Blessay from America

Blessay From America now available on Amazon!

2013-05-31T04:10:00.001-04:00

Well I'm officially an author. Blessay From America, the book, is now available on amazon.co.uk, amazon.com and everywhere else with an Amazon.

It's a lot easier than going all the way back through the blog so save some time and get yourself one.

You're Welcome.

WE'VE MOVED!

2013-03-09T05:50:00.001-05:00

Business as usual (as usual after a 5000 mile relocation can be) continues at

Blessay From Britannia

The Last Post

2013-03-04T21:44:00.001-05:00

Today was Vincent and I's last day in America and it's been a melancholy one as well as extremely frustrating.

We've had all of our worldly goods and possessions neatly packed into various boxes to go into a 10 x 10 self storage unit which does give you a sense of perspective on your achievements. Although today was bordering on the farcical.

Our movers arrived two hours late and woefully ill equipped to move the piano, the first priority and main item we wanted to store secuely. Fortunately one of our neighbours happily agreed to look after it for us until we could find some movers worthy of the name.

So what have I achieved in the past four years?

I'm more resilient, maybe a little more cautious but also more energised and excited about the future and the opportunities abounding both in reality and online.

I've learned to back myself and my own decisions and judgement more but also to collaborate and seek wider opinion and guidance.

I've also made a lot of good friends here both in Georgia and further afield which I can keep in touch with far more easily today than ever before.

I've learned a lot more about the nature, background and thoughts of Americans across a wide range of ideals and ideas so much so that there is no such thing as the average American.

It's been a true life changing experience in changing country itself and one I wouldn't change for a second. Apart from today of course.

I will be starting a new Blog soon, snappily titled Blessay From Britannia - where I will continue to post my meandering thoughts on my native country after four years away. How much has changed? What hasn't? Will I still be able to adapt?

Watch this space y'all...

Checking Out

2013-03-03T21:16:00.001-05:00

It's been a busy week or so once I reluctantly put my notice in at work and started planning our return to the uk in Ernest.

You really don't know how much stuff you own or have accrued until you try to squeeze it into suitcases or boxes to be sent later. I have been taken aback by the continuous stream of well wishers and friends coming to say farewell. In some ways it's like being present at your own wake. Well of course you'll be present at your own wake but I digress. Friday was my last day at work which saw us enjoy a visit to a local Chinese buffet followed by a touching speech from my manager and a reciprocal riposte from me. I just didn't have the words to properly convey my thanks and genuine sadness to be leaving a great institution at Kennesaw State and the feeling of leaving a project unfinished. Like life though, you very rarely get to choose the date of your own departure.

I met several other friends and colleagues on Friday night for drinks at Johnnie maccrackens in Marietta. My favourite bar in the us and the closest approximation to a British Pub in decor and theme but allied to the almost pathological American customer service gene. One thing I will genuinely miss when trying to order food in the UK when the waiter thinks he's doing you a favour by taking your order.

The house is bare and packed and in rare cyclical similarity, I begin my last night in these United States as I began my first. On an uneven air mattress, trying to get Vince off to sleep and already thinking of the better days ahead.

Happy Endings?

2013-02-22T20:50:00.001-05:00

'What I was really hanging around for, I was trying to feel some kind of a good-by. I mean I’ve left schools and places I didn’t even know I was leaving them. I hate that. I don’t care if it’s a sad good-by or a bad good-by, but when I leave a place I like to know I’m leaving it. If you don’t, you feel even worse.”
– J. D. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye

So here we are then. Out of road, out of gas, out of luck.

Our four year odyssey in the US is coming to a close. In 10 days time, Vince and I will be boarding a flight from Atlanta to Teesside via Amsterdam. Stacey will come soon after once we sort her visa out as under new rules, Americans and Australians have no greater status than Azerbaijanis, whereas anybody from the EU can pretty much order a car from the foreign office for pick up.

We've really enjoyed our time in this great, contradictory nation and have a lot of good memories and ideas for when we go back. We've made a lot of good friends who we can keep in touch with through the miracle of social media and Vince has grown up from a toddler into a little man. He's the one that everyone will really miss and my family are really looking forward to seeing and spending more time with.

I will write more this week but suffice to say, when there are two paths open to you and one becomes rockier, uphill, unstable and increasingly arduous and treacherous, to whose benefit is it to push on regardless?

Y'all ready for some FOOTBALL?*

2013-02-15T15:58:00.000-05:00

I normally like to keep work and real life seperate but yesterday was one of the biggest and most anticipated set-piece occasions in the 50 year history of Kennesaw State University, my main employer, so it would be remiss of me not to comment. A bit like Alistair Cooke not mentioning that he was an eyewitness to the assassination of Bobby Kennedy, because his Letter From America that week was going to be about corn farmers in Idaho.

American Football (Football for the purposes of this blessay - yes I know I'm committing heresy as an Englishman refering to the Beautiful Game as an S word but when in Rome) is the most popular sport in the country both at a national level with the NFL professional league and the College game which is stipulated to be amateur but more on that later. Each University worthy of the name, and many that aren't, boasts a programme which plays in various conferences (leagues) up and down the country. The records, schedules and other factors are taken into consideration for a panel called the BCS (Bowl Championship Series) to arrange the national title game between the two most deserving candidates and various other set-piece bowl games against the rest of the most succesful teams in December to end the season on a high, send the players/students who are leaving off into the world with a great memory and use it to influence potential new recruits. Like any system, the BCS upsets everyone and pleases no-one with some outright perverse decisions recently and will be swept away soon to be replaced by a four-team playoff to decide the national champion. Which teams qualify for this process will now be decided by a 20-person committee with the same flaws and foibles as the previous system but at least now the teams that get there have a fighting chance of proving their credentials on the field.

So why should a college put out a program if it is so fraught and difficult to achieve success? Firstly money. Each program attracts sponsorships, endorsements for stadiums, uniforms and equipment, record gate receipts - more fans watch college football every Saturday than the NFL on Sundays - , prestige, and support for other sports in the athletics program. Because college football is such a huge moneyspinner, some of the proceeds are used to support sports such as Lacrosse, Badminton, Gymnastics etc. In fact, under the infamous Title iX section of the 1972 Education Act, designed to eliminate sex discrimination on campus, for every sport that receives federal funding, such as football, equal funding must be given to women's sports.

Kennesaw has had a basketball program for many years with varying degrees of success but having a football program puts you on the map and marks you out as a real big-boy school. With a student base of over 25,000, Kennesaw should be a prime player in the recruitment stakes in one of Football's true hotbeds - the Southeast where some of the other successful schools such as Auburn in Alabama, Clemson in South Carolina and Georgia Tech in Atlanta already achieve a high standard with less students than Kennesaw.

