X Factor's Jahmene Douglas, a poetry-reciting dog owner and singing with a Fruit Shoot in your mouth!

                  Jahmene in 2011 with Swindon Talent stars Samantha Millard (left) and
                            Jade Wilkinson at a photocall for the Mayor's charity concert.

THE Arts Centre in Swindon is a small theatre with just 224 seats, a tiny stage and a very intimate atmosphere. You don't tend to get the big acts playing there - for example, former Eurovision winners, Brotherhood of Man ("Save Your Kisses For Me", "Figaro" and "Angelo") are performing at the Old Town  venue next week.

It was summer two years ago, while editor of the Advertiser, that myself and Shirley Ludford from the community radio station, Swindon 105.5, were running our third series of "Swindon's Got Talent", based on five or six heats staged at venues around the town, culminating with finals at the bigger Wyvern Theatre that August.

On this particular Tuesday evening, Shirley and myself were judging the heats of an open mic round at the Arts Centre. Folk turned up to the theatre, booked in at the foyer, stood up on stage and strutted their stuff for five minutes.

We've had the good, the bad and the ugly, including a comedian who walked on stage, introduced himself and then bottled it to walk off. We had an elderly man recite poetry while his pet collie watched on longingly from the back of the stage, and a wierdo who tried to sing while drinking a Fruit Shoot! It was messy!

We also had some cracking acts since the competition started in 2008, but was bizarely ended once I left the newspaper in 2011, along with a lot of other community involvement in the town. Nice to see the Adver's now proudly jumping on the Jahmene bandwagon!

Anyway, on this particular evening, a shy and retiring Jahmene Douglas took to the stage with all the confidence of a tightrope walker with double vision. His high-pitched speaking voice couldn't betray the nerves and you sensed, almost Susan Boyle-like, that this audition wasn't going to go well.

Jahmene closed his eyes, took a deep breath and then, as the opening chords of Dreamgirls' "I Am Changing" were played over the theatre audio, you could see this young man change before your eyes. It was magical.

His stance changed, his shoulders stiffened and from his mouth came this most wonderful of voices; moody, melodic, lilting and elegant. Here's a video of Jahmene's performance that evening: http://www.swindonadvertiser.co.uk/video/102474/?page=1

For the next three minutes, Jahmene gave this most mesmorising of performances and when he finished he looked embarrassed when the theatre audience rose as one to applaud the arrival of a star.

It was no surprise when six weeks' later, Jahmene received another standing ovation in the finals which he won with a soulful composition of his own - no all expenses-paid Caribbean holiday or lucrative recording contract, but instead a small Swindon Talent 2010 winner's trophy.

Then, just 19-years-old, a star was born. “It feels unreal – I’m used to just walking off and hoping that people liked it," Jahmene told me afterwards. "It's like a door has opened – this means I can carry on singing and hopefully go to London. My mum was in the audience and this will mean so much to her as well. I’m so grateful.”

The surprise, I guess, was that nothing happened. Then studying at New College in Swindon, Jahmene was hoping to go to London to carve out a career as a professional singer. Jahmene worked with a local music agent doing gigs in the area, he went to London to record some tracks, but in the end he finished up working at Asda Wallmart in North Swindon.

Our paths crossed several times. He performed at a couple of concerts in town which I comperered and willingly gave up his time to share his talent. Jahmene, who is closely involved with his church, is painfully shy, very humble and often ends sentences with a little embarrassed laugh, as if he couldn't work out why people liked him and was wowed by his talent.

Last April, Jahmene sang at my wedding reception in Swindon, putting on a gorgeous half hour set. Jahmene's not the most organised of people. We weren't even sure if he was going to turn up on the day since he'd missed rehearsals earlier in the week, and left various notes on my Facebook page saying he hoped to make it. Fortunately, he turned up and was superb.

Ironically, Jahmene had then just auditioned for the BBC talent show "The Voice", but failed to make it through. That evening at the Blunsdon House Hotel, he and another Swindon Talent finalist, Samantha Millard, put on a spell-binding show to our friends and family. It was class, sheer and utter class, and a privlege to have Jahmene there.

Now this weekend, Jahmene will be on national television in front of millions of viewers as he competes in the judges' houses round of X Factor. At his audition, he had the judges purring with Etta James' hit "At Last" with Gary Barlow declaring "That is how you do an audition".

