Andy's Blog

A new month is upon us and.. oh my tis gonna be a full adventure packed one this year!  June, it has to be said, definitely had quite a few more downs than ups and really took a nose-dive as it approached its ultimate whimper.  The blog, as ever, suffered from a lack of updates but sometimes life is very rude in its attention grabbing; and these really weren’t things I could ignore.

So I start the new month off looking for some ‘new adventures’… let’s leave it at that for the moment, and contemplating a month of pain(s)…. of various unique flavours.

The little buggerage that is cancer is having the local quackery peek, poke and “hmmmm” at it first thing with a view to finally giving it its marching orders;  scalpel and eye-watering equipment at the ready!

Before one can even clench one’s but-tocks at that thought I shall be throwing myself, and number one sprog, into the competitive art of funny poses and grunting in a japanese accent.  I would call it Karate, but that really is doing the fair martial art a disservice… at least on my part.

What’s more worrying is that I shall be pitting my questionable skills against a large number of other practitioners, with some very VERY dark coloured belts, all in the name of becoming world champeeen!

Get that over and done with and I will age an extra year almost immediately… literally!  Nope, not in some abstract sense of the word, I will actually have aged another year.  That is if I haven’t already aged prematurely when number one sprog officially enters his teenagedom the week before.

There’s a bit more to tap out into this post, but I can’t seem to compose the correct combinations of letters and punctuation marks into something vaguely coherent.

Ah well, cometh the end of July and I’ll be pretty much offline for a few weeks; no on-line presence, no work, no karate, no updates, no cancerous lumps bumps ‘n other stuff? no idea… we’ll cross that bridge when we get there though.

First day of the month!

Risk is something we manage every day on an almost unconscious level; Do you pull out from the junction now, or wait until that red car passes by?  Sip upon the blessed caffeine bean straight away or blow on it to cool it down just a tad?  Stand and block an attack or step forward and sideways to go on the offensive?

All made fairly quickly and without being verbalised as a series of competing options and therein lies the rub, the verbalisation.  When the risks are said out loud it’s suddenly a decision that cannot be made unconsciously as it sits in front of you with a quizzical “so?” on its face.

“If you don’t do x, y could happen.  However there’s a risk with doing x that may result in y”

It all looks a bit like a mathematical formula at this point, especially when percentages are thrown at you to “help”.  Risk now moves from a personal set of choices to an impersonal set of numbers with some unpalatable consequences attached to them… or not… maybe.

So now I am left to face the calculation of “could” vs “may” and all that entails.

There’s a lot to be said for ignoring the whole issue and just throwing yourself into the elsewhere, delaying the inevitable and concentrating on those things that you can influence.. but the quizzical face is still there.

So?  Block vs Strike?  Could vs May?  Do vs Die?

I am looking at a blank screen, an amusing cartoon picture of myself smiling like the idiot I am, Black Stone Cherry playing in the background, an overused backspace key whimpering on my keyboard and a headful of nothing which is successfully making an appearance on this blog.

This post started off life as some form of apology for the sometimes teasing, sometimes sarcastic comments I tend to come out with, morphed to an amusing story about double glazing salesmen, light-hearted texts and then double-backed to the perils of playing with words.  Somewhere in the middle of all of that it became a little darker and whinier…. and I now find myself gravitating that way again!

I really should stop trying to write a blog post when I really don’t know what I want to write and begin to just splurge on the page, the results are somewhat more navel gazing than I am comfortable with.

If I’m honest I think, deep down, I’m still a little scared about the whole Cancer thing even though I put the whole happy face on (as ugly an image as that is), and the upcoming visit to the quacks in July for the latest prognosis.  Also, this post has also got an awful lot of sentences beginning with “I”, which is both very lazy and a little “me me me”.

I’m (there I go again) also worrying about my next grading, whether my karate is sufficient for the task or whether I can actually *make* the next grading.  As I said “dark thoughts indeed” and not something I am overly comfortable with.

I think I need to change the track…. in all senses of the word.

