Actually, this seems like a good moment to start a new volume.

Think of it as an end of series cliff hanger moment.

And so the Doctor crawls to his comfy deckchair, and by complete irony never makes it. He lies on the cool grass under the lovely sunshine that is peeking out through the clouds.

Despite our attempts at neat and tidy repertoire the longsword tournament was still a murderous affair. As the rounds proceeded the fights became rougher and harder and more brutal. Usually I fight single hander in a relaxed manner. In fact, and this is a secret, inside my mask I usually sing quietly. This relaxes me and keeps me loose. Considering the weather on this day I sang 'Singing in the Rain'. However, to keep it topical I changed to lyrics to 'Fighting in the Rain'.

But the longsword was different. As the rounds progressed I became more and more brutal in my approach, and increasingly angry. Then, all of a sudden, the final is called. Yes, I'm in the final. Me.

Bloody hell.

I'm so tired by this point. So so tired. But I must fight once more. So I shrug off my fatigue and go to face my opponent. I'm tired. I'm worked up. The only thing between me and sitting down is my opponent. He must die.

So I proceed to batter him. He must have been thinking the same thing because he proceeds to batter me. The minutes roll on and on and I'm still not sitting down. My opponent was between me and my very comfy deck chair. This makes me angry. Would my opponent just simply have the good grace to bloody well die. I remember little of the fight. I simply wanted my opponent out of my way, and gone.

And so by this time I hack and slay and jab and stab and punch and kick and do just about anything to keep him off me. And I'm getting angrier and angrier. La Bete could tell. I believe at one point our blades met, and rather than simply wind in from the right, I spun completely around clockwise to deliver a blow from the left. Very Crouching Tiger.

And eventually time was running down. 30 seconds to go. I figure I had done enough, but then I remembered some advice I had given the Parolee some minutes before. When you feel like you are ahead it is very tempting to hang back for the last few seconds of the fight. To simply maintain. To maintain your supposed lead, and to maintain life and limb. But no. It may only take one good big beautful attack from your opponent to swing the fight his way. Keep going. Step up a gear and muller your opponent. Dont stop. Fight right to the end.

So I did. 30 seconds to go and I'm going to puke straight through my mask. However, I squeeze 30 seconds more fight out of my battered self. At long last we are called to a halt.

And I'd won.

I won the entire longsword tournament. The Doctor is too tired to be pleased, but accepts the crowds delightful applause as best he can.

In fact, in all my many many years of swordfighting I've never actually won an entire competition before. Never. Ever.

I don't remember much about the rest of my fights. The nausia left me as soon as I started to fight. Each round was two or three minutes long with no stopping. So, quite tiring. I figure my stamina helped me a great deal in these fights.

Despite these athletic endevours, I figure that sucesses were achieved as a result of a little experiment that the Doctor and the Parolee have been indulging in over the last few weeks. It was all started by the Python, and can be generally described as follows.

We trusted the technique.

Rather than try to beat opponents ourselves, I figure we both tried to allow the technique to do the job for us. Hence for the last few weeks we have been drilling. But not drilling in the usual sense, drilling as formal sparring. Drilling as free play. I've described this in previous entries, but put quite simply we've drilled as attacker and defender, but left the choice of repertiore wide open. Thus we get the opportunity to experiment with formal drills but in a random, flexible but controlled environment.

Hence, when we got into a fight I think we both felt the situation felt more like our drill than a fight. And ontop of all that we both found ourselves following a piece of advice mentioned by the Python some weeks ago.

I paraphrase - 'Don't try to second guess your opponent too much. In fact, ignore him in the main. Just decide what technique you are going to employ and manipulate the situation so that you can employ it. Then, when the timing is right, just execute your repertoire as neatly and effectively as you can'

And so I found myself, and I guess also the Parolee, searching my opponent's movements for those actions that seemed similar and familiar to our drills. Thus when this was spotted just stepping through the appropriate drill without too much attention to the opponent's reaction. Of course, if things don't seem to be going right one would abort in the main, but perhaps occasionally try to manage the new situation if conditions allowed.

Trust your repertoire.

Man of the match was the Parolee. Despite only starting his longsword studies a few months ago he performed most excellently. He hammered folk who have been studying longsword for years. He performed his repertoire accurately and closed to grapple whenever he could.

Oh Good God. Now I have to fight tooth and nail on a very full stomache. My body is already reacting to the prospect of action. I'll puke for sure.

