Boxing Clever: Part Two...

I had my third one-on-one coaching session today and it was lots of fun and lots of hard work.

Rather stupidly I'd headed into the gym the day before to work on my jabs on a heavy bag and I'd got carried away and done skipping and weights and sit-ups and stuff so my body was still jaded when I arrived today.

I'm currently trying to pop into the gym at least once a week on my own so I can drill my basic punches and punch combinations and sharpen them up. I've also been doing this so I can get my wrists used to hitting heavy targets and get them used to the wear and tear this obviously entails.

But it's quite hard work as I am not technically the most gifted of pugilists and, to quote the Missus, I have wrists like a girl.

Today I also got the chance to have a light spar with my trainer and even with him going at a slow speed he still looked ridiculously fast. His hand motions and his rolling and slipping were so fluid there were times I was watching him and his technique when I should have been watching where his hands were heading. Oops...

Thankfully he's more interested in encouraging and teaching me than hitting me. Which is probably just as well considering he's very good and very fast...

We Are Leeds...

I had tickets for a posh box at Wembley on Sunday to watch Leeds in the Division One play-offs final.

It was the first time I'd been to the new Wembley and it was truly fantastic and the box was fab. Sadly Leeds were rubbish and Doncaster Rovers were the worthy winners and, had it not been for the Leeds United keeper Casper Ankergren, they would have lost at least 3-0.

The even more depressing thing from a Leeds United perspective was that every time a Leeds player got the ball nobody else seemed to want it passed to them, whereas every time a Rovers player got the ball he had at least half a dozen passing options.

On the plus side, however, I have now seen my team at Wembley and at least I still have a team to support, which five years ago was looking decidedly dodgy. We also had the best chant of the day after selling out our ticket allocation, a point made to the sparse gathering of Rovers fans when the Leeds end started singing 'You're shit and you've no support...'

And, of course, next season we start on a level footing with every other side and with Gary McAllister at the helm so we could go up automatically.

Hopefully...

Eurovision…

It’s Saturday and it’s been a bizarre day so far…

Working on a Saturday is always a pain in the rear as it’s something that I now rarely have to do, but it put me out of kilter so I eased the pain by listening to the radio commentary of the Championship play-offs that ended with Hull in the Premiership.

Now that’s pretty odd.

Even if you don’t like football just say the following to yourself: 'Hull in the Premiership…' It’s so preposterous that it beggars belief. As a Goolie I obviously have major antipathy towards all things codhead but ‘Hull in the Premiership’ really does sound ridiculous.

Try saying ‘turd in a swimming pool’. It’s not dis-similar…

I spent the evening with Eurovision on in the background. Eurovision is ridiculous and it’s patently obvious to me that you always need a gimmick to win it: Bucks Fizz had skirt-ripping halfway through their routine; Jordi were Lord Of The Rings goth metal rejects from Finland; Brotherhood of Man sang about kiddy fiddling (‘Save your kisses for me, even though you’re only three…’).

In fact it’s all rubbish but I do like the fact the UK has entered with singing dustman Anthony Abrahams. I was hoping he would be like singing dustman Tony Angelino from Only Fools And Horses and sing ‘Cwying’ but it was some jazz-funk entry instead.

I lost all interest at this point. Tomorrow I go to Wembley to see Leeds play Doncaster in the play-offs to get back into the Championsip.

Leeds struggling to get back into the Championship. Like saying 'Hull in the Premiership' it's just wrong...

Human Weapon...

I've recently discovered the joys of YouTube and come across a show called Human Weapon.

Screened on the History Channel the series sees MMA fighter Jason Chambers and American footballer and wrestler Bill Duff travelling the world training in various martial arts for a week before fighting a skilled warrior in that particular art.

Episodes I've seen so far have included Krav Maga, Ninjitsu, Tae Kwan Do, Karate, Silat, Muay Thai, Escrima, Savate and several others.

It's good stuff and I hope they take a look at hapkido somewhere down the line.

Stock: Scene 2...

