Fight Quest IV...

I am currently sporting an ice pack on my shoulder. I have been sporting this for a few days in a bid to stem pain and speed healing. And I think it's working so I'll be back in full training mode sooner than expected. Hurray!

Bizarrely sporting this ice pack has given me a new appreciation of what it's like to be a hunchback, walking around with an odd lump sticking out of my shoulder.

I am also informed that Gillian McKeith suffers with a hunchback affliction so for once I am in sympathy with the whippet-thin, whining, shrew-faced, modern snakeoil saleswoman and fraudulent doctor.

Sadly, apart from McKeith, hunchbacks are not something you see any more and advances in medical science and paedeatric surgery are perhaps reasons for this. Like village idiots they seem to be a dying breed but I reckon the good old-fashioned village idiot is still alive and well somewhere in the UK.

Goole had its own village idiot, of course. He was nicknamed 'Nutty' Graham because his name was Graham and he behaved like a nutter.

These days he'd probably be categorised under the catch-all term 'learning difficulties' but any man who stood at the level crossing on Boothferry Road day-in day-out just in time to see any passing train then proceed to shout abuse at those trains for years on end must have had some method to his madness.

And watching him go to work on unsuspecting train passengers is what used to pass for entertainment in Goole. It was certainly better than watching the football team. Or going to Hull for a shopping trip.

Happy days...

Fight Quest III…

I've been over-training and I’ve picked up a shoulder injury.

Sadly injuries are part and parcel of any martial arts training and I just have to deal with it. But from what I can gather it’s a rotator cuff injury and the way to heal it is with rest and ice.

So instead of cycling in this morning I grabbed the Tube with the Missus and about halfway through my journey she gleefully turned to me and pointed a story out in today’s Metro. It read:

‘A 30-year-old mother of one from Manchester has secured a big-money US television deal as a cage fighter.’

Bollocks! I’ve been unable to train for one day and someone’s sort of nicked my idea already and, even worse, she’s a bloody woman and that makes it a much better story.

Still. She might get seriously injured and have to call it all off…

Fight Quest II...

My quest to become a UFC fighter has begun and I've gone onto their website to find out how I sign up. And, lo and behold, here it is...

Q: How do I get into the UFC?
A: Fighting in the UFC requires years of training and fighting experience. If you think you've got what it takes, send a VIDEO TAPE of your fights and a short bio to:
UFC Fighter Info
Attn:
Sean Shelby
PO Box 26959
Las Vegas, NV
89126

So by my reckoning I need to train for a year, then have a fight and videotape it.

I also need a name as all UFC fighters have a nickname. I sought the Boy's opinion and his answer was 'The Idiot'. I then sought advice from the Missus.
'If you go ahead with this I will divorce you...'

That's quite a rubbish nickname in my estimation...

Fight Quest I...

'It's potentially the most stupid idea you've ever had. And given that you are an absolute idiot who previously thought it was a good idea to insert lit sparklers into the top of his penis that is quite a feat...'

I have just explained my latest wheeze to the Missus. I've told her I want to train and become a UFC fighter for one fight only as it will give me a definite goal and, more importantly, I also think it would make quite a good book idea. My idea is not getting the reaction I anticipated, though, so I try to defend myself.

'I'm already a decent martial artist and if I know I'm fighting I'll train much harder. I'm also boxing and that will help and I reckon if I train seriously I'll be ready within two years, maybe three...'
'You're NOT doing it.'
'The worst that can happen is that I'll get knocked out...'
'...or you could have your neck broken and I'll end up tending to a paraplegic for the rest of my life...'
'It would make a great book. Think about... speccy journalist becomes fighting machine...'
'But you don't even like fighting. You even apologise to your boxing coach when you hit him...'
'But I don't see it as fighting... it's about competition and I may not be overtly aggressive but I am hugely competitive...'
'It's a stupid idea thought up by an idiot. It's the sort of thing young men do not people who are nearly 40 years old with families.'
'Would you do me a favour?'
'You're having a mid-life crisis. That's what this is...'
'Just think about it...'

The Missus pauses. She stares at me like I'm an idiot. But it means she hasn't said a definite no...

Hard News...

Read about this in The Week so I thought I'd share it. The report is taken from website The Register:

'A group of Hungarian tax inspectors is apparently "protesting" at being forced to watch hard-core pornography movies in an attempt to decide if the filmmaker has legitimately claimed £10,000 in allowances for set-dressing his DVD romps.

Northern Hungary tax supremo Maria Nagy bemoaned the probe into Ferenc Hopka, whining: "It's a hard job. Porn movies are known for showing the action, not the bed or the carpet it is happening on.

"Often we just see a lot of flesh and a little bit of silk, and just from that we have to determine whether that piece of silk is really the bedding the producer claimed his money back for."

To give you a taste of what Hungary's finest might be enduring, we suggest a quick shufti at Hopka's 2002 smut masterwork Fallen Angels, which stars the splendidly named Norman Hard and is described thus: "A priest stands accused of 'orgiastic misconduct' in a monastery. Enter a female judge who wants to hear every juicy detail of his blasphemous deeds..."'

Now that's proper news...

Friends Reunited...

One of my old college friends has recently got in touch again after a lengthy absence and I'm very excited. Of all the people I was friends with at college she was one of the few people I genuinely missed when we lost contact.

