"You've got time! Play the easy ball! Keep it simple!" I holler from the other end of the 5-a-side pitch. Adrian, the Wednesday League Division 2 version of Christiano Ronaldo, completely ignores my advice and dribbles past all four outfield players at least twice.

His silky skills reminiscent of Pele, Maradona and Best, light up the pitch like a fluorescent bulb dangling from the ceiling in a bright white police interview room. He flows round defenders like a bubbling spring stream full of fresh salmon making their way towards the source. His legs, like long grass in a swirling wind, jink from side to side, keeping the ball closer to him than a mother keeps her new born child.

He pulls back the trigger and fires a shot off like a bullet from a gun. The ball sails over the cross bar, over the netting behind the goal and into a bush.

Everyone looks around for a volunteer to go into the bush. I do not like going into the bush. It is very overgrown and makes it very difficult to find anything. You have to really reach into the bowels of the bush and really struggle to part dense foliage. It also makes my nose itch and can be quite prickly and has sometimes been known to make me come out in a rash. Also, it smells funny and leaves a strange taste in your mouth afterwards.

Dan, the closest one to the bush at the time, reluctantly, dives in.

"Hey Ben!" I say, wandering out of my area to talk to a team mate. "Maybe you should give him some shooting lessons, especially after you hit that one into your own net from the half way line."

"Fucking Hell! That was six fucking months ago. Can't you fucking just let it go you cunt?" he replies in a jocular manner. I love the banter between team mates.

"Give the ball to me! No one's marking me." shouts Peter, our token special needs, Manchester City supporting player.

"Pete, it's gone over the fence," I say "But while we're waiting for it to come back consider this. Is it true that the only reason the Government wants the Super Casino next to the City of Manchester Stadium is because people are used to going there and throwing their money away even though they have no hope of winning anything. And that even though the roulette, the poker and one arm bandits are going to be in the Casino, the crap games are going to take place next door."

He looks at me vacantly while the cogs turn as he tries to figure out if what I had told him was true.

And then Dan, our intrepid explorer, returns from the bush. The ball has miraculously changed colour. It is now yellow.

11:25 on a Saturday night is not really the time of day that you want to learn that your Sunday has been usurped. I'm entirely sure how it even happened. One moment I'm on the phone to my dad and the next minute I am agreeing to help paint a room at the Church.

Painting itself isn't too bad. I quite enjoy it. I had done all the painting in my flat even before I'd finished unpacking. I couldn't wait to impose my own colour scheme and get rid of the Magnolia walls. But there are two things I don't like about painting, having to climb big ladders and doing the "cutting in" or the little fnickety bits round the edges. One moment I'm stood there talking to my dad and the next minute I'm on top of a 6 foot ladder painting round the ceiling.

A 6 foot ladder isn't really that bad. I'd probably be able to land on my feet if I fell off this, just so long as I don't have to do the other wall and climb up the 15 foot ladder. That is scary. It's not that I'm really afraid of the height - I'm more afraid of falling off and hitting the floor. Although, if watching the WWF has taught me anything it's that people can jump off the top of ladders and still survive. One moment I'm stood on top of a 6 foot ladder talking to my dad and the next minute I'm on top of the 15 foot ladder painting round the ceiling.

Damn him and his Jedi mind tricks.

I think one of the major tricks to overcoming fear is to pretend you're not afraid. If you act confident then you'll be confident. At least I found that that worked with Canadian Friends. Even if you're a shy retiring little flower like myself if you pretend you're confident then you come across as confident. And if you pretend for long enough, eventually you become confident. This approach is working well and I'm painting and leaning and swaying and haven't even thought about being 15 foot above the ground. And then my dad suddenly announces, "Hmmm, that ladder doesn't look very stable. I don't want anyone going up it unless they have a spotter."