The press conference itself was an excited but well ordered affair with speeches from the President, the Athletic Director, the main Sponsor and local football coaching Legend Vince Dooley, the last man to bring the national championship to Georgia with the University of Georgia bulldogs in 1980, as head of the exploratory committee to bring football to Kennesaw. After the announcement was made, the fight song played, the balloons fell from the ceiling and everybody partied like it was 2015. The one down note was the flimsy balloons popped if you so much as looked at them so for five minutes after the speeches, while media interviews were being given, it sounded like the first morning of The Somme.

The first game is scheduled for 2015 as it takes time to put a coaching staff together, scout recruits, offer them scholarships to play, convert the newly named Fifth Third Bank Stadium from Soccer (please forgive me) to Football for the majority of the season, build a press box for the amount of media that will be covering the games and so on and so forth.

While not being raised on the pointy ball, I have come to appreciate it's finer points in the past few years and realise that with its culture of community, tailgating (barbecue and beer) outside the stadium on match days, local pride, it fulfills the same social role and purpose as real Football does in Europe and South America, that this is the last piece of Kennesaw's jigsaw. I was honoured and privilaged to be a very small part.

Go KSU Owls!
#ourtimeKSU

The Penultimate Straw

2013-02-10T21:47:00.001-05:00

On reflection it was utterly proper that I should have my epiphany outside of a church.

I turned the corner on my way to Vince's school when the electric battery light came on, the steering and brakes became heavy and unresponsive and I was slowing down. Fortunately this happened with an extra turnoff lane next to me so I managed to put the hazards on and steer downhill into the baptist church parking lot. More relieve than annoyed that I didn't have Vince with me and that I was just round the corner from my work rather than barrelling down the interstate in heavy traffic with my little boy in the backseat.

A little in the way of background - I took Vince to school that morning as usual, some 20 miles north in Canton before going to work. Most days Stacey collects him at lunchtime and takes him to his other school in Woodstock for the afternoon session but some days my lunch hour becomes a chauffeur service for his little master and I have to endure another hours worth of Thomas the Tank Engine audio stores. Don't get me wrong, I love the adventures of Edward, Henry, Gordon and co but not perpetually. This day Stacey had an interview so couldn't pick him up as normal. A hasty alternative was concocted which would see me pick Vince up from his afternoon school and leave him with Stacey's parents for the remainder of the day - she would pick him up after the interview, I would return to work and the world would keep on turning.

The latest car snafu put paid to all this. I used my spotty mobile reception to get word to Stacey's mother that I would be taking him home instead, to Vincent's school that I was delayed but would be there ASAP and back to anybody in work who could come and get me and Vince in a hurry. After speaking to the people in the church to let them know I wasn't casing the joint, a good friend of mind turned up in his Toyota pickup to try a jump start. Ticking over but no connection, I cut my losses and headed off to get Vince who was delighted that he was going to ride in a real monster truck for the first time.

The ordeal carried on into the next day when I used another 'Get out of Jail' free card and a friend had me towed on her triple AAA policy to her local garage where the friendly and reliable mechanic diagnosed a burned-out distributor. The cure was $300, the equivalent to a month's food budget but both cars need to be on the road and I was thankful that a) he could have it ready by close of play and b) it could have been worse.

The Honda has been a good workhorse for us over the four years we've been here - clocking up some 180,000 miles since Stacey brought it in the late 90s but like all workhorses, the glue factory beckons.

It's just another low blow, after the bell however, on a body that can barely see out of one eye at the moment. Like most families in America right now, things are precarious and setbacks and disaster are increasingly become the norm as opposed to the unwelcome occasional distraction. Worse than that - it feels like they've moved in next door, come round to borrow some sugar and aren't giving us our cup back.

One way or another - somethings got to give.

Bedtime Story from the past - or is it the future?

2013-01-26T20:31:00.002-05:00

"A long time ago, before you were born, when I lived in England, I worked in London - you remember what London is don't you? That's right - it's the capital of England!

Anyway, I was working in London and went for lunch one day. I bumped into a strange little man with glasses and some odd clothes. By odd I mean that the suit and coat he wore were quite old, like they came from the 1940s but he had a pair of white trainers on which definitely didn't. We got talking over a sandwich and he told me that he travelled about from place to place. I told him it must be an exciting life but he just seemed to stare off, as if he was thinking about something, or someone. I asked him how he travelled and he told me that he had a spaceship! Playing along, I asked where it was and he told me it was round the corner. Well, it was quite unusual - an old police box that you don't see anymore but definitely not a flying saucer or rocket ship.

I asked him how it could travel without wheels and he told me it could go anywhere, anywhen - which was an unusual word. He asked me if I would like to see and I checked my watch and told him I had to go back to work in 20 minutes. He laughed a big laugh and said it wouldn't matter and would I still like to come. It was odd but I felt I really should go with him, even though you should never go off with strangers.

I was about to go into the box when he asked me my name. I told him. He looked like he was trying to remember something and then he got it and said "oh. Oh no. Guy Rodney Bailey? Oh no.". I said yes and he smiled and started laughing to himself saying 'Guy Rodney Bailey, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry but you really can't come with me. Not now, not ever.'. I asked why and he said: 'who is your favourite Dutch Impressionist Painter?" An odd question, I replied 'Vincent.'. He said "like him?" - "Love him" I replied. "I know you will" he replied and turned and went into his box. I tried the door but he had locked it and realising I was running late, I jogged round the corner back to work.

The funniest thing - I heard a noise like a high pitched burglar or car alarm go off, and felt that I had to go back into the street to check on this strange man and his box. I still can't explain it but the box, and the man, had gone.

I never saw the man or his box again but I do think about it sometimes. Especially because that very next week, I started emailing your mum for the first time. If I had gone off and had adventures with my new friend, would I have been able to meet her?

Who knows.

Goodnight Vincent. x

Inauguration Day

2013-01-21T21:22:00.004-05:00

Four years ago today we were in England preparing for one historic event by watching another - in three weeks, we’d be on a plane to the US with Vince and pretty much our who’ll lives in four suitcases in the hold.

I think back to Vince being barely over a year old and nothing more than a baby, Stacey’s pride at the progress her country had made in electing a black President and in her own punditry in picking him as the winner early back in the Democratic Primary process. She was excited about going back to her home country and also the type of country we were going back to.

I was excited about our new adventure - beginning a new life and career in the United States.

I remember the excitement on his little girls faces and the pride on his wifes, the enormity of the hope and ideals invested in him by record numbers across virtually every electoral constituancy and the realization that he was in fact human when he stumbled over his words in his inauguration pledge.

