Our lives are often governed by routines, even those of us who like to think we are a free spirit.

From starting the day with the same cuppa, leaving for work at the same time every morning, taking the same route and opting for a favoured parking spot, to the way we manage our working and home lives, our little routines and regimes are a central part of our lives.

But for those suffering with a long-term, chronic illness such as ME/CFS – and those of us who care for them – routines are often vitally important.

Since she originally fell ill, Rachel and I have adapted our lifestyle and the way we do things, inevitably slipping into set routines.

They tend to be quite uniform and rigid, although there is also an in-built degree of flexibility due to the unpredictability of this illness. Rachel can go to bed feeling good and wake up having taken several steps backward and finding it difficult to make it out of bed, let alone downstairs.

One of the most obvious and important revolves around my career. I’ve juggled full-time work and my caring responsibilities for more than five years, sometimes successfully and at other times more by luck than judgement.

Initially, the routine was fairly straight forward as I was self-employed and could work the majority of my week at home. Mixing work with caring was comparatively easy and the routines we developed were quite adaptable, not least because I might need to work away or leave early one morning.

However, we needed to drastically rethink such routines – such as making sure Rachel enjoys sufficient sleep, providing breakfast when she was ready, helping her relocate from the bedroom down to the living room and so on – once I took up a full-time role in an office.

Finding time to get out and about is an important part of any routine

The fact the office was a 15-minute walk from home helped as I didn’t have to face a gruelling commute and I was able to return home if and when I was required. I was also able to work from when I needed to, an option it was also useful to have in reserve if needed.

Those routines embedded over the course of a little under three years, but we were required to undergo another rethink last July. I was made redundant and switched back to self-employment and mainly home-based work.

The adjustment felt quite easy for me, but Rachel took a lot longer to adapt to the fact I was home a lot more often. She had become more independent and self-reliant whilst I was working in an office and my availability actually caused a bit of negative upheaval as I started to disrupt the routines she had become used to and which, most important of all, worked for her.

It isn’t easy for someone with ME/CFS, who has become used to attempting certain things on their own or simply doing without, to suddenly have assistance on tap again.

Now we have to switch routines again. Four months after becoming self-employed, I was offered a job opportunity that was too good to pass up.

It will not, however, be a case of moving seamlessly back into the routines we had the last time I was office-based. For a start, this time I have a 40-minute commute each morning so I leave earlier in the morning.

The new routines are still bedding in. Rachel is taking times to adapt and fine tuning various regimes.

I am adapting too and still learning new ways and routines, such as the geographical distance between us – a 40-minute drive isn’t arduous, but can feel like the other side of the planet if Rachel is struggling or having a ME/CFS flare up.

Obviously all these changes cause disruption to our home life and that will, in turn, have a knock-on effect for Rachel as she copes with her illness. There are times when I think it would be easier for us both if I concentrated on caring rather than my career.

It is important for us both that I continue to juggle my career and my caring role, however, not simply because of the financial implications. If I’m happy doing a job that I love then that has a hugely positive impact on us and our life.

But that juggling act is only possible because of the routines we develop, adapt and embrace.

It would be great to feel like a free spirit. But the reality is that without such routines and regimens, life with ME/CFS and as a carer would be practically impossible.

His status updates suggested he was approaching the landmark day with the kind of mad-eyed stare that points toward a certain amount of fear and loathing.

My 40 List as drawn by @rachelcreative

I’m still in the same sort of frame of mind at 43 that I was when I wrote that list at 39. Age is meaningless.

But a few things did strike me. Firstly, there is the lack of progress I’ve made on it over the last three years. I’m not going to start beating myself up about it as there are some very valid reasons why I’ve not been crossing stuff off the list on a regular basis.

There has been some forward momentum:

• I’ve done a fair bit of No.3 (writing for myself)
• No.4 (grow a beard) is now a semi-permanent fixture on my face
• I’m less gadget-phobic these days (No.10 – I have an iPhone!)
• I’ve done a good job on No.13 and pretty much lost the chip
• And I still don’t wear blue denim jeans (No.33).

But some of the biggies, the real, significant life adventures, are still good ideas only on paper and have so far failed to materialise. Rachel and I are yet to take the honeymoon to New Zealand (no.2), for example, but I’m still sure it will happen one of these days.

What else struck me though was confirmation I’m a fairly simple-minded sort, happily distracted by the little things.

