Last Updated: 09/23/2007

sadd

05/05/06

No I'm not dead!! ( and no smart arse remarks from anybody that has ever fought me), I have been busy in an way that has quite cramped my style ( if the same people who fought me before and sniggered at the first comment, are now laughing out loud, they can just bugger off).
Yes, the Great and smelly stickfight has had his metal truly tested, what with job changes, financial changes, personal life changes, and on at least one occasion a nappy change, I have been not even paying proper attention to the Nobel art of getting into a cold smelly kevlar suit and smacking someone with a bit of metal until told to stop, but low and unto (and maybe a verily) I return, I am back into the top 100 (not that, that is saying much in England) Steve Paul is back teaching fencing, and the Maynard's are again putting up with something nasty and hairy in the their car on trips to comps.

but before the new views of the Nobel art again entertain you, let us tell of the attempts to get back into training, via that most sad and deranged place "the gym", "THE GYM" I hear you cry, is not the gym an impossible place for a mind as titanically active as sticktight's to reside in for even 5 mins, and you would be right!!, its bloody boring!!!, but I does have one or 2 advantages

1) It right next to my place of work (and by right next too, I mean it!!, we can see the places wireless network from our office), so I can get a shower in the morning before I work (each morning I start work, clean and beautiful smelling only faintly of sweaty leotards)
2) I can try and build a body fit of fencing (and no that does not mean able to walk like a crab and drink a bottle of vodka a night)
3) its cheap!!!!

but just like fencing it has its odd moments, for example, I am happy standing in the showers scrubbing myself down when I notice the bloke on my left looking fixedly over the stickfight shoulder (its one of those big "C" shaped open shower blocks) at something behind me, and the bloke to his left is looking at the same thing, the look of horror on both of their faces is nearly enough for me to not look round, but it could be a large male rhino, with a bottle of viagra and rape on his mind, so I have to make sure!!, I nonchalantly whip round and slam my back against the wall (trying no to attract anyone's attention), and find that the guy behind me is looking at me (not immediately an act that makes me panic, though I have been in London long enough to now consider it an act of overt aggression) what does worry me however is the fact he seems to be washing his member with a little to much vigour for a healthy clean living boy ( lets face it!!, he was having a flipping WANK), what do you do in such a situation? a) beat him to death with your "Pan Ten pro-V" 2) help him finish off {sound of sticktight noisily retching into a bucket at the thought} 3) run for it?

I turn to face the other 2 blokes, to see if they have any options, only to find they have legged it!! leaving with the "warm water wanker!!", so I do the only British thing possible, I ignore him!! (there was no little signs of a picture of a hand tugging a knob with a big red line though them {heaven help him if he had been smoking}) happily I finished before he did {no not the wank}, and left him to what I personally think should truly be a solitary activity.

*****Damb and blast it******* I have had to pull out of the slough open (yes yes I know that is old news but I have a lot to catchup on), after a load of hard effort in training and the fact that Steve was going to be there and everything, my private life has again bitten me severely in the testicles and run off laughing into the night, so its off back to sunny skeg I go to look after the kids!!!!, for those of you wondering at my extend disappearance from the fencing work (socially rather than fighting wise it is mainly due to the fact that my wife is training to become a teacher, which for some reason best know to her majesty's government, involves working more hours than there are in a day with has increased the stress in the stickfight household, which in turn has lead to my inlaws moving in to help with the kids which..........lets just day that in certain ways the stress level has not gone down)...oh well hay ho!! and back to fencing we go!

OK I am now a confirmed traitor, in that I have abandoned LTFC and now live permanently at haverstock (reasons for the move, Steve moved to haverstock, more fencers, more boxes, nearer, cheaper, better coaches, footwork sessions...nuff said) I still fight for 126, but most of my weekly skulking is done up at the new haverstock school

And finally todays sage comment from the lips of stickfight is "you know when you are tired when you not only put on a novelty pair of boxer shorts but you put them on the wrong way round"


01/07/05

Something to do during the off session -->


Fencing is a gentlemans sport, refined, controlled, calm.......................right

exhibit A: exhibit B:

1 week to go to the nationals..HELP

27/06/05

Before we start, it has been pointed out that punctuation would make these little rants much easier to understand, so here is some: ....,,,!;:'''.,,..,';;;;!! , please feel free to place these wherever you might want them, in order to help the comprehension process.