I look at his face and the lines engraved upon it from four years of care, the greying temples, the eyes that have seen too much, good times amongst the tough battles. .

I look in the mirror today and see my own lines, flecks of grey, and memories of both triumph and disaster. Other differences too - lighter, stronger, more resiliant, more pragmatic, realistic, cautious and lonely.

The President too perhaps.

Chrismash and Happy New You

2013-01-10T22:06:00.000-05:00

Sorry it has taken me a longer time than I envisioned to catch up but you know what the first week back is like.

We took off from the spanking new international terminal at Atlanta. Finally Atlanta feels like a proper airport with single bag in checks, state-of-the-art video screens but still a criminal lack of powerpoints. We took the late flight to Amsterdam before picking up our connection to Teesside - (Durham Tees Valley, my arse). Its always an interesting experience to view another country from the air and with the canals and irrigation, Holland always looks well-ordered and modern. I was happy to see a lot of windmills even if they are the stark modern versions that are popping up offshore or in the countryside around you soon. Vince was really great on the flight, he gets better as he gets older but has an acute knack of saying the funniest thing. Everytime we land and I unhook his seatbelt he yells "I'm Free! I'm Free!" making me look like some kind of kidnapper.

We were met at the airport by my mum, my brothers wife Sarah and my niece Claudia. It's always nice to see family after a long time apart and they were amazed to see how much Vincent had grown. Straight away we headed home and to some home comforts - in my case fish and chips.

The next couple of days were spent acclimatising and finishing off the Christmas shopping. I'd done the majority on Amazon but I prefer to pick up some personalised, local presents by hand. It's always a shame to see how further Stockton on Tees has degenerated in my time away. It's like somebody has detonated a 20 megatonne misery bomb over the area. It's ironic that I live in Atlanta where The Walking Dead is filmed when it could be recreated cheaper without the need for make-up or special effects. Even the Santa parade through Wellington Square was a sorry affair with four genuine reindeer dragging a sleigh. One of them had a crap before moving on. It couldn't speak but what a critic.

It took a little while readjusting to life in the UK. It has so much going for it, the people, the scenery, the potential but it seems to settle for being a pale, shoddy version of America in its shops and service. Instead of aping something you are not, why not concentrate on the vibrancy and energy of your own? I took my first UK run that afternoon from my folks house to Stockton, over one of the many bridges over the Tees and back, a round seven miles past some of my old haunts and memories.

Christmas for Vince was a rewarding experience. He only wanted two presents - the Octonauts Gup-X and a remote control Thomas The Tank Engine which he got. Of course my parents spoiled him rotten, but they both deserve it. Vince is a special little boy who does not receive anything like the attention and friends he deserves so it is good for him to enjoy that for a while. It was great for his grandparents to spend some time with him, a perpetual and demanding ball of fun and energy. Sitting up in my mums bed, ordering porridge and cartoons or running around on his scooter outside - he's becoming himself.

It was great to catch up with my family and friends on the trip and had a inspiring visit to Saltburn with mum and Vince. It was where she grew up and family ran stalls and amusements on the sea front. We parked feet away from where the booths were and she filled me in on some family history I was previously unaware off. The clouds cleared and we looked down the Valley Gardens to where stately Rushpool Hall, the venue of Stacey and I's wedding, sits astride the valley seeing the small stream feed into the sea with the Pier on one side and the cliffs on the other.

It's funny but for the first time since we moved to the States I felt a real sense of connection and belonging to a place in England. Somewhere I felt I belonged and could see myself waking up everyday. A powerful, inspiring and humbling view and sense of place. I have loved and do love our time and place in America but there that day on the beach had almost a spiritual charge to it that I have seldom experienced there or here.

I also took the chance to reconnect with my previous lifelong connection and source of joy and pain - Middlesbrough FC! I saw them play Wolves at home and win 2-0 with a late penalty and injury time addiiton; we then beat Blackburn Rovers 1-0 on Boxing Day and finally beat Blackpool 4-2 three days later in one of the most exciting and exhilarating matches I have seen in years. Another source of renewal and reaffirmation.

Vincent and I said a tough goodbye to my mum and dad before getting the train to Manchester Airport. It is always tough but this was the hardest yet. Made worse by staying in the worst Travelodge in the country at Manchester Airport, only slightly more convenient than setting off at 3am for our flight back to Atlanta.

One last happy holiday memory came when Stacey came to meet us at the airport and Vince saw her. Beaming and delighted, he ran to his mum for a hug he wouldn't forget in a hurry. I won't forget the look of pure happiness on her face either. No matter what we do or where we go in the future, I won't go without them. Again.

Home Run

2012-12-30T16:05:00.004-05:00

The sun shone and the Golden Boy sent me on my way

I'm preparing my usual Holiday report into one elongated post after I return to the USA but I felt my unique run today deserves a blessay of its own.

Despite this being a trip home to see family and friends, I packed my running gear purposely this time as I haven't been able to get out and about with it on any previous trip. Two years ago we were practically snowbound with associated cabin fever onset, and last year was also miserable in the weather stakes. I was making up for lost time.

I took a run last week before Christmas from my parents house to Stockton Town Center and back, a total of just over 6 miles. It is fun to pass locations, familiar and not on foot rather than from a steamy bus window. 'Town' had always seemed a step removed from Hartburn on the outskirts of the town where we live so it's a bit sobering to see it's only 2.1 miles door to door to some of the High Streets more notorious haunts. I used the occasion to go over a footbridge over the Tees and follow the river to the Princess Diana bridge upstream before returning home on an alternate bus route - following the 61 back as opposed to the 62, Cleveland Transit fans.

I was quite impressed with my time and the ease of the run so I'd been pondering my second one. My usual weekend run back in Woodstock comes in anywhere between 6-8 miles at an hour pace so I thought a bit more about where that could take me. It was when I was jogging back to the car after watching Middlesbrough beat Blackpool 4-2 yesterday that it struck me, I was jogging from the ground round the corner, why not run from the ground to my parents?