And so he calls my mum. I would never go as far as calling my mother a "Little Old Lady" but she's 5"1' and is approaching retirement age. And she is now the only one stopping my ladder from falling over. I'm not sure if things have got better or worse. If I am to fall from the ladder, this now means that as I am falling not only do I have to make sure that I don't fall on my mother but neither does the ladder. And after doing that, then I have to think about falling properly on the ground. I go back to pretending that I am happy to be up the ladder.

As the afternoon moves on, I begin the second coat. By now the rest of the painters have progressed to the "Sit around eating bacon sandwiches and drinking strong tea" part of the afternoon, leaving me up the ladder on my own. The loving caring Church members shout helpful encouragement at me like "Ha ha ha! You missed a bit!!!" and they good-naturedly point out the bits I have overlooked.

And then some salvation comes. 6"3' Nick appears through the doors and is quickly given the job of stabilising my ladder. "Sorry I wasn't here sooner," he says "but I was playing football and I made a flying save and tipped one on to the bar with two minutes left and when I fell I think I dislocated my shoulder." I go back to pretending I am happy to be up the ladder.

So I've gone from being supported by an undersized elderly person to a giant who can't lift his arm above 45 degrees let alone catch me. I twist and contort trying to reach the bit behind the ceiling beam by the old chimney, which no one can see unless you're stood on a 15 foot ladder. At that moment, I arrive at the conclusion that my Father has decided to send his only son to die.

Good God!

As I speed towards a '0' birthday, I can understand why people don't want to make a big fuss about the anniversary of their Birth. After all it is just a day isn't it? And people who celebrate their Blog's birthday are just like those people who celebrate their pet's "Birthday". I know that Jess looks nice in a little party hat. And it's funny that you bought her presents and made her a little slice of "cake" from tuna. But that's not for me. Which reminds me, isn't it strange how a cat's "Birthday" seems to coincide with the day it was "rescued" from the cat's protection league when it was already 6 months old rather than the day it was actually born. If the right-to-lifers are right, then life begins at conception. Does that mean that a cat has three birthdays?

So what have we learnt in the last two years?

In the beginning there was a flat. It was very near my polling station but I did have my bin stolen, it had a crappy back door to it, the big clock round the corner kept telling the wrong time and my car was vandalised while parked outside so I viewed a new flat. And then I bought a flat which included lots of jitters about moving and also led to my Mum staining the toilet bowl on my first visit to the house.

The flat is very nice the area is very boho. The neighbours are nice if you can put up with people walking into your flat at 3am, people leaving notes on the doors of flats, cars and garbage huts, people knowing that you leave the windows of your flat open when you're not home and people with yellow mouldy feet. It also has a freezer that freezes itself shut, lots and lots of spiders, a boiler that didn't work and a wardrobe that took 10 months to finish. And that's even without mentioning the ants.

I like using the tram. As well as being on at least a couple of trams that were on fire, I have had the opportunity to steal one. Trams do have a tendency to break down when I am on them and I have also been known to not "mind the gap". They are used by different people from Jehovah Witnesses to women with no dress sense.

I seem to be the IT Help Desk for most members of my family.

The sporting landscape has changed dramatically. The England cricket team was an embarrassment and a laughing stock two years ago and is now, well….. they were a good team for about 6 months. And Manchester United have gone from being debt free to being 600 million in the hole. I have a brand new football team, which is not something I was expecting and they sing old Beach Boy songs and about inbreds.

Day of the week socks rule but being compared to Peter Crouch does not.

My Canadian Girlfriend, who inspired me to start this blog, has gone from being My Canadian Work Colleague to My Canadian Friend to My Canadian Girlfriend. We are very similar - she likes over priced coffee based drinks, I like over priced strong coffee a lot. She likes slagging people off, I like slagging people off. I like making jokes, she likes laughing. She likes shopping, I like buying her pretty things. I can even forgive her for saying that mum had webbed feet. We've been to London, Hull, Anglesey and America.