And fellow judge Tulisa gushed: “You have not got just The X Factor, not just raw talent but you have the shock factor. When you stepped on the stage you were like a timid little soul and you couldn’t express yourself, but you started expressing yourself the minute you started singing and it was freaking amazing!”

Suddenly, he became a YouTube sensation, made a premature 5-1 favourite by bookies to win X Factor, and my former local paper describes the mood as "Jahmenia" sweeping the town.

But then last weekend at Boot Camp, Jahmene gave a disastrous performance of Maroon 5's "Moves Like Jagger", suffered a pre-stage panic attack before pulling it off with a show-stopping rendition of "Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow" to book his place in this weekend's final showdown. It made for absorbing TV.

The X Factor machine has moved into action pretty quickly. Jahmene's Facebook personal account was closed down this summer and a more off-hand business page created. He's been writing a lot on his Facebook page and Tweeting offering words of wisdom, posting pictures and thanking fans for their support. But already, his life as moved on and a slight distance established for the lad from Wroughton. Understandably so.

We know he was in Dubai last month with Pussycat Dolls' Nicole Scherzinger and the five other boys competing for those three coveted spots for the live finals, but Jahmene was giving nothing away in his postings whether it was good or bad news. Chart sensation Ne-Yo joined Nicole in the Gulf to  cast an eye over the contestants.

The judges' houses shows will be screened in a double bill this Saturday and Sunday night on ITV, with the 12 acts who have made it through to the live finals revealed on Sunday night's show - and the first live show on October 6

Jahmene's biggest obstacle is his nerves and sometimes a self doubt about his own ability. His biggest asset is his talent, with the voice of a nightingale, and a vocal range which at times, defies belief. One hopes that this is the stepping stone for Jahmene to really make it big. He deserves it.

Why running is one of life's good things....

HOW do you know your limit? In sport, depending on your commitment, you are pushing your body to its extreme, sometimes until you are physically sick, hands on your knees, retching with exhaustion.

In life, when you are constantly being challenged both mentally and physically each day, how do you know your limit or when you have reached the edge?

Life is tough right now, bloody tough. Survival is about taking small steps and toasting the successes; never looking back but trying to always look forward. There have been times this past week when my limit has been teetering in the red zone; that awful feeling of claustrophobia, panic and overwhelming anxiety.

But as each day passes, the dial moves away from the red zone. That infernal sickening knot in the stomach slowly disappears as every small step is made, each single success is toasted and cherished.

Last night I decided to put my mind to a gruelling speed training session; 10 sets of two minutes' hard running at 80% to 100% effort, with 30 seconds' interval between each set. The backdrop was Eastbourne's Western Lawns overlooking the English Channel at low tide, and a grassy 250 metre circuit marked by cones with darkness descending on a cool September evening.

These Wednesday night sessions are amazingly popular, the diversity of standard was huge, with the whippets at the front tearing around the dew-sodden grass lapping slower ladies at the back who were putting in an equal amount of effort.

Running is such a confidence thing. When you are running well your heels lift off the ground like a horse setting off at a canter, your legs feel strong and your body relaxed - minimal effort for maximum speed like a well-tuned car burning up a track.

But when your mind is a mess and insecurities gnaw deep in your brain, this has such a major impact on your running. The smallest of climbs becomes an Everest-like challenge, the lethargy in your body as the miles tick by becomes grossly exaggerated as your mind wills you to stop and give up.

Psychology is such an important part of a runners' make-up; we're not talking about championship running, but those who push their bodies to their physical and mental limit. Frequently in races and in training, you use a mental strategy to get you through; some stay focused to stick in the zone, others use distraction therapy. I count my strides when I go up a hill, trying to listen to the cadence of my steps so they synchronise with the count. It's a distraction therapy.

I wasn't sure how my body would react last night. I knew I needed to run, I also wanted to run with other people and to be challenged.

Surprisingly, despite being anxious at the prospect of having an absolute Horlicks of a run, I came off the hour-long session feeling buoyed with my self-confidence significantly boosted. I set out with the attitude of going for it, pushing myself hard but making sure the first set was as good as the last set; avoid going off too hard.

Very soon I found myself up near the front with the whippets. A couple of guys stayed with me for the first two or three sets but I pushed on. My legs felt strong, they wobbled a little towards the end because of a lack of core strength, but I was light and lifting. My lungs felt good too, coping with the sharp, burning pace.