Googlemaps research in hand, It was just over an 8 mile jag, I had a rare rain-free window on Sunday morning and after cajoling a good friend of mine to give me a lift to the ground on the otherwise empty Teesside roads. I began a personal odyssey back through my hometown to my home of over 20 years. Almost immediately, my calf started to bite and if this was my usual Sunday training session in Woodstock, I'd have cursed and hobbled back home under my own steam but this was not an option today - I had waited too long for this opportunity and also trained myself to run longer distances at faster speeds. A more superstitious man than I would look for other meanings or explanations old ghosts taking a last bite out of me as I ran by years of missed opportunities, spurned chances and ignored advantages. I turned into Linthorpe Road, the town's main thoroughfare, noting the departed shops of my youth and their inadequate replacements, I turned into Parliament Road, still expecting to see Ayresome Park, Middlesbrough's old stadium, rising at the end of terraced lanes, not the housing estate that now sits on its grave. I slowed the pace in Meath Street, where I spent so many happy hours as a boy at my Nana and Grandad's house before picking up again to grind out the two miles of Stockton Road that links Middlesbrough, Thornaby and Stockton - known locally as the Wilderness Road - due to its loneliness now the A66 accompanies it and bustling Teesside park shopping center and the White Water Barrage sit on either side.

A tied up carthorse took a break from its breakfast to look at me through its iron bars - runners a rarer site than sunshine in his weary world. The trajectory starts to rise as you enter Thornaby and swing past the Town Hall and over the station and the 100-year-old Victoria Bridge which gives you a splendid view of the Tees, the replica of Captain Cook's Endeavour and a flock of swans and other seabirds enjoying a vigorous constitutional. The calf was now a dull nagging as opposed to a sharp bite so I was able to push on through Oxbridge, by the cemetery and to the imposing form of my old school, Ian Ramsey. Or rather it used to be so imposing, now it just seems so much smaller. My new cordless bluetooth headphones were working brilliantly, pumping out distance and time run information along with music to keep me on track and I got back to my folks and a deserved lucozade orange sports drink - running the 8.5 miles in 1 hour, 6 minutes. If I had taken a less nostalgic, more direct route and hadn't stop to stretch the calf a couple of times I'm certain I could have done it in under an hour but today wasn't about records, it was about achievement.

I had taken a personal guided tour around the landmarks of my life and heart, touched many of them, and appreciated the significance they had in my development and journey to the man I am. Not so long ago, injuries - physical, mental and emotional - would have impeded my progress, held me back and stopped me completing the goals I had set for myself but not today. Not any more. Different Guy, Different Time.

There have been a lot of happy moments on this trip, family, friends, football, but my Home Run is going to be a future benchmark. I've drawn a line and no matter where I go or what I do in 2013 - I've proven to myself, again, that the unattainable heights of yesterday are only tomorrow's foundations.

View Riverside Run in a larger map

Thicker Than Water

2012-12-12T21:29:00.005-05:00

My dad is an engineer and is quite literal in his approach to problems and problem solving - something is either right or wrong, black or white. In the world of Commissioning Engineering and construction, you cannot be 99% right and give it a shove - it has to be perfect.

Naturally then both his sons - my brother and I - became writers, dealers in nuance and fluidity - what may be true or apparent one day is never the next - we are merchants of grey. Graeme is a professional sports journalist for Sky Sports, Britain's Fox Sports, and damn good at it. His is more focused and driven than I and where I will let a discrepancy or loose end go, Graeme will pursue it relentlessly down a rabbit hole. I know he enjoys it but I do wonder sometimes whether he would like to try to enter my world and write less constrained, knowing you are not automatically more intelligent than your interview subjects and that you can learn, invent, transpose and create freely without deadlines and deliverables.

I do admire his football writing and this week he has surpassed himself with the attached article. The Barcelona striker Lionel Messi has recently broken a long-standing scoring record previously held by German superstar Gerd Muller. But over 90 years ago, another scoring battle took place in England between Everton's Dixie Dean and Durham miner turned goal machine - George Camsell of the Boro. Our grandfather used to wax lyrical about his scoring prowess, who he used to watch first hand, and Graeme's account of his unparalleled feats at Ayresome Park are some of the most exhilarating and vibrant I've read in any sports journalism this year.

I am not a easily pleased critic of his work, and knowing Graeme he's probably even tougher on himself but this time I can honestly say it's a brilliant article and well worth your attention. Nice one, our kid.

Save Teesside's Steel Dinosaurs

2012-12-07T10:36:00.000-05:00

The thing with budget cuts is they are like an increasingly virulent disease. You don't notice you are sick right away but you start to feel worse and worse as it spreads and the general deliberating effects become cumulatively devastating and you can't ignore them any more or the effect they are having on the body.

It's like this with the Government approved austerity cuts in the UK. You hear headlines and watch the news and think it's a shame but it's only when you start to hear about people losing their jobs, stores closing, food banks opening, libraries and essential services being cut that you start to realise what's happening in your community.

The latest egregious example is happening in my hometown Middlesbrough and is striking at one of my most special places - Teesaurus Park.

Located on a bend in the Tees on an industrial estate, Teesaurus Park is a green oasis hidden away in an otherwise post-industrial sprawl. A hill rises in the middle of the park to give a view of the town and surrounding areas of the Tees and the river curls around it lovingly, all watched under by the steel gaze of the ever-present Transporter Bridge.

As a boy, my Grandad had a thing about walking. From our base in Meath Street, East Middlesbrough, we would go on numerous odysseys around the town and area with him explaining like a latter-day sage the importance and interest of the streets, alleys and parks we'd be walking through. Teesaurus Park was one such destination - how could a small boy not be captivated by eight sculpted dinosaurs including a T-Rex and Diplodocus? Pride of place goes to a mother Triceratops and her two babies that stand guard on top of the hill made, of course, from Teesside Steel, the essential ingredient in many of the world's most prominent structures.

Now, like most everything else in modern Britain, it's up for sale by a cash strapped council, compelled to make up to 14m pounds worth of cuts in an area hardly awash with funds in the first place.

Yes, there are more important, dare I say it, critical services that have to be protected ahead of a green space but what price beauty, tranquility and art?

As is typical when a Government of this persuasion takes power and the North East always, always takes the hit, the price of everything achieves maximum attention and importance at the expense of the value.

A Facebook Page and campaign has been set up to Save Teesaurus Park from the vandals - which selling the space would be an act of - civic vandalism - and I would urge anybody to give them some moral support. Hopefully some enterprising Teessider with a bit more time than I could look into crowdsourcing a fund to buy the land and keep it as a community owned space by and for the people of the town.

We come home for Christmas next week and I'm looking forward to taking Vincent to see the dinosaurs up close for the first time. Hopefully it won't be the last time either.

GTA Vice City - Welcome Home

2012-11-30T15:45:00.000-05:00

The day I've been looking forward to all year is at hand - the release of Grand Theft Auto: Vice City for the Android and IOS is next Thursday and for $5 - literally a steal, especially given the subject matter.

