It is the day after the inauguration of Joe Biden and Kamala Harris. As I watched the ceremony I experienced a sense of hope. The wonderful words of Alex Gorman reminding us all of what values we should aspire to in this mixed up world.

Lady Gaga’s magnificent performance got me thinking. About National anthems. I woke in the night and I thought further around which ones I like and those I do not. So I thought I would write my own list of favourites down, just for fun.

There are some really bad anthems. ‘Flower of Scotland’ is up there but in truth so is ‘God Save our Queen’ as it carries all sorts of messages that do not appeal to me in the least. I dislike those ‘dual’ anthems that involve a verse in some ‘older tongue’ followed by a change of rhythm and a more modern rendition. Surely places like South Africa and New Zealand and now Australia ought to think that one thing they are trying to respect by recognising heritage in fact signals division.

When Land of My Fathers is played at a Rugby match or indeed at An Ironman start, as I have reported recently, tears flow. However examination of the translated words and the rather unattractive guttural sounds of the Welsh language temper my enthusiasm. The Welsh can really sing though.

Only this week I heard an interview with the rather pompous Simon Halliday who is now Chairman of all things rugby. I remember well when, courtesy of him being an England International as well as my employee, I watched England play France in a world cup semi final in Paris. The French band would come second to no-one and as it struck up the hairs on the back of my neck did too. Alas the drama of the occasion was somewhat dented when the French anthem, belted out in its alternative version by around 30,000 Englishmen, came to the crucial line that in French calls the ‘populous to arms’. I swear we English out muscled the French as we collectively enquired as to where the “toilet paper had gone’!.

The Argentinian anthem is fantastic as it seemingly has the capacity to make some of the best looking men on the planet shed buckets of tears. Then of course Italy and its lilting rhythmic section followed by a staccato pledge of allegiance. There are many more including Japan that I love.

However back to yesterday and Lady G. My mind went back to 1986. There I was living in a Utopia. Riverside Connecticut USA 06878!! Our house like many others sitting on its own 1/3rd of an acre lot. Beautiful tree lined roads and manicured lawns reflecting the various American ‘standard house’ designs. Clapper Boards, Colonials -ours was a ‘Tudor’. Any way Riverside and Old Greenwich is as beautiful a place as you can imagine. The people coexist with great friendship and respect omni present. They are all ‘winners’ and the amenities they have collectively come to share are beyond anything that most could imagine. Liz and my young family were part of it and we could not believe our luck. A good friend Dean Allen invited us to share their family picnic on the occasion of American Independence day, July the 4th. Apparently an annual picnic occurs in the local park and the majority of the population attend we were told. A beautiful hot day and the uniform of choice beach shorts, tee shirts, flip flops and shades. Binnie Park looked splendid its flower beds manicured and filled with beautiful flowers. On the Band Stand the Old Greenwich Fire Department brass band belted out show time favourites. The picnics laid out it was a joyful scene.

At 3 pm sharp there was a roll on the drums and the assembled throng, thousands, not hundreds, turned their attention away from their elected ‘spreads’ and stood to attention. Many placed their right hand on their left breast. To begin with I was not sure what was happening then I did and oh my goodness!!. Men, women, boys, girls belted out ‘The Star Spangled Banner’. The predominantly college educated throng had had much practice at fine tuning their individual contribution to the performance as a result of the intense sporting culture that pervades the various campuses of the country and all its associated pageantry of marching bands and the like.

Men belted out their words women harmonised and descanted. It was quite literally awesome. “As The Rockets Red Glare” rang out I literally shook with emotion as I still do today every time I hear the thing. I did yesterday and it made me feel good. Good Luck Jo and Kamala!!

Now as you may well gather sport has played a huge part in my life. I love the technical side of sport, how to do things well, learn the skills and train to maximise ones abilities. I love the glamour of sport. The anticipation of an event that scared/excited feeling. I love the thrill of being in a team when a victory is registered or sharing an exhilarating event with a good friend or family member. I love more than anything else that beer in the bar when the chance to relive the ordeal or event presents itself.

Like many, witnessing sport can move me to tears as the sheer elation of a conquering hero or heroine or the combined joy of team explodes along with music and all the rest.

There is one sporting moment however that I witnessed that out-shines all others for me. Here I will tell the tale of a good friend of Liz and I and the day he took on The Dragon-Ironman Wales.

