I feel I have to write a post before I go to work. I'm too tired and achey to cycle and swim this morning, plus The Hobo is rather too keen to go out on the lash tonight for our now regular Tuesday fixture pubcrawling around Soho because we're Bon Viveurs, so tube it is.
I really, really, really hope I don't get drunk and rambling.
I'm having doubts about my self defence classes already. I used to do Shotokan Karate about eight years ago - a delayed reaction to being beaten up a few years prior to that - and forgot what maniacs the teachers are. Body Toning, sure. Suppleness, Stamina, Physical Fitness, brilliant. But these fuckers really do get a kick out of Kicking. And Punching, and Gouging, and swaggering as if they own the place. And I find it all very unsettling. Plus I don't like authority. I've only had three lessons and I've already got a grading in a little over a week. A week! I haven't learnt anything yet!
Last night, I got 'Change Stance!' confused with 'Turn Round!' I had been in the front row performing punches parrot fashion and looking at a Very Wet and Exhausted large man in the mirror. Suddenly our psychopathic Sensei barked out an order so I turned round and saw a sea of confused faces looking at me.
'Change Stance!' I was yelled at.
For some reason, I looked down at my feet. I then looked back up and realised that if thirty people were all facing me then I'm probably the odd one out, so I turned back round to face the mirror and changed to right foot forward instead of left.
'Well done!' yelled Psycho. 'You Twat!'
I'm paying them for this.
Then I told my Mum about my blog, and she seems to like it. Until it dawned on me that there's an awful lot of admissions here and now I'm hoping she's missed those bits.
Except she'll probably read this and go back and start again. I should probably shut up.
I'm getting ladymail. This is very strange. Normally the mail I get from ladies are restraining orders. These emails are lovely and friendly and telling me not to shave. So now I'm confused. Will someone please tell me how I'm supposed to look? Trinny & Susannah will do. (Yes, I know it's 'Tips for Girls' but I'm about to be late for work.)
On the plus side, my lovely Muslim lady friend and Trotter the tiny pocket Hindu have agreed to help me choose a new wardrobe in the January sales. I am phenomenally excited. I seem to have given up smoking, I'm enjoying my working week more than ever, I'm exercising more, and women with a beard fetish are getting in touch.
This weekend I'm off to Brighton for a Lads' Weekender. Either something huge will happen and we'll all end up arrested, or else we'll get drunk, eat a kebab, and go home crying into our pillows. (Ok, just me.)