So I read this and I had this flash back to Wednesday. “So when’s the wedding?” my aunt says, chopping up veg. There’s that hush, all my aunts and my mum are in the kitchen. I’m just there to get tea and for a moment I try and think of any weddings that I’ve been invited to. This comes up a blank, I don’t know of any weddings. Then I realise that in my quest for a cup of Assam I’m blundered into a fucking ambush and the wedding that they’re referring to is mine; only I haven’t proposed to anyone.
Then another flashback, if you’re bipolar you have flashbacks within flashbacks and this one is of dad, who is nigh on deaf yelling into the phone, “he’s bringing his girlfriend!”. He meant C. They mean C. They think C is my girlfriend.
Everyone is down for dad’s 80th Birthday party, it’s one of those family things and so C is presumed to be part of the family. “Actually, she’s not my girlfriend?” There’s that disapproving silence. “Is she not? We thought that she was”. This is actually a conversation I’ve had multiple times.
Now for the record, C is not my girlfriend. We’ve not even had sex. The closest I get to sex with C is maybe a cheeky squeeze of her huge boobs. Later on we’re at the dinner table. Another of my aunts asks, “So how long have you known her?” “About ten or twelve years” I say. My aunt shoots me a sideways glance of disapproval and says nothing. Then at the meal this aunt is sitting by C and myself. “So how long have you known each other?” C answers. “How did you meet?”. Then another disapproving look.
All bloody week, “So how long have you known C?”
So the air bed turned out to be a disaster. Essentially it’s like sleeping on a leather sofa: it always feels cold, even with sheets on it. So I didn’t sleep last night. Naturally this led to me being grumpy today.
The meal went fine though, we went to this little brasserie that a friend of my dad owns and the food was excellent. I had the white onion soup, the sirloin steak and the cheese board. So dad had a pretty good birthday, I made a brief speech. W00t.
Tonight I’ve broken out my sleeping bag, my beloved sleeping bag which has kept my ass warm on -10C nights out in the Brecon beacons.
So economic migrants have descended upon us. They can barely speak English; one even referred to the tea as “peely wally“. Then they demanded access to the WiFi and I’ve even been forced into providing tech support.
Worst of all I have been evicted from my room and have been forced to set up what I am calling my “alternate command post” or “alpha site” since I am now sleeping on an air bed. It’s better than saying that I’ve been relegated to the dining room which would be the more technically correct way of saying it.
One of the things I really like about me is that I love fighting. Like any chance I get where I feel that I’m justified in smashing someone into the floor, I’ll take it. Other guys need to work themselves up for it, I can’t wait for it because smashing people into the floor is what I do for fun. Literally it is my hobby.
So we’re in the pub and these two guys are having an argument and one guy leaves and the other guy comes and sits by us loudly telling us how fine he is and how everything is alright. Between Jboy and me and this guy is a group of women. So the guy who left suddenly comes back and he’s offering to take on all comers and one of the women is telling him to get out and fuck off and he’s threatening her.
At this point I’ve taken out my wallet and my phone and put them to one side because I’m now waiting for an excuse to flatten him. The moment he moved to hit her I’d have flattened him. So then this douche, realising that the entire pubs is watching him threatens the entire pub again. Then he looks at me. Great. I want him to kick off. I really want him to kick off. I want that excuse that allows me to smash him into the middle of next week. Does he give it to me? No.
I’m not going to lie, I thought about provoking the situation. Instead he looks at me for a couple of seconds. I sip my pint, holding eye contact with him, and he starts going on about how he can have someone there in half an hour to shoot us all with a shotgun. I nearly laughed.
Thinking on it I have this gesture where I push my already rolled up sleeves up; it’s something that I do all the time in Aikido and it’s become a general unconscious habit. I slide my right hand up my left forearm until it pushes the sleeve up and then, of course, my left hand is on my right elbow and I push that sleeve up. It’s so unconscious that I will do this in the middle of four man attack or between techniques. I wouldn’t be surprised if I did this while he was looking at me.
It’s not the least intimidating gesture in the world.
Ow. I may have somewhat crippled myself in training. I seem to have this slowly spreading back pain.
In more positive news my mood was cured by said kebab, followed by a double cheese burger. After this I felt much better and in fact I may now be slightly manic. So there.
I feel that this is generally a good thing. I woke up on Sunday and put on Hed Kandi: Serve Chilled, sat down my bed and it suddenly dawned on me that this isn’t my usual, normal, behavior. Then today I went to bed at 5am and got up at 9am fresh as a daisy and basically got everything I need to do this week done before I went training.
Also I’m being sent on a first aid course so that I’m officially an assistant instructor. This costs a small fortune but fortunately the dojo is paying so I don’t care.
I came to this realisation too: a lot of the time when I practice I’m actually not even attempting to do the technique. Like we have this new guy and I’m doing the technique with my upper body strength rather than my hips and the technique doesn’t work all that well. Then I’ll practice with someone else and smash them into the mat. If I was training with B or R like we used to train it’d be brutal. It was brutal, we’d be throwing full force atemi at each other, smashing techniques on and the only reason there weren’t injuries is because our ukemi was so good. Training like that is a whole different level of intensity where the difference between training and fighting gets a bit blurred.
ZOMFG. I suppose this is why I love John le Carré: I don’t really go in for spy novels all that much but there’s something about le Carré that just captures how the Brits would like to see themselves and perhaps how the rest of the world sees us and it’s awesome. Especially in an age of things being dumbed down and the left trying to undermine everything of value and all sense of identity.
I can read le Carré and I think “Yes, I want to be like that“.
I feel like shit. I alternate between this kind of sort of heavy feeling and feeling outright sadness and self hatred. I woke up this morning and nearly started crying. I felt so useless and like I’m a shit person and I’m unloveable and my life is pointless. Then I fell asleep and woke up, lay there rationalising my life and realising that it wasn’t bad at all, fell asleep again, woke up again feeling………..better.
I was thinking of going out tonight but I’m just not in the mood for it. I’m not in the mood for anything really.
Actually that’s just cheered me up: My mate’s going on a date and we’re having this convo where it’s like, paraphrasing, “I want to pull out of it because he’s a child”. Seriously, nothing cheers me up more than hearing my female friends talk about men. My biggest dumbass mistake is that I fall for people I can’t have and then find every other woman boring. I’ve never done anything on the list of the amazingly retarded things that guys seem to do habitually.