Matt Collins is amongst the most delightful people I have ever met. He is tall good looking with a friendly face and eyes that convey warmth and fun. Matt is the best all round craftsmen I have ever met, by a ‘street’. A number of years ago he faced a particular health challenge and during that time Liz and I got to know him very well. His spirit and attitude marked him out as being special and we are very happy to say that we have retained our friendship to this day and every meeting with Matt is a joyful occasion made even better if his Dad Mum or indeed brother are along for the ride.

One day about 5 year ago Matt came to visit and declared he wanted to “do an Ironman’. I suppose in truth my efforts had convinced him that it was obviously possible and as an excellent cyclist there was only the swim and run to think about. It is important to say here that Matt really could hardly swim and his idea of running was limited to the odd dash across the road.

What happened next therefore was extraordinary. He appointed a personal trainer who knew zipp about Triathlon but was keen on strength and looking at the label she decided that to do an Ironman you need to be strong. As a result for 12 months Matt lifted weights and strained his body to exhaustion several times a week. He ‘looked’ at several videos on swimming ran a little but not much-‘you get injured running’was his view. The day he finished Ironman Vichy will stick in Liz and my minds for many reasons but watching Matt gallop over the finishing line was wonderful to watch. We had presided over his first swims in a wetsuit in various lakes but this was the first day he swam the full distance! His strength on the bike was a given and his run strategy was excellent. He would run 3 miles stop have a drink and something to eat, maybe walk a while then repeat.

A year later he had joined me in Copenhagen and was instrumental in ensuring my aged legs completed the course as he stayed with me and encouraged me in some of my darkest moments and dissuaded a medical official from pulling me out of the race by telling him I was fine.

However in his fortieth year Matt Collins was to take on the biggest challenge of them all Ironman Wales-The Dragon. Now Tenby is well known to the Collins family as they station their caravan there.As a result support for Matt was there a plenty with Aunts and Uncles swelling the family group all probably unaware of the enormity of the Ironman Challenge.

Tenby is so beautiful and on the morning of race day the seafront turns into a magical place. The 2500 racers queue up to get on to the beach and at 9 am sharp the sound of Hen Wlad Fy Nhadau (the welsh national anthem) blares out. The atmosphere is electric and the raw emotion so high that many openly weep-I certainly did. The racers filter down to the sea and we saw and greeted another friend who was racing and then there was Matt. Matt loves AC/DC and whilst I did not notice at the time Matt assures me one of his favourite songs ‘Highway to Hell’ was playing as he headed for the sea. The words somehow provoked a panic attack in him and fo a few agonising moments Matt considering turning round and going back leaving the frothing sea which was being churned up by the racers. He did not however and soon he was on his bike. Liz and I moved around the course and we saw Matt a number of times. Always upbeat always cheerful and happy to report on the alternative feeding strategy he had adopted involving mini pastors and the like. Matts logic was sound as he said he would not eat energy gels and the like whilst working hard as they would make him feel sick so why race on the things. He did his own thing and it worked.

Many will know the four lap run course around Tenby. It is fabulous as the crowds are huge. It fascinates me because you witness local people who clearly do not take exercise and probably know little of Triathlon imparting energy and strength to the racers with wonderful expressions of encouragement delivered in a Welsh accents. “Come on Matt make your family proud of you” I heard one woman cry .’Respect Matt, you have got this you look great’ another shouted. Each racer with hs or her name on their number belt were treated to such exhortations and as the laps moved on the most challenged received the greatest support. As an act of human behaviour, one to another, it is splendid, uplifting and joyous.

The finishing shute in Tenby is like all Ironman events a sea of sound, colour, baying crowds and raw emotion. The microchip embedded on each racers person flashes information on a giant screen announcing the name and time of a finisher. All racers are treated with equal reverence by the crowd and a fleet of commentators announce the words that mean so mush to each person who treads that hallowed carpet. John Smith, Jenny White “YOU ARE AN Ironman”. The commentators are all very good but on this night in Tenby a new voice was on duty when our ‘boy’ was due to enjoy his moment of glory. This man was very good as he played with the crowd and the lighting systems and dipped the volume as each racer approached the ‘carpet’ Inviting then to make a theatrical step on to the glorious final metres exhorting the crowd and flashing the lights and blaring the volume.

I know not what this man’s name was but presently he announced that he would be handing over but just as he did he saw that the next song on the playlist was one that ‘he personally loved’ and therefore he would stay for one more song. Thee lights were dimmed and the sound of AC/DC blared out ‘Highway to Hell’. Coincidence, fate, divine intervention who can say but what was to happen will stay in my mind for ever.