SCENE 2: INTERIOR. FRONT ROOM SIMMS HOME.
Grams: Sound of a porn film on the TV.
Lights off in the room with the glow of the TV providing the only light. The TV faces the stage with its back to the audience. It is 3am. Gary is asleep on the sofa with his trousers undone near his thighs and a box of tissues nearby. One is stuck to his trousers. A few seconds for the audience to take in the scene. Then the sound of a key in an exterior door, which opens and shuts. A beat then Gemma enters and turns the lights on. She is dressed in her funeral clothes with a coat and a hat. One of her arms is in a sling. She pulls a suitcase behind her. It has a black golfing brolly attached. She stands and takes in the scene.

GEMMA
(Under her breath) Jesus Christ…

She walks over to the TV, has a quick look at the on-screen action then tilts her head to get a better look at a different angle. A beat. She has a sharp intake of breath then shakes her head and switches it off. She returns to her suitcase and takes the brolly. She pokes Gary with it.

GEMMA
Gary… Gary…

There is no movement so she gives the brolly a real shove as she shouts his name.

GEMMA
Gary!

He wakes but he is still half-asleep at first.

GARY
Fuck off!!

GEMMA
Gary. It’s me…

GARY
Gems?

GEMMA
Yes.

GARY
What time is it?

GEMMA
It’s 2am.

GARY
You missed the funeral.

GEMMA
I know.

GARY
The vicar waited for you…

GEMMA
My train collided with a car near Doncaster.

GARY
You could have got a cab.

GEMMA
It was a major incident Gary. Police, army… People died… I was injured. See… (She raises her arm) I needed to get it seen to…

GARY
It alright now?

GEMMA
Fractured.

GARY
You could have phoned Gems… Even with one hand you still could have phoned…

GEMMA
All your numbers are in my mobile.

GARY
You could try using the cunt then.

GEMMA
I did try ‘using the cunt’ but my battery was de… my phone was dead.

She sobs as a day of trauma catches up with her. Gary pauses and feels impotent. He then stands to go over and comfort her but his trousers fall down.

GEMMA
(She sobs and laughs then points to him) Your trousers… They…

GARY
(He looks down and realises what she is referring to) I’ve had problems with these… Wrong size… Keep falling down… Lots…

GEMMA
(She dries her eyes) You should probably buy a belt…

GARY
I should. I said that to myself only yesterday. Just got a bit sidetracked with one thing and another…

GEMMA
You can pull them up now if you want…

He pulls his trousers up.

GEMMA
(She gestures to his trousers) There’s a tissue stuck to…

Gary looks and removes it and puts it in his pocket.

GARY
(Thinking of an excuse) I’ve had a cold…

GEMMA
How did the funeral go?

GARY
It was a good send-off… Dad would’ve been proud. Lots of people there. Hundreds in fact. Never seen the church so packed. Buried with mum too. Just like he wanted…

GEMMA
Great… I thought you’d all still be out…

GARY
I was tired. Decided to come home and have an early night but I couldn’t sleep so I thought I’d…

GEMMMA
Watch some TV?

GARY
Yes. Watch some TV.

GEMMA
Anything good?

GARY
Found a nature documentary…

GEMMA
A nature documentary?

GARY
Yeah. Thought it might…

GEMMA
Help you get to sleep?

GARY
Yeah. Help me drop off…

GEMMA
Where’s Michael?

GARY
Still out with Size. I think the lads from the casino invited them back when the pub chucked out.

GEMMA
How is he?

GARY
Hard to tell.

GEMMA
How do you mean?

GARY
You know. Not giving anything away. You know what he’s like…

GEMMA
Doing his silent hard man act?

GARY
He should be back soon…

GEMMA
I take it my room hasn’t been claimed by anyone else since I was last here?

GARY
No. Still where it was with all you old…

GEMMA
Shit?

GARY
I was going to say ‘stuff’.

Silence.

GEMMA
I want to stay up and talk but I’ve had a long day and I’m exhausted.

GARY
Yeah. You look tired.

GEMMA
Are you OK with that?

GARY
Course…

GEMMA
We’ll talk properly tomorrow, yeah? I promise…

GARY
Yeah.

GEMMA
I’ll let you get back to your documentary…

GARY
Great…

GEMMA
I’ll see you in the morning.

