There you are, bearing down on goal with the ball at your feet, heart rate increasing with every heavy stride you take. Should you tuck the ball away in bottom right hand corner or slot it into the left hand side of the keeper? Maybe it would be best to try and place it in one of the top corners? Or maybe you should just throw caution to the wind and belt it!? These are the usual options you would consider in a one-on-one situation with a goalkeeper (they may not be technically correct, never-the-less you get the idea). But what would happen if all of a sudden a 'defender' appeared out of the middle of nowhere? What... would you do if that 'defender' turned out to be a Cobra three quarters the size of one of your legs!? This is the sort of question that was thrust upon me earlier on this evening.

The day had started off so promisingly as well. Late on Sunday evening Jasper and I had both agreed that after almost two weeks of solid work in the office and out on the football field it was time for us both to let our hair down (granted this is literally very difficult for me at the moment with my current hairstyle). So it was settled then, Monday would be our day off, and a chance for me to further explore Bangalore.

I was woken by the sound of golf clubs being swung outside my room early this morning. Its a surpassingly relaxing sound to be woken up by, especially when someone ping's a ball 250 yards with a driver the size of John Prescott's right fist. Although to be honest its even more satisfying when you hear someone actually break a golf club whilst trying to hit the ball 250 yards with a driver the size of John Prescott's right fist, just for the simple reason that you know its quite possible the CEO of some multinational company. And the fact that he has just made a fool out of himself in front of all of his colleagues does bring a raised smile to my face ever time I hear that sharp, blunt cracking noise.

After crawling out of my bed (or spiders web as I like to refer to it these day due to the amount of times my mosquito net has ended up trapping me inside) and performing the usual morning routine, I strolled out of my room, across the courtyard and towards the club house. After seeking out Tiku I ordered my usual; omelet, toast, chai (tea) and pani (water) before heading off towards the office to get a bit of work done for the day.
Around ten o'clock a plume of dust rolling down the track towards the academy entrance welcomed the arrival of Jasper in his surprisingly clean silver Ford. After exchanging pleasantries with some of the staff at the academy we both shot off into town for our big day out.

Our first stop was, not surprisingly, lunch. Since I had breakfast at seven thirty that morning, I was more than ready to gorge myself on some more of the fine food on offer in India's tech capital. The problem is though that if you are in the city itself and plan to eat at eleven o'clock, its best advise that you start your journey to the restaurant at least a hour and a half in advance, simply because of the sheer bulk of traffic that grips the city for roughly fourteen hours a day. Nevertheless, onwards we went.

Our first task was to decide where to go, would it be Fanoos for a 'Rambo' Beef Diku or Empire for some Chicken and Parotas? We chose the latter.

Our next task, and possibly most challenging one, was to fight our way through the ever increasing traffic! Oh the perils of travelling through Bangalore with an empty stomach! Testing the normal laws of physics, bikes weave in and out of you, at an array of different and amazing angles as you travel through the city. Its almost like being in the lead plane during a red arrow display, as the other planes weave around you with amazing speed and precision, but obviously this version takes place on tarmac rather than in mid air, where space is no real issue.
Once Jasper had finally managed to guide us through the traffic we arrived at our destination... Empire Restaurant. This place is quite possible my favourite place to eat out in Bangalore, or at least from what I have tried so far. The average meal for one costs around £1.70... thats right folks, thats not a typo £1.70, that includes a chilled Sprite, full portion of Butter Chicken served in a creamy dal sauce, seven Coin Parotas, a portion of fried rice and to top it off 'service with a smile'. Needless to say I enjoyed every minute of eating lunch today. But I'm still struggling to come to terms with how little the food costs in India. To be honest I wouldn't call it value for money, Id call it day light robbery on the part of the consumer!

Once Jasper and I had thoroughly stuffed ourselves we staggered out of Empire and took a stroll down MG Road, Bangalore's equivalent to Oxford Street or 5th Avenue. The street itself is beautifully laid out with bustling shops one side and a glorious garden situated on the other side of the main strip of road that runs down the street. The concoction of different smells are wonderful as well, one minute your nose picks up then unmistakable sent of Dikus being cooked over a flaming barbecue by the side of the road, then a couple of seconds later your senses are overpowered as you inadvertently stroll past a scented candle shop!
Now before I tell you this I will point out that Jasper is a very patriotic India who, with good reason at time, feels the world will one day revolve around India. But his belief that a apartment along MG Road will set you back just as much money as a apartment in central Manhattan or London, doesn't really wash with me. Now don't get me wrong, its a lovely place and has just as much if not more to offer than London in terms of variety, but for me it just hasn't got that touch of class and pompousness that a place like Oxford Street or 5th Avenue has in abundance. And that to me is one reason why apartment prices are so high in major city centers around the world.

