At Least The Four-Year-Old Suzukis Didn't Turn Up

Day 89, Monday March 30, 8.30 am: I'm not saying I failed my first piano exam. I'm just saying that, whatever the result, it was a close-run thing. I'll just have to wait and see.
Which is, of course absurd. I mean, I've been practssing assiduously for three months. All I had to do was play three pre-prepared pieces, answer a few questions and do a couple of scales and arpeggios. But as soon as I got there I got nervous My hands suddenly solidified, as if they were stuck in treacle. The examiner was nice enough, but distant-officious. That threw me. The last time I'd done an exam was as a schoolchild and that is what the environment made me feel like - a short-trousered, long-socked schoolchild.
It is no exaggeration to say that the score began to swim in front of my eyes. I could not see the music as I played - it simply blurred. That was no great problem as such - I knew it all by heart anyway - but it was very disconcerting. Worse still, my first practice was perfect. So, with a little time on my hands, I played the pieces again and made a mistake or two. So I had another go and made two or three, then three and four errors. The more I warmed up, the worse I got.
When the exam proper got underway, I played too fast, particularly the second piece, the Rumba, and botched notes all over the place.
Perhaps I should blame my piano teacher. Neal is a lovely fellow. But he says I nod my head like a pigeon when I play. During the exam, I could not get the image of a pigeon out of my head. He also told me that none of his pupils have ever failed the Initial Exam before. What he was saying, in effect, is that it's idiot-proof. But then, he's never tried to teach a pigeon encased in treacle before, has he? Pressure or what?
Neal's wife didn't exactly help either, choosing - rather thoughtlessly, it seemed to me - to have their second baby a week before my exam and thus meaning I missed out on my final lesson before the exam. Honestly - you'd think people could organise their diaries better and avoid such date clashes, wouldn't you?
At least the four-year-olds didn't turn up. Children as young as four take this exam. Bloody Dr Suzuki! Neal said I might find myself warming up for the exam with four and five and six-year-olds. I wonder what we would have talked about? The effect of the credit crunch? Global warming? The price of rusks and our favourite CBBC programme?
Fortunately I was at least spared that embarrassment. I was the only 'child' there.
I am not sure I did TRSNYRC particularly proud on Friday, for which I apologise. I'm still hoping I may have just scraped a pass. But I'm not convinced.

Big Mouth Unleashes A Storm Again

Day 85, Friday March 27, 7.30 am: The worst thing is that I knew this would happen. I knew exactly. I knew I was unleashing a storm.
I tell brother Roger about my new gym bike record - 244 calories burnt off in 20 sweat-laden minutes - and he immediately goes out to beat it again. Like he did last week.
Exactly the same thing happened to me a few years back with a younge, fitter office colleague. I ended up getting spanked on every single machine in the entire gym.
This story will now run and run, until my legs fall off. Which, small mercies, will be sooner rather than later.
I did, though, have a laugh. Roger, as I said, went out to beat the record yesterday and scored... wait for it.. 244. A dead heat! Superb. 20 minutes of slog for a dead heat! You have to feel sorry for the man...
PS : Another storm I've gone and unleashed - my first piano exam is this afternoon in Horsham, which I will take along with a bunch of other four-year-olds. Can you believe it - I'm taking exams aged 49 and feeling nervous... I think it's the four-year-olds who are unnerving me, not the piano playing.

One Day You Fly, The Next You Eat Dirt

Day 84, Thursday March 26, 12.30pm: Funny thing, my body. Or is it my head?
Yesterday I got on the gym bike and I absolutely flew. My brother Roger had just set a new world record for 20 minutes on the gym bike and I massacred my personal best to pip it.
Jan says it's because I'm competitive. Me, competitive? I used to be, but now my joints make strange noises when I bend down to pick up 7-Year-Old's discarded clothes and I take afternoon naps. Me, competitive? Roger, years younger and lither, longer legs and without pacemaker, could regain the world record within days if he wanted to.
No, it's not that. I just felt good and I pedalled and I didn't seem to get tired. So, enjoying the sensation, I pedalled even faster. And there you have it.
So today I went for my swimming lesson, apparently determined to beat my eight consecutive lengths of crawl. And I gave up. After five and a half. I spluttered to a stop. I just felt lousy and I seemed to get tired and, not enjoying the sensation one little bit, I headed for the side of the pool.
Was it my body or was it my head? I don't know. Funny things, bodies and heads. One day you fly, the next you eat dirt. Or, more accurately, swallow more chlorinated water than is good for you.