So, the tournament entrants line up. All look somewhat handy. It's a direct elimination. There are about 16 of us so that's four rounds. The trouble is it's hard to remember much. I was feeling sick, nervy, tired and anxious. In addition I was feeling too terrible to film so all I can provide is the occasional snatch of memory - all firmly from my point of view, I'm afraid. If anyone else has more, then please mail me.

The rules were simple. You will not only be judged on your successes, but also on your style. The judging is therefore somewhat subjective. I very much approved of this stance, but more on this later.

This is a tournament with wooden wasters. So, the fights were hard and painful. Depite these rigours I was somewhat amused in my first fight by an entertaining discovery. Some competitors wore escima masks. Rather than a wire mesh, these masks have heavy metal bars upon the faceplate. Thus when you hit them with wood they make a loud and satifying 'ting!'

During this fight I formulated a plan. Whilst attempting to execute nice neat successful moves I figured it would be very satisfying to set up a nice regular tempo of ringing from my opponent's mask. So, alternative targets were discarded and the mask was assaulted. I figure I did a reasonable job of this.

Ting!, ting!, ting!.

So, Sunday proceeds for the Doctor with more sparring. I am most happy to once again get the opportunity to fight Johnathan M. of Linacre. I very much like to fight this fellow. He's very neat, fast and somewhat dangerous. I havent fought him for ages and am suprised to find that his hand has become even faster and stronger. Thus the Doctor gets the opportunity to test himself against another tricky customer.

Then it's lunch. More pig. I've fought hard and so am somewhat hungry. So, I wolf down a huge pile of roast pig. I'm stuffed. I'm happy. I feel a bit sick.

Then the call goes out.

We slept under canvas on Saturday night. Well, some of us slept. Unfortunately la Bete decided to introduce everyone to his world class, olympic standard snoring. I'm now quite used to it. However the poor little Sylvanian was somewhat disturbed by hours of this thunderous bellowing.

(the Python announces...

I would like to add that La Bete's bellowing also woke me up a good hour before anybody else... or at least I got up before them - Sylvanian was actually awake but trying to convince herself that she was asleep and that La Bete's gutteral rumblings were in fact a nightmare. I even tried poking him, maybe 10 or 15 times, but this only achieved about 2 seconds peace each time. Eventually I actually tried pushing his shoulder in an attempt to get him onto his side, but he spread his legs apart and braced himself, like a veteran seaman in a storm. So I gave up and got up. I didn't think putting my socks in his mouth would go down very well...

- the Python)

The Doctor woke bright and early, feeling good for his alchoholic moderation. The day started with a pugelism competion. None of Schola entered. I'm not much of a boxer, and I was very keen to keep my nose intact. So, I fought Ian M. once more. This time with single-sticks. A most satifying fight. Ian is very neat and tidy and rather good, and so is a delight to spar with. In particular he has some very fancy repertoire which was lovely to watch as I attempted to brutally jam my weapon into his head. My favorite was his very effective high octave which sweeps into a massive and satisfying wallop to the head.

Of particular note was a little improvisation from the Doctor. I'm a little hazy on the details, but I'll do my best. After defending myself from a blow the Doctor somehow manages to get his point in Ian's face in a sort of right handed longsword fenestre. I dont know if I was holding the weapon with one hand or two. Anyway, I ram the weapon into my opponent's face which somehow forces him floorwards. Now, I'm charging forwards at this point, but my opponent is heading towards the floor and is in my path. So, there's only one thing for it. I dive gracefully up and forwards and and fly over my opponent for some considerable distance before landing into a forwards roll. My roll sends me back onto my feet. My weapon is still in my hand.

Apparently this acrobatics has been caught on film.

Saturday ended with dinner and a wee drinky. Once again the Exiles excelled themselves and provided a whole spit roast pig to feed our hard fought hunger. Most tasty. Then after dinner a wee drinky or ten. Actually, the Doctor managed to avoid getting completely pissed and behaved himself quite well. Super. Well done me.

After much booze Dave R. slept in a barn. Or near a barn at least, on a gambeson. I could have sworn that there was a bright star shining above that barn that night. And those three blokes with beards and gifts looked mighty lost.

Well, what a weekend. Schola attended an incredibly well organised BHFS event in Cressing Temple, and the results came in as follows.

Okay, okay, perhaps I owe the readership somewhat more details. So, Schola travelled in convoy to Cressing Temple and were greeted by the sight of absolutely wonderful old medieval barns. The whole event was staged in and around these ancient old barns - they must have been hundreds of years old. In addition, rows of brighty coloured tents dotted the fields. In all a very nice location to swing a longsword. Very atmospheric.

