Andy's Blog

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.

You know there is one element of performing the subtle and deadly art of karate, and I’m presuming other similar oriental based martial forms, that isn’t much discussed… worse still it t’would seem to only afflict those of us walking around with a spare Y chromosome, which is quite unfair.

I am of course referring to pants, or if you prefer; budgie smugglers, kecks, undercrackers, briefs, shreddies, tightie-whities, Y-fronts, skivvies, banana hammocks…. whatever your word of choice is.

I am imagining those of you who don’t practise the noble art, or have just started on your journey, are looking at this in some perplexion.  Let me explain;

• The Nut Huggers
  These are those pants that keep EVERYTHING down below in place and they are damn well not gonna move.  In everyday use these are perfectly fine, as long as you mind the tiny screams of a million spermola crying out in terror and then permanently silenced.

You will probably be feeling rather smug with yourself whilst doing warm-ups in the dojo.  The ‘boys’ are staying in place and there’s none of that painful wandering around as you leap around before the proper karate starts.

However, dear uninitiated one, fear the call of “Zenkutsu dachi, KAMAE”!  It is at this point as your leg moves swiftly behind you, one shoulder width wide and two shoulder widths long, that your ear drums gain a pair of testicles.

• Born Free
  Your crown jewels were never meant to be caged up and  you feel duty bound to set the ‘boys’ free to wander whence they please.  A little tear comes to your eye as you envision them frolicking unbound in the virtual Serengeti that is your baggies.

Clackety clack!

Start the warming up procedure at the beginning of class and things will VERY quickly change for you.  That little tear of joy that came unbidden to your eye earlier will become tears of another sort as your plums turn into castanets… especially when Sensei calls out “Stepping… STRETCH IT OUT”!

…and as one of my friends, @plognark, pointed out on twitter; “Doing a side kick with your testicles stuck down one leg is a unique agony”.

I find a good pair  of “trunks” does the job just fine for me, just enough embrace to keep the man tonsils in check but not too much to choke the poor devils.

Of course the design of these I leave to your own personal tastes as this has no bearing on your pursuit of karate excellentness.  I have however seen them in Batman flavour and if I ever find some Honk Kong Phooey themed panties I will be *ALL* over them – I have a feeling my karate will be taken to a whole new level of awesomeness with those bad boys on!

Anyways that’s my number one tip in your pursuit of Black Belt godliness, find a good pair of pants and buy LOTS of them just in case..  let’s just keep this lesson between ourselves though eh?  Just think of the huge advantage you’ll have over your sparring partner as you stand there in the warm comforting embrace of your kecks as your opponent plays some flamenco passo doble with their undercarriage.

HAJIME!!

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…

I won’t dwell on the week that has just passed as it has been one of *THE* most painful, physically, that I have experienced for a long while.. but more importantly my previous post went through a complete rant on how I wouldn’t mention this kind of thing again, and it seems a little churlish to make the following post completely ignore that half-baked promise.

Instead I shall concentrate on what I know now that I didn’t know last week;

• The song “Turning Japanese” by The Vapors is about masturbation, whacking-one-off, spanking the monkey, etc, etc… Seriously, I didn’t know Officer!
• You can make scrambled eggs in the microwave!  This was a moment of epiphany for me and smacks of witchcraft and necromancy.  I haven’t actually seen this devilry in action, but I have been told in good authority that this is actually possible.
• “But it’s alright if you act like a turd, ’cause i like….. birds” is both awesome *AND* perfectly acceptable as lyrics for a song.
• Abdominal muscles when they involuntarily spasm and tighten, for two whole days, is eye wateringly painful *AND* makes it almost impossible to poop.  I missed the pooping.
• Spaghetti does not grow on trees.  I am still getting this one confirmed, am not entirely convinced.
• Calling a surgeon “Doctor” is considered an insult by them… that’s one to file away for future reference, but only for AFTER they’ve had their hands in your innards.
• It *IS* possible to make peas taste worserererer

I try, as a general rule, to maintain an air of general ignorance at all times – however these little snippets did manage to permeate my thick noggin, which I now pass onto you for your delectation and hope that you find them as useful as I did.

Laters…

Arse Feck Drink!

You know what? I am bored of this now; the ups ‘n downs, the no-news, the unwelcome news and all the bits in between.  I am tired of writing about it, almost as much as you are reading about it.. probably.

I am supposed to be at Karate now, getting my unfit body dragged and beaten up around a School hall somewhere in Northamptonshire, and I was all but there… instead I am now here in a foul mood and desperately trying not to drag this post down into a long list of anglo-saxon, and some exciting newly invented, words.

Quite frankly everybody has an “It” of their own without me adding to the It’iness of it all.  So henceforth “It” shall not be getting any more column space on this little irrelevant corner of the T’interweb unless it’s a post with a title along the lines of “So long and thanks for all the fish”.

That of course may change as I am a man of short memory and whimsical nature, and this is my blog and I’ll whine if I want to – to paraphrase Barbara Gaskin

There is a lot to love about Spring finally sprunging [sic] its way onto the scene; the sun warming us itinerant t-shirt wearers, the blossoming of tulips and other flowery things, the sweet twittering of birdies, the tinkle of ice-cream vans as they slowly reappear after a lengthy hibernation, hot air balloons making their lazy way across the sky, yay even the ridiculously D&G bespeckled mid-life crisisee in his open top cabriolet gives one pause to snigger smile…

..and thus was I skipping through the daisies in a merry old mood, or less poetically strolling through Corley Service Station on the M6 after filling up the horseless carriage with liquid gold (or at least that’s what I hoped it was after I paid over a small mortgage), when my eyes did fall upon the less welcoming aspect of Spring’s sprunging.

Bent over double in front of me as I entered the shop, and searching through the sweets on the bottom shelf, was a pair of leggings.  Leggings stretched to a thin almost eye-wateringly see-through veneer.  Pale, cream coloured leggings, which were slowly coming up for air from betwixt the cheeks of a very VERY generously proportioned set of but-tocks.

Unfortunately the desperately escaping leggings also brought up a memento of their explorations of the inner workings of their host.

There is a moment when you feel as one with the bunny rabbits as they stare, frozen, at the oncoming headlights.

It was at this moment, of frozen horror, that some joker walking behind me looked over and, with (I hope) sarcasm, lets out a loud wolf whistle and exclamation of “Phwoar! Nice arse luv!”.. before continuing his journey onto wherever.

I looked in almost stunned admiration at his rapidly retreating frame, I would never have the balls to make THAT kind of statement.  It was then that I noticed that the bunny killing headlights were now smiling towards ME!

I don’t think I knocked over too many women and children in my hasty exit, I think I may have confused many more with my “roll on Winter” comment…

You know, in the midst of a mountain of things to worry about; lumps re-appearing, lumps being gauged out, ritual draining of blood, tiredness, soreness and wondering what the local quack will say when next you see them…  it’s the stupid little things that can surprisingly pick you up.

She beats me mercilessly around the dojo whenever the opportunity arises, uses parts of my body for punching and kicking practise, frequently uses a sly little put down to pop any form of self delusion I pamper myself with and more often than not can see through the mountain of bullshit I throw up in front of me to obfuscate the mountain of worry that’s bringing me down;

…Missing your skirt and legs :’( x

It’s a stupid little text message, done fairly late in the evening, and I am fairly sure has a certain amount of alcohol fuelling it… but despite all of that the day seems a little less of a downer already

Thanks for that :’)
xxx