Introducing Yogi Clare and Motorman Mike...

Day 84, Thursday March 26, 6.30am: Yesterday was the first day of Motorman Mike's new life. I'll have to ask him how it went.
Mike - and Yogi Clare, his short-term, long-term partner - are sub-radar members of TRSNYRC.
They've been busy resolving, but quietly. I'm still awaiting the details. It's just that they've both been rather busy to chat to a blogger, that's all. It's understandable. They've both been trying to make sense of their new lives together.
Mike and Clare offer us real romance - they were together, weren't together, are back together - as well as real drama. Like One-Lung-Is-Better-Than-None Mike and Not-At-All-Lubricious Linda (see Day 71) and Matt The Mildly Mad Magistrate (Day 44), they have decided to turn things upside down in a very big way.
Clare and Mike began, like many of us, by cutting back on the alcohol and, in Mike's case, doing a bit of cycling - 36 miles in one go the other day, he tells me. I think weight loss may also be involved. And Clare is also a marvellously talented musician and talks about reviving her piano.
But then Mike decided to go the whole hog and quit his job. He decided he didn't need the stress. We're right in the middle of a credit crunch, when everybody tells us to be worried about money and work, and he goes and jumps ship! The man's a legend.
Yesterday was his first day of freedom. The first thing he did - well, on the evening before, to be honest, as he was taking off his office tie and suit for the last time - was to break one of his earlier resolutions and get through a bottle of wine. We'll overlook it, Mike, this one time.
Clare, meanwhile, still has a few hurdles in her attempts to sort out her life. It's all a bit complicated and rather tiring.
But then, I'm sure, we can expect a few more details.

The Two Exceptions That Prove The Rule

Day 83, Tuesday March 24, 8.30pm: My theory - that TRSNYRC is a real force for good and a real force for change - has lasted intact this far, despite the fact that I have not been able to convince everyone - that's everyone as in the world population of 6,895,313,008 (it will, I grant, have gone up a shade by the time that you read this) - to take an active part in my quietly ambitious social experiment of transforming the face of utterly everything forever and forever.
But then along came Gary and along came Daniel.
Gary is another Lindfield Primary house dad. We've stood within touching distance at school pick-up time for the best part of a year but only just got to conversing in the last few weeks.
Gary smokes. Gary knows he should give up. Excellent, says I. Join the TRSNYRC and you'll crack it in no time.
No, thanks awfully, says Gary. If it's all the same with you, I'd rather not.
You see, in the past few years he's gone through a liver and kidney transplant - if he hadn't had it he would have died within a matter of weeks, he's since learnt - a messy split with his wife and an ugly court custody battle over his young son. For good measure, he's even managed to give up drinking along the way.
Gary knows he should give up smoking. But, all things considered, he's not sure he's got the energy yet to make the break. He's happy to puff on for the moment.
Argue with that if you can.
Daniel's my cousin.
Unlike Gary, Daniel does not have a lot of problems and difficulties on his plate. Arguably, indeed, he doesn't have any at all.
Daniel is a transcendental meditation devotee. He does yoga each morning. He seeks a balanced life. He is as fit as fiddle, without an ounce of fat and walks up New Zealand mountains on his days off while contemplating his beautiful world.
It would be silly to ask him, surely, to make a New Year's resolution? He's been cleaning up his act for so long that grime is no longer an issue. There is not even a suggestion of a speck of the stuff left upon his person. What the heck would Daniel resolve that has not already been resolved and sorted?
Gary has too many problems for resolutions just now, and Daniel too few.
I take their points. I'm not sure I envy either of them, but I'm in serious awe of both.
PS The world population now stands at 6,895,325,752...