There at the end of the runway stood Matt Collins. His silver race suit reflecting some strobe lighting. Matt stopped raised his two hand heaven words and to an explosion of appreciation he began to dance. Matt is way over six feet tall and seeing this figure gyrate and swirl was just awe inspiring. The commentator, like everyone else fell silent and simply watched the show. I looked along the sea of faces and there was Barry, Matts Dad, his face a kind of ecstasy watching his sons performance. The dance, the jig, the twirl what it was I will never know but it was wonderful. The tears rolled down my face as Matt finished his ‘Gavotte’ and crossed the line a smile from ear to ear. The road going wild. Matt Collins ‘You are an Ironman’ the commentator found his voice.

Those moments will stay with me for ever not just because of the pure theatre of the event but because they represent so much more. How to deal with adversity, how to confront challenge how to dare your self and experience the joy it bring you if you succeed in really big challenge. One of the logos of the Ironman company is “Anything is Possible’. Matt Collins knows that sentiment is way more true than most will ever understand and for that reason and may others he will carry my admiration where ever he goes.

Before you read this just a word of introduction. You could easily be offended by it as it is a bit ‘look at me’! It has been difficult year and sometimes looking back on just how you have lived your life and the decisions you have taken can be reaffirming in a purely personal way. I am writing this just because some time in the future it might make me feel good about myself and the crazy existence I have enjoyed.

I once worked with a man called Richard Watkins. He was effortlessly stylish with everything in an order. From clothing to stationary, from cars to ski brand he had seemingly worked everything out so as tho create the maximum amount of impact for his effort. He was not especially clever but what he lacked in grey matter he more than made up for in his personal style and the impact it had on others. I have known no-one else who would put himself on a ‘champagne diet’ for January and resister dramatically positive results. (he ate little but sipped a lot of champagne!). He was the master of how to tip and how to get benefit from the action. (tip a doorman well and many doors will open-try it). Now aside form all of this Richard beloved passionately in one thing ,’toys’. His oft repeated phrase was ‘never mind grand ambitions of power and influence at the end of the day the man with the most toys wins!!

The thing was all of the ‘toys’ he had were bought after extensive research and as a result were amazing. The Porsche he drove was a particular Targa model that looked splendid either with or without its roof. The suits he wore were hand tailored by the best and every detail revealed a man of considerable taste and style. The fact he was descended from the Duke of Wellington may have had something to do with it but he was and probably still is a an amazing human being to observe.

Now I have had lots of toys. Some of them well thought out some not so but I will certainly not die wondering want would it be like to own a …

I have owned three Porsches myself and to be honest two of them were rubbish and cost me a fortune for the privelage. The best car I have ever had was a Mercedes 420 SEC although my USA BMW 7 series was one hell of a car. A Volvo 4 wheeled drive performance beast was awesome. I have owned a jeep, several land rovers, a family van that was equipped with TV and a bed and amazing seats. I now have a transit van that has covered 160,000 in my ownership. I have had some horrible cars. A Rover, A desperate Fiat called a Qubo and a Triumph Mayflower. I have recently ‘gone electric’ and am the proud owner of a ridiculously priced Tesla model X- it is fantastic to drive though. I have had several motorbikes too from Sports to vintage to enduro.

I have owned several sailing boats. From a simple dinghy to two Ocean going beasts and I have chartered something that would blow most peoples minds. I currently own a 1949 wooden sailing dinghy that cost me a fortune to restore.

I have owned many houses with Liz. From the humble to the amazing. Big ones small ones. Thatched ones, ones with gyms. Ones in old villages and super modern ones overlooking the sea. A magnificent apartment in France and a farm in Spain. Together liz and I have played with these particular toys (houses) and had so much fun.

I have never owned a plane but I have rented many for ‘special occasions. Planes I have flown to Paris In more than once. Sea planes that have taken me on exciting trips. Planes that have flown me over the Grand Canyon and planes that have given me pilot lessons -although I never saw the thing through.

I have owned every ski known to man and every piece of equipment to with them. Down hill, Slalom, Randonne, cross country too-both styles in fact. I have boots and clothing and gloves for all occasions. ( Mitts I love them).

Cycling is something I came to love in later life but guess what I have the lot. A tandem of course although it could be upgraded. A mountain bike, a magnificent Fat Bike, a gravel bike (cyclo cross). I have a magnificent Time Trail bike whose wheels are carbon and probably worth more than most people have ever spent on a bike on their own. Finally I have two road bikes and one of those claims to be the best bike in the world. It certainly looks cool.

