Black Belt Grading: Part II...

It's my own fault. Preparations for my black belt test were going far too well. My badly injured knee was sort of OK and my less badlly injured knee was pretty much healed up. Even my rotator cuff injury was not a concern. I was even quite relaxed and starting to enjoy myself.

Then I was doing some no-contact sparring with an over-exuberant opponent who thought it would be a good idea to stick his elbow straight through my foot at full force. I obviously carried on with the class and the sparring as I thought it wasn't too bad... but by the time I got home and the adrenalin had stopped flowing I suddenly realised that my foot was bruised to buggery and hurting quite a lot. Swearing hurting. Like proper swearing.

Now it's a waiting game. After resting it most of the weekend I can spar lightly and kick lightly but any type of lateral or pivoting motion is out of the question. And as I need to perform spin kicks to break boards my foot may need some quick recovery or the kicking some supple bodily negotiation.

So, in the words of Cher, if I could turn back time I'd like to say the following to the opponent responsible:
'You clumsy, careless, half-witted fucking oaf. What does 'no-contact' mean in your numb-skulled world? Does it mean I can repeatedly punch you in the fucking face till your skin is flayed off? No. Thought not. You brain-dead fucking cum-bucket for pox-ridden sailors.'

Of course, I could say that. And Cher probably would as I understand she's bit potty-mouthed. Probably too much exercise. Or plastic surgery.

But I won't say anything because I'm too polite. And I wouldn't really mean it. And he didn't do it intentionally. I'd just be venting and I know that wouldn't help.

And I have 12 days to heal up then I have a grading to pass. And my trusty ibuprofen gel seems to be helping. So it's best to let it go and just write about it instead. At least that way it's out of my system...

Black Belt Grading: Part I...

It's now 18 days until I grade for my black belt. My injured knee seems to be sort of mended and holding up and other niggling injuries on one of my ankles and one of my rotator cuffs seem to be fine.

I've also pretty much got a handle on all of my techniques, both old and new, and some dodgy foot placement in forms aside I'm quite confident. In fact if I can get there in one piece without any more dramas I'm looking forward to it.

That confidence still didn't stop my first grading anxiety dream last night, however.

In it I was in a packed do-jang surrounded by my fellow students and trying to break a wooden board that I just couldn't break. In the dream I knew it was because I was tense and not moving fluidly but the more I couldn't break the board the more tense I became.

After yet further failures of one sort or another the dream ended with the head of the academy telling me I was a nice chap who just wasn't good enough. I may also have been naked. And some female students may have been pointing at my genitals and laughing.

Sometimes that sort of dream, whether it's about hapkido or writing or pool or anything else, stays with you for a while and shakes your confidence.

But I already know I need to be relaxed and I know the not being good enough bit is bollocks. And I'm proving it in 18 days.

Rejection...

As a writer sending scripts to various theatres and TV production companies I am used to rejection. In fact I have become hardened to it.

But I have just received my worst ever rejection letter in response to a radio comedy show I sent out a few weeks ago. I'd worked hard on the show and really liked it but, to quote the letter:

'...it didn't make me laugh enough... and that is the one single thing we're looking for when we expectantly crack open a new comedy script.'

I'm still not convinced they have a point but I will reread the script and reconsider. But the production company in question have also produced some dross among the good stuff they've done so they don't always get it right either.

So: self-delusion or self-belief? It's tough to know the difference but there are times you have to trust it's the latter and just carry on.

To quote Winston Churchill:
‎'Success consists of going from failure to failure without loss of enthusiasm.'

But then again Winston Churchill was also funny. Fact. Then again maybe I'd be good at war...

Drunk...

The final county pool game of the season is always a messy affair as several of the team usually venture out for a few drinks afterwards. And that's a few more drinks than the usual few post-match drinks too.

And as my friend Shaggy and two of the Croydon fellas were my drinking companions for the evening, and as it was my last blowout before knuckling down for my black belt test in four weeks, it was never going to be a sober night.

Previous evenings out with Shaggy have ended with him in hospital after falling off a pavement and breaking his ankle, and the two of us being threatened with death by a man carrying a bike in Hampshire. Fortunately as we also had two mutual friends along for the evening – and thanks the delights of a pub near Reading station that was packed with London Irish fans – the night was lovely and incident-free. Our little group even made friends with two local girls who'd been to watch the rugby.

In fairness my head was not a good place to be on Monday morning and I had distant memories of weeing in sturdy plastic bag on the train when I found the only toilet was broken, then carrying it home until I found a drain to pour it down. But at the time I think I decided it was what Hannibal in the A Team would have done in an emergency weeing situation so I felt I was in good company.

But now there's no more stupidity. It's knuckle down time. I have a black belt to earn and four weeks to nail my final preparations. Gulp...

Ancient Worlds...

I'm quite a fan of history. History is big, cool stuff and I'm rarely happier than when I'm reading or watching anything on whatever chunk of big, cool history happens to have caught my imagination.

So I was looking forward to watching new BBC series Ancient Worlds in which archaeologist and historian Richard Miles explores the roots of civilisation. And if episode one is anything to go by, I'll probably stay with it as he's an engaging presenter and the idea of examining 'us' 'then' is a smart idea.

Two things annoy me, though.

The first is that Miles is a bit too sexy to be doing this. I want my historians older and uglier and I certainly don't want them to flirt with me. And Miles does.

Sometimes when he talks directly to camera he tilts his head in a coquettish manner and lowers his voice to speak in a husky yet smooth tone that makes him sound like a telephone sex line gigolo. He may be discussing ancient city Uruk but he could just as easily be whispering sweet nothings and wooing millions of viewers into his book-filled boudoir.

The second is that he looks like a slimmer and more debonair version of a bloke I used to work under who was a major arsehole. Let's call the major arsehole Mike. Because that was his name.

Mike was an arsehole and a pedant beyond belief and, added to this mix, he was also a smug, self-righteous twat. So much so that when my football team was scheduled to play his team some years later I actually offered financial rewards for anyone who stuck their studs through his ankle.

In retrospect I'm not proud of this course of action. Although it was the most satisfying £20 I ever spent. But if you'd have ever met Mike and spent more than five minutes in his company you would have offered me more funds to increase the bounty on his ankles. So that he was crippled for life. And therefore much less likely to ever enter your social sphere again. Fact.

And Miles looks a bit like him. So if he can sort out his appearance and his habit of flirting with the camera I'm sure I'll grow to love him and his show.

Thanks.

Cack-handed...

The very flash and very expensive new kitchen is nearly fully installed and fully functioning at From Beer To Paterinty Towers.

Sadly I am not allowed to use any appliances until the Missus has given me detailed instructions on how everything works because, apparently, I'll 'probably break something' because I'm a 'cack-handed twat'. I'd like to protest that I'm not quite as clumsy as the Missus thinks but sadly it would be a protest in vain.

Recent damages include snapping a metal spade in half, damaging the bath and destroying an electic can opener. And I wasn't doing anything bizarre with any of them either. I was just using them the way they were intended to be used. Sort of...

One item that certainly will not be getting damaged when it arrives, however, is my new cue. It's being made by one of the best cue-makers in the country and it's a replica of an antique Riley tombstone cue I've wanted for at least two decades.

It may be very sad but I'm so excited. It's an early Xmas present to myself. Expensive kitchens are rubbish. New cues are where it's at...