She was also quite sexy and I confess I had a bit of a crush on her. But she's back in touch and I'm hoping we'll get to catch up in real life rather just in cyberspace before too long. So I am discussing this turn of events with the Missus...

'You remember I told you about Harry?'
'The girl you were friends with at college?'
'Yes... Well she's got in touch with me and invited us down for the weekend to visit her and meet her kids and her fella.'
'I'd be up for that.'
'I always really liked Harry. She liked me too. We were both serious students at college among a sea of people who weren't. We bonded over books.'
'Did you fancy her at all?'
'Yes. I always thought she was quite sexy...'
'You were friends with a lot of girls at college, weren't you?'
'Yes. Which is surprising as I wasn't the catch then that I am now.'
'Well you were their non-threatening straight friend...'
'What do you mean "non-threatening"?'
'Well you weren't a sexual threat. It's like girls having a gay friend. There's no worry you're going to sleep together. So you were their non-threatening straight friend.'
'I wasn't a leper. I had girlfriends at college! They might have done!'
'How many of your friends who were girls that you found 'a bit sexy' did you sleep with at college?'
'Not many...'
'How many exactly?'
'I'm going to watch the football...'

Meat...

I have just had a week off work to finish rewrites on my play Meat. I now have two more days to finish knocking it into shape before it goes off for a big competition. I'll also be sending it out to a few other theatres with a view to getting it read and getting some feedback or, hope beyond hope, getting it staged.

It's going well but who would have thought that a play about selling sex, child prostitution and venereal disease that features rape, mutilation, a dwarf and a few murders could demand so much work.

I'm glad the new play I'm working on only has casual violence and incest. There was a time I used to write comedy. Maybe I am just ill in the head these days...

Home Truths IV...

The Missus is away and I am at home cooking tea for me and the Boy.

I shout him to come downstairs as the food is ready but there is no response. So I venture upstairs and knock on his bedroom door.
'What?' comes the half-grunt, half-annoyed response. So I open the door and decide to play the doting step-father.
'Your ever-loving step-daddy has put tea on the table. So come downstairs and keep me company and we can eat together. Please...'

The Boy looks at me in horror.
'You look and sound like a kiddy-fiddler when you do that...'
'Well if I was a kiddy-fiddler I'd go for better-looking teenagers than you. Downstairs. Food on the table...'

The Boy heads downstairs.
'Well if you did go for the good-looking kids they'd never have you anyway. You're just too ugly...'

Little shit. It's about time he went to university. Far away...

Home Truths III...

The Missus and the Boy are concerned with my current obsession with martial arts. I try to explain this as best I can but after all their bating and sarcasm I eventually run out of patience and declare:
‘Look I’m a fucking Ninja so shut up and leave me alone – or else…’

There is laughter. The Missus and the Boy head downstairs to the living room.

Silence. Then from downstairs the Missus asks:
‘Where’s the lamp?’

Bugger.
‘What lamp?’
‘The white glass lamp that was on the mantlepiece.’
‘I was hoovering and the wires got caught up and I accidentally knocked it over…’

There is a silence. Then comes the put-down…
‘Teach you that in Ninja school, did they?’

Home Truths II...

Me and the Missus are discussing our marriage after I look at one of our wedding pictures and smile affectionately at her.
‘When exactly did we get married?’ she asks breaking my moment of nostalgia.
‘It was September 2001.'
'Yes. I remember it now. The same month and year as the World Trade Centre disaster.'

Many lesser husbands would be offended by this aide memoire but I realise she does not say this with any degree of sarcasm. Her brother was in New York at the time and we married two weeks after this happened and, at a time when flying in the US was considered very dangerous, he took the flight and came to see us marry.

Sadly she decides to extend the analogy and score into the sarcasm open net that is gaping before her. In fairness I would do the same to her...

‘Yeah. I married an idiot the same year as a major disaster…’ she smiles. 'Makes sense...'
'You know, if I'm such an idiot why exactly did you marry me?’ I ask. She gives it some thought then answers.
‘Well it meant I no longer needed a lodger.’

Who says romance is dead? I'm glad I broke her lamp. I may yet break another one out of spite...

Home Truths I...

It is Saturday morning. The Missus has been to her exercise class while I have hoovered and cleaned the house and we have just returned from doing the weekly food shop.

Sadly, during the hoovering process a lamp got caught up in the hoover’s lead and fell to the floor and broke. As I am a martial arts warrior who fears nobody I did what any self-respecting martial arts warrior would do and threw the lamp away in the dustbin and hoped nobody would notice.

So the Missus sits and reads the paper while I read a book on an Israeli fighting system called Krav Maga. The Missus has been into the living room where the lamp used to reside and I realise I am on the verge of getting caught but decide to ride out the storm.

‘Have you noticed this?’ asks the Missus.
I fear it will be some feature on lamps as she hands me a section of the newspaper. Instead it is a column whose headline reads ‘It is my wife’s life purpose to drain my self-esteem at any opportunity’.

I fear it is a trap so I deny any knowledge of having read the article but instead she simply admits the following:
‘See. It’s not just me. Other women do it too!’

I go back to my book. So far so good. The lamp 'restructuring' incident has so far gone unnoticed…

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.