Regular readers will know that I already consider GTA: VC (which I will keep it at for reasons of brevity) the perfect video game but it's more than that. As I previously touched on, Grand Theft Auto 3 was itself a quantum leap in both gaming and attitudes toward gaming, when the public and media at large realized that the average gamer wasn't a spotty 12 year old in their bedroom, but a working, earning adult with a family, friends and money, as well as an underlying need to steal cars and murder drug dealers.

The game itself is perfect both in its size and scope. It builds on everything the previous incarnation in a grimy alternate New York does but adds in everything externally fun about the 80s, the colors, music, styles and pop culture references. The missions are well designed and unrepetitive with a strong central narrative that hums along without being dragged out and the Stella voice talent - Ray Liotta, Dennis Hopper, Tom Sizemore, Burt Reynolds, Lee Majors to name a few - is as impressive as you would expect. It is less a game than an immersive action movie with you in the lead. The denouement is satisfying but a critical aspect is that it is so beautiful to look at, that sometimes it was mission be damned, and you'd just cruise around in your sportscar, boat or helicopter, listening to a track and taking in Vice City in all its neon baked glory.

2004 was a transitional time for me personally. My first long-term relationship had ended and I threw myself into a years second adolescence partying far more often than I previously had, going to see the Boro home and away whenever possible (difficult at weekends as I lived in Oxfordshire, 200 miles away) and generally embracing and indulging the 'new lad' stereotype that had seized the UK's zeitgeist alongside Britpop and New Labour.

Vice City was both a crutch and a catalyst for this - it's styles influenced by Miami Vice, Scarface and other staples of 80s pop culture were in the middle of a full revival, the tunes that populated the in-game radio stations were re-released and remixed by modern artists to become thumping dancefloor fillers at the various provincial Oxfordshire nightclubs and bars I used to frequent, Tommy Vercetti had nothing on me and the Litten Tree.

Like the games protagonist with his enormously bulky cellphone, I had my designer jeans stuffed with a phone and Palm personal organizer which had the GTA VC soundtracks on my mp3 playlists to accompany my Red Square fueled swagger.

2004 would turn out to be arguably the best year of my life. A winter trip to Doha and the Desert with my family to find myself and regroup ahead of the year, a fantastic year at work, Middlesbrough shook off 128 years of mediocrity to win their first ever major trophy and secure European Football, including our inaugural trip to the Czech Republic and a home victory against the mighty Lazio, I was working in my dream job at the BBC, There was also a summer of Eng-er-Land filled with the European Championships and I would meet Stacey in Atlanta and bring her home for Christmas that year.

Life continued, I grew up and other games came and went but GTA:VC will retain a special place in my heart for being the right cultural touchstone at the right time in the right place, with the right hawaaiin shirt and the right blond highlights when I finally met the right woman. And this Christmas, who can forgive for a little self-indulgent nostalgia, as the family gets prepared for Christmas fun, dad will be duking it out with Mafiosa in a digital 80s day glo adult playground.

Like the man says: "Shut up, sit down. I'll tell you what we're gonna do. You're gonna find out who took our cocaine, and then, I'm gonna kill them."

Turkeys Trotting Away

2012-11-20T16:02:00.001-05:00

Thanksgiving is almost upon us once more as the leaves turn their gorgeous reddish-brown like the final flaming burst of the Phoenix before it expires in ash to be reborn in the Spring.

We could do with some cold ash descending on Georgia during the winter months this year. After the snow and ice followed us back from England in 2010, last year's mild winter has lead to more drought and the stubborn bugs that made it through are clinging grimly to life as the evening frosts draw in. At least that's why they keep making for my garage.

Thanksgiving will be spent as tradition dictates on the Alabama/Georgia border with Stacey's grandmother and relatives. Thanksgiving has a day obviously, the following day is Black Friday named for the horrendous shopping spasms the nation forces itself into as the Christmas rush officially begins and this Monday has been dubbed Cyber Monday as its the day when everybody cranks up their online efforts if they have any sense rather than hitting the stores in ernest. This leave two days prime real estate as far as I can see so I'm going to put in a bid for one of them to be declared Guyday - where mums and dads, ran off their feet after the previous days excursions and exertions can vegetate officially for 24/36/48 hours officially. Parents Weekend has a ring to it does it not?

After this truncated work week (we get Thanksgiving Thursday and Friday off), there are only three more weeks left until our annual pilgrimage back to the mother country for Christmas. I enjoy going over earlier so we can shake off any jetlag and exhaustion and enjoy the full Christmas build up rather than having to run around like lunatics with two days left as we've done previously. Driving home tonight the first outdoor lights are up in our street so the Christmas decorations arms race has begun in ernest.

My blogging will be a bit shy beforehand apart from to describe the winter buildup here but I will be dispatching regularly from England to catch up on what I've missed after another year out of Albion's loop.

Out of Tea

2012-11-08T09:53:00.005-05:00

For the last US election I was live-blogging for the Open University from the UK, staying up until dawn to pass on the news and details of President Obama's historic election. Of course, this was in the days before Twitter which does all the heavy lifting for you and calls elections before the TV networks so is probably the place to be - for insulting comment and hilarious libel alike.

I have been following Nate Silver's 538 blog for some time so the result was not in much doubt for me as the poll proved to be 100% accurate; an increase in his 2008 accuracy of 99% yet he had been vilified from the right for the past week for daring to suggest that Obama would carry so much as Rhode Island in the impending Romnami that would sweep the country back to 1952, Andy Griffith show and all.

I switched to Fox News as soon as the result was in no doubt (about 8pm) to enjoy the schadenfreude feast that awaited and I wasn't disappointed as professional liar turned corporate huckster Karl Rove gave an Olympic standard class in petulance which lead to the Fox News anchor marching down the corridor, pursued by a camera to confront their own decision desk for having the temerity to declare the state of Ohio, and thus the election, for President Obama. Barely containing their equal hilarity and fury, the desk gave Rove a maths lesson before switching back to truculent man-child. Rove's wasn't the only reputation to go up in smoke on Tuesday night. Seen as some kind of mythical 'Oz' creature by the left, a puppet-master of such Machiavellian genius he could decided elections and ballots with the raise of an eyebrow. Now the great and terrible Oz was revealed to be nothing more than a bald, owlish little fat man without pants.

What has given me most pleasure was the series of events that will be a stake in the heart of the Tea Party.

The theocratic, constitution worshiping, economic terrorists who single handily reduced America's credit rating through their naive and dangerous intransigence finally got their cumppance - and how! Todd Akin and Richard Mourdock where soundly defeated for their rape comments, Allen West, Florida congressman who denounced Obama and his opponents as 'Communists' was sent packing, Elizabeth Warren, architect of the consumer protection office beat Scott Brown to retake Ted Kennedy's seat in Massachusetts, Linda McMahon, wife of WWE Impresario Vince, was defeated for the second time in Connecticut after spending $100m of her own money on both bids, and even the queen of crazy herself, Michelle Bachman, came within one percentage point of defeat in Minnesota.

