2012, the Year that was

It has been almost six months since I last put finger tips to keyboard and posted on my blog. I thought that I would review the year, well the year as I saw it anyway!

What a year we have had! Great Britain stood tall, sucked in its stomach, warmed up the voice and let rip! And boy, how the world listened.

This year we witnessed the triumphant re-birth of National Pride. I am not talking about the watered down version that gets wheeled out every time our "amazing" football team trips on its coiffured bootlaces halfway up the steps to the world stage. I am talking about the sort of pride that was last so widely seen when we plucky Brits waved swords and bibles around each of the four corners of the world, shouted "Huzzah!" and said "I may be some time!"

Firstly was the Queen's Jubilee. 4 days of street parties, pageantry, rock concerts, parades, flotillas and, of course, the obligatory rain! I have always been a proud fan of the Royal Family and what they stand for. They do wonders for these islands of ours, promoting us and our wares. Clearly, the addition of young Catherine last year and the hopeful appearance of the future monarch, be they male or female, next year has given the Firm a popularity boost not seen since current Queen's Coronation. I predict a bright future for the House of Windsor. This was the pride born from 1000 years of Royals. The Queen is ours and always will be. She has been ruling over us for 60 years and we celebrated as only we Brits can. Lots of flag waving, pomp and ceremony and braving of the elements. I hope she makes it to 70 years on the throne, what a party that will be!

The second type of pride we saw this year was for the Olympics. Seven years ago there was an engagement. The future Bride, Great Britain, blushing because this was her third go, aware that she needed many a nip and tuck and a lorry load of good humour before allowing the guests to see her. The groom, Lord Coe, eagerly anticipating the work he would need to put in and the number of people he would ask to help before his weary fiance could walk down the aisle. The best man, Boris, standing in the wings, ready to help in his own charismatic way, as diplomatic as Genghis Khan and as loyal and patriotic as St. George himself.

What happened over the next six and a half years is a matter of record. There were many highs and lows, moments that I am sure LOCOG would rather forget, the tickets and security to mention but two areas to be improved for the next time. The structure and fabric of the Games was put in place on time. We were ready in principle, however the one thing that cannot be made, bought, built or borrowed is atmosphere. There were many, many doubters of the Games, a large percentage of the population in fact, people who thought our little island could never pull it off, people who thought we should keep away from such a flashy and showy spectacle, people who thought the money would be wasted and that no one would come to the party. It was upon the shoulders of these people that the success of the games rested. If enough of them could be won over, the world would see that Great Britain was not a place divided, that we could come together behind one common objective and put on the best display of sportsmanship, in the best venues possible, helped by the best kind of person and give everyone a party to end all parties.

Six months before the games, a wave of Olympic spirit started to grow. This was Olympic Year. We all saw and finally realised that actually this could be done, we could and would, with the true spirit of grit and determination that the Empire was built on, conquer the world again and show the rest of them that this plucky little island can make the world sit up and take notice. From the moment Sir David Beckham (surely not long to wait now) took the Olympic flame and for the next 70 days that it was paraded around all four countries that make Great Britain and all points between, Olympic fever took hold, but in the end it was not the organisers or the athletes, the sponsors or the celebrities that made it work, it was the ordinary people, the Games Makers in their scarlet and purple and the blessed Armed Forces who really shone, it was their games. Admittedly the Games Makers had all volunteered and the Army was pulled in at the last minute, but how many grumpy servicemen and women did you see? None! They were proud to be there and to be a part of it as were we all. This is the pride that comes when everyone stands together in the face of international doubt and overcomes the odds to pull the proverbial rabbit out of the hat! Huzzah I say, nay thrice huzzah I shout! Not since Rourke's Drift have so few defied the odds and show the many just how to do it properly!

I admit that I was behind the whole event pretty much from the start, hugely helped by the fact that we had tickets, so the four of us, painted to the n'th degree, waving our flags and with excitement glistening in our eyes, went to the Olympic Stadium and watched with the world as the Opening Ceremony unfolded. You can't quantify the pride. I couldn't sing the National Anthem as the best Bond girl ever made her appearance. Far too choked with emotion, but by gad, I gave it my best shot!

