Brazilian Jiu-jitsu: Basic Techniques...

Fabio Gurgel's book offers a simple-to-understand and easy-to-read introduction to the world of Brazilian Jiu-jitsu.

It mainly covers basic techniques and it's no-nonsense in its approach while the photos are clear and the information concise. Even better it assumes the reader has no knowledge or experience in ground-fighting or grappling.

A user-friendly read which makes a complex subject easy to understand.

Dead End...

I've just spotted this story in the Goole Chronicle, the local paper from my home town of Goole.

This is, of course, the paper that also reported other such gems as the mobility scooter pensioner who robbed the local post office, the man who was spotted having sex with a horse by a train full of schoolchildren, and the adulterous Muslim doctor who prayed to Mecca before he had sex with his love rat patient.

'A former Goole resident's dying wish was to have 'I would rather be in Goole' engraved on his tombstone in a Somerset cemetery.

Kenneth Richardson was born in Goole but moved to Banwell in North Somerset more than 30 years ago.

He died aged 78 in February this year and after his death his solicitor revealed the strange request in his will to surprised members of the Banwell parish council prior to his burial.

Acting on his behalf, solicitor Jenny Brading, of Powells Solicitors, sent a letter to the council which said: "'He was born in Goole and his place of birth remained of great importance to him. His will was supported by a letter of wishes in which he stated that he wished to be buried in Banwell and for his tombstone to be engraved with the epitaph."

At a recent meeting councillors in Banwell granted Mr Richardson's last request, providing the word 'Frankly' preceded it.

The clerk to the council - who is also called Ken Richardson - explained that the council originally rejected the first request because they thought the phrase would offend some people. They made the suggestion to add the word 'Frankly' as they believed that this phrase was 'less offensive'.

Kenneth Richardson, who had no close family, left his entire estate to Save the Children and the National Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children.'

I'm liking this...

Results...

The Boy got his A Level results this week and he did well so he is off to the university of his choice to study film and tv production at the end of September.

We're obviously delighted for him and we've spoilt him rotten since he got his grades. I also think he's really looking forward to the new life, the new environment and the new challenges that lie ahead – and, more importantly, studying something he loves doing for three years.

The Missus, however, is starting to realise her little boy (who is in reality an 18-year-old young man who stands at 6ft and towers above her) will be leaving home and it will just be me and her.

I think she's quite worried by this. I sometimes catch her staring at me with a look that exudes both love and desperation. I imagine it is how serial killers look at their prey before the knife goes in. But I could be wrong...

Sex Machine...

It's official. Women find me irresistible. I am eye candy...

After last week's bumper week of a woman chatting me up in a karaoke bar and another one giving me the wink in Pret A Manger I have now had a third woman giving me the eye.

This happened yesterday when I was outside in our front garden pruning our rose Steven. Steven is a very hardy rose and got his name as he's had all manner of mishaps but has still survived. Hence the nickname Steven as in Steven Seagal as in Steven Seagal of Hard To Kill fame.

Anyway, I was in the front garden pruning Steven and a very attractive jogger jogged past, slowed down, gave me a lovely smile then jogged on. So I did what any red-blooded man would do... I ran in the house scared and reported it to the Missus.
'It's happened again...'
'What?'
'Another woman has given me the eye!'
'Where?'
'Outside... I was pruning Steven and I got a smile... from a jogger... a female jogger...'
'Do stop going on...'
'The sideburns have to go. They are making me irresistible to women. I'm a danger to myself...'
'What were you doing? Were you talking to yourself?'
'No...'
'Where you singing to yourself?
'I might have been...'
'And did she say anything?'
'No... I was singing and I looked up and she sort of smiled...'
'Then she ran away?'
'It didn't happen like that...'
'But she ran away?'
'You think I'm care in the community, don't you?'
'Trust me... They'd never classify you as care in the community...'

Fatal Attraction...

I have never been chatted up by a woman before. Not ever...

In fact the only person who has ever chatted me up before was a gay Chinese antiques dealer called Billy who made his move when I was naked and getting dried after going swimming one dinnertime. At the time I thought he was being friendly when he was standing close to me also naked and getting dried and asking me if I worked out and what sort of bars I went to and if I fancied a drink.

My girlfriend at the time thought it hilarious when I told her I'd made a new friend and pointed out the glaringly obvious thing that I'd missed...

So I was equally stunned when myself and several of my pool-playing colleagues went out in Brighton after a county poool match and a very attractive woman came up to me and started talking and asking me about myself and started what I can only describe as stroking me and being generally affectionate...

So we talked for a while as my colleagues, who'd been trying to crack onto her and her friend, watched my embarrassed and half-witted attempts to play it cool. And when I realised we were officially nearing pre-mating ritual land I managed to slip my parental and marital status into the conversation. She then told she'd got married four weeks ago and was out with her mum and her sister celebrating – because her son and his girlfriend had just had a son.

So the demagraphic of people who find me attractive is gay Chinese men and grandmothers. It's official. I am eye candy...

Exquisite Bodies...

'In the 19th century, despite the best efforts of body snatchers, the demand from medical schools for fresh cadavers far outstripped the supply. One solution to this gruesome problem came in the form of lifelike wax models. These models often took the form of alluring female figures that could be stripped and split into different sections. Other models were more macabre, showing the body ravaged by "social diseases" such as venereal disease, tuberculosis and alcohol and drug addiction...'

I'm a big fan of the Wellcome Collection and its latest exhibition, Exquisite Bodies, which runs until 18 October, is yet another small but perfectly formed gem hidden among the vast treasures of the capital's much grander museums and much better publicised gallery spaces.

Although it's not a massive event it manages to be gruesome, fascinating and educational all at the same time and, even better from a personal perspective, the story of the Victorian gallery owners who displayed this work but were closed down because some of it was considered obscene could well be the kernel of an idea for a new play about the Victorians and their attitude to sex.

Also running alongside Exquisite Bodies is Diary Drawings: Mental Illness And Me, an exhibition of some 159 drawings by artist Bobby Baker, which chronicle her descent into and subsequent efforts to deal with mental health problems. It sounds quite grim but it manages to be accessible, uplifting and funny.

Both these exhibitions are well worth a look and entry is free to both.

Burns Night...

I am laid in bed with the Missus and she is admiring my sideburns so I seek to reassure her that I will be keeping them for some time yet.
'It's fine. I haven't got bored with them yet. In fact I quite like them.'
'They suit you.'
'I think so too...'
'They frame your face and make it look less severe...'
'I don't have a severe face...'
'You do. You have a face of extremes...'
'What exactly does that mean?'
'Well... you have a tiny mouth and a massive nose and totally crapped eyes but the sideburns frame it all and make it look more... normal.'
'You really do view me very much as a work in progress, don't you?'
'Yes. And you're not anywhere near finished yet...'

I give her a hard stare to show my disaproval. But it's not a severe one...