And when the seeds of doubt crept in, the trick was to block those considerations from the mind; I distracted myself by setting targets around the course, looking ahead to the next cone or passing the next person on the circuit as Mike, our instructor, counted down the time at the end of each set - "30 seconds gone, half way, last 30 seconds, 10, 9..."

This was a good night. This was a night when running was the vital psychological crutch I needed. I wasn't physically sick at the end but I was buzzing with endorphins as the group went through the routine of stretching exercises at the end.

Life is about hanging onto the good things, cherishing them and nurturing them. And running is definitely one of life's good things.

An uncomfortable train ride with Wayne and Waynetta Slob!

HERE'S a tricky one - what do you do if you find yourself cramped sardine-like on a train sat next to someone who smells so rank? How do you open the conversation - "Excuse me, when was the last time your body saw a bar of soap?"

On a muggy Sunday afternoon travelling on the train out of Eastbourne with my son Ross, we were confronted with two characters straight out of a Harry Enfield sketch - they were mature versions of Wayne and Waynetta Slob.

Wayne was wearing clothes which were hanging off him, tobacco-stained nails, gnarled and blackened teeth and grey hair straight out of Worzel Gummidge. His skin was tanned, but more out of grime than any sun.

Waynetta was wheelchair bound, weighing in at a double digit dress size, trying to text with one hand while knocking back a two-litre bottle of full fat Coca-Cola and burping through out. "Whoops", she giggled and looked across apologetically at Ross and I with a grizzled, toothy smile which would sink a thousand ships.

What can you say? Nothing! It was grotesque. I'm trying hard to describe the smell and it is difficult. It was  choking and unpleasant, a bit like decaying body flesh (don't ask how I know!), which we endured for a good 45 minutes before a swift change at Haywards Heath.

I had a similar situation a few years ago when we had one guy at work who really did pen and ink. By mid-afternoon, his body odour could be detected half way down the newsroom. All I could do was to have a quiet and diplomatic conversation with him, and he was embarrassed when I raised it.

I've had my fill of trains recently. Yesterday was a nightmare on the railways. Points failure at Hastings, engineering works between Lewes and Brighton, broken down train at Clapham Junction, delayed trains because of driver sickness. A round journey from Eastbourne to Chichester took almost seven hours - I could have flown to New York quicker in that time.

You just despair at the state of the railways. For years I've been treated to pretty good service on First Great Western. The trains are pretty smart, they've got facilities to plug in a laptop and they're quick - although the prices are ludicrous; more than £100 for a return from Swindon to Paddington.

I'm now resigned to Southern Railways which has a shocking timetable and train carriages which are old and shoddy. A £28 rail pass takes the sting out of the fares.

The distance between Eastbourne to Southampton is a mere 85 miles. The train journey, however, takes an excruciating two-and-a-half hours. It doesn't get any quicker by road, by the way. The train trundles along the south coast calling in at every small hamlet through Sussex. There's no non-stop train from Brighton to Portsmouth or Southampton which would make life so much easier.

The other week I travelled to Peterborough from Eastbourne. The first part of the journey on Southern Railways to London Victoria was slow and painstaking -although a little swifter than the coastal route. There are campaigning efforts currently to encourage the train franchise to reduce travel time from East Sussex to the capital to 70 minutes - covering a distance of little more than 65 miles. It should be simple, but it isn't.

For the second part of our journey to the Fens from King's Cross, it took less than 40 minutes to cover 85 miles on the East Coast line. How ridiculous is that? Again, the trains are smart and sleek; compared to Southern Railways which is like riding with the Flintstones.

Rail fares continue to rise and yet are passengers really get a fair deal? Yesterday, I couldn't get a sit with Ross on the outbound train to Chichester. There was no help from rail staff for his wheelchair; I had to get assistance from fellow passengers to get him on and off the train.

It's not as if those who ride the railways are not a vociferous bunch - they certainly are. But, it seems, there is very little appetite for change on behalf of the railway companies who are content to deliver a third class service set against first class fares.

Why Bradley Wiggins should win BBC Sports Personality of the Year

 

 

WHEN news broke in the early hours of Tuesday morning that Andy Murray had won the US Open, his victory effectively capped off one amazing summer of British sport.

England's lurching 1-1 World Cup draw against a superior Ukraine side barely 16 hours later brought us down to earth; another sobering reminder that all is not well in the nation's favourite sport which gorges itself upon greed and the worst kind of role models.

No wonder so many TV viewers switched over to the mouth-watering "Great British Bake Off" on BBC2, instead of enduring the pedestrian football played by our team of millionaires.