A 24-Hour Reprieve From Obesity

Day 82, Monday March 23, 10pm: Yesterday, for the first time this year, I was not overweight. Today I am again. It's a vague science, this calorie counting.
Yes, yesterday, for 24 very short hours, I was - just, and with a little poetic licence - within my recommended weight range.
Actually, probably, to be honest, quite a lot of poetic licence.
First I had to make the decision that that I am, in fact, 5ft 9ins (I'm probably 5ft 8 1/2 ins, but if I learnt to stand up properly...). Then I decided that I'm of large rather than medium build. In which case 79.4kg (12st 5lbs) is the maxium acceptable. I came in at 78.9! Hurrah!
(If I had admitted to being 5ft 8 ins and a medium build my maximum would have been 70.3kg but I'll let that pass).
Actually, it gets even better. Reading a little further in my Reader's Digest "Eat Better Live Better" bible I discovered: "Because muscle weighs more than fat, it is possible for a muscular athlete who has very little body fat to be above his maximum desired weight".
Perfect. Henceforth I am a 5ft 9ins, large build muscular athlete with very little body fat and I spit in the face of those daring to contradict me.

It Only Took Five Short Words... And An Exclamation Mark!

Day 79, Friday March 20, 8.45pm: I must admit, I was wavering.
I'm not saying I was losing the faith. I know I'd have been okay.
But John The Fish just made it a lot easier to find my feet again.
It only took him a few words, after I had suggested I was finding my resolutions somewhat tough to keep in the last few weeks. Five words, to be exact. Short ones. Plus an explanation mark. 'Tony don't let me down!' he wrote in his comment to 'The First Big Hiccup' posting of day 76.
Which is what TRSNYRC is meant to be all about. We are meant to be supporting each other.
So thanks for that, John The Fish. I'm back in the gym and swimming again and attempting to chew my food 36 times (it now takes me one and a half hours to get through my breakfast porridge).
It was good to know that somebody is out there.
I may have mentioned this before, by the way, but it's the same supportive principle which led to the creation of the Sacred Band of Thebes. Just much more proper, and platonic and British, of course.
The Sacred Band, in case you didn't know, was established by Gorgidas, a military leader in far-gone ancient Greece, some 2,300 years back.
The band was made up of 300 warriors - or rather, 150 pairs of pederastic lovers. Not gay, exactly, as I understand it, but that way inclined, one chap a mentor and the other one a young buck. I surely don't have to spell it out. You know what the ancient Greeks were like.
The idea, though, was obviously a sound one. Gorgidas had worked out that his men may not be that keen to die for King and Country, but they'd do their best for their best mate standing at their side.
Which is why, I gather, the British army regularly recruited its World War I soldiers in pre-established groups - rugger XVs, darts teams, troupes of actors, stamp collecting societies, village drinking mates and fellow trainspotters - and kept them together in the same units. Thus organised, they were much better at dying together. All because of their shared passion for treble 20s, Shakespeare and the Penny Black.
The Sacred Band were pretty good at copping it together, too. Considered Thebes' finest battle group, they met a gallant, bloody end at the Battle of Chaeronea, in 338 BC, at the hands of Philip II of Macedon.
Amazing what you learn, blogging.
PS: Note from our legal department - please be assured, by the way, that the above refereences to the Sacred Band in no way reflect on the sexual preferences of any members of TRSNYRC. Each to his or her own. Live and let live.
(I see nothing strange in someone being more interested in pike than human beings, John. Really I don't).

Introducing Fellow Flounderers Colin and Davis...