So what are my plans for the future? Maybe I'll get a new mobile or a new iPod. Summer's coming up so I'll be wearing shorts a lot. I'll continue to contribute to the community in such a way that I could be in the future awarded with an MBE, which I'd decline. I think I've agreed to go to my own fancy dress birthday party as Maximus from Gladiator so lots of working out is in the pipeline. I may try starting some fires or if that isn't a success maybe I'll take up a martial art.

Other than that, just a lot more dicking about.

"I've rung them but they didn't answer!!! I want my MP3 player!!!" says My Canadian Girlfriend. "I can't believe it. The delivery company had said on their website that they'd left two yellow calling cards but how could they? This is a secure building and they can't get into the lobby. I can't believe they lied on their site and said that they had left notes. At least they've not delivered it to someone else like the time they did that with those books. I am so angry about that. I'm going to keep ringing this lot until I get an answer. Will you be able to pick it up for me? I've loaded up the map for you on the Internet. I've got a Hybrid map on Google, a street map from Multimap, the company also has a map on their website and I've written out directions from United's ground - I figured you'd know how to get there. I'll get my passport out which you'll have to take so that they know you know me and you'll need some form of ID but you carry your driver's licence don't you? So will you be able to go? I'd come too but I want to stay here and wait for my boots. The post office is so much better at delivering stuff than these private companies and the Post Office website says they're out for delivery today. I can't believe I ended up ordering a pair, especially after we were in the shop when we went down to London. I showed them to Martin at work - you remember him, the one that talks like a tax inspector - it's his Girlfriend's Birthday coming up and he was stuck for present ideas and she was after some new boots so he's said she should treat herself to a pair. It's especially good for him because they're on sale and they're on such a tight budget since he's been putting her through Uni. He's so sweet doing that don't you think. The other day he sat up till 3am with her while she did an essay because she doesn't like staying up on her own. But of course there are plenty of boots that aren't on sale - I hope she doesn't pick one of the pairs that are £120. Apparently she gets really jealous of other women talking to him. His partner at the evening class he takes is a blonde and apparently she's quite pretty and they have to spend like two evenings a week together until the summer - hopefully these boots will reassure her. She sounds a bit nuts but not so fucking crazy she could be part of my family. Did I tell you that I got my mum in the shit the other day? You remember that my sister Suzanne has just had the baby? Well my sister Sarah went to see her and had a couple of photos taken of the children when she was holding them. And then she sent them to my sister-in-law, Leanne, who sent them to me on email. And then I mentioned to Suzanne that I had seen them and she went mental - at my Mom!!! Sarah had the photos taken, Leanne was the one who emailed them, I was the one that saw them and she went mad at my Mom!!! Apparently she's the only one that is allowed to distribute photos of her children. It's like she owns the image rights to her kids. But I should've known better, this was the same sister that went mad when I printed out a photo of her twins, framed it and hung it in my Dad's study. And speaking of crazy nuts, Andy walked into our office when I was placing the order for the boots. He only ever walks in to our office when I'm doing stuff I shouldn't. But he's not my boss so it doesn't really matter. I'd just sent that report out to the Director and seeing him reminded me that they'd changed the procedure for it and I was supposed to copy everyone from the Planning team into that email but I hadn't. So I sent out an apology and attached the report. I got five people emailing me back reminding me that I should've done it in the first place. It was like working in 'Office Space'. And Andy left without offering to make a brew. He never makes a brew. The last time he made a brew you had to put the kettle on the stove and wait for it to whistle. And what makes it worse is that he always comes in with his cup, so you know he's brewing up. And sometimes he has the tenacity to simply ask if someone will make him a brew because he can hear his phone ringing. I'm sure he just rings it from his mobile. He always teases me and Gabby about not making brews but I make plenty. I always brew up as soon as I get in - it's my fault that he's not there and doesn't get in until twenty past nine is it? And he switched my mouse over to left-handed the other day without telling me. He's such a child."

