It’s been another busy couple of weeks of travelling, but having returned from Germany yesterday I’m back in Blighty for, ooh, the best part of a fortnight now.
My first task is to wait in for an electrician, as I somehow managed to fuse all the lights in the place before I went away. Now, they said they’d be here today between 8am and 1pm. As I type this it’s just after five to one. Presumably if I’m as tardy in paying the bill they’ll be just as relaxed.
I’ve been away filming a couple more shows for the Holiday programme, in northern Denmark and all over Germany. The German film visited some of the World Cup host cities, and I even managed the score a peach of a goal on the pitch at the Gottlieb Daimler Stadion in Stuttgart. Whilst reciting a piece to camera, I might add. Although my trusty left peg obviously still has it, it was my second attempt. In an effort that called to mind the great Charlton no-goal machine Carl Leaburn, my first effort, from eight yards out in front of an open goal, skewed off the side of my foot and practically went out for a throw in. But hey, it was raining, the ball was wet and the turf greasy. And I was wearing jeans and baseball shoes. And I’ve not kicked a football for about 3 years.
Contrary to how it might appear on screen, the Holiday programme is startlingly hard work. 7.30 starts and never a finish until at least 10.30. OK, it’s not exactly going down the pits or anything, but when you’re used to rolling out of bed, making a cup of tea and arsing around on the internet until it’s time for The Simpsons, as I am, it’s a shock to the system.
But not as much of a shock to the system as the jogging sequence in Hamburg was, I can tell you. Walking down the famously sleazy Reeperbahn in a pair of Ireland football shorts was an experience neither I nor the Reeperbahn will forget in a hurry.