It's amazing how your pre-conceptions about a person or a situation can be so wide of the mark as to be laughable, and shows you up for how narrow-minded you can be at times.

I met David Watkins at his house near Leamington the other day. David is just like hundreds of thousands of 11-year-old boys...he eats, sleeps and breathes football (Cardiff City being his 1st love), will talk with anyone about the beautiful game until it's way past his bedtime and harbours a desire to become a sports journalist/broadcaster when he's older.

It’s September 26th 2010 and I’m forced to dig out the thermal vest for a football match – the game’s gone.

To be fair, the old Damart faithfuls can come in handy for a pre-season friendly in late July at Stoke’s Brittania Stadium, such is the way the wind whips through the Potteries, but whilst the wife and I have so far resisted in putting the heating on at home, I couldn’t risk a trip to Bolton without a bit more insulation.

PLENTY OF YOU HAVE EMAILED TO ASK IF I HAVE ANY FUNNY 'ROAD' STORIES FROM MY YEARS AS A MUSO OF NO FIXED ABILITY...I HAVE ONE OR TWO ;o)

SO HERE'S ONE LITTLE TALE FROM MY EARLY DAYS OF TRYING TO ACHIEVE ROCK STARDOM...IF YOU LIKE IT, LET ME KNOW BY WAY OF A COMMENT BELOW AND I'LL DREDGE UP SOME MORE EMBARASSING NONSENSE FROM MY PAST LIFE! THERE MIGHT EVEN BE ENOUGH FOR A WHOLE BOOK IF ANYONE CARES!!

Sometimes, Spinal Tap can seem like the most disturbingly real on-the-road documentary ever filmed.

A typical DRESSED TO KILL gig weekend is not a walk in the park – 2 shows on successive nights with all the setting up and breaking down of equipment that entails, coupled with the 2 hours it takes the 4 of us to get make-up and costumes on to perform (and the half hour it takes to disrobe and get back into your civvies), not to mention the driving from one end of the country to the other overnight with just one crew member assisting us…who doesn’t drive.

It was approximately 10 minutes after arriving in Birmingham International Airport’s departure lounge ahead of our long-awaited honeymoon to Mauritius, and I’d already spotted someone I know – namely an old Gems TV cameraman I’d not seen in 4 years. I make a habit of this when I’m in and around Brum, which has irritated people I’ve been with before, but Natalie isn’t the least bit bothered by my constant chance meetings with folk – her primary concern was getting a window seat for the 2 long flights ahead, first to Dubai, then onto Mauritius.

New show, new timeslot, same old garbage public transport that attempts to get you to work at a reasonable juncture.

This is my lot with working Sundays as I have for nearly a decade with one station or another - you are more at the mercy of train, bus, underground and motorway networks than at any other time of the week. You feel like Reggie Perrin when you finally stumble into the maelstrom of the talkSPORT office, announcing "55 minutes late - escaped hippo at Harrow and Wealdstone"

I'm in danger of wallowing in my past lives a little too much lately.

Not that I'm complaining - quite the opposite infact. Following the emotional time I had with all of my musician friends at the Cryer gig a couple of weeks ago, I had an encounter this week with another group of friends and work associates...namely the shopping channel Gems TV.

Sometimes as a musician, the planets seem to line up and an evening unfolds that delivers everything one could possibly wish for in terms of atmosphere, nostalgia, emotion and entertainment. Friday night for me ticked every single box and a load more besides.

I’ve been home for a week now, but my feet have barely touched the floor since touching down at Heathrow last Saturday morning.

There is definitely something to be said for taking a break after such a hectic June and early July, but broadcasting is no respecter of schedules at the best of times and it’s something you have to learn to live with. Be flexible, be available and be professional, or be off with you. That’s not to say I’m not having a holiday this year – far from it – but not quite yet…

And so a whole month has passed since I last saw Blighty, but it won't be long until Sydney the driver arrives at the talkSPORT Lodge to once more send me hurtling through the early evening traffic without sparing the horses until we reach Tambo Airport for my 'red eye' flight home.