Goodbye 2023 & Hello 2024...

 

This year has been both shit and fabulous. It's been shit because the Missus suffered a bad fall and incurred a wrist injury in January that required some pretty serious surgery. She now has a lovely scar, plus various bits of metal and several screws holding bones in place. Needless to say, her ceramics work went on hold for a while. 

On top of that, her knee injury is slowly deteriorating, meaning she's in constant pain as she waits for her name to reach the top of the surgeon's list. We also lost our much-loved new cats, Dotty and Dolly, within the same two-week period in the same month. 

January was, quite frankly, a month that can fuck the fuck off and stay fucked the fuck off.

Fortunately, the rest of the year did get better with a relaxing holiday in Greece in the summer and a slightly flasher holiday in the Dominican Republic to celebrate the other half's 60th in November. Other highlights included the Boy publishing the third installment of his excellent comic, Sagas of the Shield Maiden, and some memorable gigs catching up with old friends.

From my point of view, I set myself four big goals in 2023:

• Get a new job
• Complete 175 classes at BJJ
• Write a new play 
• Get my brown belt at BJJ

The one I failed on was the new play. The new job was a biggie, and doing 175 classes and getting my brown belt at BJJ were huge ones to tick off. But the play didn't happen.

Sadly, my own writing has fallen by the wayside in the last two years as work became all-encompassing. With a new job, though, I'm now travelling into London twice a week, so I'll have two one-hour commuting/writing sessions where I can kick back in. And that will make a new play, and a couple of smaller creative projects for 2024, a real possibility.

Purely to be accountable to myself, here are my goals for 2024:

• Draft No.1 of new play by June 
• Draft No.2 of new play by December
• Pass probation period at work
• Complete 150 BJJ classes 
• Complete 100 BJJ weight training sessions 
• Compete in 10 BJJ tournaments 
• Read 5 books by Charles Dickens 

This is all do-able. But let's see where we are in six months. Because we know life can always boot you up the arse when you least expect it...

Grappling with Grappling: New Beginnings...

My BJJ is important to me. And not just for keeping me active. It's amazing for my mental health. I go to classes, I forget whatever is happening at work, and I simply try to get better at what's in front of me. I can solely focus on that. And just that.

Everyone else is focusing on the same goal, too. It's a beautiful environment, and all the martial arts schools I've trained at remain amazingly supportive and safe spaces. Which is odd if you consider the fact you're basically training to punch, kick, throw, choke or joint lock people.

Having now trained in martial arts for more than a couple of decades, I know I'll never be really good at them. And I'm not fishing for praise. I've trained with enough good people to know what their general standard is and what mine is. Even on my best day.

But I'll be OK at them and I'll slowly continue to improve. And I can live with that. Connecting the mental to the physical is not a skill set I have. My brain doesn't work like that. I genuinely admire athletes in any discipline that can see a move or a technique and immediately translate it and absorb it into their own physical vocabulary. In another life, I saw stage performers and dancers who could do that. It was as impressive in that environment as it is in this one.

One path to a better understanding for me at my first martial art was teaching and running classes. Because I knew I had to understand it in a different way. My knowledge had to be vertical and have depth rather than just be horizontal and cover lots of ground with no real foundations. And I had to explain it and translate it.

So getting the chance to teach a beginners' class at No Gi BJJ is a real win. It means I have to drill down into whatever I am teaching and re-familiarise myself with things I know and do, then have to explain them.

I call the classes my 'Learning to teach' classes and, five in, I'm thoroughly enjoying them. I'm sticking to things I know reasonably well and learning loads more about them as I prepare my lessons. It's a genuine privilege.

My first martial arts teacher's teacher was a hapkido grandmaster who'd trained since childhood in a monastery with other martial arts masters in Korea. This may sound a bit Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon. But when Japan invaded Korea, indigenous martial arts were banned. This saw lots of Korean masters seek sanctuary as monks in monasteries where they continued to practise their skills in secret until they could do so again in public. 

He always said, "Through teaching, we educate others. We also teach ourselves." 

It's so true. It's also a new route on my continuing journey. I'm a competitive fighter at 54 and I'm now teaching BJJ. Who'd have thought that would be a thing for a speccy Yorkshireman with a love for cue sports, comics and the Sisters of Mercy? 

Not me. But it is. And it's really cool. Even if I am not.

All Greek to Me...

Work has been stupidly busy and the Missus has been feeling tired and dealing with constant bouts of pain as she waits for a knee operation. Thank Christ for an 11-day break in Kos.

We like Greece and we've been lucky enough to travel to quite a few of the country's islands. But we'd never been to Kos before and it was pretty fabulous. We spent most of our time sat on a beach reading books on sun loungers and swimming in the sea, then heading out for food in the evening.

