a nostalgic tipple for the older drinker and the pear cider that is now so much in vogue. It was also a chance to use up the Scottish bank notes I'd collected since we arrived. They are very colorful and more reminiscent of Euro's than traditional British notes and while they are readily accepted in the North of England, you can run into problems further south despite being perfectly legal currency. Once everybody had caught up we settled down and two became three as Vincent decided our large bed was a better proposition than his camp bed next to us.

We rose the next day to a traditional Scottish cooked breakfast of black pudding, fried mushrooms, sausage, scrambled egg and haggis. Well I did, Stacey looked on aghast as if her husband had become one of The Walking Dead.  After retiring and getting dressed in our wedding gear - simple black suit for me, lovely dress for Stacey and a little suit and shirt outfit for Vincent who spent the rest of the day proclaiming that he looked like a businessman to all and sundry. A piper heralded the couple and we followed them down the staircase into the Chapel. Pipers are one of those things that are fine in theory and far away but the closer the presence the more uncomfortable you are aurally and physically. A bit like a Tom Jones concert.  The Chapel faced the gardens through it's arched stained glass windows and a simple, efficient service was enlivened by a small snow owl flying down and bringing the wings to the best mans' glove. Fortunately he declined to leave his own good luck message on patrons and flew away home.

Everyone hung around, chatting, corralling kids and drinking until the bride and groom re-emerged, Ross now sporting a kilt but still not able to out-glam his new bride. The meal arrived which was also nice Scottish beef before we had the speeches and we had a little time before the evening festivities commenced.  Wedding discos have come on a long way in the past 10 years certainly. Now the DJ can download any track you want which makes for an eclectic playlist of modern Atlanta-based Krunk and RnB to standby wedding classics like YMCA and Karma Chameleon.  We decided to turn in about 9pm, Vince was exhausted and his mum and dad weren't far behind either.

I decided to treat myself to another Scottish staple of scrambled eggs and smoked salmon the next day, again Stacey took the safe cereal option before we drove back leisurely to enjoy what was left of the weekend and to prepare Vince for going back to school and Stacey for going back to the States at the end of the Easter break.

Dispatches from the home front

Welcome to the first Blessay from Britannia - being a collection and journal of the adventures of Mr Guy Bailey back home in his native British Isles after four years abroad in them there United States.

We set off from the gleaming newness of Atlanta's international terminal for our night flight to Amsterdam.  After bidding a tearful farewell for us all to Stacey, who will hopefully follow in a couple of months when we can sort out her Visa.

The flight was one of the better ones we've had, as we both managed to get some sleep. We got to Amsterdam flying low over the gleaming, post-ironic metal offshore windfarms, and the city's famous canal network to my favourite airport in the world.  Clean, efficient, well signposted and with great transport links to and from its home city. An example to all present and future designers.

Vincent always makes a beeline for his own personal marker here, the McDonalds, but as it was lunch and we were there for a couple of hours, I acquiesced. They went quickly enough and we began the last leg of our journey home.  Always delighted when the cabin crew refer to Teesside as opposed to the corporate bastardisation that is Durham/Tees Valley, I spotted another good omen. A feature in the in flight magazine on reimagined album covers had a couple from my old school friend Huw Gwilliam aka @littlepixel. In the same way that a path you are not meant to follow becomes more obstacle strewn and arduous, so a desired one becomes more favourable with positive milestones, physical and literal to illustrate it.

Met by a delighted mum and my auntie Irene, we finally arrived home after 16 hours on the road, ready for sleep.

We didn't get chance to have a longer lie-in because we had an appointment with the headmaster of his new school to show us around and introduce him to English school life.  School has certainly changed in the 24 years since I left - AstroTurf play areas, interactive touchscreens and music labs. Not as far removed from the university I just left.  Vince has already been given the honour of raising the American flag on July 4th after successfully identifying the Welsh flag flying to celebrate St Davids day.  We then came home via the library where Vince announced that he was going to change his name to Mr Topsy Turvey.

As well as reacclimatising to the UK, certain columns of society remain including pneumaticly rude customer service. I certainly won't go to the Doctor's health center to register at lunchtime. Oh no.

Despite struggling with the inevitable jetlag and flared up eczema reactions, I hope you'll stick around for more on vince and I's monumental journey back to the so far sunless North East of the motherland.

We'll try to make it worth your while.