Indeed, I may have not crossed off some big stuff over the last three years but I’ve certainly enjoyed the simple stuff a whole lot more.

I’m happy burying my nose in a good book, chatting up my wife, taking my bike out for a ride around ye olde city, watching the world go by in a cafe, listening to some good music, drinking some good beer, shooting the breeze with good friends.

It doesn't get much better than spending time with family and friends and enjoying the view

At Christmas we imposed a fairly strict financial limit on our present buying. One thing we didn’t do was impose any limit on our socialising and meeting up with family and friends over the course of three weeks before, during and after Christmas made it one of the most enjoyable for years.

I’m commuting again now that I have landed a new job. But, whereas my previous commutes have involved public transport and the opportunity to read a book or stare into space through the train window as I’m conveyed to and from work, I’m now driving.

It is a bit tricky to stare absent-mindedly into space out of the window as you drive along the A5 to and from Telford (although quite a few do seem to manage it judging by the driving habits of a few fellow commuters). It is also tricky to read a book.

But what is possible is listening to music on an MP3, thinking about the day ahead and stuff to do with my new job – or what I’m going to do to unwind on my way back home.

So, vive la simple stuff and the happy distractions that fill my life and put a smile on my face.

And if anyone does want to join me over Beacon Park to kick a rugby ball around for a little while one weekend (No.9), then just drop me a line sometime.

It isn’t perfect, but then nowhere is. Indeed, some of its failings are universal and not just confined to the three-spired city – bad drivers, bus stop induced pavement rage, feckless youth, they’re all things you can endure anywhere these days.

But in the eight(ish) years that it has been home, I’ve enjoyed being a Lichfieldian and always look forward to coming back whenever I’ve been away…apart from negotiating that ridiculous island outside Morrisons on Beacon Street, the one which half the motorists who approach it seem to ignore completely.

Rogue traffic islands aside, there is much to be said about Lichfield life.

But the city is on the cusp of what could be a major change. The revised plans for a £100m redevelopment of part of the city centre have gone on show, the Friarsgate scheme is heralded by supporters as securing the future of Lichfield.

I find myself perched on the fence (not the new one around Minster Pool, obviously). I’m unsure which way to fall.

I could find myself supporting the arguments for Friarsgate and the new opportunities and businesses it could well attract to Lichfield.

But, equally, the whole scheme fills me with unease. Is Lichfield selling what remains of its soul on a shaky promise of a golden future, represented by an identikit city centre redevelopment that could plonk you down just about anywhere in the UK?

I want a Lichfield of history and character, interesting alleys and intriguing walkways, independent retailers providing everything you need to survive the daily grind and lots of things you never knew you wanted but can’t actually live without.

Does Lichfield have too much character to turn into an identikit city? Photo by @RachelCreative

But I’m also aware that such a vision could be a luxury no-one can afford these days. Times are tough for retailers and likely to get tougher, a brand spanking shopping and leisure hub could just be the thing to keep the city solvent and attractive.

That is attractive in an economic sense, rather than aesthetic. The new city centre development might draw the punters in, but it could help spirit away the charm and atmosphere of the historic city itself.

“Come to Lichfield – you could be just about anywhere in the UK” might actually appeal as a marketing slogan these days.

We already have the jumbo-sized Tesco after the city fell under the weight of the supermarket’s campaign to concrete the entire land. The queues suggest Lichfieldians have embraced the unsightly megastore, although I have still yet to set foot inside the building (having backed the anti-Tesco campaign, I still can’t bring myself to darken their door).

Familiarity no longer breeds contempt these days, it actually acts as a comfort blanket.

Step into any Starbucks in the UK and it feels the same, no matter what your location. As we get used to such feelings, we like to them to encompass everything – our TV schedule, our eating habits, our city centre retail experiences.

I despise the cloning of our town and city centres. But if the alternative to a clone town is a ghost town, then do I simply have to suck it up and try not to dwell on it too much?

A few Lichfieldians were discussing Friarsgate and that very point was made – is it a choice between clone town and ghost town? Surely Lichfield is too big a little city to become a ghost town?

The trend of closing shops might suggest otherwise. Then again, the lure of the city’s heritage and the three-spired cathedral might continue to act as a buffer and draw enough visitors in each year to keep the city buoyant, shouldn’t it?

There seems an awful lot of ifs and buts and very few certainties.

If Friarsgate represents the best future Lichfield can expect then I’m depressed. But I’ll also support it as the alternative is…well, what exactly?

