My new blog can be found at: tomlegg.wordpress.com

Although I'm now back in the UK I'm still writing about event's and issues that interest me.

Would love for you to take a look!

The actual purpose of Holi is still eluding me, two weeks after this amazing festival took place. Friends have explained to me a number of different reasons why it takes place, from; celebrating the coming of spring, celebrating the rich colour of life and love and my personal favourite, an excuse to make fools of your friends and family and have a great time in the process. Whatever the reason for the festival one this is certain. For one day a year, people drop all professional responsibilities, purchase copious amounts of paint and coloured powder making sure that every possible colour in the rainbow is represented in their armorer then gather a group of friends and family to wage colourful war on one another!

I awoke on the day of the festival unaware of the impending Technicolor dream show that was about to be played out in font of, and on, me! I sauntered out of my room towards the club house early on Saturday morning, the due from the cold Indian night still hung in the air like an invisible, all-conquering cloak over the Academy. Once at the club house I made sure to position myself at a table out on the terrace, perfectly in line with the rising sun to ensure the crisp morning rays showered my cold weary body. It was then left for me to sit back, enjoy breakfast and engross myself in 'A Year in Provence' by Peter Mayle.

After spending the early part of the morning on an idyllic vineyards at the foot hills of the Lubéron Mountains, drinking Pastis and marvelling at the surrounding I slapped myself out of dream land and began the walk back to my room. Little did I know I was being stalked, and not by a crazed manic intend on robbing me of all my money, rather Ravi Babu who with both hands full of red and yellow powder let out an almighty shout before unleashing a shower of coloured powder all over my clean white t-shirt and shocked face. I stood motionless... wondering why I suddenly resembled a oversized hippy lobster, as Ravi tried his level best to explain to me the reason for his impromptu assault whilst laughing uncontrollably. My powder filled ears were just about clear enough to decode the words that were coming from his mouth, and after the initial shock of it all... I couldn't help but begin to laugh uncontrollably at what had just happened to me.

The afternoon then descended into a mass of colour and laughter. With Ravi and I as the ringleaders, refusal to take part was not an option, and was met with a hefty slap of colour around the face of anyone who dare escape. We both made sure that every single person in the Academy was covered in a variety of different colours, from Mahender (the cook, and great friend) to Amit Saran (SPT's CEO) everyone was turned into walking rainbows.
Giant tanks full of water were filled and left on the football field to allow people to fill up buckets of freezing cold water and cover friends, family and enemies in water.

Being the only white boy present my skin obviously stood out as a particularly appealing target for wave after wave of colourful attacks from everyone. My face was the first target, with most people choosing to use darker colours to make sure my face resembled a rather bruised and battered plumb. My neck and arms were the next on the body hit list, my arms in particular came under constant attack from Andrew who decided to test every possible colour available on my helpless limbs.

The festival itself is primarily a Hindu celebration, welcoming the beginning of spring.
The story goes that a young Lord Krishna was finding it difficult to come to terms with the difference in skin colour between him and his younger brother Radha's. After Lord Krishna's mother witnessed how upset this made her first born son she decided to apply coloured powder to both there faces to curve Lord Krishna's anxieties. Thus Holi is a festival not only to welcome the coming of spring but also to highlight the richness of love. The feelings I received from everyone taking part in the celebrations though was that the true meaning and nature of Holi has been lost over recent years, similar to Christmas and Easter in the west. But this is not down to commercial influences, rather the increasing physical and mental demands of modern day life that has lead people to simply relish the chance to take life a little less seriously, regardless of the true meaning of it all. So the reason people celebrate the festival these days is simply... for fun. Its a day when people can let go of all of their inhibitions and day-to-day worries and act like five year old kids again. I know I did!

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.

On a typically cold Decembers afternoon in Dortmund, the lights when out on Bert van Marwijk rein as Bourussia Dortmund's manager. After seeing his side slip to pathetic 1-2 loss to in-form Bayern Leverkusen, the board seemingly had heard enough excuses and Bert was shown the exit after two and a half years at the club.