Since my last update the world of fencing has not been the greatest of places for me, I have consistently sucked at every competition culminating in a 128 at Slough - a crime for which I understand that the punishment is having your balls boiled in syrup and served to a yak when cool, and all this with only months to go before Steve Paul retires from active coaching (Noooooo!!, I have seen the future, and it has "plate" competitions in it), there is however a plus side and that is the fleche, I now use it at any given moment and has saved me from no end of terrible defeats at club, but saying that it has caused problems in non-fencing life, for example the following are a list of activities that should not contains a fleche:

1) climbing down stairs
2) repairing a computer
3) sleeping on a narrow bed
4) boiling noodles

At the moment it is not something to be proud of but it is getting hits purely on the basis of people going "Jesus Christ!!" and trying to run for it. But it’s progress (sort of :-< )

****STOP PRESS****

Oh, bugger!!!, I've broken my collar bone, <start tune> "the leg bone is connected to the foot bone, the foot bone is connected to the toe bone, the broken collar bone is connected to the IDIOT!!!!" <end tune (shoot band) >, Yes it is true stickfight has lost a fight, while there is nothing un usual in that, this time I have lost to a static opponent, their name is "Mr. Floor", or "Mr. Concrete Floor at Haverstock" to be precise, it all starting with the losing the Marek lesson (see further down this rant for details), so the following week I was going to do footwork like I meant it, I was to the God of foot work, people would couch in fear at my “5 steps forward 3 steps back”, flee in terror at “ 10 step lunges in your own time” and throw their babies at my feet to prevent “bouncing on the spot, now forward, now back” in short I WAS TO BE INCREEEEDDDIII<sound of footsteps approaching from a distance>…..”SLAP”…..<footsteps recede>…….OUCH! yes well… thank you sweetness, perhaps I was getting carried away, any how I was in shorts, I had warmed up and I was going for it (hell I was even trying to keep up with the pace Marek wanted!!) all was going swimmingly, until the fleche practice, Ha! Say I, have I not got Steve Paul as one of my coaches, a man feared throughout the carbon based universe for his fleche, has he not been passing on his wisdom though many patient hours of sensei like instruction (only stopping periodically to bang his head on the wall), this will be a walk in the park, so it’s a simple game a coach stands at 90 degrees to you with a coaching sleeve, you’re in the on guard position, you fleche in your own time and they try and give you a slap on the rump if your too slow, first time round, I get got (not surprising really, I fleche like dirty laundry!!) the second time around I vow it will be different, VOW!! I TELL YOU!!! I WILL BE REVENGED UPON THE DEATH OF MY BROTHER!!,…Eh?, so I get ready and whoosh, I am off, now at this point it gets a bit confusing, and I can only give you my account which is I little confused, as far as I can tell I pushed far to hard and was far too tense, while having my back leg up far too high, so that when the tap from the coach’s sleeve came (because we all know that just pushing hard does not make you any faster, more’s the pity) it caught my heel, this gave my naff fleche all the help it needed to turn to a stumble and a fall, I land on a mixture of head and sword arm shoulder, now at this point you can choice between 2 story lines (isn’t this exciting?) story line A is how it lives on in my mind, storyline B is how the evil and rumor spreading swine who were watching me tell it:

A) I recover with elegance and grace, rise with dignity, and having never lost my poise, reassure my adoring fans that I am uninjured, pausing only for a moment of quiet contemplation I stalk outside for some well earned rest, after which, and some expert self diagnosis, I return to the main hall to calmly inform the club secretary that I have a minor fracture of the clavicle, and would she be kind enough to summon medical assistance in order that I might reset the bone, and continue with the footwork session.