I have had clothes too. Loads of tailored suits and shirts. I have tried most brands and whilst I am not the greatest of body shapes I have certainly improved my appearance. I have had my hair cut in the best salons in the world and whilst this is strictly not a toy it is a fun thing to do, and closely aligned I think.

I have collected amazing perfumes and after shaves. This is a game that I so recommend.

I have had some of the best lawn mowers you could ever dream of if like me you love grass. Everything from scarifiers to machines that caress and fine cut the best of lawns.

I have several musical instruments from trumpet to guitar and for a while I managed to have drum kit in the house!

I have tried every culinary device going and I can never resist a gadget. I have had several Pizza ovens. Yes I like pizza ovens but having you own wood burning device is just great.

I have, with the help of my good friend Matt, bought more tools than I will ver need. Another friend is aware of my equipment and regularly calls in to avail himself of some of the more obscure items. (example is I have bike tools that fit both Italian and Us models).

I could I am afraid go on for a while and if I was able to include such things as olive oil and wine then we would be here for a while but I will stop here. You may reasonable of course snub your nose and say ‘show off’, ‘silly fool’ but I would invite you to take a step back. So many people live their lives acting as if they are practicing for another. In the various pieces I have written I have hinted that on a number of occasions life has really got me down and I have been depressed. One of the lessons I have learned from those moments and indeed from this years experience is that collecting digits in the bank is beyond stupid. Set your self up so you can afford your daily experience I would say then if you have anything left over satisfy those dreams you have. Looking back it was dreams that catalysed my effort and caused what ever success I have enjoyed. Planning a wonderful holiday as reward for the daily drudge is a great thing to do. I would say that if you dream big then you are way more likely to achieve things in your working life as if you really want that house or boat or pair of skis or holiday in The Maldives you will go the extra yard and what is more your industry and effort will make sense to you.

I often wonder what i will think on my death bed. Will I worry whether I got that promotion or whether I was recognised for the charity work I may have done. Will I worry about whether I am maximising my income return in the bank or whether I have got the appropriate insurance rate on my car. I severely doubt it. I hope a grin comes on my face and just maybe I will think of Richard Watkins and whilst compared to him and many others I am but a small part player I will be able to reflect on the experience the ‘toys’ gave me and crucially the people I shared them with.

So the answer is clear for goodness sake do buy toys. They won’t make you eternally happy-nothing does. What ever you do though don’t let digits in a bank somehow reassure you or comfort you when out there are experiences and memories to be created.

Again this choice is routed in triathlon. The first ever ‘Ironman’ branded race I did was in Mallorca it was a so called 70.3 race. The half distance of the full Ironman. Here again were closed roads and all the fun of competing in the same race as professionals and elite athletes. Better still Liz was in the same race and as older athletes in this race we were in the first wave of the race such that we entered the water first and hopefully exited it before the masses caught up. I remember clearly emerging from the water and seeing mass of humanity on the beach forming a tunnel. Each face searching for a loved one. The crowd was huge. I ran through the throng into the bike park where literally millions of pounds worth of TT bikes were lined up awaiting their owners. As I did so the Black Eyed Peas ‘Tonight is going to be a good night blared out’. I was so psyched by the feelings I experienced I sort of sobbed for joy.

All my life I have enjoyed to celebrate. Enjoy a beer with mates. Enjoy the camaraderie and celebrate success and put failure into perspective. I have found the best way to encourage this most pleasurable feature of human behaviours is sport. I played Rugby to a decent level but I laughed more with my teammates way more than I had any right to enjoy. I played cricket and laughed too but also a shared beer helped relive some magic moments of skill. I took part in some daunting marathon races, often with Liz, but it was the look in the eye over a raised glass that cemented the achievement. I have taken on some daunting cycling challenges, skied thousands of miles and many other things and through sport I have made life long friends created some incredible memories and ticked many boxes dreamed up in the darkest of nights.

I was 68 when my running legs finally gave out and I knew that was the case because the marathon leg of ‘Ironman Copenhagen’ was by a mile’ the hardest thing I have ever done. All the wonderful things I have experienced in my life were set in my mind against the pain I felt in my legs on that day and some how I got to the finish line, just before the cut off time. I had made it my business in other Ironman races I had been in to encourage others those who were really struggled but on this night in Copenhagen it was two people who made sure I got to the finishing line. Vanessa Glynn Jones all but bullied me to ‘get on with it’ when I was faltering in the dark reaches of the course. Elliott Maslan ‘marched me’ round the final six miles or so. A man I have not met since but whom I still message-I will publish the full story sometime soon.