With our stomachs bulging and our attempts to blend in with the folk along MG in tatters, we made our way back to the car in an unsteady manner. On our excursion back to the car Jasper received a call from Ravi who insisted we drive across town and spend the rest of the afternoon with him. Now although this would take a hour and a half to do so, we were in no fit state to argue with him so agreed to meet him at his place at three o'clock.


We remarkably arrived at Ravi's with ten minutes to spare thanks in part to some extremely aggressive driving from Jasper. The area itself where Ravi lives is like many suburb's surrounding Bangalore, mixed with both run down housing blocks and sharp chrome office blocks. But there was one particular building that stood out more than most, a relatively small but never the less unmistakable sight of a football stadium. Even before Jasper and I could step foot in his modest looking house, we were informed by Ravi that we would in fact be attending a match in the stadium right away. Relatively excited at the prospect of seeing my first National League match in India, Ravi lead us across the road and into the stadium, free of charge.
The reason why Ravi could get us in for free is simple, he played in the National League for numerous clubs over a eight years period, thus has maid plenty of useful friends along the way. He played mainly as a left sided attacking midfielder, reached his prime in the late nineties where he was part of the ITI side that swept aside all challengers in India to win the National League title, National cup as well as a regional competition in Karnataka. Although he never played for India, it was during this time he came close to winning a cap for his country, but a niggling knee injury dashed his hopes of a call up. It was also due to the persistent injuries in his left knee that forced him to retire from the professional game in 2004.
Walking into the ramshackled stadium I was immediately struck by the smell of burnt peanuts and sterile urine, not the most pleasant concoction of smells Iv ever smelt.
Moving swiftly onto other matter though, the game. It was... interesting, not necessarily very compelling for the full ninety minutes but definitely an experience worth having. Individually the players were technically limited, the teams lacked shape, positional awareness was minimal and off the ball movement no existent. The one shining light was the players obvious love for the game. There salaries are low, job security is always insecure since clubs only ever offer season long contracts and the mixture of different league structures and cup competitions make the whole system difficult to understand at the best of time. Beside all of this the players turn out week in week out to perform in front of a few hundred uninspiring supporters and give there all every match. The game was a disappointing 1-1 draw, with the only major highlight being when the physio's trotting onto the field with a strange looking chrome implement that look as though it had been stolen off the set of a early 1980's Star Trek episode. After some origami'esk unfolding, the object turned out to be nothing more exciting that a rather elaborate stretcher.

Once the final whistle had blown all three of us made our way back to Ravi's place, where we were greeted by his wife and rather confused looking child. After introducing ourselves, we made our way up a flight of crumbling stairs to Ravi's room. The first floor of his house is a small restaurant, now when I say restaurant I mean ten plastic chairs with not tables and one cooker set off the the side of the room. Also instead of being a first floor, its rather a run down court yard, with the rooms above set off to the side of another crumbling building. Anyway we were shepherd into Ravi's modest but comfortable room where we all sat and talked about the one thing we all have in common, football. We sat and talked for roughly two and a half hours about Ravi's playing days and what football was like in Europe before Jasper and I made our excuses and left Ravi and his family in peace for the rest of the day.

By the time we had arrived back to the Academy the sun was setting behind the club house after yet another predictably hot day in Bangalore. The day's excitements though were far from over.
As soon as we pulled into the car park and hauled ourselves out of the car, we were immediately summoned over by Beirinder and Sandeep to play football with them, how could we turn such an fantastic off down!? So with Sandeep's team losing 4-2 I elected myself to be a possible saviour and joined there side.
Five minute in Andrews fantastically angled ball from the right wing put me clean through on goal. As the distance between me and the goal decreased with every heavy stride my mind was more on what sort of celebration I should perform after tucking the ball away; maybe a Ravanelli style shirt over head, or the classic Alan Shearer one armed raise or maybe a Lomana Lualua quadruple somersault? I had decided to give the latter a try when all of a sudden, no more than three meters in front of me lay India's version of the last line of defense... a Cobra!
Around one meter long and light brown in colour, it looked like ever other snake does to me, terrifying! Needless to say, the moment I caught a glimpse of the menacing looking thing I belted in the opposite direction, leaving the ball to roll harmlessly through to the goalkeeper.