These days it seems it is better to be a clone than a ghost.

Although the ghosts of Lichfield do still have a story worth telling.

At times I’ve struggled to sleep with fevered anticipation.

But this morning my impatient waiting game drew to a close.

The reaction was posted, the week’s big story now seemed almost complete. We can rest easy in our beds everyone, Lichfield’s MP has finally commented on the Government’s plans to create a new high-speed rail link that will cut through his constituency at a dizzying rate of knots (or mph).

Although the story broke on January 10, Michael Fabricant chose to keep his own counsel until January 12 in order to give the local weekly newspaper first dibs on his thoughts. He was given opportunity to give an instant reaction by local news blog LichfieldLive, one he chose to pass up in favour of an “exclusive” to the weekly paper.

It is a tried and trusted method of media management that politicians have used for many years. Indeed, it is one I have exploited in previous guises as a local newspaper reporter and news editor.

But it is a tactic that seems a little outdated now, particularly when the world and his wife was so quick to give their response to the story on January 10. Indeed, Mr Fabricant himself has hardly been shy in the past when it comes to offering comments on HS2 and promising to support those constituents fighting against the high-speed rail link.

Those same constituents would have reasonably expected their MP to add his comments to the rest of the reaction generated on January 10. And in these days when information and news is gathered 24/7 from a wide variety of sources, waiting 48 hours for a response that is delivered in one outlet seems clumsy to say the least.

Michael Fabricant

At least now the wait is over and the people of Lichfield can digest their MP’s response – if they read Lichfield Mercury’s website or scan a copy of the weekly paper, obviously.

Mr Fabricant is a social networker of sorts. He clearly dips into his Twitter account when it suits and he seeks to engage some of his constituents on Facebook – either platform would have provided the perfect vehicle for him to share his thoughts on HS2 on January 10.

At least we now have his reaction to HS2 to digest. Whether it was worth waiting 48 hours is another matter.

HS2 and the impact on Lichfield is a story that will run and run for many years to come. Hopefully future attempts at media management by the district’s elected representative will be a little less heavy-handed and his response will be a little more immediate.

In the meantime I can sleep soundly in bed at last…actually, I probably can’t. The sleepless nights this week have been largely due to another type of fever – a virus which has left me with a blocked sinus and a sore throat.

At times it has felt like I’ve had a big, lumbering diesel locomotive rumbling through my head.

I can now see a light at the end of the tunnel, not something shared by the HS2 protestors.

The twist in the Fabulous Baking Boys on C4 is that the contest is between two brothers who we are told are fabulous, love to bake and are undoubtedly boys.

Each week they compete for the approval of various groups of guinea pigs (herds, to give them their proper name) via particular cooking challenges – last night they had to satisfy five hungry farmers with their signature pies, and, as we were reliably informed, “farmers love their pies”.

It is a good enough premise. Brothers Tom, a baker, and Henry, a chef who runs the local butcher’s shop in the heart of Gloucestershire are young and enthusiastic enough to pull it off. As an added bonus, the bakery and butcher’s are next door to each other.

The problem is that they are a bit too enthusiastic – or, super enthusiastic as Henry would probably put it. The sibling rivalry is all very well, but they are a tad too rumbustious and laddish. It all detracts from the food, which is never a good thing.

They bake, they're boys, but are they really fabulous?

They talk with that indiscriminate, machine-gun approach that leaves you breathless as you try to keep up. For example, I missed most of the introduction to the programme after Tom announced, “My name is Tom and I’m a masterbaker…” – his rapid-fire delivery made me mis-hear exactly what he was describing himself as and I struggled to keep up after that.

Everything was a bit in-your-face, from the Jamie Oliver-esque camera angles to the full-on approach of both boys. I can’t help but think that if they were ever candidates on The Apprentice, then Tom would give it 150% only to be trumped by his brother who would be determined to give it at least 200%.

They are not just competitive, they are super competitive. Indeed, Henry’s penchant to add the word “super” before all manner of words – a particular dough was not just versatile, for example, it was super versatile – was another source of irritation and distraction.

Henry trounced Tom in the pie-off and clearly seemed super chuffed about too. The problem was their competitiveness was over-played and the dishes they served up were left in the shadows.

If I’m going to sit through an entire series of The Fabulous Baking Boys I think I’ll need more than a little patience…I’ll need super patience.