Apart from the final result in Dortmund on Sunday night, me and my dad had a fantastic time watching BVB take on Bayern Leverkusen. The biggest thanks has to be reserved for Ulrich Durrwang, who not for the first time, made this yet another trip to remember.
He booked us into a great hotel, situated less than a mile away from the magnificent Signal Iduna Stadium, and if that was not enough the Bayern Leverkusen team were also staying at the same hotel.
Once we'd arrived to the hotel early in the afternoon, had a rest and generally recovered from a non-stop 24 hours journey to the lively German city we were picked up by Ulrich, along with Anja and Thomas, and promptly whisked away to the V.I.P. section of the Signal Induna Stadium (or Westfallenstadionto most BVB fans).
Once Inside the V.I.P. lounge your pre-game build up is a mix of culinary delights (a choice of Salmon, Currywurst, Ravioli and Chocolate cake are all made available) and enjoyable socializing with various dedicated BVB fans. Just like with Premiership fan's, they all have there own opinions and even before the game had started most of the talk centered around weather or not Bert would last till the end of week. As it turned out, most people where correct with there pre-game predictions concerning the Dutchman's future.

One the game has started we were seated in the best 'viewing' area in the stadium. Although I must admit at times I look to my right and wish I were standing with 25,000 plus cheering BVB fans in 'the Südtribüne', but the view from the V.I.P. area is unbeatable.
As the game kicked off Dortmund made a relatively positive start, with both Pienaar and Kringe firing wide. But this was as good as it would get for the home fans as Bayern Leverkusen slowly took control of the game, and in the 24 minute took the lead as the 'ever diving' Andrei Voronin took advantage of some appalling defensive errors to tuck home a weak Bernd Schneider cross. Dortmund looked pathetic in the first half, playing a narrow 4-1-2-1-2 formation they side had no width, no passing game and seemingly no style of play, this is something a manager must instill in a team and is something Dortmund lacked. BVB's talented but inconsistent midfielder Nuri Sahin failed to shine once again, preferring to pass the ball as soon as he received it rather than ask questions of the Bayern Leverkusen defense with his obvious speed and skill on the ball. Once the referee blew for half time the team were subjected to a deserved barrage of boo's from the home fans as they wondered aimlessly off the pitch.
As the second half got under way the Dortmund fans situated in the Südtribüne decided they were going to have a party regardless of how there team did or did not perform. There encouragement was tested on the 74 minute when German Under 21 striker Stefan Kiessling volleyed home after beating Christian Worns inside-out, boo's reverberated around the Signal Iduna Stadium and the team look clueless. Bert cast a lonely figure on the opposite touchline, his pathetic attempts to encourage his team were as helpful as his formation. It wasn't until the 85th minute when defender Martin Amedick climbed above Brazilian defender Juan to head home a late life-line for the home side, it seemed rather poignant that the only cross of the game should result in there first goals. In the 87th minute it seemed as though Dortmund's young defender would complete a memorable late fight-back, after he connected with the teams second cross of the game only to see his week header beat Hans-Jörg Butt but not the post.
As the referee blew his whistle to signal the end of the game, boo's echoed around the stadium and Bert's stint at this glorious club came to an abrupt end.
Beside the result, the game was entertaining for all the wrong reason. My dad and I had a fantastic time with Ulrich and his friends, and it is yet another memorable BVB game I have witnessed. But the special thanks has to go out to Ulirch who makes trips so enjoyable.

Mambo

Well folks iv just returned from Kenya and once again the country of my upbringing continues to enchant me every time I go there.
The main purpose of my two week journey to Kenya was to help with the 'down-sizing' of my parents charity in Lower Kabete, but I manage to fit in a few extra excursions along the way.

My first day in Kenya was a pleasant shock. I landed at Moi International Airport around 10:30 in the morning and was welcomed by a overwhelming wave of heat as I stepped off the plain, walking out from a cosy 18 degrees air-conditioned Boeing 747 into a sweltering 34 degrees arrivals lounge is Africa's way of saying Karibu. The expressions washed across most of two hundred and fifty, mostly british, passengers faces as they stumble out of the plane was... priceless.
After a short, but expected delay, at the Visa control point I was on my way out of the baggage reclaim halls and out into the main airport entrance where I was immediately set on by 10+ taxi men assuring me... "You need a Taxi Bwana". After politely informing them I would be getting a connecting flight up to Nairobi, they soon turned there attentions to the sweat covered mob that was staggering out of the arrivals door.
Once I had booked my flight, for a reasonable 6,400 Kshs, I met a man called Nelson Orobo. A tired looking KAA worker who had nothing else better to do than to keep me company for three hours whilst I waited to my flight. He was a pleasant guy who seemed to spend most of his day walking from kiosk-to-kiosk chatting up the women at the counters, but this aside I owe him a favour for keeping me entertained whilst I waited.