Moving on, though. Remember a couple of years ago when the Spanish seemed to win everything in world sport? Well now, it seems, it's our turn!

Forget the recession, ignore the rain/drought or just how rubbish the TV schedules are without this rich diet of physical excellence, hasn't this been a dreamy and memorable period for British sport?

All the talk now is that organisers of the BBC Sports Personality of the Year awards are looking at revising the format to squeeze in the most formidable collection of sporting excellence ever assembled. There will be world champions aplenty for the traditional December bun fight, this time taking place at London's ExCel Centre

Following the amazing achievements of the Olympians, Paralympians, our cyclists in the Tour de France and now the sulking Scotsman at the US Open, it is believed the BBC will be freshening up the format for the awards to accommodate the huge number of outstanding performances.

Some have suggested separate awards for men and women since there have only been three female winners in the past decade. Another thought was to give the Paralympics special status. But these ideas have apparently been dismissed.

Officially, the BBC is keeping its cards close to its chest, so it will be interesting to see what happens.

As an aside, I was at Broadcasting House in London. Built in 1932, Broadcasting House now houses a state-of-the-art East Wing, renamed the John Peel Wing, which has been described as a jewel of Art Deco design.

This historic landmark at Portland Place is magnificent and hugely impressive, as you would expect from the state broadcaster. It is a great place to work and was buzzing. Coincidentally, we had our meeting held in the wryly named John Cleese room.

Anyway, I digress. All this talk of who is going to win the BBC Sports Personality of the Year award is a far cry from the time three years ago when Ryan Giggs scooped the honours ahead of Jenson Button and Jessica Ennis.

Never has there been such as rich seam of talent to mine from - anyone of 20 or 30 this year's crop of world and Olympic champions could win this most significant of awards. So who do you think should win?

Here's my top 10 list, with the current William Hills odd alongside:

1. Bradley Wiggins: the man with the coolest sideburns in sport. Winning the Tour de France on its own should have been reason enough for the Paul Weller lookalike to scoop the award, but Olympic gold in the time trial has surely secured the vote. (10/11)

2. Mo Farah: Olympic gold in the 5,000m and 10,000m and the man who put the smile back on the face of British athletics, plus the best post-race celebration since Alan Pascoe twice tripped over during a victory lap at the 1974 Commonwealth Games. A humble guy with a huge smile on his face. (3/1)

3. Andy Murray: Fantastic achievement to win the US Open and Olympic gold after suffering the torment of defeat at the hands of King Rog in the final at Wimbledon. But these awards are about personality, so the Murray-meister could win the Tour de France on a unicycle and he still wouldn't win this award. (5/2)

4. David Weir: His racing shirt may have bust, but this guy is the greatest wheelchair racer of all time who can turn it on from a range of distances from the marathon downwards.  He has won a total of six gold medals at the 2008 and 2012 Paralympic Games, and won the London Marathon on six occasions. An immense athlete and a fine ambassador for disabled sport. (25/1)

5. Jonnie Peacock: Huge respect for a guy who can run under 11 seconds for 100m on blades. Jonnie, who lost his right leg below the knee after contracting meningococcal septicaemia at the age of five, is the new pin-up personality for British disabled sport. The way he composed himself in the final of the 100m was awesome in the face of huge expectation when the crowd chanted his name. (100/1)

6. Jessica Ennis: When you talk about pressure, Jessica delivered in spades to win heptathlon gold at the Olympics. She stayed focused throughout all her events. When you look at her multi-discipline training schedule, which allows just one rest day, you can only admire the discipline and dedication of this outstanding athlete. (10/1)

7. Sarah Storey: Born without a left forearm, Sarah won four cycling gold medals during the Paralympics providing that cycling at this level is an elite sport.  She is an amazing sportswoman; a a British swimmer, track and road cyclist, multiple gold medal winner at the Paralympic Games, and twice British national track champion. (100/1)

8. Alistair Brownlee: His performance in winning the Olympic triathlon was simply awesome. When you recognised the sub-30 minute 10k which Alistair ran at the end of his 43km cycle ride and 1,500m swim, you could only appreciate how power of the performance of a man who dominates world triathlon. (200/1)

9. Ben Ainslie: I first saw him compete in the Atlanta Olympics in 1996 and have interviewed the Lymington-based sailor a number of times. A great guy who became the greatest sailor of all time by clinching gold at the London Olympics in the Finn class. Prone to the occasional outburst of temper when media boats sail to close, but a classy guy. (150/1)

10. Rory McIlroy: We've yet to see the best of Rory one suspects. Won this year's US PGA Championship by eight shots and recently produced a final-round 67 to secure the BMW Championship in Indiana; his third US Tour victory in four outings. With golf set to appear in the Rio Olympic Games, who would rule out an gold medal in Brazil for the Northern Ireland golfer? (100/1)

Time to pick yourself off the canvas

IT's just gone five 'o clock in the morning and a sleepless night has passed.