B) I stagger to my feet like a neutered red setter (not the world’s cleverest dog), bang into the wall, mumble to the frantic head coach that “Immm Allreet, just gana seet dooown for a bit”, crash into a couple of things and slump down near my bag. After sitting there for a couple of mins, I rise to my feet like Lazarus from the dead (but worse looking) {apologies to Spike Milligan}, and fending off questions from concerned Haverstock staff members, exit the main hall, finding somewhere quiet to sit down I wait for the dizziness to pass so I can go back in, but my arm hurts strangely, I have a feel round and JESUS CHRIST!!!, there is a bit of bone stuck out in a way it has not done before, OH HELP, I shuffle back in the hall and beg for someone to get me an ambulance, the club secretary, who had already been very concerned that my complexion had gone from pink to bone white as I left the hall, is now none too happy at all to see that it has turned a pleasant pastel green, and immediately summons people to help, while she phones up, I am surrounded by people who cover me up, give me a drink of water and pack my fencing kit away (although I am sure someone got some colour code cards out as they thought my new skin colour would look fab in their drawing room).

Next stage: the ambulance
The ambulance comes and the medics are fab, promptly pumping me full of gas and whisking me away, I tell you it is slightly embarrassing to actually sweat buckets because you are in pain, but we have a good time in the ambulance (no!! not like that!!! ), talking about the relevant merits of GPS navigation opposed to the time needed to learn the knowledge of the streets of London, once we arrive (did you know they take you to the hospital nearest to your home, isn’t that cool), I am made to sit in a wheel chair, an act even more embarrassing than my stupidity in tripping over my legs in the first place, so we enter the hospital with two medics pushing a man in a chair with 2 swords and a paper bag on his head (yes I remembered the eye holes), now follows much boredom, with me sitting around a long time in x-ray rooms, in casualty rooms, wanting to club silly gits to death who annoy the doctors (the sound of an epee being drawn is interrupted by a doctor saying “its your turn”, “yes, you’ve broken your collar bone”, this news hits me like a thunder bolt from heaven, I would never have guessed, not with that lump of bone pointing out of my shoulder!!!, he then gives a sling that for all the world looks like pipe lagging with a cable tie, a pack of pain killers, and a cherry goodbye, “Can’t I get a lift home?” I ask, “Nope, bye” comes the reply. Bugger!!! it is with a great deal of pain and more than a few rude words that I make my way home, my flat mate (42) takes one look at me, raises an eyebrow and goes back to watching the TV (he is used to the results of fencing… I have fallen asleep on the stairs before), a night of pain killers and killing pain follows only interrupted by worried fencing coach checking on me!.

After 2 weeks I return to the fight (after being called all sorts of rude and I have to say unfair names by people) but fighting right handed, for the next 4 weeks and 1 comp, and get shoed at all times, discovering and rediscovering that you are as weak as a kitten on your wrong side. You do a parry that should stop dead any attempt to embed a sword in your chest and guess what, you end up with a sword embedded in your chest, the assailant just ignored your parry, its very unsettling, and I spent some time raging at the cruelty of the world (but not in two physical a sense, as loose bones grinding around in your chest due to you beating your fists on it hurts something wicked).

(It should be noted at this point that I only got banned at 1 fencing club during my time of infirmity and that was Redhill. Howser said I kept wincing and thrashing about while I fenced, the fact that it only happened with him and that was because he kept flick hitting the bits of bone he could see for some reason did not hold any weight!!!!!)

What however this all means is although I have gained a new upstanding of distance (despite my coaches already screaming at me for 2 years about it) I have totally screwed up two of my points holding comps, which means I will go down a lot, I had really hoped not to have this happen as I have a nasty feeling about the nationals. I had a very easy ride last year and got a 32, but it is now worth well over half of my point so if I screw it up this year or only get a 64 , I am going dowwwwn,.................Ah sod it!!, let’s just stab someone.

****START PRESS****

SWORDS!!! Bloody things, how long have we been making them, hundreds of years!!!!!! and can I have one for more than 2 months without the bloody thing snapping?? No such luck, they hate me, they plot against me, I hear them whispering at night in their bag, working out when best to snap, but I will get them in the end, they won’t make it out the easy way, I will start using daddy swords and hold their wife and baby swords hostage and if they dare to break!, well then <RRRRRRRRR!!!> it's the angle grinder for their size 2 offspring, Hahahahahahaha!!! .........cough!, but on a serious note I break so many (11 in 2 years, that my flat mate has introduced a house rule that I am not allowed to break a sword before I have thrown the last bust one away, currently I have 2 in use, one has NO set and the other is held together with medical tape. It’s a sorry state of affairs. Combined with the state of my kit (which looks like it has been rubbed with a mixture of rust and urine) and the plasters holding my fingers together, I look like that instead of saluting people before a fight I should try and sell them a copy of the ‘Big Issue’.