Gemma kisses him then grabs her case and leaves. Blackout. Cut to…

Old Bag...

I am tidying the house. This is my job as the Missus and the Boy are, to be quite frank, utter slatterns.

As usual the Missus has left several of her ever-growing hangbag collection lying around the place so I am gathering these up as I go along before I head into the kitchen to see if the Boy has emptied the dishwasher.

I enter the kitchen and the Boy is lounging on the sofa while the Missus is ironing in the corner.
'Have you done the dishwasher?'
'No yet...'
'Well can you do it please?'
'In a minute.'
'How about about now?'
'In a minute!'
'I asked you to do it 20 minutes ago. Why do you always have to make such a song and dance about anything I ask you to do?'
'I don't...'
'You do actually. You're such a big bloody girl about stuff like that.'
'Says the man wearing four handbags...'

The Missus looks up and laughs. The Boy sniggers. I am probably the most emasculated man in the world...

Loving The Cave Man…

I was a relatively late convert to Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds as I only really got into him and them about eight years ago, which in music fan-boy terms doesn’t even make me recent enough to be a Johnny-come-lately…

But I’ve been an admirer ever since and last night I finally made it to a gig to see him. The tickets came courtesy of the Missus as a birthday present and we both went to Hammersmith and it was a fab night.

Cave was an electric and idiosyncratic frontman and his fellow Bad Seed Warren Ellis was a wacky and wild accomplice. Cave performed tracks from his new Did Lazarus Dig CD and he also threw in a few oldies such as Let Love In, Deanna, Into My Arms, Red Right Hand and Tupelo.

The highlight of the night for me, however, apart from Ellis performing like a My Hyde on barbiturates, was a great version of We Call Upon The Author To Explain from the new CD.

A very good gig indeed…

Stock: Scene 1...

SCENE 1: INTERIOR. CEMETERY.
Grams: Symphony No.3 by Gorecki.
A winter afternoon. A cross stands on stage. Size, a black man of dual heritage, stands near it. He is rubbing the knuckles of his right hand. Michael, a man in his late twenties, stands next to him. He is listening on a mobile phone and he occasionally mutters ‘Yes’ while Size talks to Michael and to himself. Both are dressed in suits with black ties.

SIZE
Shouldn’t be allowed… Taking liberties like that – and at your dad’s fucking funeral… (Silence) Everyone could hear their racket all the way across the cemetery… Sobbing and weeping like big fucking babies… (Silence) And they weren’t even sobbing and weeping in fucking English…

Michael raises a finger to request silence. Silence for a beat or two then Size continues.

SIZE
Look, Mikey. I know you’re pissed with me but I had to go over. All I did was ask him and his friends to quieten it down a bit… That’s all. I didn’t swear or lamp anyone or nothing. Well… not immediately. And it was him who kicked it off. ‘We also are trying to have funeral here too!’ he says. Then he turns his back on me. Like I’m nothing. Little cunt. Snide little cunt. In fact the sort of snide little cunt who should just have ‘I am a snide little cunt’ branded across his forehead. But even then, even under that sort of extreme… (He thinks for the word) pro-vo-cation, I kept my temper. I simply tapped him on the shoulder and pointed out that we were having a funeral as well – but the difference was we were trying to be dignified about the fucking thing and maybe they could try the same as they’re now living in our fucking country! Well he didn’t like that. Said something angry. In foreign! So I hit him, punched him plum in the face and he fell into the grave with his nose twatted all over his boat. Splosh… (Pause) You know what? Next time I’m not going bother being polite. And I don’t care if the cunt was a priest!

Michael comes off the phone. He closes it and puts it in his pocket. He brings his hands to his face and lets out a sigh.

MICHAEL
Noggsy’s had a word and the copper says they won’t press charges.

SIZE
Fucking right they won’t press charges. Half the cunts are here on the sly any way. Should fuck off back to the Ukraine.

MICHAEL
They were Poles.

SIZE
Should bring back that fucking Poll Tax then. Make the cunts pay their way properly… (Mike just stares at him) I’m sorry Mikey.