With perhaps 600 meters to go he made polite excuses and left me to ‘enjoy’ the final steps alone. Like many times in my life events seem to begin and end on a similar note. Yes you have guessed it as I passed Copenhagen’s Opera House and the lights of the finish beckoned me home the Black Eyed Peas blared out. I was welcomed at the finishing line and presented with my medal by the woman who had won the women’s race outright that same day. She kissed me gently on the cheek held my shoulders and looked in my eyes. Her words will live with me for ever. ‘ Today was one of the hardest of your life but you know this because you are an Ironman’. Not quite sure exactly what she meant but heh who cares. I waddled off and looked for a beer. That beer and many others was sipped with Liz some fellow team mates who were more than that. ‘Brothers and sisters in arms’ if you like. Maybe it all routes back to my early days in rugby I cannot say. But if anyone reading this has experienced any sport with me or any of my many adventures you know that you will be welcomed for a beer. With any luck it may turn into a ‘good night’!

My final song: The Black Eyed Peas Tonight is going to be a good night.

My final two choices have an apparent link being the sport of triathlon. In later life an amazing thing happened to me. I had retired from formal work and there was a gap in my life. Golf did not fill it. I needed a challenge, a real challenge.

Since the early 1980s when triathlon had gained a consciousness in the sporting world I had admired those who dare to dream and take on the awe inspiring Ironman challenge. 2.4 miles of swimming, 112 miles of cycling and 26.2 miles of swimming. I could hardly swim a length, cycling was something I had not done since I was a youth and my frame had filled out somewhat. Yet there I was standing on a beach in southern Sweden in the town of Kalmar along with 2500 competitors on the startling of ‘Ironman Sweden’. Why Sweden? I cannot say why but there I was. Fitter than I had been for years full of fear and excitement.

The song ‘One day like this’ was not one I knew. It amazes me when people say I like triathlons but I can’t see what Ironman races are so expensive to enter. First of all they are not, they coast less than a bike wheel. Secondly why would you not want to race on close roads?. Is the feeling of running in front off huge crowds not just the best thing you have ever experienced and if the general atmosphere including all the music and light shows is not something that excites and stimulates you then you are made of different stuff than me.

So there I was on the beach and the Elbow melody blared out. Over subsequent years when I have felt low I only need to play that song and instantly I will be transported to that thrashing mass of humanity in my first ever mass swim start (i got that wrong!) I will once agin be on my bike riding through the lovely villages around Kalmar being welcomed along with my fellow competitors with shouts of ‘Heya’. I will feel the sheer exhaustion of plodding around the run course accompanied by some fellow stragglers all encouraging each other.

Most of all I will remember the pretty woman who ran alongside me and translated the urging of the crowd. Swedes love physical challenge and a man of 64, doing his best, apparently encourages admiration. The hairs on my neck rise as I think of it. Most of all I will remember approaching the finishing shute down a narrow road illuminated by the flame of ancient torches and entering a huge auditorium with packed Grandstands. The final steps as Liz ,there as my sole supporter on the day, she had positioned herself at the entry way to the finishing shute. She handed me a Union Flag and as my eyes were blinded by the light I heard the words that brighten my darkest day. The commentator played a familiar line as each racer was ‘welcomed’ home. Dennis Elliott, Great Britain you are an (the crowd finished the job) IRONMAN.

My penultimate choice is One day like this by Elbow.

I became a great fan of opera courtesy of a hairdresser in New York city. One day I was having trim enjoying the banter a native New Yorker feels the need to direct at his Australian clients-all Americans first assumption is that English people are Australian. The haircut was fair but the hairdresser had a remarkable marketing tool he employed. ‘I hope you enjoyed the music I was playing’ he said. I had not noticed but his request to take the tape and play it in my car ‘in the background’ he insisted I readily accepted. “I am about to give you a wonderful gift’ he said. ‘You will be very grateful to me” he was right. the clever bit was of course it meant I returned to have my haircut by him for some time.

I had a most beautiful BMW 7 series at the time with a fantastic stereo. I put the cassette in the machine and over the next few weeks I became acquainted with many of the classic ‘opera arias’. To begin with I was unimpressed but as the tunes became familiar I was awe struck. Later on in life as a senior figure in my firm I had the great privilege to have some fantastic seats at The Royal Opera House and I was to hear many of these arias again as part of the great operas. This tale is so sad and yet in its own way it like an opera in real life.