Day 78, Thursday March 19, 9.30 pm: The real story of my day, though, was Colin and Davis.
Colin and Davis are fellow flounderers at Thursday's adult swimming class at the Dolphin Leisure Centre. I have met them before but we got talking today, in between crawl, breaststroke, doggy paddle and general floundering.
Davis is half Bulgarian, half Russian. Today he swam a full width of crawl for the first time. We all cheered. Davis says he wants to enter the Olympics. I'm not too conversant with the Bulgarian sense of irony, so I remained dead-pan. So did Davis. Perhaps he is indeed bound for London 2012, but I don't expect it to be as a swimmer. Perhaps, on the quiet, he's rather good at skeet shooting. Yes, that must be what he means.
Colin, meanwhile, said a few weeks back that he could only manage one length of crawl. Today he did two in a row, and looked rather good, as well as a lot less purple than normal after the event. He says I egged him on, which makes me happy.
Watching him, I realised we all begin to thrash about a bit as we get tired, gasping for air and shortening our strokes. You have to keep your technique and relax, says Margaret, our guru.
I duly got tired, gasped, shortened my stroke, thrashed and doggy paddled my way to a world record eight lengths of consecutive crawl (having managed seven the day before). Eat your heart out, Phelps. I felt immensely proud (it does not take much), went home and slept for two hours solid as the water cleared slowly from my ears.
Eight lengths! That's more than a third of my goal - in two and a half months!
Colin, meanwhile, says he will try and swim six consecutive lengths of crawl by the end of the year. A new TRSNYRC recruit! Grand.
I reckon I'll put him down for seven, though. Actually, let's make that eight.

Admission Of A Chicken Cheat

Day 78, Thursday, March 19, 4.30pm: Okay, okay, so I cheated a bit on the chickens.
I was just trying to make my dreary existence a little more palatable.
In fact, I saved my two chickens yesterday.
I found them walking in the middle of the road down - appropriately - Gander Hill. So I ushered them off to the side, then rang a nearby doorbell, then checked out the garden after getting no reply. Hey presto - there was a chicken coup. At least. I think that is what it was. I duly shooed the offending foul into the coup and departed, feeling rather grand and Good Samaritan-pleased with myself. I hope it was the right house. And I hope it was a coup, rather than a Guinea pig enclosure.
Anyway, that's about the most exciting off-diary thing to have happened to me recently. Which may say something about house-husbandry.
I'm serious about catching a fish, though. I have decided to ask for John The Fish to train me. In return, I'll show him how to fade a seven iron. If he wants to fade a seven iron, that is, which I rather doubt.

Save At Least Two Chickens This Year...

Day 78, Thursday, March 19, 6.20am: If you care to check my Resolutions list (under the photos), you will find I have set myself two New Resolutions - 1) Save The Lives Of At Least Two Chickens 2) Catch At Least One Fish (inspired by John The Fish).
Watch this space.
By the way, for those of you with a mathematical bent, we are now 21.3698630136986301369863 percent through our year.

The First Big Hiccup

Day 76, Tuesday March 17, 9.30am: Apparently, New Year's Resolutions go all the way back to 153 B.C. and the Romans.

The Romans installed Janus, a mythical king, at the head of their calendar. With two faces, he looked back on past events as well as forward to the future and became a symbol for resolutions. In due course, the first month of the year was named after Janus, the god of beginnings and the guardian of doors and entrances.

I wonder if the Romans were as useless at keeping their resolutions as we appear to be?

Actually, I’m still hanging in there, although it’s been a rocky couple of weeks. I haven’t exactly given in, but I’ve flirted with the idea.

Kate The Tech alerted me to the fact that ‘experts’ – whoever they are – suggest that it takes 21 days to confirm a new habit. Well, I had got at least twice as far with my new virtuous habits when the trouble began.

It came in the shape of ill health. A stomach virus was followed by a cold. So I decided not to risk the gym for a couple of days. Couple of days stretched to a week. Week stretched into almost two. I felt lousy so I ate a couple of crisps. Only a couple, but still the first crisps of the year. I drank less water, and ate less fruit.