Outside, I can hear the crashing of the waves on the shore; a freshening wind pumelling the sea against the stony coastline.

I lay on the sofa last night with the window slightly open falling asleep to the rhythmic and somewhat hypnotic sound of the waves - that sobering sound will be disturbed at first light in an hour's time by the squawking seagulls busily picking at the rubbish bags laying on the street in an early morning feeding frenzy.

Meanwhile, through the darkness and with the lights of the pier switched off, there is just the torchlight of a lone, brave, night time angler standing on the edge of the pier. You can just about pick out the white horses of the waves lapping against the shoreline and metres from my window a westerly breeze is stretching out the palm trees which line the promenade, slightly bending their thin trunks.

Today, I had envisaged writing a blog about another rave run; this time an eight-mile canter through the glorious New Forest yesterday on a beautiful morning when the sun blazed across the forest.  I was even writing the blog on my run, trying to pick out the sights, the sounds and the smells of this moment in time.

How I ran along lazy, crazy paths, up stamina-sapping hills with the warm air almost choking your lungs, before sheltering under the canopy of trees taking in the luxurious cooler air. Running along winding slopes, the fragrant fresh smell of the forest in the air, deer skipping ahead of us into the undergrowth, as we ran past ponies grazing lazily in this most peaceful of settings. It was the most perfect of places.

But maybe another time. From the eggshell blue skies of little under 24 hours ago to the darkness of Eastbourne right now with dawn just around the corner, this perfectly picks out the mood of the hour.

I had plenty of time for reflection last night on one of those horrendous train journeys home - five-and-a-half hours from Bournemouth to Eastbourne, which should ordinarily take around three hours.

Sunday engineering works meant an annoying bus trip between sleepy Barnham and even sleepier Angmering through West Sussex, where we expected a Brighton-bound train to be patiently waiting for us by the platform. But was it heck? The train didn't turn up for nearly an hour - great organisation.

Information from the rail company was notably sparse - two bored, luminous jacketed rail staff just warmed their heels by the small cafe not exactly putting themselves out with spreading the news - good or bad. Maybe they were embarrassed by the late Sunday evening chaos. All we had were repetitive Tannoy messages forewarning passengers about engineering works which we already knew about!

During that wait, I thought about the changes in my life, reflected on my last blog, and read some of the comment pieces in the Sunday papers about the legacies of these summer Games.

It is ironic how in my last blog about the Paralympics I wrote what an inspiration these Games have been to us all. It was a shame I missed Coldplay on stage at the closing ceremony last night, all this while cooling my heels pacing along the platform at Barnham station.

In my blog I wrote how in life there can be no barriers if we wish to fulfil our dreams. And this is surely true, although a bit pious. I suppose it matters which route we take and how tortuous it is too - whether there are any killer, stamina-sapping hills to climb before reaching the top, and how we tackle them when are bodies are achingly tired and our minds are hitting us with conflicting messages.

As I was struggling up one exhausting climb yesterday which kicked in with two sharp rises, my fresh-as-a-daisy running partner Ian called out "Keep going, Dave, think of the view at the top and what you will see when you get there."

How prophetic were those words in the context of the climb I'm facing right now.

Knock downs in life are tough to deal with, it's getting off the canvas with the potential of facing the next barrage of blows which is the hardest to accept. The easiest option is to stay down for the count, but then that's the lair of quitters.

I guess that's what makes those brave Paralympians stand out. They keep getting off the canvas. For them there is no other option. In the early days with the pain at its rawest, both physically and mentally, it must have been the hardest of obstacles to overcome, but does it get any easier? The scars never got away..

As dawn rises over Eastbourne and a new day awakes us all, it's time to pick yourself up and move on with courage and determination. There is, after all, no other option.

Inspired by the courageous achievements of the Paralympians

JUST back from a 6am run along the seafront - it really was cold and dark when I set out this morning.