Once on board the Fly540 flight to Nairobi, my lack of sleep seemed to instantly wash over me and even before the engines had time to raw up before take off, I was fast asleep dreaming of a cup of tea and plate full of samosas. I was awoken an hour later when the small 20 seater plane comfortably landed at Jomo Kenyatta, finally home again! Stepping out of the plane with a sense of excitement in each stride I was welcomed by that unmistakable Nairobi smell of exhaust fumes mixed with the heavy humid air, the smell conjures up numerous happy moments spent here as a child.
Once I had managed to evade yet another mob of taxi men I went to meet Beatrice to collect the our car that she had been looking after for my parents. After exchanging pleasantries and getting a few business matters sorted I clambered into the white Daewoo, turned on the local radio station and off I went. Now you've got to understand what a beautiful moment this was for me, my first time driving in Kenya... Oh Yeah! For years I have been dreaming of getting behind the wheel of a car and driving around downtown Nairobi, evading matatus, animal, people and potholes. At 16:54 on Monday the 27th of December 2006 this dream was realized, and I was not disappointed! Once I had left the relative safety of the airport I made my way into town down Mombasa Road, but my initial joy was to be short lived once I caught a glimpse of the petrol gage. Slowing down to a sluggish 40 miles an hour to preserve petrol I managed to make it to the entrance of the gas station before the car gave up, but with the help of the pump attendants we managed to get the car within reach of pump and fill the tank. Off I set again, no fear this time, not a care in the world, speeding down the highway into Nairobi, windows open, smile beaming across my face, not even the crazy matatus, kamikaze highway sellers and crater 'esk potholes could ruin the two hours I spend winding my way up Mombasa Road, Uhuru Highway, Chiromo Road and finally Waiyaki Way to Loresho.

Once I pulled into the drive way of the cottage, William, looking young as every, came sprinting out of the kitchen to open to gate for me. As the car came to a holt I rested my weary head on the steering wheel, "are you alright tom?" William asked, "I am now William". Climbing out of the car I was immediately set upon by Collins and Stacy, two cute kids who's father David is a good friend, "Jambo Tom, Habari Yako?".
Once I was in the house I was given a welcoming hug from William (you wouldn't believe he's in his early 80 by the way he dances around the place, although he's adamant he's only 45) and a cup of Chai.

Once I'd had a shower and unpacked, my weary bones could take no more and I succumbed to the beds growing temptation. After Unraveling the mosquito net I climbed inside my little cocoon, I turned on the BBC World Service and relaxed. My first night was difficult though, my last two trips to Kenya had been with Kerri (my beautiful girlfriend) and in the silent Nairobi night I deeply missed her presence next to me. I missed the fun banter we'd have regarding the days events, the relaxed planning of the next days tasks, but most of all I just missed her being there. It took me a couple of hours until my mind was clear enough to fall asleep, and when I did I slept like a baby until the morning.

My first day was relatively successful, once I awoke from my comer like sleep I was immediately welcomed by William with a cup of Chai, nothing better than a cup of tea on a crisp Kenyan morning. It was relatively cloudy outside, although quite warm, it was the end of the long rains and the sun was just starting the burn the African soil once again. I completed a number of tasks set out by my dad on the first day: changed some money in town, got several quote for the car to be cleaned, food shopping in Uchumi and from the dukas up the road, arrange a meeting with Bernard Njorgi (which he was two hour late too and didn't bring the documents I wanted, although I expected as much) and most importantly I met my good friend JT.