Michale and I had become good friends when we worked on the floor of The London Stock Exchange. Michael was a well educated Cambridge graduated who had some how got a job with the most Jewish of organisations called Smith Brothers. Many years later he was to have a top Investment job at The Norwich Union Investment group now Aviva. He had become a client of mine and We got on well. Michael had bought an old stately home that was falling apart and with his lovely wife Gina he was rebuilding it. By day Investments, by night and weekends hard hard manual work. Perfection his benchmark. I visited his home on an number of occasions and marvelled at this couples ambition and guts. Along came son’s Tom and James and then one day the most awful of phone calls. I am writing this down not to be dramatic but to remind all who might read it that disaster does indeed happen and sadness is part of life. It can be, in only in other’s sadness, one can realise just how lucky ones own life is. For me sadness is as much part of life as is joy. If by some chance Michael you are to read this and disapprove I apologise most sincerely.

Gina was pregnant with a third child but she had also been diagnosed with cancer. Save herself or the child was the choice. Gina gave birth to Arabella but sadly became more ill. I remember calling Michale and asking him a question that could have caused offence thankfully it did not. I offered to give Gina a ‘night to remember’ if she would like and I left Michael to choose what it might be. A night at the Opera was his response.

A limousine picked Michael and Gina up from the station and we had a one course meal at The Ivy I think. My mother had curiously had a love for opera. Where that had come form I had no clue but her favourite opera was La Boheme and the aria ‘Mimi your tiny hand is frozen’ moved her to floods of tears. We took up our seats and as we did so I had the realisation of some amazing coincidences that were about to play out. The Opera was of course La Boheme and given that Gina herself was dyeing I became alarmed at what I had chosen for Gina to watch. I looked across at Michale and his look reassured me. As that haunting aria to Mimi washed over the audience I looked across at Michael and Gina their hands entwined. A few months later I stood in the chapel on their land where Gina was buried. The coffin was followed into the church by two small boys. The small congregation witnessed a site that was sad beyond any words.

My son Tom played a part in supporting Tom and James in later life. Arabella has apparently been very successful. Michale has a whole new life a farmer. I have visited him but something tells me that I am part of a very sad chapter in his life and reminding of it serves no purpose.

When life is bad and desperate things happen it sometimes serve to recall the saddest moments of your life. Mimi and La Boheme represent this sentiment in full. I am also glad to say that Opera is still one on my musical joys.

My next song is ‘Mimi your tiny hand is frozen’ from la Boheme.

David Lis is a very special man. He has talents that go way beyond the professional skills for which he is broadly recognised. If you visit the National Garden Scheme and watch the video on Havoc Hall you will get a flavour of what I mean. David and I were the closets of friends for a long time and whilst we seldom see each other now I trust my feelings for him are reciprocated in some way.

One of David’s many gifts is his taste in music. As a younger man he would create the most amazing playlists that he would record on those cassette things. A Sony walkman and any run, flight or walk or drive in the car would be transformed into a celebration of music and emotion.

Living in America for 5 years was a gift beyond words. I am glad I no longer live there but the time I spent was maybe about perfect. Enough to love and appreciate the place, learn how it really works and make some life long friends too.

When I first visited America I loved it. It was like a whole new world. (yes I know but I mean a new world to me). I loved the smell of the place. The wonderful opulent hotels where I stayed. The food, the bars, the sport and of course the people I met.

Strangely suited to a boy of Irish Liverpudlian roots I got on so well with the people in my business life it was amazing. I dressed well, I acquired the forward way of greeting and interrogating strangers and I felt quite unencumbered by the restrictions of class that bedevilled my business life in the UK. Be open, be friendly and appreciate other’s success are but three tips to help one succeed in the USA.

There are many many songs that come to mind that illustrate this joyful segment of my life. The song I have chosen however was the first tune on a playlist David Lis made for me when I left the UK to start my new life. A rather apprehensive family had taken up residence in our delightful rented property in Lake Avenue in the leafy back woods of Greenwich Connecticut-a place that is just wonderful. Jet lag and anticipation had affected my sleep and early and in the morning I put on my running shoes and set off. I got lost I seem to remember but that does not matter here. As I jogged down the leafy lanes I pressed the button on my Walkman and my ears were filled with the first song on the tape. As ever David had hit the nail on the head.

Breakfast in America Supertramp

You can read elsewhere ‘ all about the girl who came to stay’. but is another Beatles song that makes it to my playlist. In truth it could just as easily be a song by Richie Havens called ‘I started a joke’ but copyright issues make that song difficult to access so ‘Imagine’ it is.