Marijuana legalisation passed in Colorado and Washington State, equal marriage initiatives passed in Maryland and Maine and discrimination denied in Minnesota - To quote the President from 2010, this was a Shellacking for the mean, the selfish, the cruel and the crazy that seized the wheel of the Republican Party and drove it onto the rocks of electoral irrelevance and impotency.

To paraphrase the Atlanta Braves old manager Bobby Cox - Back in 2010 The Tea Party confused a favorable result with wise decisions. They assumed that because the turnout of their old, angry, white base was greater than any other, this was a permanent arrangement and acceptance of their ideology. Two years of evidence later, including opinion polls ranking the Tea Party as less popular than both muslims and atheists, the results are in and hopefully the GOP can return to political sanity and the middle ground and cast out this nasty, petulant, whites-only protest group for the cranky collection of crackers it is. It might even be safe for normal people to dress up in Colonial costumes again without people assuming you are a political wingnut.

Like all good movie monsters however, expect a revival in the final scene. The GOP is already drawing battle lines for the forthcoming civil war between the realists and the Randists. But for the time being at least, we can close the book on an fascinating, depressing but ultimately uplifting chapter of American political life as real politicians get back to the serious business of governing a modern, liberal, multi-cultural society, not shouting slogans and adopting 18th century legal dogma and rhetoric as actual 21st century policy.

Halloween and a tribute to my blogging mentor (who had no idea what a blog was)

2012-11-02T10:40:00.000-04:00

Halloween came and went in our sleepy corner of Northwestern Georgia on Wednesday night. Vince had been looking forward to it for weeks, as had his mum as its her favourite holiday - lots of candy, scary movies - and Vince is appreciating it more as he gets older and less timid and nervous (my traits unfortunately).

He went as a yellow angry bird this year (above) and brought back at least a pound of candy for us to share. Us being me and Stacey as his dairy allergy is showing no signs of abating. He went with his friend from next door, dressed as a pirate, and one thing I did notice this year was the preponderance of teenagers who were out and about on a night ostensibly for kids.

The purpose came into sharp focus when Stacey texted me twenty minutes after we had left. Not wanting to be disturbed, we placed a bowl full of candy outside of the door with a friendly sign - as people who want to avoid having their house egged and tp'd do - and that was all it took for it to be emptied. 20 minutes.

It's a good job the kids were with us because I was swearing mad and actually challenged one of the older halloweeners later with "Aren't you a little old to be doing this?" But how old is too old to enjoy a holiday? I am nearly 40 but Christmas is still the most wonderful time of the year for me - yes, my focus has changed from getting presents myself to seeing Vincent getting them but I can still enjoy the ambience and traditions that I grew up with. Halloween is America's largest secular festival with a quarter of all candy sales for the year occuring this week. I guess like caffeine and sugar, old habits are hard to give up.

A quick note to draw your attention to the new Letter From America website that the BBC has put up this week. It's here and is a collection of the original letters and broadcasts made by Alistair Cooke from 1946 to his death in 2004. Over 900 programmes that cover contemporary American life from FDR to W thru the Kennedy's, Vietnam, 9/11 and everything in between.. My personal favourite piece of reportage was his eyewitness account to the assassination of Bobby Kennedy in Los Angeles.

Cooke was always a broadcasting hero of mine - I have his histories of America and letters compendium at home - and named this blog in his honour and an attempt to carry on his mission to explain and illuminate this big, small, exciting, dangerous, conservative, radical country to a wider audience. I hope in some small way I can and trust that the great man might even have approved.

Happy Birthday Dad

2012-10-24T13:25:00.001-04:00

"The past is a foreign country: they do things differently there" - L P Hartley

I don’t know for sure but I’m guessing you were younger in this picture than I am today. One thing I do know is that we’ve both got our hands full with a cheeky little boy who we love unconditionally even if we can’t quite figure out their wavelength. We won’t agree with them 100% as we go through life, we want the best for them - to help them, guide them, advise them, protect them, stop them making mistakes we’ve already made and will make, let them make their own mistakes to learn from, but always, always being there as a man, a friend and a father.

It’s taken me nearly 40 years to walk a mile in your shoes and see what you saw and know what you knew on that beach. In the months and years to come I’ll get more chances to stand in those footprints and even though I’d never fill them, I’ll do my best to make them deeper and stronger for those that will come after us to stand in them themselves.

Happy Birthday Dad. X

Freedom to offend, not be offended

2012-10-14T15:24:00.000-04:00

"Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances."

This is the first amendment of the constitution of the United States, the most venerated and quoted amendment which guarantees amongst other freedoms - the freedom of speech.

While the UK doesn't have such an amendment, it really needs one - now more than ever as the past few days has seen a concerted assault on the freedom of expression by well-meaning but misguided and dangerous authorities.

A man in Manchester has received a four-month prison sentence for wearing a t-shirt with an offensive message; another man got a 300 quid fine and 240 hours community service for posting messages about British Troops in Afghanistan on his Facebook page and a teenager from Chorley got three months for posting jokes about a missing schoolgirl on his Facebook page - the next case after his featured a man who called a woman a "F****** Black C***" in the street and got a 100 quid fine and ordered to pay 100 compensation.

What is going on here?

We rant and rave about Vladmir Putin and the questionable Russian justice system which saw a women rock group receive jail sentences for 'offending religious sensibilities' but we seem content to lock people up for the same reasons.

Just to clarify - every single person in these cases was being offensive, is a dumbass and while the wisdom of their actions can be questioned, the legality can't, or shouldn't be.

I haven't researched as closely as I should but I don't believe that anybody has ever died from hurt feelings, bruised sensibilities or a lethal flying expletive. As Glenn Greenwald elegantly espouses in The Guardian: "In Sunday's Washington Post, law professor Jonathan Turley has asuperb Op-Ed on the gradual death of free speech in the west, and he places the blame squarely where it belongs: on the veneration of "sensitivities" over the free flow of ideas, and relatedly, the adolescent need on the part of many adults to plead with authority figures to shield them from views they find offensive. His essay is well worth reading in full, but here is the crux:

"Free speech is dying in the western world. While most people still enjoy considerable freedom of expression, this right, once a near-absolute, has become less defined and less dependable for those espousing controversial social, political or religious views. The decline of free speech has come not from any single blow but rather from thousands of paper cuts of well-intentioned exceptions designed to maintain social harmony. . . .