MICHAEL
(A beat) Forget it. Dad would have thought it was funny…

SIZE
He’d ’ave been over there knocking the Polish cunts out with me. (Size taps the cross) Sorry Ellis…

Silence.

SIZE
73 eh…

MICHAEL
Yeah.

SIZE
Good age…

MICHAEL
Wasn’t for him…

Silence. Size pulls a bottle of whisky out. He takes a slug and hands it to Michael. Michael passes.

MICHAEL
You know the last thing he told me? Before he… went…

SIZE
No.

MICHAEL
Said one of the doctors told him he had to have a pacemaker fitted. So he told ‘em ‘I don’t want no fucking Kenyan in shorts running round in front of me!’ The doctors thought he was serious. Made me laugh before I went home. Made Gary laugh too.

SIZE
Did Gary get it?

MICHAEL
No. He just laughed out of politeness, the way he does when he doesn’t understand something but thinks he should. I explained it to him on the way home though…

SIZE
Well you boys done him proud today. In fact everyone did. Big turnout. You see all the fellas from the bookies came?

MICHAEL
Yeah…

SIZE
…and the dog track… and the casino…

MICHAEL
I saw ‘em.

SIZE
…and the card school at the Drunken Rat. Lots of people…

MICHAEL
Well dad had friends from all walks of life…

SIZE
No news on Gemma yet?

MICHAEL
No. No news…

SIZE
Shame… Her missing the funeral and’ all… And the vicar did wait for half an hour as well…

MICHAEL
I told her Gary’d drive up North and pick her up but she insisted on making her own way here.

SIZE
To be fair he can’t actually drive…

MICHAEL
He can drive – just not legally at the moment…

SIZE
Even so…

MICHAEL
You never complained about his driving when he used to pick you up from Bullet’s casino and drop you home, did you?

SIZE
No…

MICHAEL
And he was only 13 then…

SIZE
Try to see it from your sister’s point of view…

MICHAEL
Which is?

SIZE
Well she’s educated now. Been to university, read books, seen films with subtitles and everything.

MICHAEL
And?

SIZE
Well nobody with that many brains is gonna get into a car with Gary at the wheel, are they?

MICHAEL
Should still be here.

SIZE
But she’s not and you and Gary are. So let’s get down the pub and join the boys for the real send-off. Yeah?

MICHAEL
Suppose so…

SIZE
Come on…

Size walks to the side of the stage. Michael pauses, places his hand on the cross for a beat or two then follows. End. Cut to…

Taking Stock...

I am now writing a new play and I'm going to publish a couple of scenes a week on here.

So scene 1, which I published part of a few weeks ago, will go up tomorrow. The battleplan is to finish draft one by the end of the month.

I love a good deadline...

PS. The play is called Stock which is why there's a picture of some London stock bricks.

The Minotaur...

In my previous life as a community and fringe theatre director and writer I was very much an angry young man. And that angry young man fervently believed it was the job of the arts to reflect and appeal to the majority of taxpayers whose taxes funded it rather than solely appeal the middle-class minorities who regularly patronised places like regional repetory theatres, the RSC and the National.

And much of that thinking still pervades my views on the arts and arts subsidy to this day so consequently I am not and never will be a cheerleader for opera. Huge ticket prices, hugely subsidised and hugely expensive to produce, it would never get my vote. Also my only live opera experience was watching Verdi's Il Trovatore at the Bregenz Opera Festival in Austria and, great spectacle though it was, it didn't really float my boat. And I found it quite difficult to follow.

To my thinking opera is the arts version of polo. A fun time for poshos who like that type of thing...

But on Saturday I saw the last night of the Harrison Birtwhistle opera The Minotaur and it really knocked me on my arse. It's true that the only reason I went and had begrudgingly shelled out £65 for a ticket was because the Missus's poet dad had written the libretto, and it's also true that the Royal Opera House with its ridiculously flash champagne bar and poshos in attendance did little to dampen my anti-opera prejudices.

But the opera itself was utterly stunning and, even better from my more-or-less opera virgin point of view, was high art in massively accessible form without sacrificing any of its artistic integrity.