Do you believe in ‘love at first sight’? well I do. There I was in A beautiful village in Greece surrounded by history. I had met a wonderful woman who simply enchanted me. We sat on a roof- top of a villa. The lights from the town and bay flickering in the warm breeze. An ancient record player played but the two discs it had, on repeat. The Beatles and an Album by Richie Havens. Two songs stick in both our minds. As I have written else where this is the place that I suppose Liz and I fell in love and where we set out the first tentative steps of our life together. What Liz was wearing, how her nails were painted her jewellery are printed in my mind as if it were yesterday. Imagine is a song that carried a message that resonated with the youth of the day. I know it carries its message now but then it was different or so I seem to remember. I cannot waste the chance to offer my thanks to this wonderful woman. She is beside me still today brightening my existence and I love her more than any words can say.

My fourth song: Imagine The Beatles. (check out Richie Havens I started a joke if you can too)

From 1969 until 1972 I worked in Liverpool. I lived at home, which was difficult and my main source of release was via rugby. There were many highlights but on the whole we often got well beaten and a batch of ill health also played me low. I was often very depressed in all truth because I just could not see a way out of what I saw as very ordinary and restrictive life. I was doing ‘well’ at work but that did not surprise me. I was Captain of rugby Club and would often read about my own exploits in press articles but I whole lot was missing and I was afraid. I drank too much too and yes i dabbled in drugs. None of this helped.

At the time I drove a green Austin A30. It had no heater and the radio was courtesy of a portable job which had a coat hangar as an aerial. I spent all the money I earned on clothes or beer and whilst I might have appeared to some to be having a good life the truth was I was not, inside I felt just desperate.

In late 1972 a change occurred a big change. I was offered the job to move to London and start a new life. It was terrifying of course but a good mate offered me lodging and the next chapter of my life was about to begin. My mood, which had been desparate at times slowly began to change and one day on the way home from work driving my little green car a song came on the radio. With it came a wave of emotion so memorable I can feel it now. As I passed the ‘Red Cat’ Public house where Tiger had delivered many of his lectures to me the evening sky appeared as I crested the hill and before me was an awe-inspiring sun scape appeared. The words of the song that was playing had a whole new meaning. I contemplated the wonder of nature and my new future at the same time it was mind blowing.

My third Song: Here comes the Sun by The Beatles.

Looking back the time of leaving school was traumatic for me. All but a small handful of my friends were off to university and there I was unsure and panicky as what to do. I had long since realised my cognitive powers were ‘different’. I simply could not make notes and listen at the same time. If something interests me I drink in knowledge by listening. Indeed I seem to have an ability to anticipate the knowledge. When it came to ‘A levels and the like my notes were pathetic and hence revision was a nightmare as I had to rely on textbooks that seldom presented info in those days in a usable way. Non of this matters now as looking back not going to university was a good thing for me, it really was.

My Headmaster realised this and sent me to work in Liverpool for a Stockbroking firm. It was truly shocking to me. Gone was the discipline and order of a strictly run elite academic establishment. The fairness and good manners of the pupils replaced by a mixture of impossibly pompous partners and local ‘lads’ and ‘lasses’ all of whom spoke with a guttural accent similar to that dreadful bloke on Sky Sports. I was bewildered, lonely and very confused. The values of my school, excellence, were deeply ingrained and here I was working in a grey building in a city that felt hostile. I was lonely and in all truth depressed.

My school sporting record was pretty impressive if I say so myself. The school Old Boys Rugby team had fallen on hard times. In those days no cups no leagues to mark out the status of a Rugby Club. One thing counted, your fixture list. The OB’s list was exemplary built upon decades of school produced rugby stars. The honours board in the club was a thing to behold and included a British Lion, Bill Howard. However in recent years the number of boys who decided not to return to Mersyside after graduation had risen to the extent that very few ever returned to wear the club colours save for some gala events when a ‘star studded’ team would be a match for anyone.

I was most unsure about joining the OBs as there recent record was dire and here I was having lost but 2 matches in 3 years- one of those was based upon the most biased display of a referee I have ever seen. KCS Southport be ashamed!

I was persuaded to turn out for the club third team one Saturday in early september. Or to be honest I was coerced. I should have smelt a rat as various grandees were on the touch line including the club’s County President the afore mentioned British Lion and many others. The game I can even remember. I was of course in a different class to the ‘old boys’ in the third team who used Saturday afternoon as a way to build a thirst. After the game the charm offensive started led by that most magnificent of men and someone whose memory I hold so dear to my heart TG Smith (Tiger). Tiger was to become my mentor in all things life. The dad I never had, the man who gave me life gifts that ranged from the ‘principles of gentlemanly courtship to playing poker when the stakes are high. Bless him.