Have also starting going to Haverstock more and more, but last night I failed a Marek lesson "Weeeeeeeeak!!!!" as far as I can tell this is an unofficial thing, but basically consists of Marek pushing you until one of 2 things happen 1) your time is up and people are waiting = you win 2) you stop for a breath and Marek says one more and that’s the end of your lesson = you fail. I have a feeling that I got one of these due to me missing foot work ( in my defence I had just had a hell of a 10 hour working day and was completely knackered), but I put up a terrible show of it and during my lesson to my utter embarrassment it seemed that someone had stolen all the oxygen from inside my mask, gasping after only about 5 -10 mins (feeble I know, but it felt like hours).........but rest assured I will be back fit, healthy (well fit anyway) and will wreak a terrible revenge (well, I will make it though the lesson!)

Still going to Redhill and Reigate, and it’s really worth the trip, lots of good people and all of them trying like hell. They are starting to get good results at comps (still no showers ...Yuk! ) so after a number of hard bouts I start on the joy that is my return to the train station, come join me in this most pleasant walk, on a summer’s night it is a glorious stroll through the joys of England’s countryside and a ramble over the clean lines of a golf course,....however...at this time of year it’s a pain in the arse slog though a pitch dark wood (crashing into trees and having minor heart attacks as a birds/bats/owls/leaves/demon spawned from the seventh level of hell flap in your face, it’s so dark in fact that I don’t notice the fog, that waits until I have go out on to the top of the golf course, I happily wander into its clutches, content to be out of the wood, 5 mins later, I can see about 6 feet and have absolutely no idea where I am (other than England, and that is a bit tricky). Oh. I think, this is actually a bit on the spooky side, never mind, a bit of music will calm it all down, I flip my I-pod onto random and the strains of Michael Jackson's "Thriller" fill my ears, lovely!!! marvellous!!! SOD!!!!!!!


Today's top health tip: never chocolate coat ferrets, not only does it ruin an otherwise healthy snack, it makes the ferret very very angry

That's it for this time, but there are more T-shirts up and more to come -also I have got to finish the audio footwork

P.S.

On the www.zazzle.com stuff for the T-shirts, if you are ordering for import to England try to keep your order under £18 as this stops it from triggering the import tax, if anybody knows of a good place to get t-shirts printed in England please tell me.

P.P.S

Have been given the perfect excuse as to what to say when people ask me why I do so badly at comps, I have to say "sometimes I am teepee, some times I'm wigwam", when you they look at you quizzically, you say "two tents" (too tense), oh as far as comps go you will start to see the videos again, because the camera has come by to the land of the living again, where has it been what dark force has been keeping use deprived of such great movies as we used to see, well the damn thing turns out to have been living in sin with a red biro in one of my boots under the stairs, why?? Bugger knows, but my son is looking guilty (not that odd for a small boy, I know),

P.P.P.S.

You know the fabric tape you see the better fencers use (the Sussex house lot leap to mind) to cover their fingers/feet and other sore parts on their bodies (Steady!!!!) well, I borrowed some off Mr. Lane to patch a wire on a Stick and some blood on me, and it is fantastic, but it had no brand name on the roll and nothing to identify what it was called, after some digging and some asking (thanks Mrs. Maynard and Mr. Lane) I can now reveal that it is called "Zinc Oxide Tape" and it is a bugger to get at places like Boots but easy to get online (well at least in the UK) I have found that http:\\www.primarycaresupplies.co.uk do it and are quite cheap (£1.15 Per roll for their top of the range stuff "Supreme Sport Superior Quality Zinc Oxide Tape 3.8cm Wide" http://www.primarycaresupplies.co.uk/product.php?xProd=83968 )

P.P.P.P.S

I really mean it about the boiling noodles.