fun – Page 2 – Never Give Up PT

Barley And Me

I like Christmas. Well, I don’t mind it. The enthusiasm has come back a bit since becoming a dad. But every year when December hits and I hear the first dulcet tones of another festive Bublé effort, I strap myself in for the month ahead and hope I don’t lose my mind.

The week between Christmas and the new year hits me the hardest. It doesn’t even have a name. It’s just known as ‘the week between Christmas and New year.’

“Oh, Shay, when shall we have a catch up?”

“I dunno, should I just contact you the week between Christmas and New year?”

It’s like purgatory.

The day after boxing day is when we restock the alcohol, which is incredible really, seeing as we seem to buy the whole stock of a Wetherspoons pub on Christmas eve. This is a Christmas eve tradition as we always believe that the supermarkets are closed forever after Christmas eve when, in fact, they reopen on boxing day.

I need a stiff drink to get over another play of ‘Santa Baby’, so leading up to Christmas is when I start to drink stuff that I wouldn’t think of drinking at any other time of year. Brandy and Irish cream goes in my coffee. Whisky and dry. Jack Daniels. Snowball. I mean, WTF even is that?!

The week between Christmas and new year takes a similar path. We also discovered that many of the locals in rural Portugal have basements dedicated to brewing their own wine. So by the time Antonio had given me his last drop of rocket fuel on new year’s day I was ready to have some time away from alcohol.

A week has passed and I am still in no way ready to drink anything alcoholic.

But there is usually a strange excuse for me to have a little tipple. A birthday, a weekend, a birth or the sunshine. And I sometimes commiserate with a drink too. All it takes is for a soppy movie about a dying dog and out comes the crate of Sagres.

But, for now, it is a dry January. After all, I’m making up for a very wet December.

For now, amigos, take care!

My Name Is…My Name Is (wicky wicky) Shay D.D

For the past couple of years my boys, aged 7 and 10, have been asking me if I know who Rick Astley is. As a child of the 80’s, I certainly do know of Rick Astley. Well, now my kids know of him too. Apparently he has a ‘Rick roll’ dance on the game Fortnite. But Rick seems to be yesterday’s news (or dance) and it is now a craze of Eminem.

Last week Jonas asked me if I knew of Eminem. With a ‘Pffft!’ I answered ‘yes of course!’

You see, back in the early 00’s, I dusted off my old Brian Harvey baggy jeans that I wore during the ‘Stay Now’ days, out came the basketball vests and bubble jacket, I bleached my thinning hair blonde and tried to capture the Marshall Mathers look. There’s nothing that my kids can tell me about Eminem.

Well, they can. Worryingly so.

Jonas is now walking around the house like Harry Enfield’s Kevin from Kevin and Perry quoting songs from Eminem.

It seems like everything that those of a certain age did back in the day to worry their parents is coming back to bite us in the arse. Rick Astley aside, it seems that my kids are beginning to dredge back up all of my most unfortunate memories from being young.

I vaguely remember getting stoned to Family Guy. I could easily get through four seasons without moving from my pit. Low and behold, Peter the ‘Family Guy’ has become a video game character that my kids are obsessed with.

If Mr Tumble brings out a hit song with Marylin Manson then I’ll start to think that the universe has it in for me.

Recently, I’ve begun to realise just how hard it was for my parents. It’s difficult to keep your children away from the latest craze if all of their mates are into it. Doing the right thing is tough. What is the right thing?

Today we bought them both smartphones for Christmas. They’re both too young, I know, but their friends all communicate on WhatsApp and seeing as our boys can no longer see their friends in person, a phone seemed like our only option.

I’m not sure you can ever get it right as a parent. Jonas is obsessed with Eminem now, but how can I allow Jonas to listen to his sweary lyrics?!

Well, luckily there are a few YouTube sites with ‘clean’ versions, but I’m putting a lot of trust in Jonas in keeping to those sites that I have found for him. If he comes out of his bedroom with a hockey mask and a chainsaw, I will know that he has detoured from them.

I was slightly insulted when Jonas asked me if I knew of Eminem. I used to be cool. I could spit some bars with the best of them…

…or maybe not.