The following week I sat in the First Team changing room surrounded by my team mates. We were about to Play Liverpool RFC. In their ranks were Fran Cotton, Tom Brophy, Peter Scurfield and Mike Slemen ( all of whom were either current our future England Internationals) The rest of them made up the all conquering Lancashire side of the day.

We were not without our stars, more later, but we were hopelessly outmatched and we got thrashed. I did my bit, was universally praised but my first taste of mens rugby was huge shock.

In those days any rugby club worth its salt had a communal bath. Two in fact, one for each team. They would be approximately ten feet square made of concrete and deep enough such that the smallest men would be able to sit in them with just their chin protruding from the water. We sat in silence in the bath as The Liverpool team celebrated their victory in the bath next door. I was nineteen years old and most of my team mates were in their late twenties or early thirties. What was next? Suddenly Steve Jones stood up and moved to the centre of the bath. The mood lifted. Steve was a scrum half who was erratic. Brilliant or else dire. His character similar in that he had mood swings like no-one else I have ever met. One moment passionate and insightful the next depressed and desperate. He was a linguist and spent his days being a courier in the summer in Europe. The most glamorous job in those days. He would sit at the front of a luxury coach as it moved around the continet serving a commentary on the history of various destinations usually to American tourists. His language skills made him a target it would appear and he always had some tale or other to relay of ‘conquests’ he had made in Granada or Lisbon or Paris of some adoring female from the Midwest.

Anyway there he stood, the water of the bath covering his modesty. There was a song of the day sung by a band called the Sherrels a group of Black women performed with a limited array of ‘actions’. I knew the song well. Jonesy had a good voice and he piped up. ‘Tonight your mine completely’ only to be joined at full volume by the rest of the ‘boys’. The volume was magnified by our surroundings and doubtless the water served to enhance the production. As the second verse started all stood. it was bizarre sight as some of the more athletic ‘well built’ men stood displaying their parts above the soapy soup. One image stays with me somewhat disturbingly! The actions of the original band were mimicked and the song finished and we all sat back down. The mood was changed and our production had made the Liverpool team realise that whilst our rugby might not be what it once had been we were still group of men that could put on a show. Looking back it was unspeakably cool it really was. For many years after this day I sang that song in victory (not often) and defeat. When we visited other clubs we were often called upon to do a reprise in the club house so all could watch. Win or loose it gave us all a swagger. It invited the question ‘do you want to be in my gang’?

Looking back, although I had no idea at all at the time ‘my gang’ was quite a gang. Playing my part in that group of people was one hell of a challenge. The following year I got to be their Captain. Although I suspect the honour was more about keeping me in the fold that my leadership qualities. They all supported me though to a man.

Regarding that cast of characters I will mention some names so you may see just how potent force of men they were. Not sure if they all played that day but I played with all of these men and more.There was Noel Slater who had an England trial he was Captian of the Army RFC when it really meant something. He had been my house master at school and he eventually married into the McCartey family. JMT Rogers QC was eventually a high court Judge. in those days a magnificent athlete. Neville Duncan, possibly the funniest man you will ever meet but a great athlete too. He was placed third in The Krypton factor if you know what that is. Roger Blackwood who became an eminent cardiologist, he was an Oxford Blue. Martin Price, my best friend at the time. Hopelessly good looking a wonderful athlete who won the Krypton factor on national TV. The best rugby payer I ever played with and who would have graced any team in the world, honestly. John Howard (who dies climbing K2) Captain of Cambridge University and Bedford Rugby Club too (a leading club of the day). Michael P Burrel who was barrister but later became the Solicitor General of Hong Kong, George Ogrady a fabulous rugby player who loved golf more. He became CEO of the PGA in europe and ran the tour there. Look him up it is quite a CV. John Croker Oxford Blue and eminent physician, Peter Stafford star of Rosslyn Park and an Oxford Blue to boot. The list goes on but I now see the point of all this. There I was, in transition to manhood. Scarcely though I knew it at the time I had joined a ‘gang’, a very very exclusive gang full of potential personality and positivity. Individually all carried the school appetite for ‘excellence’ and thought we rarely delivered on the field, off it we were one hell of bunch. Being part of that group, of that gang, was so important for me because in later life as my business career progressed I seldom met anyone who would have got the better of that collective crew. If you could survive and flourish in the midst of that lot, ‘My gang’, (let alone lead it), then in difficult situations the odds of ones self confidence winning though was very likely. So it played out. It was great privilege to have been part of it.

My second song is as a result.

The Sherrels. Tonight your mine.!!