"Of course, free speech is often precisely about pissing off other people – challenging social taboos or political values. . . .

"Such efforts focus not on the right to speak but on the possible reaction to speech – a fundamental change in the treatment of free speech in the West. The much-misconstrued statement of Justice Oliver Wendell Holmes that free speech does not give you the right to shout fire in a crowded theater is now being used to curtail speech that might provoke a violence-prone minority. Our entire society is being treated as a crowded theater, and talking about whole subjects is now akin to shouting 'fire!' . . . .

"The very right that laid the foundation for western civilization is increasingly viewed as a nuisance, if not a threat. Whether speech is deemed inflammatory or hateful or discriminatory or simply false, society is denying speech rights in the name of tolerance, enforcing mutual respect through categorical censorship.

I'm accused with some frequency of focusing my critiques on the US - the reason I do so is set forth here in reasoning I adopt in full - but vibrant free speech protection is a core liberty which the US, though very far from perfect, still safeguards better than most countries.

In sum, it takes a staggering amount of hubris to believe you're in any position to decide which ideas are so objectively and permanently wrong that they should be barred. It takes an equally staggering amount of childishness to want some central authority to protect you from ideas that you find upsetting."

You either believe in freedom of speech or censorship - one or the other. And sometimes that means holding your nose to let some mouth-breather say things that you would rather they didn't. Case in point - in two weeks Middlesbrough go to Sunderland in the League Cup and will endure 90 minutes worth of chants about Paedophilia, mainly from people not even born when the Cleveland Child Sex Abuse inquiry was taking place in the 80s. Disgusting, immature, offensive - all of the above, but illegal? I really don't think so.

I would not like to live in a world where Russell Howard is selling out stadiums and Frankie Boyle is in jail.

Postscript #1 - "Terrorism is not just people who kill human bodies, but who kill human feelings as well. The makers of this film have terrorised 1.6 billion people." - No it isn't, No they haven't and good on Google for defending the freedom of expression of the witless and pathetic.

Rebuilding the bridge to your past - or a live picture of it

2012-10-01T16:40:00.001-04:00

Back when I had jobs that weren't so interesting or labour intensive as my current main employer, I used to while away the hours cruising the internets for diverting, interesting or inspiring content. More often than not, especially once the daydreaming engine gets fired up this led me home, or rather the digital manifestations of it embodied by the local newspapers - The Evening Gazette and Northern Echo - and the redoubtable local BBC network - BBC Tees.

One of the most comforting and impressive features of the latter was a live webcam to various local landmarks including the mighty Transporter Bridge to give you a glimpse of how your old friends, and life, were getting on without you. A quick vaccine against homesickness but also reassurance that all was well and that even though you might be far away, you can check in instantly.

The BBC, under constant siege by its enemies, has fallen prey to the austerity mania gripping the UK right now and is tightening its belt in many areas, some logical, many not, but all involve services being pared back and cut. One of which is the webcam service which now exists as a digital ghost page displaying a picture from May 2011, a full 18 months ago.

Seized by civic pride and wanting to test the limits of this social media fad, I decided to fire off various forum posts, tweets and emails, exhorting my fellow Teessiders and wellwishers to contact BBC Tees and see if we couldn't get one of the IT Elves to go onto the roof and turn it off and back on again to bring a little bit of cheer into the hearts and lives of the Teesside diaspora. - "buff.ly/TqEjbK - Let's get the Transporter Bridge Webcam working again! - RT and email tees@bbc.co.uk"

A big thank you to everyone who took part including such notable luminaries as @Bob_Fischer, @garyhavelock and @rob_fmttm who helped the campaign reach 15044 views on Twitter, another 2000 on Facebook and more on Google+ and LinkedIn. I don't know how many emails tees@bbc.co.uk received but I did receive an email from the BBC that confirmed that the webcam would not be returning under it's current guise as "We try not to duplicate content others provide and many sites do webcams better than we can. We are also now primarily much more of a news site" but not before the fantastic Darlington and Stockton times entered the fray on my behalf...

So on this small matter I am obliged to concede defeat but am heartened by the response that something so trivial to most yet important to at least one person received and I would issue a plea to any business or individual in Middlesbrough with a high enough roof and a clear view of the Transporter to remember their brothers and sisters removed and throw us a digital lifeline so we might enjoy what you get to see every day.

Honestly, it just came off in my hand...

2012-09-24T10:24:00.005-04:00

I was going to write about the first official day of Fall this morning, the enveloping warmness of the shower, the gorgeous crispness of the air, the mist rising serenely from Lake Allatoona on my way to work from dropping Vince off at school - but no, all wistful thoughts evaporate like said mist as the harsh realities of everyday life intrude and I briefly become a prisoner of my own office.

I closed the door to get a little bit of focus and peace before the busy week ahead and tasks completed and mentally refreshed, pulled the handle to open the door back to the world.

Off it comes in my hand leaving me momentarily speechless and bemused. Firstly at my own strength, there's a little bit of Hulk in every man and it's good to know that your own brute force can impose its will on everyday objects that refuse to work. Then the creeping realisation that I am trapped with know way to release myself without calling for help and revealing to the world that I can't even manage to get out of my own office in a satisfactory way these days.

An email plea is sent to certain trusted individuals and help is forthcoming, although some don't think to check their email until much later and are surprised and on the surface, relieved that I am alive and well.

It shows the power of a new season and the thoughts of renewal and re energising that I am happy to laugh it all off and note that if this is the worst thing that happens all week then it will still be a very acceptable result.

Guy fought the law and the law won

2012-09-04T10:53:00.001-04:00

That was some night - I can't even remember doing it...

Guy Angelo Bailey
Age	: 53 Years Old	Sex	: M
Birth Date	: 4-18-1959
Weight	: 177 lbs	Eye Color	: BRO
Height	: 6'00"	Hair Color	: BLK

Arrest Information


Arrest Date	: 9-1-2012
Time Booked	: 11:56	Total Bond	: $2078

Charges

Charge 1

CHARGE: SPEEDING{40-6-181 MI}
BOND: 125

Charge 2

CHARGE: DRIVING WHILE LICENSE SUSPENDED OR REVOKED{40-5-121 MI}
BOND: 1434

Charge 3

CHARGE: DRIVING WITHOUT A VALID DRIVERS LICENSE{40-5-20 MI}
BOND: 519

Butterfly Happiness

2012-08-31T16:43:00.002-04:00

Self-help is a subject much ridiculed, especially in the UK. Seen as the abode of orange skinned, American cult leaders, prowling the stage with a hands free mic strapped to their face like a ridiculous appendage, exhorting their gullible and weak-minded followers to part with their credulity and the contents of their wallets. Chanting his latest slogan, designed to bring mental clarity, peace and prosperity but all the while leaving the attendee with the feeling that they look and sound like a prize plum.