But I still know of Eminem!

Truth be told if I had a choice I would much rather listen to Rick Astley’s songs than Eminem these days. I’m more Go West than Kanye. You get what I mean.

But either way, It looks like I’ll have to get to know these rappers all over again.

Remote Control

We’ve stayed in a few different hotels/apartments/caravans over the past ten days and I have found that one of the biggest things I take for granted is the ability to pause and rewind the TV. And because we’re not recording our usual programmes, we can’t fast forward the adverts. First world problems eh?

Last night we missed a bit of dialogue between George Shuttleworth and Todd Grimshaw in Coranation Street. It almost ruined my day.

Ah, the day. VISA appointment day. The missed dialogue on Coranation Street, as disappointed as I was, cannot compare to the trauma of VISA appointment day. It is fair to say that it didn’t go entirely to plan. We realized that, if they eventually accept our application to live and work in Portugal, they won’t be making it easy for us.

By the evening all I wanted to do was watch a bit of TV and hear what the characters had said so that we could follow the story line.

I like soap operas. No matter what sort of day you’ve had you can bet that some poor sod in soap land is going through something worse.

Or are they? I don’t know. I didn’t hear what George and Todd had said. And I couldn’t rewind to find out!

Imagine being able to pause, rewind or fast forward real life. Sometimes I want to pause time so that the kids stop growing up so fast. But then I’m wishing time along at the moment to fast forward past our house sale completion date. And if I could rewind I’d probably go back to our VISA appointment with the correct documents.

But, alas, I can’t.

All I can do is press the play button and try to write the script as I go along. There are some great scenes that I’m creating but I must acknowledge the poor ones too. Even the very best of movies have scenes that aren’t as good, although I struggle to find one in Pulp Fiction. But we can’t all live in a masterpiece. Sometimes, things don’t go to plan.

And when I don’t have the remote control to rewind a vital piece of dialogue in Coranation Street, plans have definitely taken a turn for the worst.

Artic Roll

We provide the kids with packed lunches each day for school. There are a few reasons for this but the main reason is that Lou and I can inspect their lunch boxes at the end of their school day to make sure they’ve been eating enough.

We usually include a sandwich or wrap, crisps, a pepperami stick and vegetable sticks. They do, in case you were wondering, a very good job of eating it all (apart from the occasional sorry looking carrot stick in at the bottom of the bag).

But this morning our youngest, Finlay (6) asked if he could have a school meal next Wednesday. ‘Of course!’ I replied. ‘What’s so special about Wednesday’s meal?’

‘They do ice cream with sponge around it.’ He said.

The memories of my own childhood came flooding back. I remember eating this ice cream wrapped in sponge while watching Hi-Di-Hi every Saturday. This delicious dessert is the arctic roll. Or artic roll as I called it as a kid and probably did up until my 30’s.

I don’t recall many experiences of eating an arctic roll as an adult, but since Finlay reminded me of it all I’ve wanted all day is to eat one!

I had a sweet tooth as a child but rarely eat sweet puddings these days, but I do know that these old skool dinner puds are still available in UK supermarkets. Puddings such as jam roly poly, spotted dick, rice pudding and apple crumble.

I wonder if anyone has any more of their classic favourites that bring back childhood memories? Let me know in the comments!

The Casting Call

So, I’d best get my hair cut to look my very best! We’ve just found out that we will be having an interview with C4’s A New Life In The Sun on Friday. It’s basically a telly box show about people from the UK moving to work and live abroad.

When we applied, we didn’t really expect to hear anything after that. But today we got the message that they want to set up a casting call with Lou and I!

What fun!

And I don’t think I’ve ever been on telly before. Maybe I worked my way into a shot during Challenge Anika in the early 90’s when Anika Rice was doing up a school near where I lived, but I’ve never played the main role!

We have, of course, developed a YouTube channel called The Road To Tranquility which we are yet to film a first episode. After all, although the road has been long for us so far, we haven’t even made it out of the country! So not much to film as yet.

Lou and I have watched and often become inspired by other participants of A New Life In The Sun for years. And although this is a journey that neither of us have ever done before, perhaps if we pass the casting call, we can inspire others too.