I’m still not 100% but I realised at the end of last week that I was at a crossroads. Go back to the gym, to water and to fruit or bust.

So I went back - I thought of John, one of the trainers at the gym, saying to me a few weeks ago: "How much do you really want this?" after he had spotted me going easy on my stomach crunches - and I’ve kept going back. I'm over my first big hiccup. I don't suppose it will be my last. Writing about it on the blog, I hope, will help me get back in the saddle. I wonder, Kate, if that means I'm on probation again for the next 21 days?

I’m sure most people’s resolutions fall victim to similar setbacks. It may not be due to a shortage of resolve at all. It just might be a stomach virus or a sniffle, a wonderfully alcoholic party or a relaxing holiday – anything, indeed, which helps create a new, easier sofa-bound habit than bench-pressing.

Introducing One-Lung Mike and Lubricious Linda

Day 71, Friday March 13, 6.15 am: Sorry Linda. You're not, of course, at all lubricious. It's just a word I've been wanting to use for ages without knowning what it means. The only way to make myself look it up in the dictionary - I am a sloth, don't forget - was to use it, then find out what I had just said. I have just looked up 'lubricious' and I apologie unreservedly.
What a great word, though, eh?
Anyway, Mike and Linda...
I was, actually, going to start with me. I was going to tell you after 10 days of a cold and stomach bug, I still managed to clock 6 lengths of crawl, a world record for a Head Sloth. I was going to tell you how well my piano is going, and how badly my golf is developing. I was going to tell you that I went to the gym yesterday for the first time in a week and that my weight has dipped below 78kg for the first time since 1993 (more of that later).
But my thunder has been well and truly stolen by One-Lung Mike and Not-At-All-In-Any-Possible-Way-Lubricous Linda. Here am I, tinkering with my waist line and tinkling with ivories and M and L have a New Year's Resolution to turn their lives upside down (we have not heard of them yet, incidentally, because they haven't had time. They still haven't got time. They are, after all, too busy. Turning their lives upside down).
I have very few details but, essentially, if I've got the gist, they are resolved to sell their house, move to their holiday residence in France and re-invent their lives.
Bloody brilliant! Mind-boggling boldness!
And the news is, that, despite choosing the maddest time for such an undertaking, they have at least and at long last managed to let out their house. They have now moved into a short-term house-babysitting arrangement and, if I understood their garbled phone message, the move is on for the end of this month!
Truly, truly, tantalisingly terrific!
Even if I am fairly convinced that neither One-Lung nor Not-At-All-In-Any-Possible-Way-Lubricious could manage six lengths of crawl...
I will update you with their details as soon as they have a micro-second.

Bloody Body Clock

Day 71, Friday March 13, 5.30am - Bloody typical. You agree to take your brother's kids to school, even if it means that you will have to set your alarm to 6.15am so as to take them into custody. Without knowing it, you're a little on edge and you wake up at 5.30. And you can't get back to sleep. Bloody body clock.

Big Frank, You Can Read This...

Day 66, Sunday March 8, 8pm: Frank, I shall not be be bothering you this evening.
Consider this a deafening silence.
Against all the expectations, I have not discovered the secret of golf over the past few weeks. At least, I have not discovered the secret of playing golf in a three-club gale. I am, it turns out, a quite useless golfer when the wind gets up. I spent most of this afternoon running around trying to retrieve my scorecard. Don't know why I bothered, really. It was a very unpleasant document indeed.
You are safe, Frank. For now.

Big Frank, Whatever You Do, Don't Read This (But Juliet May Enjoy It)

Day 66, Sunday March 8, 7.15am: Frank, whatever you do, don't read this. I mean it. Stop. Now.

It will only bring back nightmares. Juliet, though, you can read on. If only to give you a chance to mock me.

I am playing golf today. In my club's montly medal. For the first time in four months.

As Frank knows to his cost - it's the price he pays for being my immediate neighbour - I am a bit of a golf nut. He had a very hard year recently, listening to me relentlessly expounding on the great game. Frank prefers Merlot, and long walks, the Civil Service and unicycles. Frank, indeed, prefers anything to me talking golf.