Based on the Greek myth the story if simple enough. Theseus heads to Crete to defeat the monstrous Minotaur and free his people from an obligation which means his father's kingdom has to send a boatload of virgins to sacrifice in the Minotaur's labyrinth every year. Meeting him in Crete is Ariadne who helps Theseus enter the Labyrinth and defeat the Minotaur.

But composer Birthwhistle and librettist Harsent's version shows Theseus as a calculating hero who strikes a treacherous agreement with Ariadne to kill her half-brother the Minotaur, while the Minotaur himself is shown as a beast in a constant state of war with his human side over his lusts and bloodlust. Bizarrely the latter is the most sympathetic character in the entire piece.

It's a clever reworking of the myth and the discordant music and the quite spartan libretto mean the piece rocks along without ever feeling rushed. John Tomlinson was suitably torn and sympathetic as the Minotaur, Johan Reuter was a cold and believable killer as Theseus and Christine Rice was calculating and believably ruthless as Ariadne.

She and Tomlinson were also incredible singers and his last lament as he dies in the labyrinth and her opening piece and another where she describes the birth of the Minotaur were knock-you-on-your-arse stunning.

So there we go. Modern opera. I'm possibly a convert. I've certainly spunked £65 on many worse evenings out.

The London Mayoral Elections: A Critique...

Boris 'Fucking' Johnson: Mayor of London. Boris 'Fucking' Johnson: Mayor of London now representing London and Londoners on the international stage. Boris 'Fucking' Johnson: Mayor of London in charge of an £11billion budget and with no experience of running any office of this scale.

Now it's too late just think about it... Conclusion? You're all fucking idiots who voted for a fucking idiot. Well done!

And as for the BNP getting a seat on the London Assembly after winning more than 5% of the vote? Words fail me...

The Apprentice…

I am a huge fan of The Apprentice, the BBC series where would-be tycoons of tomorrow enter into a boardroom version of Lord Of The Flies while Alan Sugar pretends to be a poor man’s Donald Trump (which is very poor indeed) and presides over proceedings…

Previous series of the show have seen a fair amount of utter tossers who’ll quite happily stab everyone else and their families and any nearby disabled children in the back in order to secure the prize of working for Sugar for a year. But this year’s remaining candidates are a more loathsome bunch than usual with several stroppy women who do nothing but talk over each other and bitch about each other, a couple of badly suited geezers who speak exclusively in chav business speak (‘Put your neck on the chopper! Go on…’) and the token poshos who’ll probably end up winning it.

Last night the candidates had to create and design a greeting card for a new market and the utter ineptitude they demonstrated doing this was a wonder to behold. One team went for an environmental card without realising that printing, posting and extra paper waste is only adding to the problem, while the others opted for a national singles day idea without figuring out who would actually send the targeted singleton their card.

Some dimwit West Country midget who looks like a hobbit and was slightly more clueless than the rest was fired, but based on last night Sugar should have booted them all and got infant school children to compete for the rest of the series as he’d probably have got more sense, ingenuity and professionalism out of them.

To be fair the format is a bit tired and you fear that, like Big Brother, the show’s makers have intentionally got more fractious housemates together in an attempt to create conflict and boost interest.

But that’s rubbish and not going the whole hog so my suggestion to spice it up would be as follows:
* Get everybody who applies to be on the show and lock them in a large warehouse until they turn cannibal and eat the weaker contestants. It obviously has a comedy running commentary courtesy of Adrian Chiles.
* Get the bedraggled and bloody survivors and make them fight with their palm pilots, mobile phones and briefcases until only 100 remain. A bit like Mad Max: Beyond The Thunderdome with Margaret in the Tina Turner role.
* Take these 100 and lock them in a cellar (topical, you see) and let Nick’s evil twin torture the fuck out of each and every one of them until only one remains.
* Declare the survivor the winner but let Sugar kill them anyway by dousing them in petrol, nailing them to a cross and torching them as he utter the words ‘You’re fired!’
* Supply a live webfeed of all the rounds and ensure it’s as brutal as possible. Not only will it prevent others applying for future series but it will also do the gene pool an enormous favour.

It’s a sure-fired winner! Geddit?