Day Two was equally successful. I posted some adverts for house-hold furniture and the car in the Sarit, managed to get the car cleaned at Parkland (which took all of six hours to do, due to them having to remove some writing on the side of the car with vast quantities of petrol) and in the evening I met Sam Hinton.
Sam is an American guy I met jointly through Bigsoccer.com and through another good friend Cesar Benoit. I'd spoken to him via email prior to my arrival in Nairobi and I was very much looking forward to meeting him in person. I drove into town, still enjoying every second of driving in Nairobi, and picked him up from Parklands. From there I took him back to the cottage where William had prepared a fantastic dinner which was devoured within minutes! We then proceeded to chat about Kenya, life, Africa and football through out the evening. He's a quietly spoken guy, but very intelligent and it was great to speak to someone face-to-face who has almost exactly the same dreams and aspiration as me (to set up a Football Academy in Kenya). Once I start talking about the subject I could go on chatting for hours, I lie awake a night dreaming about running a renowned academy in the country that means so much to me.
I offered to give Sam a lift back to where he was staying, luckily David and Jacob offered to tag along to help us both find our way. We set off down Waiyaki Way and into town, but as we drove up university hill we were flagged down by the 'Police'. I use the word Police loosely, because when you live in the west the word Police conjures up images of law enforcing officers who are there to help ensure the inhabitancies of communities abide my the law. Not in Kenya, these 'Police' may occasionally do some good for the community but on the whole they are seen as a menace. A recent Daily Nation poll indicated that the Police Service were by far the most corrupt organization in Kenya, you don't have to travel far in Kenya to see this evidence first hand. So we were flagged down by a chubby, proud 'Police Officer' who greeted us all quite politely initially, then on his inspection of our seat-belts found that Jacob was not wearing the correct seat belt. Sat in the back with Sam, he was not using the side seat belt but instead using the central one due to having grave difficulty connecting the belt itself to the clip. Suddenly the 'Police officers' manner turned, his voice raised and scowl increased. After a couple of minutes of us trying to convince him that Jacob was wearing a seat belt, which he obviously was, he angrily let us on our way. That wasn't the only drama of the night as it then took us around an hour and a half to find the place where Sam was staying, but it was all a bit of a laugh. After dropping Sam off home safe and sound David, Jacob and I warily returned to the cottage avoiding numerous 'Police' check points and reckless matatu's on the way back.

The rest of the week was spend dealing with the ever increasing number of inquirers for furniture, meeting Lydia to go through the stock book, chasing Bernard and Beatrice up for the documents which continued to elude me, spend some time up at the dukas talking to 'mama', played football with Collins, Stacy, David and Googley, going to the Yaya and Sarit Centre and visiting some friends in the triangle market.

Monday 4th was a day of preparation for the arrival of my Mama. William was unusually hyperactive, cleaning every possible item of furniture in the house, whilst I continued to chase up the elusive Bernard Njorogi and Beatrice who were coming more and more of a menace by the day. Then at 10:32 the ringing of my phone signaled the arrival of my Mama on Kenyan soil. I promised to pick her up a Jomo at 14:00, then almost like magic as I hug up on my Mama, my phone rang again... the name Bernard Njorogi appeared on the screen... were my eyes playing tricks on me? I answered the phone, and sure enough, the deep proud voice of Bernard Njorogi greeted me, we then proceeded to arranged a meeting at 13:30 to discuss things and collect the documents.
I arrived at his office at 13:20 and there he was, sat behind a large desk covered with a mixture of paperwork, a laptop, an assortment of different colored pens and various mobile telephones. After initial small talk we got onto the 'nitty gritty'... the documents, and without even finishing the word docum...' he proudly produced the thick file of import documents from under one of many piles of paperwork. A wave of relief washed over me, finally after days of canceled meeting and broken promises I had the documents in my hands. But he was not done there, he proceeded to talk 'the old days' when he was a promising football player in Kenya, a Midfielder to be exact, and even accompanied the country at youth level on numerous international tours including trips to Hungary and Italy. He did not finish there, he then began to boast of his links with Nike and Safaricom (The biggest mobile phones provider in the country), assuring me that if he was ever to be included in the development of an East African Football Academy he would be able to call upon numerous high powered friends and demand appealing favors from them all. I indulged in his fairy tails for a while, but as my eyes wondered around his tidy office I caught a glimpse of the time... 14:10! Oh no... Mama!
Quickly making my excuses I ran out of his office and into the slowest elevator the world has ever seen, it took me all of 10 minutes to descend four floors and once I finally arrived on the ground floor my idle jog turned into a olympic style sprint to my car that was parked further down Moi Avenue.
Once on Uhuru Highway, nothing could stop me. Weaving in and out of potholes, pedestrians and 'policemen' I made it to Jomo in 20 minutes, and as pulled into the arrivals terminal there Mama was, looking surprisingly sharp and awake. Once I'd picked her up and bored her with my trials and tribulations of the previous week, we set off to the Sarit Center to have some tea. The rest of the day we spent wondering around Westlands seeing friends and buying fruit and samosas from roadside sellers, there is truly nothing like a warm samosa from Martins stall next to the triangle market of which I became a regular visitor the previous week and was not planning on changing that routine during my last week.