"Well I can see why you'd get upset about that." I say.

"You sound a bit grumpy - is everything ok?" she says.

"It's 6:15 AM on a Saturday and I'm trying to have a wee, which I don't think I'll be able to do until you give me a minute and I can close the door."

I have been tagged!!!

I have never been tagged before apart from by Andrew at infant's school. I could've swore we were playing tickey-bob-down but it turns out we were playing tickey-shadow. So this being my first time, I'm not entirely sure what I should do. All I know is that I have to write five things about myself that I haven't written about before.

1. I used to have "Champ Bear" from the Care Bear collection. I slept with him until I left home for Uni. He was the most masculine of the Care Bears and taught me that second place is the first of the losers. But the losers should be praised, because if it weren't for them losing then my winning would feel a lot emptier. I also bought Grumpy Bear because I wanted to see if I could make him smile.
3. I've always had a problem with counting.
2. Back in school I finished third bottom of the class when we did a surprise test on the 50 most misspelled words in GCSE exams. I was very good at learning words to spell but very bad at remembering them after the test. Of the two people that came below me, one of them was diagnosed as being dyslexic a year later and I've always been worried that I could be but never had it checked. Although thanks to the little red squiggly line in Word, I never need to remember any spellings ever again.
3. Its very self centred but a lot of times I wonder if people exist when I can't see them. I've always viewed the world like a computer game - when I turn a corner the vectors and lines of the room are then drawn. I am glad I don't live in a 486 computer otherwise there would be a considerable amount of loading time every time I tried to enter the room. I have yet to face an "End of Level" boss.
4. I've told a lot of lies in my life. Some big - "Of course I'm not going to United vs Liverpool on Good Friday, the reason I can't go on the field trip is because I'm involved at the Church's 'Walk of Witness'" - to the small - "No of course I don't think Kirsten Dunst is more attractive than you!". And I feel guilty about all of them.
5. I've always seen my blog as more of a real world story / book rather than a "blog", which is why I don't like being tagged because it's all a bit non-canon. It's also the reason why I don't tend to read many other blogs and why I don't go around commenting on everyone's blog. And that, I think, is one of the reasons why my face will never "fit" in the lofty blog circles. And that's why I'm not gonna tag anyone else.

High Five!

Having just visited the US of A, I thought I should share with you the areas in which the Greatest Nation on Earth (tm) can improve the experience of a visitor.

Cars and Roads
The roads are nice and straight, I can only assume that they are like this because American's find it difficult to cope with turning the steering wheel or that because they all drive top heavy SUVs that the thought of taking it round more than a shallow bend, fills them with fear that it'll tip over. And the roads are wide too. If some of their three lane highways were in Britain then the Department of Transport would've been able to fit seven lanes each way, a disused trailer with a usedjag.com advert on it, a 22 miles to Next Services sign and an electronic sign warning you to drive carefully and have a rest if you need it.

Also, vanity plates are neither funny nor entertaining they just prove that you're a wanker (This goes for Brits too!)
"Can you give me 'Mum' please?"
"I'm sorry but there are already 765 'Mum's out there - how about 'Mum 766'?"

Cars are pretty eclectic. The cars in the car park of the mall I visited alternated from Escalade to a 15 year old Hooptie with half a petrol cap because the other half had rusted off back to car with 24" rims. So I summarise that to fit in, you must either own the sort of car where you can run over an old lady and not even feel a bump or a car that would disintegrate if it went through a puddle.

Customs
When all you've done since 11th September 2001 is travel through Europe, approaching US Customs can be intimidating at the best of times. It can terrifying if you've just seen a 14-16 year old British Girl (you'd have had to ask her for ID if you were worried about statutory rape) almost be denied entry to the country because she had a name that sounded like a terrorists.