Saturday hosted a number of fine seminars and classes. However, it also gave the Doctor the opportunity for a little inter-club sparring. To my great pleasure this event gave me the opportunity to meet more of the Dawn Duellists. Unfortunately Kieran was unable to attend this event, which was a shame as I was looking forward to some payback for the injury inflicted upon me last year, that still hurts I might add. However, I was pleased to have the opportunity to introduce myself to Ian M - and fight him, of course.

We fought with steel medieval single handers on the Saturday. A novel experience for the Doctor, as I dont fight with steel as often as I ought to. Ian M. also supplemented his defence with a buckler. How I hate bucklers. When I use them, they get in my way. When I fight against them, they get in my way. Each time I think and opening appears this bloody disk appears to obstruct my weapon. So, I fought with weapon only. It was rather fun to fight Ian, however I had a couple of nervy moments.

The first was when I halfsworded my weapon and charged the point into his chest. With my point firmly against his breastbone I supported my hilt with my body and rammed the weapon home. La Bete apparently blanched somewhat and suspected that I may indeed be about to have my first casualty. Indeed, killing Ian M. so soon after meeting him would definately have been somewhat rude. However, Ian's gambeson stood up to this punishement and I didn't get to see my blade sticking out from between his vertebrae.

The second nervy moment occured when Ian placed an excellent thrust into my face, but missed by an inch. Thus the weapon sailed over my right shoulder. This gave me to opportunity to traverse to the left and place my weapon across his neck and execute what would have been the most gruesome of draw cuts. Of course, this minor miss caused Ian some frustration which he indicated with a growl of anger. But in the heat of the moment I misunderstood this cry, and mistook this growl for a howl of pain. For one split second I thought I might have hacked his head off by accident. But no. All was well.

The fight ended when I accidentally nearly chopped one of his fingers off. Sorry Ian. My mistake.

Time for a pre-event injury check.

• Left elbow - smashed and bruised
• Right achillies - agony
• Right eye - bruised and painful
• Right shoulder - heavily bruised
• Left upper thigh - heavily bruised
• Right lower inside thigh - heavily bruised
• Right thumb - blistered

Most cunning and complex are the secret moves of Fiore dei Liberi...

Right, kick you opponent in the nuts.

Oh dear, I cannot find my box anywhere.

A 'box' is that most important piece or armour that protects that which is most important. It also goes by the name of 'cup' in some parts of the world.

I can highly reccommend reading a Sharp book before an event. Written by Bernard Cornwell, these bloody romps through the Naponleonic wars are a cracking read - and just the sort of thing a swordsman needs to get his juices flowing before indulging in a weekend's fighting.

Perhaps this is how Schola should grade its members - simply on the Sharpe episode one has read to.

'What grade are you Sonny?'

'Sharpe's Eagle Sir!

Yet another occasional dip into the word of Blogging. Johnny B's Private Secret Diary - a most amusing fellow.

But reading this site provokes a thought. Now, I prefer to write and publish in raw HTML. I'm actually not that keen on publishing on a site that does all the work for me. Dunno why. Perhaps I'm old fashioned. They do say that a capenter can bash a nail in with his fist is not necessarily a better carpenter. But, hey, blond, brunette, redhead. It keeps me in touch with my roots. Also, I prefer to host this journal on Schola's main site. Keeps things nice and neat.

But whilst reading Johnny B's Private Secret Diary I was struck with a thought. Unfortunately, without all the whizz bang jiggery pokery of these automatic sites I'm pretty much off the radar. No 'list referrers' feature'. No web stats. No search engine. No RSS feed. Well, considering all the nonsense that I write this is probably a Good Thing. However, perhaps I ought to do something about it. Perhaps I ought to get more moderner.

How do I go about it?

The results of my elbow X-ray have returned. Apparently a swollen, painful left elbow with little shards of bone crunching around inside is considered to be 'normal' by my local doctor. So, 'no action' is to be taken.

So, to be normal does that mean that everybody has a swollen, painful left elbow with little shards of bone crunching around inside? If you dont then there must be something wrong with you. Get thee to a doctor!

So, time for an equipment check for the weekend.

