The British Airways Jumbo thumped the runway at Heathrow. I looked up, half asleep and gazed out of the window. Rivulets of rain were pushing across the glass in an uncharted fashion as they tried to make their way to the bottom. It reminded me a lot of my journey over the past year.
It was cold, grey and overcast – a fairly typical warm welcome to London. The plane braked hard and then veered off the runway to find its nominated stand space among its brothers and sisters.
I was exhausted . . . knackered . . . fucked.
This was my second New York roundtrip of the week and everything I had worked so hard for rested on the next few hours.
I had gone over the pitch a thousand times during the very short night but still felt really nervous.
This has to work.
I had no luggage – just a small bri...

. . . including the great town of Gateshead. If I remember correctly, the great Steve Cram and Brendan Foster helped a huge turnout in the North East of England – supporting the starving in Africa in Sport Aid and Run the World.