Julie McKinnon was the unrequited love of my teenage years.  Long blonde hair, legs that seemed to stretch forever (and the fashion back in the 80′s was for tight jeans!), and killer looks. *Sigh*… give me a moment.

…just a little longer

OK, back again.

Unfortunately back then I was a bigger Muppet than I am now, hard to believe I know, and my body would do its very best to make me look as idiotic as possible whenever she approached;

• Remove all fluids from mouth?  Check!
• Rush of blood to the facial area?  Check!
• Independently sprung limbs?  Check!
• Brain cells evacuated through ears?  Check!
• Sudden growth spurt on chin hair to enforce that ‘Shaggy from Scooby Doo’ look?  Check!
• Zits?  Check, check and for good measure, check!

Yeah, as you can imagine I was HUGELY popular with the ladies when I was younger, especially with that little gamut of reactions – it was almost Adrian Mole‘ish!  The end point being that I never did get the nerve to ask the delightful Julie out.

The point of all this?  Only a salutary tale for a certain younger member of my readership that your first steps into, and out of, affairs of the heart can sometimes be strewn with cowpats from the devil’s own satanic herd.

Unfortunately it doesn’t always get easier when you grow up, but as the old adage goes “It’s better to have loved and lost than to never have tried and wonder what if”… or something like that.

I feel all old and wise now… well maybe not wise, but certainly old… and flatulent.. I think I’ve just described myself as Yoda?

I was nauseous and tingly all over. I was either in love or I had smallpox.
~ Woody Allen

Keeping your guard up is almost one of the first things you learn in karate.  I probably extend this further than was originally anticipated although the physical aspect of this seems to escape me as Sensei readjusts mine yet again…. and again.

Despite the very few, who however good your guard is just seem to poke, punch and jab at your vulnerable areas, the guard remains and protects.  Letting it drop shows how scared you really are, and that’s just not the done thing.. not that I ever admitted to being the smartest biscuit in the barrel.

.oO( I am not entirely sure what type of biscuit I would be if I had to choose one, but there is unanimous consensus that the Chocolate Hobnob is the undisputed king of biccies! )

I digress.

Advancing a stage seems to bring with it a host of new experiences, things to overcome and a whole world of unique pain.  Sitting down, standing up, lying down, strike a stance, perform a kata, slouch on the floor… all are accompanied by some part of your body wanting to gain your attention in as startling a way as possible.

…but the guard remains.

“When the tides of life turn against you and the current upsets your boat, don’t waste those tears on what might have been, just lie on your back and float.”
- Anon

It’s wet and muggy today, and the end to another long karate weekend.  Come a grading weekend I never seem to be out of the Gi much, what with teaching on a Saturday morning and Grading on Sunday afternoon, there’s precious little for anything else apart from hitting the sack.

Celebrating an engagement, at least for a little while, was a nice exclamation point to the week and breather before the weekend in white pyjamas began …although once the crazy gang arrived it gave me the chance to slip await quietly.

Grading is a full on exercise for the students and the mugginess just acts to put them under that extra bit of pressure; it’s hard to give 100% when the very air you breath seems to be be doing everything it can to not reach your lungs.

Unfortunately all this makes for a ‘flat’ kumite session, the students just too shattered to put up much of a fight.. I even had to practically chase one potential red belt around the dojo to get him to spar me.  I’m really not that scary!

However what makes your day is seeing a little 6 year old girl giving it her all to achieve that next belt.  Despite the mugginess, despite always seeming to be the smallest in the room, despite the tears of frustration when she ‘perceives’ she can’t do quite what you ask of them,  and repeating this at least 5-6 times a week,  still doesn’t give up and puts everything she has to gain that next milestone…

Kinda makes you a little embarrassed at the navel gazing you let yourself indulge in every so often.  Thankfully nobody was looking too closely at me as she ran up to get her shiny new red built and certificate, I do have a reputation to maintain… or at least I like to think I have one.

Well done Georgie!

Well apparently my last post was a “little too much information” for some people, and I have the sore ear to prove this, although I think it still serves as a good reference point for all budding future male karate do practitioners… go figure!