• fighting trousers
• fighting shoes, indoor and outdoor
• fighting tops - winged and unwinged
• Lids x 2
• Gambesons, light and heavy
• chest protector
• elbow guards
• wrist guards
• gloves
• box
• shin and knee protection
• longsword waster
• messer waster
• longsword weighted shinai
• messer weighted shinai
• baskethilted broadsword weighted shinai
• short length of rattan
• video camera
• still camera
• folding seat

Oh, and on Tuesday our 13 year old had a chance at sparring - although not in the standard manner.

Now and again the Python will take his big sparring spear to training. This weapon is a thick stout wooden shaft, taller than a man, tipped by a small cylinder of padding. It is usually deployed two-on-one. Two longswords attempt to defeat one spearman. This isn't as unfair a fight as you might think. In fact, the chap with the spear usually wins. See, the spear can be slipped back and forth through the hands faster than the longswordsmen can step. So even if the longswordsman beats the spear aside and steps inside its distance the spear can simply be quickly pulled back through the hands to threaten the longsworder with disembowelment once more. I think George Silver mentions this somewhere - however, I'm no reader when it comes to manuscripts. Suffice to say, the spearman is best defended by behaving extremely aggressively. It's tempting to be on the defensive when outnumbered. However, a screaming charge at your assailants and removing one from the fight as fast as possible seems to be the best approach.

In addition the spearman has a whole lot more leverage. Thus those with the longsword cannot easily force the point aside. Thus to regain any leverage they must recourse to halfswording. And we therefore have the ironic situation of a huge long range weapon motivating the practise of close quarters armoured halfswording technique.

But I digress.

Yes, our 13 year old chap was invited to fight with the spear against the Doctor and the Python. Despite the fact that he was wielding a weapon that was twice his height and weighed as much as he against two chaps twice his height wielding longswords, I figure he did just fine. He poked, he prodded, he kept his distance, he stood his ground. However, it must have been a most peculiar sight. The ulitmate in schoolground bullies meet a pupil with a pike. Perhaps they should issue spears to all who enter the school grounds. That should keep lunch money safe.

Oh, and Adam R. came up with an amusement. See, the Schola Ringpiece is a 500 gram ring of lead to weight a shinai. Roofing Lead. For the construction of roof flashing.

So, the Schola weighted shinai is in fact an authentic 'Flashing Blade'.

Flashing.

Lead.

Geddit?

A quiet Schola Night last night. Fairly low numbers for a change. Perhaps it's the weather. However, there I am, doing my thing, backing up the Python in his coachly endevours and I spy a couple of 'new' folk. Righty ho, I'll keep my eye on them, help them out.

Well, one of these newbies is a tall fellow with huge footwork. I get in trouble all the time for overextending my footwork, so I helpfully dive in.

'Perhaps close your footwork up', I suggest to this newbie.

'No', he replies

'...',

I respond, mouth opening and closing like some guppy. I'm a little non-plussed. Not quite sure what to make of it. No? Hmm, okay, time to be quiet.

Yes, you guessed it, our visitor in fact turns out to be Adam R. who leads the Nottingham Chapter of the EHCG. Coach, swordsman, Tai Chi dude, nice chap, and in general jolly well knows what he's doing thankyouverymuch. The big footwork is quite deliberate - it's probably the result of years of training.

Don't I look silly now?

Actually, I hurt all over today. I must have trained harder than I though at the weekend. Went to the gym a few times, but mainly did swordwork. Sunday was quite the workout - in particular because I drilled with the Parolee for most of the afternoon. On top of all that I drilled and drilled and drilled on Monday. Longsword seems to be far more physical effort than single hander. So, legs, shoulders, chest, back, arms, neck all hurt quite a bit.

In addition are the injuries. Great black and blue bruises all over. Now, I was fairly well armoured when I fought the Python. However the First Rule Of Wearing Armour defeated me. The First Rule is this.

La Bete suffered a sudden urge to cut the hedge this weekend. In his own words - he has no desire to help anything grow. He was doing just great with the hedge trimmers whirring away in the sunshine until a sudden eerie silence indicated that he had eventually trimmed right through the power cable.

Despite the continuing injury to my achillies I figured I'd best get a bit of sparring in before the BHFS event next weekend. So I drilled with the Parolee for much of this Schola Sunday and fought the Python for the first time in ages.

It was at about the third time that me and the Parolee had nearly blinded one another that we decided to drill in lids. I have a bit of damage next to my right eye, and the Parolee also has a knock or two on the head and face. This year's drilling has evolved from the slow sedate pace of begginers getting to grips with the weapon to something a little more dangerous. Perhaps we should all start to wear lids whilst drilling, from now on.

Teeth and eyes. Those are the big vulnerability. Be warned.