So when you reach the front of the line it is nice to see that the guards are actually quite polite and entertaining it's a nice relief. Although when you mention you're going to Wrestlemania and they ask if you like seeing half naked men wrestling - answering "Yes" is probably not a good idea. That is when they get the special stamp out and deface your passport with "QUEER" in big pink letters.

Size
Everything is big. And I mean Big. The cars are big, the roads are big and the people are big. I'm normally used to looking down on most people - not just because of my lower upper middle class status - but also because I'm 6"1'. But in America, I'm like a midget. All American males seem to measure 6"3' in every direction.
There are many plus points to everyone being big. Even people with severe body image issues, like myself, can feel thin. At least until I look in a mirror. Damn those love handles!!!

Food
You don't have to be a genius to figure out why the American's are so big. Everything either has lard or sugar in it. The bacon is cooked and coated in sugar and the muffins have a big stick of lard in there. And you shouldn't be able to hold the bacon up and have sword fights with it. And the bacon should actually have more bacon on it than charred fat. The proportion should be around 95% bacon and 5% fat, with a 5% margin of error.

Eating a steak is a tricky prospect too. It's a bit like buying shoes. A UK size 10 is a US size 11. You have to remember to add one on. And the same goes for the way you want your steak cooked. A UK rare is the same as a US medium rare. A US Blue means it's still mooing when it reaches the plate. And if you need it well done, then you better ask for it to be nailed to a tree during a forest fire.
On the plus side, all you can eat breakfast buffets are a good idea. Being able to eat so much food that you don't need to eat again for the rest of the day is something that should be applauded. But what is more interesting, is the idea of actually including things people would want to eat and having them tasting fresh. TravelLodge could learn a lot from this.

Magazines
Only in the US would you see "Gun Owners Monthly" on the same shelf as "Men's Fitness".

Chocolate
Hershey's - please note "Special Dark Chocolate" should contain more than 60% coca solids. I don't even get out of bed if it's not more than 69.9%. I would suggest creating an international standard where chocolate cannot be called dark unless it contains 70% coca solids.

(Also a word of warning to people buying chocolate gifts to bring into the office, do not buy Hershey's miniatures unless you are prepared for constant moaning about how the chocolate tastes like cheap Easter egg chocolate. Of course, if you're in my office I would take the complaints more seriously if they weren't followed up by you swallowing 14 miniatures)

Shopping
Everything is cheap. The iPods are cheap, the clothes are cheap. Now this either has something to do with the Dow and the FTSE and the pound being strong against the dollar - or it's because everything is just so damn cheap.

The service is good too. At first it gets a bit of getting used to. Greeters at UK stores normally look thoroughly pissed off as if they've just been rostered on to a job they hate - which, knowing a few people in retail, I would feel safe in saying most of them do. But in the US, the people actually seem happy to see you and they approach you with a smile on your face. This can be quite intimidating, especially to shy retiring Brits like me, but eventually you get used to it and it starts to become really nice. And then after visiting about 20 shops and restaurants it jumps the shark. Having to say "I'm ok how are you doing today" becomes boring very quickly and one should retreat back to the typical British look of "If you bother me, I'll kick the crap out of you, rip your head off and spit down your neck." And then when you're back in the UK, it is nice to get back to normality and have someone simply stick their dirty mitt out and say "£2.99!"

Although I must admit I did jump with joy at one point. You can buy 750 Anadin for £5. That's right - 750. It's not like the UK where the nanny state stops you buying more than 16 Anadin at a time in case you take them for more than 2 days in a row without seeking Doctor's advice. And what's more, I only bought 750 because I couldn't get a 1000!

Even expensive stadium food is cheap. £15 for a coke and two burgers is expensive in US terms but at Glazer's United, you'd be lucky to get a packet of Gum for £15.

In summary, I would certainly recommend taking a Canadian Girlfriend with you (although not mine - you'll have to get your own). They can deal with the pushy sales people, advise you about the right amount to tip people and point you in the right direction for cheap gum.