That apart I have the uncomfortable feeling that I really haven’t moved any further forward from where I was a few weeks back, I may have even moved backwards on a few items, which is a buggarage and all of which is making me even less fun company to be with than usual.

Introspection is all well and good for a hormone overdosed teenager, who feels the whole world is against them, but for a forty *cough* year old it can be a little ridiculous, but here we are.  Turn up, do what’s expected of you; smile, laugh, practise, teach, drink, chat …. leave quietly.   All without actually being there in mind or spirit.

I am missing not having a motorbike at the moment, taking very long, very fast rides to nowhere.  In my mispent youthdom, when in the same type of mood (when it wasn’t a ridiculous age to be as introspective) this was my favourite form of escape… at least for a little while.

Now I have a blog, a large music collection and a hidy-hole where I can be anti-social to my heart’s content.  I think that’s progress?

……also I do worry that Creed, 3 Doors Down, Daughtry, Theory Of A Deadman, Seether and Stone Sour are not the sort of tunes to help my teenage regression… but DAMN! There’s some damn fine lyrics in there and is at least helping me to figure out some future blog post titles.

Well the big day came, the crowds gathered, the kiss was delivered and the rain held off… and I watched a fair bit more of it than I thought I would.  I am of course talking about Prince William and Catherine Middleton’s wedding if you haven’t twigged quite yet.

It’s not that I have anything against the Royals, far from it, more the fact that I am not a 6 year old girl with visions of being a Princess surrounded by Princes and lovely dresses.

The question that is always asked, especially when it’s found out that one hadn’t watched the pomp and pageantry, is “are you a Royalist or Republican”?  Of course whichever way you answer this question the follow up will be “why”?

So in summary as to why I’m a Royalist;

El Presidente
Can you imagine President Blair?  President Cameron? ..or even worse President Brown?  Let me just leave you with that thought for a second…  Finished…?  Yeah, thought that would give you the same shudder down the spine as me.

Plus of course you’ve got that little annoyance that’s called ‘elections’ to select your overload of choice, and seeing that there is a collective malaise in this country about voting for a government to rule then what chance we can be arsed to vote for a President?

History Goddamit
I’ll admit it, I am an absolute sucker for history, and let’s face it we have a little bit of that here.  We are a people who define ourselves throughout history via the monarch of the day; the Edwardian era, the Victorian’s, the Elizabethan’s, that-git-that-came-over-from-France-and-shot-an-arrow-through-good-King-’arold’s-eye-or-something-like-that era.  It seems to have served us well so far and we did own roughly a quarter of the world because of it, so it can’t be all that bad can it?

Heck if it wasn’t for King George III we’d still have America, and where the hell would we be if we still had that hanging around our neck?  Facing the world court of opinion for abuses like McDonald’s diet coke, Donald Trump, Justin Bieber and that that episode of Happy Days where Fonzie jumps the shark.

Music
What would the quartet of Freddie Mercury, Brian May, Roger Taylor and John Deacon have called themselves if we didn’t have a constitutional monarchy?

Drinkie-Poo’s
No monarchy; no having a “right royal piss-up”.  What would we do of a weekend?

Of course all this monarchist bias doesn’t mean I don’t think the current royal shouldn’t have a bit of a cull and trim down to Spanish Royal Family sized proportions, especially when you consider Edward and the royal frumpets that are Beatrice and Eugenie… did you see what they wore at the wedding?  Even mutton is somewhat embarrassed with the association.  (did I really just say that?)

I also can’t seem to give a rodent’s bottom between the title of Citizen vs Subject, especially when swapping from one term to t’other would not make a gnats pubic hair of a difference.

…it would also mean that Citizen Smith would have to be renamed Subject Smith, and that wouldn’t do at all.

POWER TO THE PEOPLE MONARCHY!

Some peoples stomach drop when they see them on the doorstep, some get angry, whilst others stand and listen with a kind of pained patience.  Me on the other hand actively look forward to their little visits, although I have an uncomfortable feeling they’ve been warned about me.