In addition to all this drilling I got the chance to fight the Python. In fact the Python fought both the Parolee and myself in turn. At this point that most odd feature of training raises its head once more - how does one judge one's performance?

From my point of view the Python mullered me (I am covered in huge bruises). I figure that the Parolee would also consider himself to have been fairly pushed by the Python (He was lying on his back at one point).

What else did I get up to at the weekend? Oh yes, I purchased some leg armour. I went to skate attack and perused the Ice Hockey equipment. I believe that in the old days of singlesticking they used cricket gear to protect themselves from a blow to the legs. But I've always disliked leg armour as it always seems to flop about and impede one's footwork - and if you are someone who relies upon fast footwork to get one out of trouble, then this is a real pain in the repertoire. I tend to find this a particular irritation when wearing riot armour.

So, to use la Bete's words, I figured that Sports Equipment may actually have cycled through more developmental evolutions than other armour. In addition, it is cheap and widely available. Therefore I figured that Hockey gear may fit the bill. It's a fast, vigorous game that requires much legwork so they must have found a way to prevent their armour flopping about around their knees by now?

Well, Ice Hockey leggings can have straps. However, it seems that they rely upon the imaginatively named and rather sticky 'Hockey tape' to hold their gear in place. I was a bit dubious at first. However, a few moment's hopping about convinced me that this is indeed an excellent solution.

However, Ice Hockey is a long game. Once your gear is on there seems no reason to remove it for the next hour or so. Swordplay is different. A few minutes of vigorous activity followed by much sitting about. So I endevoured to supplement the sticky tape supports of Ice Hockey armour with my own fittings. Something to allow me to slip these leggings on and off quickly should I need to. I figured that attaching thick black elastic fittings should hold these guards in place. Perhaps not as firmly as sticky tape, but firm enough should I need them in an emergency. But how to attach this elastic to the leggings? A quick call in past my Tailor was required.

He suggested that rather than hand sewing these fittings impact adhesive will actually do the trick. More specifically, it'll hold about as strongly as any amatureish hand sewing I could manage. My Tailor assured me that I would be pleasantly surprised by using glue.

A three day weekend and the sun was shining. Lovely.

So, what did I get up to? Well, had a nice date on Friday. This date was a doozy. It's absolutely lovely going round to an attractive young lady's house for dinner to be wined and dined. However, this particular lovely also has a delightful 7 year old son. So, not only does one get wined and dined by a beautiful woman, but one also gets to play scalextric with the wee chap for an hour before dinner.

Yet more armour needed.

On the 4-5th we will be indulging in a BHFS event. This event will hold a little competition. Empty hand, a single hander competition of some sort, and a longsword challenge. Now, there's no way in hell I'm allowing folk to mash up my face in the empty hand - there are far to many rather good pugelists around to ensure that I will continue to breath through my nose. However, I'll enter the single hander and longsword.

But.

Apparently the longsword competition will be held with wasters, and the single hander may be with steel. Holey moley, now there's an opportunity to get horribly injured. Actually, there's also an opportunity to horribly injure someone else. So, time to take stock of my protective equipment.

• Gambeson - I'll take the deluxe methinks.
• A new mask.
• Gloves.
• Elbow pads.
• Padded wrist bands.
• A box for the Crown jewels.

Is that everything? No. The above leaves a few holes. Do I need some solid armour for my chest? Perhaps something like this from Leon Paul, suggested by the Python, might be a good addition under my gambeson. 15 quid to avoid getting run through the chest? Seems reasonable.

Further vulernable spots are my shins and knees. I figure a steel across the shins would cripple me for sure. So, perhaps something like these from skate attack might also be a good idea. Worn under the fighting trousers, of course. After all, a Gentleman does not really want to advertise that he's wearing armour.

One final vulnerability worries me - the inside leg. A steel into that great big artery on the inside of one's leg would kill one for sure. But how to protect it?

Looks like I have some shopping to do at the weekend. But the trouble with armour is this - balance. Too much armour can be a real hinderance. It's hot, uncomfortable, can be heavy and it's restrictive. In addition, the more armour you wear, the less painful a hit. A hit has to hurt a little, otherwise one ends up with a dopp fest. Two competitors swinging hell-for-leather at one another, unconcerned about the consequences and taking chances one would never take if one's life was indeed a stake. It has often been said that a little genuine fear of your opponent's weapon goes a long way to motivating a proper historical martial repertoire.