Finlay Tries A Snail

It’s been really difficult in the past to get Finlay to try new foods and will usually stick to what he knows and likes, mostly cheddar cheese and milk!

However, we had a breakthrough moment tonight as he tried a snail! In fact he ended up having two and then spat a third one out because it was a bit grainy.

I don’t think we’ll be adding them to the shopping list again though, but at least he attempted something new.

Wonka-Vite!

Finlay, my 7 year old son, is currently enjoying Charlie And The Great Glass Elevator by Roald Dahl. I like that he is now at an age where he can read the books of Roald Dahl as it brings back so many memories for myself as I was also an avid reader of his work as a child.

This particular book, in true Dahl fashion, has the chapter about a pill invented by Wonka that makes you look younger. The Wonka-Vite. Finlay read the chapter with me and announced, “You need one of these pills daddy.”

Oh how brutally honest children can be! “Yes, sometimes I feel like I could do with a Wonka-Vite.” I replied.

It is concerning, however, when manufacturers, advertisers and the media are as brutal as a child when they try to flog their pills and potions. I’m sure that they want us to feel old and fat and insecure because insecure people are often willing to spend money on finding a cure for their insecurities. Almost daily I see an advert or link to a site that sells weight loss tablets.

And these little gadgets in our hands are now the conduit which connects these companies straight to us. These ads know who we are, what we look like, what we search for and what we want. They’re happy to oblige.

Another ad that regularly crops up on my social media feed is the miracle cure for baldness. So if any of you don’t know by now, I’m bald. The interesting thing here though is that they declare that they can ‘cure’ me.

Am I sick? Have I got a disease? Should I tell people to stand two metres apart and wash their hands while singing to Oasis if they accidentally touch my folically challenged smooth head? Is it life threatening? Please, tell me, doctors on my FB page, how long have I got left?!

Kids make the same diagnosis as these ads. Having worked with kids for the past year, I know that they are very keen to point out that I’m bald. I play on this, of course. I’ve been losing my hair for long enough to not care one bit about it. As we get caught in the rain playing football I will suggest that we go back inside so that I don’t get my hair wet. The chorus of kids shouting back at me ‘But you’re bald!!!” will forever amuse me.

And when I ask for a second opinion my own kids confirm the diagnosis of this baldness disease. They’re astute. The future of the NHS is safe.

These pills, potions and magical cures can be very costly. But one thing is free. The ability to love oneself is free and available to everyone. It’s sometimes difficult to find, but it can be found.

If losing weight is a goal then loving yourself at the beginning of the process makes the journey so much easier. We forgive those that we love. We wish the people we love the very best. We stand in their corner when they need someone to cheer them on. We give them good, honest advice.

So I don’t really need a Wonka-Vite to feel younger and I don’t need a cure for baldness. I already have a potion that makes me dance like a young John Travolta and sing Rock DJ like a top of his game albeit a little arrogant Robbie Williams circa 2000….

….It’s red wine.

And self love of course!

Insta grrrrrr!

I guess lots of budding authors, film makers and vloggers create content on certain blog sites and social media platforms to monetize their skills. They hone in on their skills and target audience, pay great attention to their editing, hashtags and algorithms and eventually have a product worth reading, viewing and selling.

My wife and I, on the other hand, have just spent two hours trying to get my Instagram account as admin to the new Road To Tranquility page which was set up on my wife’s account. We still have no clue on how to do it.

You see, we’re finding that we are becoming the aforementioned content creators by circumstance, not by our talent.

As small business owners who need to promote our products through exposure and without a team of media people to manage our accounts, it’s up to us to navigate our way through the digital world like The Chuckle Brothers putting up a tent.

Ah, tents. That’s a more familiar world. And, even though we will still hit the snags of setting up a glamping site in Portugal such as VISA, licencing, cost, weather conditions and language, nothing can be more difficult than syncing a bloody Instagram account!

But it makes me think, ‘why do I do it?’

Why bother setting up an account to document our adventures in setting up our business in Portugal? Why create a meditation podcast? Why write this article right now?