The town of Kardamena where we were based was big enough to have everything and small enough to not be over-populated with tourists. We also ventured to the island capital of Kos and we did some museum and visitor exploring stuff. This included seeing the Tree of Hippocrates, where the Father of Modern Medicine educated his followers. 

We also saw an amazing blood red moon. It was a pretty relaxing holiday. 

Then, on the last day, British Airways cancelled our flight home with about four hours notice. Cue a stressed period or trying to find alternative flights and book new hotels rooms. British Airways were no use whatsoever during this process. Nowhere to be seen. And un-contactable by phone. It was the worst customer service I've ever had. 

And the cunts still owe me the additional money I had to shell out.

Football Crazy...

I quite like football. I didn't like it much for a long time because my dad was a local footballing star and I eschewed the sport. I mean, who wants to follow in the footsteps of their parents, right?

But I needed an identity crutch when I arrived at college, so I rediscovered my brief interest in Leeds United and it's stuck ever since. I haven't seem Leeds live since the play-off finals in 2008 at Wembley. But I remain a TV supporter who'll also listen to them if the commentary is on the radio.

This year, I've also jumped on the Wrexham bandwagon. I've seen them play at Aldershot. This was such a good day out that I also ventured out to see another National League match in Dorking v Scunthorpe.

The National League is quite good. The tickets are cheaper, you're closer to the action and the players are less churlish. The way Leeds United are playing, I may as well get used to attending such fixtures as it looks like we're heading back down there.

54 Not Out! Part III...

My first classes at BJJ as a 54-year-old were an exhausting affair. Three hours long and I was done at about the two hours and 30 minutes mark. 

I still felt a bit like a dude, though. Given, it was an absolutely fucked and ready-for-bed dude, but it was a dude none-the-less.

When I got home, I had the below waiting for me:

It was a leaflet about a test for bowel cancer. Because the elderly are most at risk. Don't get me wrong, I'm utterly delighted to get this. I already owe the NHS my life. The fact they want to extend this gift is amazing. 

But it could have waited for a few days. My body was so buggered, I didn't need a reminder that I was that bit older...

Proud Dad...

“Alexa, please show me a picture that makes me massively proud and happy…”

“No problem. Here’s a picture of the first volume of your son’s Viking Western graphic novel series, Sagas of the Shield Maiden, in Gosh, your favourite comic shop in London.”

“Thank you, Alexa.”

54 Not Out: Part II...

It was my birthday recently and the Missus excelled herself on the present front. 

Among a superb booze selection and several other ace gifts was a wall display for my BJJ medals. I've always been a bit ambivalent about winning trophies and medals, particularly as my BJJ haul is mainly silvers and bronzes. 

As my coach reminds me, however, I turned up and fought for these. I wasn't given them. It's OK to be a bit proud of them. So I'll now hang them up in a discreet bit of my office. 

It was a sweet and considered gift. She knows me very well. 

54 Not Out: Part I...

Being 53 was pretty cool. OK, it was a year where I accepted far too much freelance work and did virtually none of my own scriptwriting, and one where I spent far too much time over-delivering at work. But there were better bits...

The holiday to Sicily with the Missus, the Boy and the Boy's Other Half was fabulous. Pottering around with the Missus, and seeing family and friends was also a joy. Training was a constant source of exhausting happiness, too.

But 54 needs to be a more disciplined year. So I'm heading into diary and scheduling overdrive. I have a new job to secure, new plays to write and BJJ events to win, and the only way I'll get it all done is if I am more ruthless with myself. 

I'll report back on how it went in 12 months. Wish me luck...

Them's the Breaks...

Wow! It's April already. Where did the time go? Well, most of it went on work and training. And being a domestic goddess. 

The latter is nothing new. One of the plus points of having a low-level tidiness and things-in-straight-lines mania is that Brooks Towers is generally pretty neat. The Missus, however, fell over and broke her wrist in spectacular fashion a few months ago, and she needed a plate and screws inserted to knit her bones back together. So I've basically been domestic staff for a few months. 

I'm obviously not complaining about this. Needs must and all that. But it's made me realise that either we don't need a house this big or I must get a better-paid job so we can hire a cleaner. 

With people and cats dying, work being pretty grim and the Missus injured, 2023 is so far not living up to expectations. Things seem to be settling down now, though. I hope we have a bit of routine normal for a while.

New Cats: Part VII...

Frankly, 2023 can fuck the fuck off at the moment. Hot on the heels of losing Dotty, her sister, Dolly, was hit by a car and left to die in our front garden less than a fortnight later. 

I found her early in the morning already dead. Then I had the grim task of taking her to the vet for cremation. I loved both of our cats. As did the Missus. 

We're now in a bit of a grieving process. In denial, I'd get new cats tomorrow because the house is too quite and empty without them. The Missus, however, can't go through with losing any more at the moment.

I get this. I hope she'll change her mind given enough time, though.

Religion? Nah...

I dabbled with religion as a teenager and I've been a devout atheist ever since.