So, how much to wear, and how much to discard? How much is enough? There's no point covering oneself in so much armour that one cannot indulge in swordplay at all. Should one cover oneself with so much armour that one no longer experiencing at least a little of the consequences of the historical swordplay we attempt to resurrect.

Then again, as with the gambeson, perhaps a solution was devised long long ago by chaps far far more experienced in the topic of Not Getting Killed.

Actually, the previous story reminds me of a research assistant I had working under me when I was doing my PhD. On our first meeting I presented him my results. I showed him huge colourful maps of airborne pollutants rolling across Europe. Great colourful rainbows of blues, yellows, pinks, purples and reds. Now, for about an hour this student is looking at me quizically. He really isn't getting it.

Uh oh, I think. Looks like I have myself a dud here. However, after about an hour's confusion he eventually tells me that he is profoundly colourblind. Now I'm imagining myself waxing lyrical infront of a map that seems entirely grey to him. But no, he actually does see colours distinctly, but just jumbled.

So in the interests of easy communication we start to go through the colours. I point to a colour, he tells me what he sees. My intention is to simply translate from one colour to the other as I present. All goes well until I get to pink.

'What colour is this?', I ask.

'Oh, that doesn't have a colour', my student replies.

'I seems black then?', I ask

'Nope'

'White?', I ask hopefully.

'Oh no', he replies.

'Transparent?'. I'm clutching at straws at this point.

'Oh no. It simply doesn't have a colour', he say helpfully.

No colour?

Oh, just overheard a funny story in the office that I thought I'd share with you. I do Maths for a French company in London, and as a result there is actually quite a wide range of nationalities and languages floating around the office. Now, one English colleague has just related a story about how he's been helping a Spanish colleague with his English.

Essentially the Spaniard writes out some prose and the Englishman corrects it for him. How goes through the text marking Good English in blue, and Bad English in red. They've been doing this for about a year now but the Spaniard's English is just not getting better as quickly as they'd hoped.

Have I ever mentioned that I'd just love to be in a movie? It's no secret that I entertain idle fantasies that some terribly famous movie directory will accidentally stumble over this site and think that it'd be a terribly novel idea to put some more realistic swordplay into the next Mighty Epic. I figure Schola would fit the bill quite nicely.

To quote Boromir, 'That would be so frickin' awsome!'

My Tailor is involved in the film and theatre buisness and has pointed out that I have some of the qualifications for stunt man. Gymnastics, Jui Jitsu, Kung Fu, Fencing, that kind of thing. But to no avail. Ridley Scott foolishly chose Mr Bloom for his latest sword weilding hero. I expect as a result of my complete lack of acting skills....

Playing with wooden swords isn't just a boy's endevour - plenty of young ladies engage in the endevour too. Here we see the Sylvanian and the Leather Nurse engaged in a friendly set-to.

I rather like coaching girls. The boys tend to reach their destination by the careful application of extreme violence. Girls tend to be a little more technical in their approach. Hence it is sometime hard to get a boy to appreciate that a little subtlety may bear more fuit. Conversely, it is sometimes tricky to get some girls to take their carefully practised technique and use it to impose their will upon their opponent with great physical vigour and downright blows.

In fact, I've got this theory I'd like to test. Perhaps if I take one of these technical fencers and introduce them to a small shrub, or perhaps some innocent bush. I shall provide a good heavy rattan stick and request that such a technical but gentle fencer furiously thrash every single leaf from this innocent shrub in as short a time as possible.

Do you ever have a day where not matter how careful you are you end up spilling everything you eat and drink onto your suit?

Every now and again I take a look around at the world of Blogging. Really just to see what others are up to. Today I found Post Secret

Hmm, do I have a secret I could post?

Nope.

So, there we are, me and la Bete, travelling to France towards Dijon '05. We've reached the ferry, and thus we have reached Duty Free. Now, la Bete wants to purchase some perfume for a pretty young lady he is rather fond of. He has a good idea of what it is, but has essentially whittled the options down to two possibilities.

Well, as the Scientist of the expedition the Doctor reckons that the only way to decide is by experimentation. La Bete is somewhat familiar with the young lady and so the Doctor sprays a little of Option #1 onto his wrist. Hmm, close, suggests la Bete after snuffling at my wrist for a moment. Okay, onto Option #2.

A moment's more snuffling and beady eye's widen and a face flushes with pleasure as this memory of a delightful Eastern European beauty stokes the fires that power la Bete's brain. We have indeed found our match.

Job done. And so I thought nothing more of it.