The rest of the week was spent meeting Lydia several times, selling copious amounts of furniture to rich Kikuyu and generally having a good time with Mama. It was such a relief to have someone there with me for the second week. Although William is always great company during the day, the prospect of sitting on the sofa by myself eating dinner every night did get rather depressing.

On Wednesday night though, things became a little more exciting. After I'd finished yet another fantastic dinner made by William, I was in desperate need for some water and fruit. So around 8:40 I took the short mile long journey up the road to the dukas, on the way all seemed fine, it was a typically warm Nairobi evening and people were sauntering back to Kabete after a long days work. Once I'd had my now regular daily chat with 'Mama' at the duka and purchased some bananas and water from her, I made my way back to the cottage. But something did not feel right with the car on my return journey, then all of a sudden the steering wheel violently pulled to the left hand side and I came to an abrupt halt by the side of the road. Rather shock by what had just happened I climbed out of the car only to find my front left hand tyre as flat as a pancake. Now at this point most people would swear there head off or break down, me I just laughed. It part and parcel of being in Kenya that at some point you will get your first burst tyre, and I was looking forward to the challenge of changing the tyre on a clear Kenyan night. But all of a sudden I heard someone shouting in the dark 'Tom... Tom is that you?', it was David and Jacob staggering down to the road after a few to many Tusker's after work. They enquired as to what was wrong with the car and I promptly showed to them the current state of my front tyre. "Ahhh" they proclaimed, after a slight pause to asses the tyres condition they took the wrench from my hands and removed the spare tyre from the back of the car. In the mean time I jacked the car up with great satisfaction, then all of a sudden Googley appeared out of the dark, "Hi Tom', let me help". So there I was, in the dark of an African evening with David, Jacob and Googley changing the tyre on my car, David had allocated himself chief tyre changer, with Googley his trusted assistant, Jacob had assigned himself the role of mobile phone holder (or light bearer) and I happily took the role of 'jack-man'. After 45 minutes of scrambling around in the dark, we had managed to successful change the tyre and we were all on our way back to the cottage. Once we pulled into the drive and came to a halt I could not thank the three of them enough for all of there help, and it was at this point I realized... they didn't even ask me if I wanted any help. They could see that I could do with some help and it seemed instinctive to go out of there way to help someone change there tyre, the though of not helping probably never crossed there minds

My final day was to be my most memorable. Me and Mama awoke from our stupor early as usual and proceeded to make ourselves tea and scrambled eggs. We planned an out of town excursion for my final day, be it only a 20 minute drive out of town, but the contrast in environment was huge. In Kenya you can get into your car around any normal built up, commercial district of Nairobi, make your way onto Waiyaki Way, drive 20 minutes North West out of town and you come to one of the most spectacular natural sights in the world... The Rift Valley. Stretching 5,000 km from the most northern point of Syria to central Mozambique, the Rift is one of the most magnificent natural sights you will ever see.

So we packed some fruit and tea into the car and made our way out of the city and into the country. Once we'd arrived at the Rift, the view was staggering! When you are sat on the edge of the valley staring over most of Kenya's northern territory, its like having front row tickets to one of the most beautiful view in Africa, and one things for sure, you'll never forget the time you spend there. For me it was extra special, no only was this going to be the last time in at least six months that I would be able to visit Kenya, but it was quite possibly one of the last time I would be experiencing these moment with my Mama for the forceable future. After an hour of taking in the spectacular view we made out way back down Waiyaki Way to Loresho, avoiding numerous head on collisions with the ever present (and ever crazy) matatus. For the rest of the day we spent going through paperwork and showing yet more rich Kikuyu around the cottage. By the evening we had exhausted ourselves with all the work and with the sky clearing and sun setting, we came up with a brilliant plan... lets go back out to the Rift! Impulse adventures like there always have an added excitement to them, and this one was no different, as we made our way out of Nairobi for the second time of the day. Kenya takes on a completely different feel in the evening, as the majority of the inhabitants wined down for the day, so it seems does the animal and countryside. With the sun setting in the west, it cast a sleepy golden vale across the country and the inhabitancy of the great land seem only to pleased to go along with the flow. We reached the rift valley just in time, the sun had put a whole new perspective on land and animal scattered across the rift. It... was... beautiful, and what made it even more special was my Mama was there to experience it with me.

Hi to everyone I know and love. This will be the first of many post I intend to put onto this page to keep you all up to date with my going on in the beautiful world. So for now, goodbye.