Juliet, a couple of doors down, also knows about my dedication to all things involving a 7-iron and a little white ball. The difference is that Juliet has just taken up golf and, I think, may get prettty good at the game. How are we going to measure her NYR progress? Well, her first 10 shots went about 65 yards, 45 degrees left. We'll go from there.

Me? Well, I'm playing off 10.3 today but, as I say, I haven't played for ages. In theory, I should be lucky to break 14 or 15. But I have been doing a lot of thinking and theorising in recent weeks and I'm hoping this will count for something. Anything near 10 over par today will be a big success. If I manage that, I shall tell you, while expounding on one of my latest theories. I shall even go and tell Frank.

If I score worse than 10, you will be met by a deafening silence, while I do some more thinking and theorising.

Whatever happens, I expect to have great fun today.

Talking of great fun, Adam is back in town. Adam is a friend of mine who has just moved back to the area. He has not had a particularly easy time of it, of late, which is unfair because the man is like Martyn - top bracket. Now Adam also happens to be a rather useful golfer, playing off 10. I have a feeling we may share a few rounds this summer. I think we may just challenge each other to dip into single handicaps this year. A recruit to TRSNYRC beckons, I fancy.

Must stop. No time for this. Must go and stretch, and find my trolley. And put some trousers on.

Introducing Martyn The (Yet To Be Named) Boat...

Day 64, Friday March 6, 11.3oam: Martyn is one of those rarities - a truly, genuinely, wonderfully nice guy. He makes all his friends absolutely sick.
Actually, he makes me even sicker this morning than he did before. He has just sent me an email updating his progress.
Now the bit about the boat I can live with...
Martyn, it turns out, has always wanted to sail. And he also wants to spend more quality time with his children.
"My best pal {Editor's note: That's the friend that hates him the most} saw this one (pictured), so I decided that I'm now 40 and life is flying by at an alarming rate so why not do something that I will get pleasure out of and hopefullly the kids will get involved in as well?
"It's currently in a boat yard on the River Blackwater near Maldon , Essex... It needs some TLC but is structually sound and has a small cabin space for sleep overs... me and the two kids would be snug but do-able."
To date, the windows have been replaced. Martyn is still looking for a name for his craft - suggestions gratefully received. He hopes to hit the water in May or June.
Which is all very fine and dandy.
But then, I learn from Martyn's email, that he has also signed up to take his Level 1 LTA tennis coaching qualification.
I've known Martyn for years, working alongside him at Reuters, but never knew. It turns out he's played tennis at county leve since he was a short-legged sprog. He even beat Mark Petchey a few times (former Davis Cup player and world top 100).
So the man isn't just great, he's also absurdly talented. Utterly, utterly sickening. I hope his boat sinks. With him (but not the kids, of course) on board.

It's All About Changing Your Mind

Day 63, Wednesday March 4, 11.40am: I went to a public talk by a psychologist friend of mine last night. Pete Cohen just written a book called “Sort Your Life Out”. I don’t read self-help books because I think they’re daft, but Pete’s a pal, so I’ll make an exception.

The interesting thing, though, was that a lot of what Pete said seemed to be relevant to TRSNYRC. In fact, I felt I had come to some similar conclusions about life and the universe over the past couple of months. I wonder if you have too?

In a nutshell, Pete believes the human mind, while extraordinary in many ways, is also hugely primitive and restrictive. It likes its routines and it sticks to habits, even if those habits are damaging. Unlike a computer, you can’t delete negative thoughts from your mind, however much you’d like to. Your mind commentates on your life (the voice in your head), often working against you by arguing for the status quo rather than for the challenge of change.

Most of our resolutions on this blog, it seems to me, are inviting change.

It all depends whether we have the stomach to push through with them, by deleting old habits and replacing them with new ones. Or whether we allow our mind to talk us out of it.