This whole situation though has got me thinking this evening. The English have always been renowned for having uncompromising defender, Neil 'Razor' Ruddock, Terry 'Lets All Have a Disco' Butcher, Tony Adams, Bobby Moore and Norman 'Bite Yer Legs' Hunter. Now I'm pretty sure that if India embraced its slithery friends and tried to accommodate them into there national team, their world ranking would shoot up dramatically! No team in the world would mess around with a back four of Cobra's... I know I wouldn't!

This leads me nicely onto the question I asked at the beginning though; What would you do if a Cobra three quarters the size of one of your legs stood in front of you and possible goal scoring glory?

Bangalore is manic at the best of times, and today was no exception.

Over the past three days I have slowly grown accustom to my new surroundings and today was my first proper venture out into the heart of the city.

I was accompanied by Jasper and Sandeep, two employees of SPT and it is becoming apparent that the latter will probably become one of my most valued friends during my time in India.

Once out of the tranquil surroundings of the SPT Academy we immediately set about concurring the dusty Sarjapur Road into the heart of Bangalore. The road itself is definitely not one for the boy racers of this world, pot hole litter the ten kilometre road into the city like spots on a leopard.
With Jasper as my navigator though we made our way along Sarjapur Road with relative easy, and with Sandeep racing on ahead of us on his motorcycle I felt sure my stomachs growing pleas for more spicy food would soon be answered.
Besides this though, one of the most difficult things about driving in India is trying to keep track of all of the motorcycle around you at any given time. There are quite literally thousands of motorcycles in Bangalore and not one of them is what you could call a 'conservative driver' (Dad and Tony, you would be in Heaven). As you get further into the city, the growing crowds of people and the ever increasing number of motorcyclists make driving in Bangalore tougher than any city iv ever had the 'pleasure' of driving in.

Nevertheless we made it to Kodathi Mall in reasonably good time and it was only ten minutes after parking the car that I was sat down gouging myself on yet more curry, Biriani to be exact. Once you get used to the spices in Indian food, which I am yet to do, Iv been told by Sandeep that it is the tastiest food I will ever eat! To be honest after almost a week of eating a variety of different Indian dishes,I am beginning to see why he believes this to be so.

Once id performed my amazing 'full plate to clean plate in five minutes' trick we had a wonder around the mall to buy a few bits and bobs. But this trek around the mall had a different purpose as well, that was it gave Sandeep time to convince me to take a ride around the city on the back of his bike! On hearing his proposal initially I not only shot Jasper the most concerned look possible, but my heart rate seemed to increase to a worryingly high level. After witnessing the shear madness of Bangalore motorcyclists on our journey into the city, my hopes for San being any different were minimal.
He did in the end though prove me wrong. Racing through the city on the back of the bike was a great experience, and at no point did I feel unsafe. Weaving in and out of traffic was the most satisfying feeling every, especially when you pear into the cab of a stationary car where the pink squashy thing sat behind the wheel is on the verge of turning green and growing guns (muscles) the size of breeze-blocks.

My joy though was to be short lived. As we pulled away from yet another traffic jam, we inadvertently drove straight into a anti-George W. Bush which consisted of well over a thousand angry Muslims. At this point one phrase when through my mind... 'Oh Dear'. The reason being not only was I a western looking guy sat on the back of a motorcycle open to whatever abuse they chose to throw at me, I was the ONLY western guy in the vicinity!
To San credit he tried his best to keep me away from the mob who continued to hurl abuse at me, I'm not fluent in Arabic but I'm quite sure they weren't inviting me out for a drink once they were finished with there protest. It was only after we'd turned away from the main centre of the trouble that things got a bit serious for us both, unfortunately we got caught up in yet another traffic jam and it was at this point I was set upon by a guy we threw a punch to the back of my head. He then decided it be best to shout... something about Allah into my ears. Now it was at this point, I believe, I made one of the best decisions of my life. With his face right in-front of mine I had the perfect opportunity to place a beautiful head-butt in between his eyes (trust me I've dreamed about this quite a bit this evening). But I decided against it. Not only would it make me just as pathetic as him but there was also a thousand or so strong mob ready to back him up. Luckily for me my decision was made seconds before a gap barely big enough to fit a two pence peace opened up for San to somehow squeeze through.