Thoughts turned to the Paralympics. Last night I marvelled at the Cuban runner, Yunidis Castillo, who has just one arm, winning the T46 100m in an eye-watering 12.01sec. Just imagine running with one arm by your side - no balance at all, just power through your legs. And in close to 12 seconds - crikey O'Reilly, that is swift!

And then there was Bethany Woodward taking silver in the T37 200m. Bethany is only 19 and was born in Eastbourne, so in true media fashion we're claiming her as one of ours even though she grew up in the New Forest, lives in Dorset and has probably never visited East Sussex since.

Unlike some of the puffed-up Premiership footballers there is a genuine humbleness about the Paralympians and their achievements. In post-race interviews there is true joy in their achievement as well as respect for their fellow competitors. You don't get a load of banal cliches from these new heroes, just a thoughtful insight into their world.

For Bethany, she suffers from cerebral palsy, an impairment to the brain which affects movement, posture and co-ordination. The teenager couldn't stop smiling after her silver medal, and hadn't even realised she had finished second until she looked up at the scoreboard after crossing the line.

"Paralympic sport has never ever seen anything like this before and, if the public falls in love with it just as much as we have fallen in love with it, then that will be great to have all that support," she said, before giving us an idea of what it must be like to run with such a disability.

"It's like a brick wall you have to break through to get it done," she said. "The CP [cerebral palsy] side is lazy and, it's a constant battle to push through that and say actually, 'No you are going to do something great here.' I was going 'Come on! Push it' and my body listened."

As dawn was lifting on my steady run along the promenade, I thought about the Paralympians and their courage - and also about Bethany's words of trying to break through a brick wall. How often have I felt like that on my punishing runs and wanted to throw in the towel? At least I have full use of my arms, legs and a brain to break through that brick wall - pain is temporary, quitting is forever.

I had to push my able but aged body out of bed and out of the door this morning to run. Yet that's nothing compared to the ordeal these Paralympians put their bodies through.

Going back to Yunidis Castillo and running with just one arm. When I was being taught to run I was coached how to use your arms properly - they were there for two reasons, firstly they are stabilisers to balance the body (try running with both hands by the side of your body for a while and you're like a weeble), and then they are there for power to synchronise with your legs - either for sprinting or pushing up a hill.

There are times you drop your arms to relax the body and preserve energy, and other times they come to the fore in a steady motion to help you put on the after-burners.

Take those assets away and it's a nightmare to run. I've raced several times while pushing my son in a racing wheelchair with my arms at 90 degress so the only power comes through your legs. Running 10 miles in a rain-sodden Great South Run dressed as Scooby Doo while pushing Ross was no cake-walk, I can tell you! I was balanced with the pushchair, but it was really hard work and tough to shut down one part of your body, my arms, especially when running into a headwind.

It is wonderful that these Paralympics can bask in the spotlight for their achievements and take the glory that is rightfully theirs. Yet once the crowds have returned home, after the floodlights have been turned off at the Olympic Stadium, these same people will have to contend with a life made even more difficult by their disability.

Will we remember Yunidis or Bethany in six months' time? Will their lives be changed by their Paralympic achievement? It's unlikely. As they get older and sport is no long the bedrock of their lives, so the day-to-day challenges of their disabilities become even greater.

The other abiding memory from last night's action on the athletics track was the sight of the Brazilian sprinters making it one-two-three in the women's T11 100m for visually-impaired runners.

The winner was a lovely lady called Terezinha Guilhermina, with tattoos and a sequin-encrusted eye-mask. She was guided to the finish by Guilherme Soares de Santana, joined together by a velcro strap from their wrists.

The two had come a cropper earlier in the 400m final when Guilherme had struggled to keep up with Terezinha and fell over in the finishing straight. At the finish of the 100m final, their eyes wet with the joy of victory, they wrapped each other in their arms and Terezinha jokingly put the sight mask over the eyes of her guide.

I trained with a blind runner for a short while a few years ago, running as a guide. We were also attached by a strap attached around the wrist and would run around Southampton Common twice a week. The guy had gone blind in his teens through a medical condition, which must have been tough.

It was an interesting experience to run with someone who is blind. For me, it was an insight into the world of running blind, and the courage it must take to put your faith in the arms of another.

His sensory perception was awesome, and on runs if he could smell the perfume of a lady in the distance he would ask me to describe her in detail. I was giving a running commentary of the people and sights around on our runs, as well as describing the obstacles which lay ahead.