For once, bad weather on holiday was no issue. In fact, had the sun been shining I would have missed some amazing action and atmosphere in both the Olympic and Paralympic Games. The dedication and hard work had paid off for them all. I just don't know how anyone will be able to decide who will carry off the BBC Sports Personality trophy this year!

We all read the stories, stories about overcoming injury and desperation, hardship and personal loss, but what has stayed with me most are those amazing souls who until fairly recently would have been watching the action on television but through circumstance have been suddenly backed into a corner, found huge amounts of courage and become Paralympians and created the action. Why can't that spirit be in all sports, at all levels? I don't think breaking an eyelash on a football pitch really warrants all the tantrums and wailing that we see from some of the multi-million pound salaried sportsmen nowadays, but hey, what do I know?

2012 also saw my fortieth birthday. I had a very long weekend of celebrations, culminating in dinner with my very closest chums, being looked after by the best staff in one the best places in London. I wrote a post about my dream day and a friend translated it into a fantastic picture that now hangs in pride of place and reminds me every time I see it of a great day and celebration.

We also visited Italy, a place I have always wanted to see. We spent a fantastic week in Tuscany, eating and drinking far too much, seeing the sights and generally unwinding. My child like amusement at purile humour was satisfied as I watched my four year old son gasp in amazement and wonder at the number of willies and breasts on display in Florence!! I could giggle to my heart's content without a stern word or look from the more mature and sensible in our party! I also discovered what seriously good ice cream tastes like. It actually tastes so good that I almost boycotted the English stuff, almost, but not quite!! I have quite simply fallen in love all over again, not in a "this is a great film, I love it" kind of way, but more in a right up there with my wife and children kind of way. I would move there in a flash if the opputrtunity arose.

I have now nearly reached my goal of losing 6 stone. It has been an agonising time, nearly 16 months now. The first five stone went in as many months and the next stone has taken the rest of the time, but not long to go now. I have had to completely change the way I cook and what I eat. It was all been worth while, even if it means a wardrobe's worth of new clothes have made their way it to our home this year!

Even though I say so myself, I am a man of very few weaknesses or negative points, however I will admit to one; I am addicted to X-Factor! I know, I know, how can this be I hear you all scream. A man of my culture and learning, tuning in twice a week for months with an almost religous fervour! I think it is the wish to see how dire and hopeless some people are at the same time as believing in their own ability to sing like an angel. This year's batch of wannabes produced some wonderful moments and characters and, although he filled my nightmares with his out of tune crooning, Rylan Clarke was definately this year's high or low point, depending on your point of view! I spent may a happy hour ranting on Facebook to anyone who cared to listen! I will have to find something else to fill my weekend viewing schedule until next year's offering come round again. I find it rather like the dentist, no one likes it but you sit through the pain because you just have to. Well, that's my excuse and I'm sticking to it!

I usually like to end my posts with a recipe. As it is Christmas, I thought I would share a recipe that has become a staple in our house over recent years, mincemeat pinwheels. They are so easy to make, keep well in an airtight tin and taste great dunked in some brandy cream.

There are no hard and fast quantities. You will need some puff pastry, the shop bought, ready rolled stuff is best for ease, and a couple of jars of mincemeat.

Lay out the pastry sheet, spread with the mincemeat, roll in to a large sausage roll and seal the edge with some water.

Cut into half inch slices and arrange on a baking sheet with plenty of space around each one. With the heel of your hand, gently flatten each one.

Cook in the oven at 180 for 10 - 15 minutes until nice and crispy. Allow to cool a bit before getting stuck in.

These are such an easy alternative to mince pies and look great as the are a tad different to the norm.

I hope you all have a fantastic Christmas and New Year and that you get all that your heart desires this festive season.

See you all next year.