Mine has been challenging for all sorts of reasons. For the first time I can remember, I’m actually looking forward to waving goodbye to a year and saying a cheery hello to a new one.

The new year will bring a new job and a new title – one that I’m actually quite pleased about, for a change.

I will be Group Editor for a media and publishing company, taking an overview of a collection of print and online publications and planning ways to keep the titles growing and generate new opportunities.

I get to combine all the “stuff” I’ve picked up after more than 20 years in journalism, the media, PR and communications.

An old editor advised me to learn something new every day on my first day with his newspaper. I’ve done my best and although I don’t profess to have 5,475 days worth of lessons to call on since that advice was given, I’ve got a fair bit of knowledge stored away.

I’m spending a week at my new desk getting to know my new colleagues and starting to research all our publications. I can’t wait to return in the new year and get properly stuck in to my new job, with its new title.

Good things do come in threes.

I also have a new beard.

But I won’t count that as a fourth “good” as it is more like the return of an old friend than something brand new.

One man and his beard

The teenage version closely followed the established format for Grown-Up Apprentice, a major failing that was evident throughout the series. The whole thing felt a wasted opportunity.

That is probably a bit harsh on both finalists and some of those who fell by the wayside in the semi-finals. They showed flashes of inspiration and common sense that their Grown-Up counterparts have consistently failed to display.

Indeed, both finalists delivered impressively in the task which ultimately decided the series. Both James and Zara produced ideas and finished products that easily outshone the efforts of many Grown-Up candidates over the years.

Zara triumphed, earning herself £25,000 to invest in her fledgling business idea. It was a tough call for his Lordship, but it was clear that a lack of a clear business plan cost James dearly.

So it is good luck to Zara and a few of the other candidates – undoubtedly corporate stars of the future.

And a fairly exasperated sigh for those of us who wanted The Young Apprentice to offer a refreshing alternative to the Grown-Up version.

In answer to my own question in the headline, I wasn’t too quick to judge the candidates on The Young Apprentice after the opening episode.

And I’m not having second thoughts about my initial assessment.

It is the most depressing programme on television at the moment.

Prompted by the suggestion of a few Twitter followers, who claimed I should give the young wannabes a fairer viewing second time around as I might be pleasantly surprised, I turned in for episode two hoping to be proved wrong.

I wasn’t. In fact, the second instalment served merely to confirm my thoughts after the first.

Lord Sugar and his advisers - more kindergarten cops than business mentors?

It also added a few more negative impressions – not least, just how aggressive these kindergarten corporate types can be.

On a task to design an innovative new baby product – most people in reality television seem to have generated their own meaning for that word innovative – the MiniMes were in their element mainly because they behaved like a group of brattish toddlers.

I can still laugh at Grown-up Apprentice because it has almost become a parody of itself.

I cannot justify laughing at The Young Apprentice when it is clear the lessons they have learned from their first forays into business have all been negative and self-servings ones. What’s more, Uncle Lord Sugar and his trusted advisers are doing nothing to correct such attitudes and behaviour.

Third time lucky?

I’m not holding my breath before next week’s instalment.

Step forward The Young Apprentice, an unwelcome variation on a successful comedy series (sorry, serious search for the next corporate superstar).

Whereas I have long since given up on Grown-up (sic) Apprentice, treating it now as more of a parody of corporate Britain along the lines of The Office, I did harbour high hopes for the kiddie version.

Approaching The Apprentice as a comedy series worked for me, it was a hilarious caricature of “business” even though that clearly wasn’t the intention.

I did not want to do the same with The Young Apprentice, hoping against hope that the crop of enthusiastic teenagers would restore my faith in all things corporate and the Apprentice vehicle itself.

My optimism was wildly misplaced.

Even before the first task started, even before the candidates met with kindly uncle Lord Sugar himself for his usual opening spiel, I was shaking my head in disbelief.

The Mini-Me candidates on The Young Apprentice think they already have it licked...they're wrong.

I put my faith in these teenagers to have their feet firmly on the ground, show common sense, inventiveness, a spark of creativity and to show their older, supposedly more mature counterparts in Grown-Up Apprentice what it actually means to be successful in business.

Instead it became depressingly clear that all we have is a collection of Mini-Me Apprentice candidates.

Take any of the more ludicrous candidates from Grown-Up Apprentice over the last few years and their teenage equivalent is taking part in The Young Apprentice.

