16th May - Happy Birthday Chum

He is... 'The face who runs the place' (that's an entirely self-titled nickname, by the way). But to me, he's a constant annoyance, and I wouldn't have it any other way. You see, of all the friends I currently keep in my 'circle', Gareth Messenger - or 'G-Man' as he insisted we all call him when we started Uni - has been a constant presence over the past 13 years of my life. Today's blog is devoted to the sparrow, on this, his 31st Birthday, not by choice... But by necessity, as he's hounded me for every day of the past week demanding that I pay tribute to him in this diary post. 

When I first met Gareth, he was a pale, skinny boy, obsessed with Chelsea Football Club. He was a little antisocial in patches, and would regularly delve into bouts of extreme moodiness. In that sense, nothing has really changed. But I'm not just here to roast him. Over the years, the work-shy Beansprout-lookalike grew as a man. Physically, thanks to all the Doritos (in fact, there's only one part of his body which hasn't grown in size since 2009), but most importantly, mentally. A year after becoming a Father via the birth of his terrific little boy Charlie, whom I must admit I possess a real affinity for, Gareth was - via some extreme flirtation with our former lecturer who was now working in the Middle-East - offered a job in Qatar. 

'*Gag gag choke spit gag*', he replied, on receipt of the job offer. But in all seriousness, since then, he's really spent the best part of a decade soaking up the culture of the Country via his wild adventures... Going to work in a taxi, and then going home again. And then back to work. And home again. Occasionally, he might - controversially - treat himself, to a pair of Jordans. Or more likely, a 'fizzy drink' and a 'snout' as he puts it, via Whatsapp voicenotes half-way through our FIFA tournaments. The latter has served as a real preservation of our bond, and he's certainly matured since his frenzied slur on a virtual-Didier Drogba in 2012. 

There have been moments of error on his behalf, of course. Like when he overlooked me for best man duties in 2016. Or his fashion sense. His diet - if you can call it that, (plates of crisps dipped in a side of salad cream) - was somewhat questionable during our University days. But after rolling up his sleeves and cooking his fellow housemates a delightful dish of... Erm, grated cheese on Sainsbury's Basics penne, in 2010, he's now grown to real culinary culture after meeting his wonderful wife, Lauren. These days - after sensationally announcing his intentions to 'give up Mayo, 'cuz it's killing me' - his pallet stretches to tossing Qatari riyal at pizza delivery boys, or devouring charred sausages on his Essex-based BBQ. 

Despite the somewhat hearty banter in the paragraphs above, this is - and always will be - how 'G' and I bond. (He once tried to tell us that we should call him 'Messi' instead of 'G' on account of his 'Messenger' surname, but that idea went down faster than Katie Price on a Rugby team). These days, he's more likely to answer to 'Darth Garth', engage in Twitter rows with ex-soap stars, or post cryptic hood-up selfies filled with Eminem lyrics on his Instagram story. When he isn't busy claiming that Craig Gardner is better than Steven Gerrard, he's still very much the CEO of the 'Tommy Tuchel's tricky Blues' fan club, and (perhaps unfortunately) for me, not just my best friend* (*joint, 'cuz I know you're reading this, too, Finn), but also my brother. NB: This - weirdly - feels like it's been written a bit like an obituary, or even a best man's speech, so I guess I got to write one in the end, eh? Anyway...

Happy Birthday mate!