It was only later as we thundered along the Fench payage that the full potential terror of the situation struck me. Here I am. Cooped up in a car for hours. A long long journey ahead of us. Trapped with la Bete - pedal to the metal, thundering along the road, engine roaring, car surging, the memory of this girl still tingling in his nostrils. Trapped for hours with this creature in a state of dangerous arousal.

Got my elbow X-rayed on Friday. I suspect a blow from a Shinai has cracked the end off my left elbow. So, I was forced by those that care about my wellbeing to go to the Hospital and get an X-ray. Results to follow.

Hmm, time to take a step back from sparring. I've been sparring too much - hence all the injury I suppose. Nature's way of telling you to concentrate upon your technique. In addition, although my fight is reasonably fierce my technique is now a little sloppy. So, I shall be drilling with wasters for a few weeks methinks. Perhaps this will give my achillies and my elbow time to heal.

This sort of thing is rather common. See, my obective is 'No Style'. I actually don't want to feel as if I'm applying technique at all. I want it all to simply be instinctive, natural, a reflex. And so I spar. The more I spar the faster I get. The more I spar the more instinctive the repertoire. The more I spar the less I can feel the prescence of 'technique' at all in my fight. And thus the more I spar the less sophisticaled my fight feels.

And as I fight I learn to apply one or two new techniques in a natural and instinctive manner. But this gain is not all a simple exercise in executing the techniques. The fight also causes me to filter the repertoire to that which works in this game.

And so the more I spar the less sophisticated my fight can become. The more I spar the more I ignore more complex, interesting and historical skills. The more I spar the sloppier things get. The more I spar the more predictable I become. The more I spar the Sportier my approach.

'I've seen things you people wouldn't believe'

I've seen the hall of the Monkey God, resplendent in brightly coloured silks and embroidery. I've seen the wrath of the Emperor of Heaven. I've seen titanic battles create a Havoc in the Heavens. I've seen the vile corruption of ministers. I've seen revenge. I've seen a gender mix-up to make your hair curl. I've seen a desperate escape from the the Inn at Xin An - a cartwheel clean through an open window. I've seen a young girl sing for at least 20 minutes on the topic of the road indeed being long, dark and dangerous.

For I've seen the Beijing Opera

Yes, this weekend I accompanied my Brother to the Sadlers Wells Theatre to see the Beijing Opera. It was truly fantastic stuff.

In fact, I had a super weekend. Out to Soho with la Bete on Friday. Chinease Opera on Saturday afternoon. A most lovely date with a beautiful young lady on Saturday evening. All rounded off with an excellent sword and buckler class from Dave R. on Sunday afternoon.

I never mentioned Tuesday's Schola night. In my opinion it was by far the best yet. Unfortunately we are about to embark upon another long technical musing. So, unless you are really into training techniques feel free to skip this entry.

Lessons can get split between drilling and sparring. Drilling describes the repetitive practise of a particular technique or concept, over and over and over until you are familiar with it. When drilling training partners are requested to act cooperatively and help one another understand and execute the lesson. Sparring tends to describe that competitive free play that folk enjoy where they behave uncooperatively and attempt to apply their repertoire to successfully hit their opponent without getting hit themselves.

But surely there's something in between?

Surely there is a progression from drilling to sparring that can be imposed upon a lesson? Well, at Schola we attempt to provide such a progression. The Python's lesson went thus. First we stop people drilling the techniques in isolation. Folk tend to ready themselves, carry out the technique bam!, and relax - walking back to their start points muttering and musing.

However, in time this stop-start attitude becomes part of their repertoire. This is bad.

Thus when we get to longsword sparring this stop-start behaviour comes out. You see this big first action, a meeting of blades bam!, and the startled looks on the faces of the combatants as folk try to work out where to go next.

No no no.
No more walking back to the start points.
Continue the drill from where you are.
Drill from where your weapon has ended up - as Bruce Lee said, 'Punch from where the hand is'

Which of course means our hypothetical pupil may not be in the correct guard or position to continue the drilling of a single technique. So, we must request that the pupil drill a range of repertoire that they know. And so partners attempt to flow from one technique to the next, drilling each in turn, traversing through their entire repertoire, traversing around the circumference of an imaginary circle as they traverse and traverse.

However, this is still a drill. Not a fight. And so someone must control the exercise. And so we have attacker and defender. The attacker sets the distance, presents a simple attack, and allows the defender to deal with it. From blow to blow to blow. As the defender begins to become confident, the attacker speeds up. Speeds up just to the point where the defender begins to make mistakes, and no more.