The irony is that this guy had taken up running a few years a earlier following the break-up of his marriage. His wife had suddenly run off with his best friend and with firm tongue-in-cheek, my blind mate said: "You know what, I didn't even see it coming!"

Back to the Brazilian blind runners and their guides; here it was fantastic to see the joy in their faces, and embrace their sense of achievement.

Paralympics may not be everyone's cup of tea, but in a world where we are too easily critical of others, you couldn't fail to smile as the six Brazilians, their athletes and guides in their moment of celebration.

They took to the podium for the medal ceremony in style, with Terezinha and Guilherme performing an impromptu salsa to accept their gold medals.

All six Brazilians stood on the podium, belting out their national anthem with pride, waving their bouquets afterwards and proudly showing off their medals. It was flamboyant, it was colourful and it made you feel good about life, about these brave Paralympians who every day challenge themselves and their bodies.

For everyone, able-bodied or disabled, surely that should be inspirational to us all. That in life there can be no barriers if we wish to fulfil our dreams.

What was wrong with the old-style school exams?

IT'S an intimidating sight which, even now, makes me shudder - those old style University of London "A level" and "O level" exam papers written in brusque English which shout at you: "Come on then, what do you know?!"

They're just pieces of paper (these exam papers above pre-date the ones I took in 1979 and 1981, yet the format remained the same), yet almost 40 years on they stir chilling memories of revision-weary students sat quietly behind lines of desks in the assembly hall scribbling away their answers; a Biro and a pack of Polo mints your only company for a defining moment when two years of solid and unremitting study rested on this particular next couple of hours.

This was it. It didn't matter whether you had hay fever, a headache, your budgie had died that morning or if it was your time of the month.

It didn't matter how well or even how bad you had fared in the mocks six months earlier, how diligent you'd been with the masses of homework (do kids still get the same daily two or three subjects' homework we used to receive?) or how much progression you'd made in that drudging diet of summer exams since the first year of secondary school.

The course wasn't broken down into units which we were tested knowing that if you failed one of the exams you could re-sit it with the best mark goimg forward to calculate an overall grade.

There was no teacher moderation, no intermediate exam marks counting towards your final grade, it all came down to this one no-nonsense exam. There were no life jackets, it really was sink or swim.

A pass at O level was A to C, and for A level grades A to E based on one or two exams. And if you weren't up to the mark to take an O level, then a CSE offered another option, with an A grade reckoned to be equivalent to a C mark in the O level. Simples!

Compare this with the current complicated exam system, and no wonder the grading is a mess: www.edexcel.com/i-am-a/student/results/Pages/results-gcse.aspx

As for the stern-faced teachers invigilating your exam, yes, of course they wanted you to pass, but their reputations or that of the school's didn't rest on how the latest exam quartile fared. The teachers had done their best, they taught the curriculum to the best of their ability, but those same teachers didn't coach you for the exam.

No, if you weren't good enough on the day that was your own silly look-out. Harsh, but fair, and everyone knew where they stood.

There were no league tables, there was no behind-the-scenes skulduggery with pupils advised not to sit an exam because they were destined for a certain low grade which would play havoc with those damned tables.

Actually, in the Goodbye Mr Chips era, it was all about the pupil. That was what mattered. It was all about provding a fully rounded education with a no holds barred exam at the end of it.

So I get enormously exasperated by the latest hue and cry over exam results and the perceived harsh the marking of GCSE English exams. "Many pupils who were expecting a crucial C grade were given a D as a result of the grade boundary changes. This has meant that many will be denied college places," said the BBC yesterday.

"Expecting a crucial C grade" - what is this, a maternity ward? Yes, Master Smith, your GCSE in applied needlework is looking healthy, I'm not expecting an early intervention, and if you look carefully at the scan you can see at full term it's going to be a crucial C grade. Isn't that wonderful - you and your parents will be very happy with the new arrival!

What rollocks!! When did pupils start expecting grades because of how they had performed in January? What arrogance? And now there is all sorts of legal action being threatened.

The irony is that the agitators; the very same teachers and the parents of the aggrieved children, most likely went through the same one chance exam system which we endured back in the days of slide rules and logarithm tables.

