Let's be honest: mistakes happen. I once sent out over 1,000 company Christmas cards where Christmas was spelled incorrectly, so I don't feel in any position to criticise this sort of cock-up. But what I have learnt over the years is that if you 'fess up to a mistake immediately, you do tend to get the angry or aggrieved party on your side somewhat quicker. Enough said.

But there is an unlikely hero of this whole situation. A man who, after speaking on yesterday's BBC Radio 4 PM programme, had listeners emailing in to suggest he should stand for British Prime Minister, such was the impact he had.

It all sounds rather geeky, I know, but it's actually a way to ensure that we each take some time out and do something positive and rewarding for ourselves over a twelve month period. We tend to stick to (the majority of) our resolutions as we declare our intentions in front of friends - but also because it's very competitive.

Each 'meeting' starts with scores from the previous year, with each point awarded being fiercely debated. They can be tough, my friends!

I've told quite a few people about this recently as I've had a flurry of resolution-fulfilling in the last few weeks. I braved my first cricket match last month and really rather enjoyed it, much to my surprise, and last weekend I journeyed to Sheffield to claim another point.

Forgive me if I'm terribly behind the times. I suspect I came to this rather late as I was clearly not a regular when I popped in this week. The good news is that there's no membership fee and you pay just £4.50 to enter during the day, and less in the evenings.

Before Richard, Jerry and John choke on their morning coffees, I should reveal that I'm talking about the services on the M6 Toll which is clearly the networking venue of choice for some of Birmingham's professionals.

I did feel like a stranger walking into a Wild West saloon to be greeted by stony silence and worried looks, but I suspect that was more do to with one group of people who were clearly having a clandestine meeting.

It all made Starbucks on Colmore Row look very tame...

In each town or city I've visited, I've had to introduce myself to new people or groups, and mention that I live in Brum.

And something remarkable happened. For the first time, I've not had to defend our city from jibes or jokes - and to be honest, it was a relief. Times, they are a'changing.

Comment of the week went to...well, I'd better not name him for fear of reprisals from elsewhere in the region:

"Birmingham's great. Lovely friendly people. Great shopping, and good for music too. Shame about all those folk with odd accents from the Black Country who claim to be Brummies. Y'now - like Lenny Henry".

Now that's a spin on the city/region debate I hadn't heard before!

I've been to a few of their events previously and always find them to be enormously stimulating, not least because of the cast lists they assemble. There can be few places where your dining companions include a professional poker player, a young female Church of England Vicar, a National Lottery Commissioner, a whistle-blower on Ken Livingstone's administration, and a Scottish Chieftain. Oh, and Trevor Philips as the after-dinner speaker.

In trying to define what it meant to be British, all the usual hackneyed definitions were wheeled out by conference delegates: "if you can explain the rules of cricket and sing Jerusalem, you must be British" being my perennial favourite. Well forgive me, but being brought up in Scotland, neither cricket nor 'England's green and pleasant land' was high on the curriculum choices at my school.

Before you start thinking "But I thought she was supposed to be a young professional?", I am fully aware that I probably lower the average listener age by at least a decade, but for those of you not yet hooked I would urge you to tune in and listen before you mock. It is my broadcast news provider of choice, and would be a hot contender for my luxury, were I ever to be invited to be on Desert Island Discs.

However, even I have been struggling with Radio 4 recently. They've been running an extended series of programmes around 1968, including 1968 - Day by Day which has been compiled and hosted by the eminent broadcaster and former Managing Director of the Barbican Centre in London, Sir John Tusa.

Being born in 1972, it's hardly surprising that I didn't 'get' 1968, and I felt it was a bit of an own goal for Radio 4 which is trying to lower its listenership to include 30-somethings. Why, then, run a series of reminiscences which are most likely only of interest to those aged 55+?

In the same news bulletin I learnt of the Government's wish to introduce the right for flexible working for parents of all children up to 16 years of age. Great, I thought - but why stop there?

Certainly the foibles of Facebook have tripped up a few people. I know of several people who are desperate to leave their jobs, courtesy of the aforesaid 'social utility', along with exactly what they think of their bosses and their organisations. Let's just say it's not exactly positive. If I can stumble across this info, think how much damage could be done by someone looking for dirt/gossip/reasons to dismiss someone.

Fellow blogger Stef Lewandowski has also identified Facebook stalking as a source of confusion. You know the kind of thing. You bump into someone who says "Have you cheered up now? How's your cold?" when you haven't seen them for weeks. The penny drops. They are a Facebook friend and have been watching your status line.

The judges - of which I was one - felt that BOC's production of La Traviata at the NIA last October was an outstanding demonstration of effective engagement with nearly 10,000 people, many new to opera and representing a wide range of ages, ethnicities and previous engagement with performing arts.