But if you are searching for divinity, I thoroughly recommend enjoying a beer in a piping hot bath after two hours of BJJ training.

It's the bomb. As young people say.

New Cats: Part VI...

 

We recently had to say goodbye to Dotty, one of the pair of bonded sisters we adopted just under two years ago. She was the more timid of the two, constantly curious and massively affectionate.

She went out in the recent freezing weather and came back clearly out of sorts. We took her to see the vet and it turned out she had a bite on her leg. But this was the least of her issues. Whatever had bitten her had grabbed her by the tail and shaken her, meaning she had nerve damage, and no feeling in her back end, and no bladder or bowel function. And there was no chance of it coming back.

Terminating the life of a pet is never fun. I've had to put three cats down previously – one because of old age, another because of a car collision and another because of liver failure – and it never gets any easier.

It's fair to say that me and the Missus were a bit broken by this latest one because she was very young.

There was also a moment of dark comedy. As we were waiting in the room for the vet to come in before Dotty had her last injection, my phone calendar helpfully sprang into life to remind me it was date night. Even my technology is capable of taking the piss.

Rest in peace, Dotty. You were massively loved in the brief time we had you with us. You remain massively missed now you're no longer here.

Sadly, the baked-in price of loving anything or anyone is the risk of losing them.

A Content Consumer Recommends...

Film

The Banshees of Inisherin: A cracking script by Martin McDonagh and amazing cinematography of Ireland combine with Colin Farrell and Brendan Gleeson as two life-long friends who fall out. Funny, moving and beguilingly seductive.

Amsterdam: Beautifully acted, visually stunning, and genuinely enjoyable and intriguing thriller. Christian Bale, John David Washington and Margot Robbie lead an all-star cast that also features Rami Malek, Anya Taylor-Joy and Robert De Niro.

TV

The Undeclared War: Enjoyable six-part thriller about national cyber security starring the rather excellent Hannah Khalique-Brown and Herman Segal. Simon Pegg, Mark Rylance and Kerry Godliman are also pretty superb in it.

1899: Slick-looking eight-part thriller about a ship and its passengers facing mysterious circumstances. After a promising start, it ends involving some pretentious concept bollocks I didn't care enough about to even try to fully understand. 

Everyone Else Burns: Six-part sitcom that satirises fanatical religion in a funny, charming and accessible way. It's the sort of comedy that only Channel 4 would ever produce in the UK and I'm already wanting to see a second series. 

Music

Out of the Blue by the Electric Light Orchestra: Rediscovering the joys of one of  Birmingham's finest musical exports. It still sounds like music from a better future nearly 50 years later.

Angles by Dan Le Sac Vs Scroobius Pip: Rediscovering the dynamic UK duo's album that made me want to learn more about other types of hip-hop. The opening track and the song about Tommy Cooper remain joys. 

The Logic of Chance by Dan Le Sac Vs Scroobius Pip: Rediscovering the second album by the UK duo. It still has tracks on it that delight and amuse me after all this time.

Repent Replenish Repeat by Dan Le Sac Vs Scroobius Pip: Third album, whose existence I was unaware of until I chanced on it via the internet-web. Still working my way through this.

The Pyjama Game ..

I'm hunting for a new job after realising my current one will not get any better. Just before Christmas, I landed an interview for a role I really wanted at an institution I've targeted as a future place of work.

I'm aware that my ripe old age of 53 may be off-putting to some employers, so I always shave the grey out of my beard, craft chunky sideburns and have a skinhead before any interview. It's hipster chic. Or 1970s docker seeing the turn at the club on a Saturday night. Choose the description that works for you. Anyway, these actions may be utterly pointless, but they make me feel less old and boost my confidence. Because I do sometimes lack this.

Sadly, I didn't land the gig, but I felt good following what I thought was a good interview and I felt like I looked OK, too. I was a young and vibrant thruster! I was a go-getter who can cut it with the youth. Go me!

Then the Missus buys me pyjamas for Xmas. 

It's true that I have bought jim-jams for her in the past, but I know she hates the cold and these were cute things. Not quite slut wear but certainly not pensioner wear. I also sleep in boxer shorts because I'm reasonably confident that my bowel control is strong enough to ensure I won't casually shit the bed. And, of course, limited nightwear is less cumbersome to remove if I get lucky. 

But I fear this spells a major change in the relationship. The Missus now no longer sees me as a sexual partner and the hottie she married. I'm the old bloke she shares a bed with who brings her a cuppa in the morning.

Beer Review: Buried at Sea Milk Stout

Galway Bay Brewery's Buried at Sea Milk Stout doesn't try to be massively complicated. It has a robust but not overpowering taste and texture, and it's liqourice tang pleasantly loiters around without mugging your tastebuds.

Expert comment: Eminently drinkable and smooth in a self-assured but not showy-off way. Like the sophisticated, older girl you fancied at school.