Once San had put some distance between us and the mob he pulled over and began to apologise profusely for what had just happened, his apologise by the way continued well into this evening. I really do feel sorry for San, he above anyone else has made me feel so welcome here in Bangalore and for him to have to be the person who experienced that with me was the worst part of the whole incident. Once I'd assured him I'd received worse punches from my brother (and that's saying something... haha, love you Kaka) we made our way back to the Academy.

I'm sure you can guess what the topic of conversation has been tonight when me, San, Milton and Jasper sat down for a couple of drinks. In a strange way I can sympathize with the protester though, I possibly dislike Bush as much as he does, and the fact remains that Muslims are treated just as bad in the West if not worse. But besides all of this political nonsense today my friendship with Jasper and San has grown and that's the thing I will remember.

Good Morning India




After safely touching down in Goa, after a relatively painless flight from Manchester, I made my way out of the crisp air conditioned plane and into a beautifully mild morning in India's self proclaimed 'tourist capital'.

Once inside the pristine main building, it was only a 15 minute wait until a smartly dressed passport officer by the name of Stephan had tripled checked I was who my passport claimed me to be before I slid my way down the heavily waxed floors to the baggage collection point where all hell seamed to have broken loose.
The confusion was caused by two main factors, firstly; a group of 15 strong baggage handlers who had carefully selecting the heavyset bags to take off and hauling them off conveyor belt, which seamed fair enough at time. But when you mix this level of 'confusion' with a bunch of comatosed travellers, the consequences are hilarious! I witnessed two people attempt to haul there bags from the conveyor belt, only to be pulled onto the belt itself after failing to keep there footing whilst pulling there bags to safety. It was almost as though for a small space of time this insignificant conveyor belt in Goa had turned into a Alton Tower's-esk park ride.
Once I had recovered my composure and waded my way through the sea of taxi hawkers, I was speeding my way out of Goa with my 'trusted' driver Kamel. Its not really the scenery that hits you first, its more the smell of India that's the biggest shock to the scenes. Its a mixture of incense and body odder that hang in the thick morning air.

After one of the most nail-biting taxi rides of my life I was delivered to Panjim bus station where I proceeded to stumble across a beautifully maintained public garden with all my bags. Once I had inadvertently managed to decapitate a few helpless flowers on the way I was stood outside 'Paulo's Tours', and it was here I booked a ticket to Bangalore from a cheery sales rep. At this point though I was face with quite a dilemma, it was roughly 7:15 in the morning and my bus wasn't leaving until 4:30 in that afternoon and with the weight of three bags on me I was left with two choices; lug all of the bags around the city to try and find something resembling a café at this time in the morning, or sprawl out on the only available chair outside the coach station? I chose the latter, my body clock though it was around 2:15 in the morning, although the rising sun tended to disagree, and the prospect of physical activities was not appealing.
So after a nine hour dose of idle chit chat with the locals, Jeremy Clarkson and the occasional nap I passed the time with relative ease.



Once on board the cramped twenty seater coach I pulled my smart new travel pillow out of my bag (thank you Han and Dickey) and drifted of to a chocolate filled dream land where I would stay eating copies amount of Yorkees, until the bus reached Bangalore roughly twenty three hours later.

On arrival in Bangalore I was greeted by a beaming Amit Saran, my new boss. I honestly hope he doesn't judge people on first impressions otherwise I fear the Image of me looking like a cross between a crazed grizzly bear and Peter Crouch may stay in his mind for the duration of my stay in India. Once I had packed my bags away in the car he sped off into the bustling city centre, a place I will call home for at least the next six months, and after a short 30 minute drive out from the centre we reached the Academy.

First impressions were good, Its a well organized sports centre that is on the other hand crying out for some development. Equipped with a driving range, 9 holes golf course, tennis court, cricket field, volleyball court, five a side football field, club house, full size football field and my newly built quarters its a pretty pleasant place to be.




But as I currently write this blog entry watching the sun go down behind the academy on another warm Indian day, I cant help but think about my family, friends and someone else Iv left behind.