But why is self improvement so demonised? Isn't there no higher or noble calling than to want to become a better person, wife, son, parent, partner? Who wouldn't want to quit smoking? Be richer? Stop procrastinating? Live up to their potential?

I differ from some of the main tenants of the more outlandish side of the discipline. You can't wish for a new Ferrari and have one appear, nor can you guarantee success by working 90 hours a week or quitting entirely to start your home made quilt business - and you definitely can't walk across Hot Coals without hurting yourself.

You can however, start accomplishing a little more, get a little fitter, eat a little better and generally feel more productive and a little happier about yourself. This is where Oliver Burkeman (above) and myself are in complete agreement. He writes a column for the Guardian on the self-improvement philosophies and a couple of excellent books on the subject - Help! and The Antidote: Happiness for people who can't stand positive thinking.

I noticed a small black butterfly fly across my path the other day when I was out for a run, it was a nice sunny day, nobody about, perfectly peaceful and it was flitting between leaves and flowers. It stopped for a little rest on a leaf, flapped it's wings as if to shake them out after an exertion and then took off again. This is the perfect microcosm of the much eluded happiness. That you cannot construct a virtual pleasuredome for yourself in which everything is immaculate and perfect and always will be, your moments of happiness are like the butterfly - small, fragile, insanely beautiful and fleeting.

How do you react to them? Chase them down with a psychological net to catch them, pin them to a board and watch them wither and decay, or just appreciate them for what they are, take in the perfect nature of the moment and its beauty, then go on your way, knowing that the next one is down the path and that your day and life are all the better for experiencing this one in the first place?

This isn't to discount all the numerous ways you can make yourself slightly happier, productive etc, that Burkeman and co go into in far more detail, but like any worthwhile endeavour in life, you have to prepare yourself for what you will do when you find your new plateau of achievement and happiness, how you will react to it, and what you will do to get to the next one.

We'll just keep on, keepin' on ahead of a long and deserved Labour Day break this weekend before entering the final months of 2012 with renewed optimism, energy and determination. But before all of that, you won't mind if I just stretch out on this leaf for a couple of minutes...

Where I lived - or rather, where life found me

2012-08-10T16:39:00.001-04:00

This is Ayresome Park.

This is where I learned to shout, swear, sing, drink, lean against a barrier with a hangover and keep it down, jump and end up 20 feet from where I started on a red and white human tide, made friends, lost bets, scaled fences, invaded pitches, learned history, saw the future, fell in love, had my heart broken, saw ancient gods and young pretenders, heard the funniest jokes, the worst abuse, bestowed instant judgements, changed my mind, saw justice served, saw cheats prosper, saw honour in defeat, saw undeserved victory, argued, agreed, forgave, condemned.

It's where I lived, or rather, where life found me.

Let the Games Begin!

2012-07-29T22:23:00.002-04:00

Well it's started - the hyperbole, the colour, the spectacle, the controversy and the unfortunate and just not good enough - yes, the reviews for the opening ceremony of the London Olympics are as varied and eclectic as many of the events and commentators themselves.

Watching from a distance, I was foresighted enough to watch the Opening Ceremony on the BBC stream, which as my discerning American wife notes, is the best in the business, and unlike the hapless NBC team (more of whose infamy later) know when to shut up and let the pictures do the talking.

The US coverage is being taken by NBC who controversially decided not to show the opening live or live streamed on the web but gave viewers a cut-down version with the usual inane observations, adverts and incredulity - not knowing who Sir Tim Berners Lee is for instance. They also heinously chose to cut the haunting rendition of Abide With Me for an interview with Michael Phelps by Ryan Seacrest, a man for whom the term obsequious would fit like one of the expensive Italian suits he rocks in the presence of the celebrities over which he fawns as if his life depends on it, which professionally I guess it does.

I was never a complete cynic about the Olympic Games - I knew logistically London would be up to the tasks - it hosts simultaneous demonstrations, concerts, Premier League fixtures and many more every single day of the week so I don't think Archery at Lords and Gymnastics at the O2 will be much of a stretch. The ceremony was a different matter but Danny Boyle fully deserves all the plaudits and garlands that will fall his way. I felt very humble, proud and amused to watch the spectacle - Abide with me got me where it was meant to, as it does every FA Cup Final day, and for the first time in a long time, I suddenly felt very far away from home watching on my monitor just north of Atlanta.

I spent six years working in London and its not the headline pictures of Buckingham Palace and Tower Bridge that make me most emotional, it's the outer suburbs viewed either side of the cycle road race with roadsigns, hairdressers with puns as their titles, little cafes and newsagents - the backbone of a Britain that I still know, recognise and love. While the venues and athletes will rightly get top billing in the next two weeks, I hope some more of ordinary Britain and Britons come over in the coverage to remind people in that self-effacing way that Boyle captured so tremendously the other night that unlike our American brethren with their overt shiny, on-their-sleeve patriotism, we do what we do best with little fanfare or fuss - culture, sport, art, confectionery, humour, life.

It was best summed up for me many years ago in a promo for BBC Radio One that followed 24 hours in the life of the station showing the DJ's performing various tasks and being their eclectic selves. The late John Peel's segment showed the aged sage looking over some albums while an incomprehensible din plays over the speakers, Peel looks over the top of his spectacles ala Dame Maggie Smith in Downton Abbey and gives the camera a look. It says "This is good", "I know what I'm doing" and "I know you'll enjoy this".

That's what the opening ceremony, these Olympic Games and Britain in 2012 says to me safely ensconced some 5000 miles to the South West. These games are going to be good. We know what we're doing and so just sit back, enjoy them and us. In American Psycho, while Timothy Bryce rages against Ronald Reagan's harmless old man act, mocking his genial appearance to cover a moral laxness and flexibility within, Patrick Bateman acknowledges an unspoken, unacknowledged American truth - inside doesn't matter. Outside is all there is. Britain is different. Like the transport of another of our iconic creations - Doctor Who - Britain doesn't look big or much from the outside at all but inside, are the wonders and treasures from 1000 years hence and yet to be, as broad and as wide as your imagination and with a heart that's even more. A heart that still burns and beats with a passion, vibrancy and urgency over 1000 years in the making.

We can afford to look a little shabby but for two weeks at least, we've decided to get our gladrags on and show the world we can still scrub up when we want to - we just don't need to.