Coming in the wake of a difficult year for the company, which was threatened with funding cuts, this is an internationally-recognised plaudit for their missionary work to introduce new people to opera.

In a completely unscientific experiment, conducted over a few pints in the Hare & Hounds, it turns out that they are scared. Scared of what the 'wrong' piece of art might say about them, scared to trust their own judgement, and scared to commit relatively large sums to what might not be 'good' art. Of course, many of these terms are entirely subjective - and I guess that's kind of the point here - but nevertheless the people to whom I spoke don't seem to have the confidence to buy art.

Before you get too excited by voyeuristic visions, I should point out that I'm referring to a cracking little exhibition at the Barber Institute which showcases the incredible diversity of art works in our city's private collections. Behind Closed Doors has gathered together nearly 40 paintings, watercolours, prints and drawings by internationally-renowned artists including Picasso, Hockney, Degas, Rossetti and Turner which usually reside in domestic art collections, and it's well worth the trip. I'd like to have seen a few more contemporary pieces in the mix, like this William Gear, but perhaps that's just me being picky.

The foresight shown by some of the collectors is quite incredible with stories of people buying works from emerging artists with price tags of many times their weekly salaries because the art moved them in some primeval way.

There were a couple of items which I'd cheerfully have taken home with me, including this one by George Clausen.

It also got me thinking about art (or rather often the lack of) in our offices and homes, something I'll return to in a future blog.

In the meantime, which famous works of art could you live with, should they be available to us mere mortals?

Well, now there is an opportunity to see the world singing. Pangea Day - celebrated annually on 10th May - aims to bring the world together through film and this year has come up with a really neat idea to get the people around the world singing each others national anthems.

However, there is one title that I would never contest and yet I've never heard mentioned in polite society. So, taking my life my hands, here goes: Brummies are quite possibly the worst drivers I've ever encountered.

Hell no. Amongst the revelations over dinner were that Crosse & Blackwell baked beans were better than Heinz, and that Sainsbury's on Broad Street offered better networking opportunities than Spar in Brindleyplace.

Although I've never heard a better argument for work/life balance (guys, you need to stay in more and learn to cook), it's wonderfully refreshing to have such normal conversations with the people driving forward our city economy. The fact that they can gather around a single table and are happy to share such personal information bodes well for Birmingham's future.

But if an army truly marches on its stomach, Birmingham's professional services community won't get far on Pot Noodles and Ginsters pasties.

Food parcels at the ready girls...

I'd gone to witness one of the handover ceremonies for the Olympic flame which was being marked with a music, dance and acrobatic extravaganza. Around 500 performers of all ages had spent the morning rehearsing beside a snowy Thames to be part of a moment in history. I doubt that they had bargained for quite what a moment in history it turned out to be - or indeed how close it came to not happening at all.

From our vantage point in a SBC office (after all, VIPs should never be exposed to the elements for any length of time), we had a spectacular view of proceedings, as well as an impromptu running commentary from the very affable host Michael Lynch and the increasingly concerned Jude Kelly, Chief Exec and Artistic Director of the South Bank respectively.

Which was just as well as it was well nigh impossible to see the Olympic torchbearer amidst the sea of blue (Chinese), yellow (Met Police) and black (special branch, I assume) uniforms as it arrived. One wag wondered if it was the security services' attempt to out do the colourful protestors, who were being very vocal about China's appalling human rights record and the brutal treatment of the Tibetan people.

Rather than bringing the torch to the stage, it was whisked away behind security cordons as Chinese security thought it too much of a risk to expose it to the waiting crowds. Yes, you did read that correctly: Chinese security was calling the shots yesterday. Thankfully, someone was able to convince them to bring out the flame, albeit nearly 50 minutes late, by which time many families had moved on, leaving increasingly bedraggled performers and a crowd of protestors. Tiny Vanessa Mae looked rather perplexed as she held the flame aloft, surrounded again by the multi-coloured security posse.

So, was it worth the trip to the capital? Well, I felt enormously disappointed for all the performers and South Bank Centre staff who'd obviously worked so hard to create an artistic spectacle which didn't quite live up to expectations. I also felt somewhat disappointed by the Olympic flame, which was curiously diminutive and unimpressive. Watching the television footage later, I felt very disappointed by the brutal treatment of some of the protestors - ironic, given the nature of their concerns about freedom of expression under Chinese rule.

But I also felt proud. Proud that so many people acknowledged the legitimate concerns of protestors but also realised that the Olympic spirit had to rise above things.

We can never truly separate sport, culture and politics, and we're naïve if we think we can. However, we can use sport and culture to bring about change. Sporting embargoes made a massive impact in apartheid era South Africa. Let's use the Olympics to highlight issues in China, at the same time as celebrating human achievement. We owe our athletes that much, don't we?