I write all this a week after my middle son achieved blinding GCSE results - 3 A*s, 6 As, 2 Bs and an A grade in AS level critical thinking. I'm so proud of him since my son has done his best according to the system. He is a very clever lad, cleverer than his dad, not just gifted in the classroom, but amazingly well read and intelligent generally. I have no doubt that had he sat those same exams in a one-off situation, with no course work or outside marks added to the tally, then he would have done equally as well.

Yet at his secondary school, in order to work the exams system to their statistical advantage and give those who had initially failed parts of their exams an extra year to re-sit, my son began sitting exams in the old style third year, aged just 14. What happened to a rounded education learning a varied curriculum? The focus is purely set on exams, with the mantra that nothing else shall get in the way.

Last summer, I accompanied my son to his school to collect his first batch of GCSE results made up of four pieces of paper with 20 different exam results from various boards for different modules, but what did it mean? It was so confusing. In the context of this summer's results, I'm still not sure of their value. However for my son he got what he wanted to secure his place at college to study for his A levels.

The cliche "if it ain't broke don't fix it" has become a bit trite in this modern day. Anyone who broaches the concept is snootily scowled upon for being a Luddite who won't move with the times and who doesn't want to see progression. Of course I want to raise standards and see progression. I want our youngsters to be better educated, but there is more to it than just passing exams. So what was wrong with the way we did it before? Truthfully, was the old exam system so bad? For starters we never had this annual wailing and gnashing of teeth about exam results.

I'm amazed when you read these awful stories, usually in the Daily Mail, at the ignorance of youngsters today with general knowledge, despite the access to the world wide web.

Surely that is partly the fault of what is being taught in the classroom by teachers whose sole interest is to condition their pupils to pass exams and to fulfil school targets. Children are like factory hens who, instead of laying eggs, are expected to deliver exam passes to order.

For the past 20 years especially, successive governments have tinkered with the curriculum and examination system in order, it says, to raise standards in the classroom. But has it achieved that laudable goal? It's doubtful.

Instead, it has crassly created a system where pupils are put on an infurtiating exam treadmill where it doesn't matter what you learn, just pass the damned exam. It's a bit like taking a driving test, eventually you'll pass one day so the school can claim another credit in its corporate tick box.

The pupil no longer matters. Now it is the teachers and the school who matter, so they have contrived a nonsensical egalitarian exam system where, just like sports day, even those who come last receive a medal.

As much as it would be lovely to create an egalitarian model for life, it just ain't so.

Life is all about taking your chances in that particular moment when the spotlight is turned on us.

Life is full of critical moments where you have to perform, where you have to think on your feet, and where often there are no second chances. If you fail then you have to pick yourself up from the floor and move on. It's a cruel discipline which sorts the chaff from the wheat.

Thirty years ago, we knew that all this came with the territory. We had to recite facts, learn texts parrot fashion, be able to know language tenses (perfect, imperfect, present, future and conditional), reel off periodic tables, mathematical formulae and key dates which we would reproduce in that crucial exam. Few multiple choice papers, just straight questions requiring straight answers which were rewarded, or not, by the markers.

Critics would say what relevance does that form of learning have today? The answer is that it's a disciplined form of learning, taking in facts, understanding and then applying them. I've not used Pythagoras theorem since leave school, but I know how to measure the sides of a triangle! It taught me the discipline of study in subjects I didn't particular like but to a standard which was high.

Life is about taking your opportunities, learning from your mistakes, and yes, dealing with failure. In fact, that's the best lesson youngsters today could learn; learn about failure, learn about rejection and see how strong you can bounce back?

When I took my O levels in 1979, I bombed them. I was gutted. Notably I got a D in French and yet I was among the top three in the class since we'd studied the language since primary school. But that didn't given me a divine right to an A, and I didn't witter on about the harsh marking.

What did I do? I studied for the whole year again, took extra classes out of school and 12 months later in a one-off exam I got the grade. I didn't re-take bits of the exam, it was a second chance for which there were no more chances after that one re-sit. And I learnt from that experience.

A close friend of mine at the same school year mucked up his A levels. What did he do? While we had left the sixth form to go on to college or university, he stayed on at school to repeat his final year, which must have been extremely tough and even humiliating. My friend got the grades, went to university and moved on.

Ultimately, the reason you don't succeed is because you weren't good enough on the day; whether you're an Olympic or Paralympic athlete who has trained religiously for four years for that one moment on the track, whether you are pitching to a client for new business against fierce competition, or sitting your exams in the loneliness of a school assembly hall.

Don't blame others, look at yourself. The courageous bounce back, the timid will always falter.