Well, the reason is simple really. I’m able to reach out to people like you. It allows me to communicate to like-minded people who also might have an interest in health, fitness and wellbeing. Other people might also have an interest in reading about my journey. There might be somebody who can relax to the meditation podcast. I might be able to make someone laugh. Perhaps something I do or write about might strike a chord in somebody else’s life. And for this reason, the tinterweb is fantastic.

But I can promise you one thing. I won’t be signing up to Threads!

Rain For The Next 2 Weeks

Here in the UK it is tennis season. The time where people who have never held a tennis racket before put on their white cap and head off to their local council tennis courts.

Many of them are surprisingly well kept. As a kid there were many courts on East End Park and they were generally in good working order. A few torn nets and a bit of broken glass in places but it made for an interesting game. And they were in much better condition than where we all played football, seeing as we would use the old discarded glue bags and the dog turd as goal posts.

It might have helped that the tennis courts were close to the caretaker’s house, so any vandalism would have been heard by him. I say ‘him’, but we never saw anybody coming from the caretaker’s house. A big house that resembled the one out of the amativille movie. I would quicken up my walk as I walked past.

I was one of these people who would pick up a racket for a couple of weeks during July. It is, of course, the Wimbledon tennis tournament. I would be sure to be wearing my long white shorts and t-shirt in an attempt to look like my favourite player, Andre Agassi. He was the first player to wear long shorts while his opponents were still in very tight 1980’s short shorts. I wanted room for my tennis balls to move about, so I thought baggy shorts were sensible. Agassi had a bit of a rock n roll attitude about him on court too. I had a rock n roll attitude, but I was crap at tennis.

One thing you can be sure of in England is that as soon as Wimbledon starts, the rain starts. It remains warm and muggy in the evening but the weather likes to postpone tennis matches for a couple of weeks with its incessant rain. Problematic for an outdoor tournament played on grass.

And to think, just last week I put the tent up in the garden for the boys to sleep out and it was cracking the flags for a full week. Hopefully the sunshine will come back but if we want to be entertained by Cliff Richard singing in the stands then the rain is bound to stick around for a couple of weeks yet.

So where does this leave me? A sports lover for sure but I’ve not watched a tennis match since Tiger Tim got a semi.

My only option then is cricket, where England and Australia play a game for about a year for a tiny trophy.

Yes, I’m missing the football season, which is odd seeing as I spent the beginning of this year wanting the season to end. There wasn’t much to cheer about being a Liverpool fan. A right back moving into midfield was as exciting as it got for me.

And you can bet that Wimbledon will take over the whole of the BBC. So when the continuity announcer tells us that EastEnders will be shown at a later date, I’ll be screaming ‘You cannot be serious!’ at the TV screen.

Sugar Hangover!

Whilst living on my current street in Scarborough I have had three street parties to celebrate The Monarchy and The Royal British Legion (VE Day, Jubilee and the Kings Coronation).

That’s quite a record for a guy who doesn’t consider himself a Royalist. However, I do appreciate the ability for a street or a community to be able to get together and celebrate stuff. I think that it is important in today’s society. Perhaps some people on the street wished to toast The King during yesterday’s Coronation, I chose to acknowledge my privilege.

Since this was my third attempt at a street party I thought that I would be a bit more prepared this time. I bought 4 cartons of Sangria which has a lowly 4% volume of alcohol to share with my wife and neighbours. On previous occasions, I have peaked too early. The parties usually start at 1pm and by 3pm I’m trying to collect enough people for a conga while chanting “Mo Salah, Mo Salah, running down the wing.”

So what could go wrong with a few glasses of low alcoholic Sangria? Eugh. Lots!

Ok, I didn’t get drunk. Far from it. I remained fairly sober with just a mild tipsiness by the evening, but the sugar content of these little cartons was outrageous!

This has left me today with a massive sugar hangover. According to self.com, sugar hangovers can be just as bad as the alcohol type with very similar symptoms. Shaking, sweating, fuzzy headed. Oh great. And here’s me trying to be sensible by not downing the merlot too quickly!

Fortunately these parties don’t come around too often so the damage isn’t too bad. But for the next street party (or indeed the festa de rua), I might just stick to water.