Jehovah’s Witnesses.  Charles Taze Russell’s door-to-door God botherers.  Read on, dear readers, for the troozers 3 golden rules for dealing with the watch tower inhabitants;

A bright cheery “Helloooo!” always puts them on the back foot, and the look of surprise mixed with what-have-we-got-here that flits over their face is a joy to behold.
Rule #1: Always be polite, excessively so.

Apparently “Who?” is somewhat frowned upon, within the Jehovah community, as a reply to their “We are here to spread the message of God”.
Rule #2: Be joyously dim.

“Ahh, you’re an Atheist”.  Now there’s not a lot you can come back with after an accusation like that, however “No, I always stand like this” is a golden classic that can be used in almost any situation…

“Wait, No…  What…?”

Ah the blessed Rule #2 never disappoints or fail to deliver upon its promise.

Of course the above is just but a part of a longer, slightly more tedious conversation about religion, ethics and morality.  Not that ethics or morality are tedious topics but the “divine righteousness” of one side precluded any form of argument or view to the contrary.

“Let me ask you a hypothetical question; If the laws of the land were suspended for one day and you were able to kill without fear of prosecution, would you do it?”

The reply, of course, went along the lines of God seeing and judging all and some place called Devon not opening its gates to you, who knew Devon had gates made out of Elizabeth Hurley?  (I have a feeling I misheard this section of their reply)…. and there in lies the rub; Some of us wouldn’t kill cos it’s just not a nice thing to do, whilst others have to have some invisible overseer and a threat of goodies being removed to stop them.

Which is the more ethical or moral standpoint?
Rule #3: Be comfortable in being responsible for your own actions.

I think 1) I may have blown my chance for yet more doorstep theological discussions in the forseeable future, or at least until they get more raw recruits in, and 2) that there’s a VERY special place in hell for me somewhere… although of course that is one thing that both the Jehovah’s and myself have in common; No belief in hell.
(Unofficial Rule #3a: a little knowledge about your door-stepper is always nice).

I am beginning to come round to Sam Harris‘s view that “Atheist” isn’t a term I should be labelling myself with, after all there’s no term for someone who doesn’t believe in Zeus so why have a label for something you are NOT, surely you should be labelled for something you ARE?

As my new found friends leave my doorstep to wander back down the drive I have a feeling that I may have picked a fair few labels after all, and some of them may not be considered entirely Christian either :-/

Toodles…

Goddamit, one post at the beginning of this month and I am now only just starting to think of another post at the arse end of the month.  Well that’s not entirely true, there was a post in progress somewhere near the middle which never saw the light of day for various reasons; the primary being it was rubbish.

Of course I still can’t think of anything to write although a lots gone on;

• The chance to see, chat, laugh, drink and celebrate with Parents, Brothers, Sisters, Nephews, Nieces, Cousins, even the ever-itchy footed one, Aunts and Uncles down in Andover for the wedding of my cousin Josie.
• Round two of the GKR Inter-Dojo Drinkie-Poo’s, with its tagline of “be there or be sober!”
• Sun, sun and yet more sun.  Seriously it’s been sunny here!
• Hospital visits and probes.
• ….and probably a few more things that I can’t remember right at this moment.  Maybe I should write these things down?

For some reason, and it was badly written in the unpublished post, I still feel slightly “empty” this month.  The feeling that something is slightly out of your reach and no matter how much you strive for it, it is just that wee bit quicker than what you are.  It’s not always something that tangible either.

The unpublished post was titled “Well I wish I was…” which was a slightly ironic title based on a mucky song that my dad had on a vinyl record back when I was a young whipper-snapper.  The song’s a bit whimsical and British sea-side postcard humour’ish, but the sentiment was what stuck.  I’m not going to attempt to re-iterate what was in there as I couldn’t finish that one, and I want to at least get something posted before the end of this month!

Not entirely sure there’s a point to this post, but I shall attempt to bring my head back to the here-and-now and focus on some personal milestones that are coming up far quicker than I can entirely grasp.  May and June *could* be momentous times in my development and I need to get my shite together, as a friend once eloquently put it.

I can’t help who I am, but I can do something about what I want to be…. maybe.

Laters…