Last night’s opening episode – creating frozen food products, branding them and selling them – had all the same mind-numbing and misplaced bravado, basic failures, arrogance, ignorance and lack of business sense we’ve come to know and loathe in Grown-Up Apprentice.

It was a bit like a Sixth Form review show – instead of doing Bugsy Malone where the teenagers play adults, they chose to do The Apprentice instead.

But whereas I can laugh off the failings and failures of Grown-Up Apprentice, I can’t do that with The Young Apprentice.

If these candidates do represent the future of business in the UK, then we’re in for a pretty bleak time of it.

Uncle Lord Sugar has a duty to the nation to knock the Mini-Me candidates into shape before it is too late. But that wouldn’t make good telly, would it?

I’m not sure whether I’ll be able to watch any more of The Young Apprentice. I don’t want to spend my Monday evenings sobbing quietly on the sofa.

I might have to wait until Grown-Up Apprentice returns so I can laugh out loud with a clear conscience.

Life would be so simple if you pick whatever treatment, remedy, support or help you need off the shelf.

Three little words guaranteed to set your eyes rolling in your head or raise your hackles to the point that you feel your fists clenching and your teeth grinding.

No, not “cheque in post” – at least, not this time.It isn’t even the opening gambit of most door-to-door salespeople and canvassers these days: “What it is…”.

These other three words tend to surface whenever ME/CFS is mentioned in the media and sometimes when the term carer is bandied about.

You. Should. Just.

On their own they’re fine, but put together “You should just…” seemingly opens up the opportunity for complete strangers to start lecturing you about how you can cure yourself of all ME/CFS symptoms.

Also, on several occasions when blogging about my carer role or making some comment on Twitter, I get a flood of life coaches telling me how I can juggle everything more effectively by following their quick and easy plan. “You should just…” invest several hundred pounds and I can make you a better person/cure you.

So, how does this impact on me as a carer of someone with ME/CFS?

Partly I’m very protective of Rachel, so anything that upsets her – such as unsolicited and misguided advice from well-meaning (or is it self-serving?) strangers – upsets me. As Rachel’s cognitive abilities are not always great, it is often up to me to explain to her the reasons why she should ignore such advice.

And re-explain it over and over as she often struggles to process such information. It isn’t that she doesn’t know, rather her condition means the information does not always stay stored. I’ll never tire of reassuring Rachel, but I do resent being put in that position by strangers who do not have a clue about my wife, how her illness affects her and the wider disruption they cause.

There isn’t a one size fits all cure-all for her condition.

We just can’t walk in somewhere and pick a remedy off the shelf. It would be great if we could, but real life isn’t that straight-forward.

There is little point in explaining such consequences to the “You should just…” brigade. Ironically, they’re not very good at accepting advice.

In recent weeks there has been a bit of a resurgence of the “You should just…” brigade, along with the armchair experts who feel able to spout nonsense on issues they have little or no understanding of and who have little inclination to listen and learn. They tend to surface whenever there is a flurry of media coverage of ME/CFS.

Speaking as a journalist with more than 20 years experience, it pains me to say it but the “You should just…” brigade feed on lazy coverage. And for whatever reason (honestly, I don’t know why and I have tried to find an answer), ME/CFS does tend to encourage too many journalists to be far too lazy. The same factual errors get trotted out, the same unsubstantiated allegations get repeated, and the “You should just…” brigade enjoys riding the bandwagon.

Often it is the ME/CFS sufferer who is left hugely frustrated at the continuing lack of answers, understanding and awareness of a condition which affects so many thousands of people day in, day out. They’re trapped in a vicious circle of having to deal with the fall-out of lazy journalism and ignorant commentary – something which often exacerbates their condition.

And their carers are left feeling just as frustrated and helpless – unless, of course, they get to write a regular column and give vent to such feelings.

The lack of awareness, understanding and empathy that ME/CFS sufferers often experience is similar to that felt by carers. We are the forgotten heroes, although few actually want to know what we do to earn this title of “carer” and some simply do not understand there is a big difference to the unpaid role many of us undertake and the role of care assistant.

Ignorance is bliss, so the saying goes. Alas it seems that ignorance has become more of a collective, national characteristic in the last five, 10, 15, maybe even 20 years.

If it isn’t easily explained, if it cannot be neatly pigeonholed, then it is too hard to try to understand – although it doesn’t stop people expressing a misguided opinion or two.

So how do you tackle such lack of understanding?

“You should just…” Listen. Learn.