Of course, now that we have a little doubt built into the drill the drill is a whole lot harder. But this difficulty does not stem from uncooperative opponents. Oh no, people are still requested to co-operate in this exercise. Much like attempting to develop a long rally in tennis. The doubt and difficulty arise from not necessarily knowing how one technique flows into another. And hence until you understand how to string technique together you are always at the disadvantage. This is a good thing. Not only does one have to start planning ahead, but also this exercise forces mistakes. But as mistakes are made, one learns how to rectify them mid-flow. And as one learns how to solve such problems one learns some of the skills required to deal with an uncooperative opponent.

Thus this exercise contains many of the elements of drilling, and some of the elements of sparring.

Of course, this then results in discussion. And discussion leads to co-operation and an excited buzz amongst the class. This lesson was hard work for everybody. However, it really was a delight to compare the stuttering success at the start of the lesson to the ease with which many flowed from guard to guard at the end.

In addition, this exercise seems self teaching. The interaction itself seems to direct their understanding. Now, I'm not particularly good at this drill myself. But we have reached that point where those who are assisting the lesson can simply train. Flit from one group to the next, joining in and making suggestions.

(An Abominable Aside...

• 1. What the hell are you up to that needs 6000v?
• 2. Have you thought about using a bloody great capacitor (or six) or do you need a constant supply?

- The Abomination)

• 1. Science, dear boy. I'm doing Science.
• 2. A Cockroft-Walton multiplier is essentially a bloody great capacitor. But if one used only one big high voltage capacitor how are you going to charge it to 6000V? You'd need a 6000V source to charge a 6000V capacitor. So, instead I'm using a bank of capacitors connected by diodes. Connecting this mutiplier to a powerful alternating current (the houshold mains) will 'pump' the mutiplier up each cycle. In effect we are charging capacitors in parallel, and discharging them in series.

  Clever eh?

  Okay, so It's not the best way to create a high voltage source, but it is simple and cheap. Thus, I am now the proud owner of my very own home made 5000V cattle prod. As you might imagine as I live with la Bete this may come in very handy indeed.

(An Abominable Aside...

'Should I enter the boxing? '

YOU BIG GIRL. I probably will & I'm rubbish. Well at least compared to the likes of La Bete, Shrek form the Exiles, Collina from Linacre or even the badly trousered warrior from Boars Tooth.

- The Abomination)

My achillies is feeling a whole lot better. As one would expect the cure to Fiore's Ankle is simply rest and hugely powerful anti-inflamatories. But although I'm feeling better I must not fight. So, I've decided to embark on a long overdue endevour whilest on my enforced break. Something I do far too little, and others seem to do far to much.

I had yet another lovely weekend. It mainly centered around a most lovely date for the Doctor. So, I'm feeling all fuzzy.

What else? Well, as I am having a short break from swordly endevour I didn't go the the park on Sunday to fight. I must say this feels most odd. That strange feeling you get when you've perhaps left a tap running or think you forgotten to pack your passport. However, it's healthy to have a break from training now and then. Otherwise you get sickened and injured by it.

So, instead, after my lovely date I continued my experiments. At the moment I'm trying to get a Cockroft-Walton mutiplier to multiply the mains power up past 6000 Volts. But to no avail. I simply haven't a clue why it won't go past 5000 Volts. This is bothering me somewhat. No doublt I'll crack it this week but it's holding up the research.

Suffice to say life if rather quiet at the moment. After Dijon '05 I am experiencing a swords into plowshares peace dividend. However, we have another event coming up next month. This event is holding longsword, single stick and empty hand tournaments.

Should I enter the boxing?

Oh, a funny training story from la Bete that I thought I'd share with you. Put quite simply, la Bete was used by the pistol coaches to demonstrate an important point - I assume because us Brits don't have quite the familiarity with firearms that some folks do.

So, the set-up is this. It's raining heavily. La Bete has a pistol. A training pistol, but a pistol all the same. It looks and behaves very similarly to a real weapon, but fires rather painful green pellets. Anyway, he is fighting 2 on 1. Both of his assailants are unarmed.

His first assailant approaches from the front and threatens la Bete with great menace. This is not a good thing to do at the best of times, so it is certainly not sensible when he has a handgun. However, this motivates la Bete to begin his draw. At this point the second assailant begins his attack from the side. La Bete masterfully spins on his heel and slots assailant 2 with three quick rounds to the chest. Green paint stands in for grievious bloody splatter and the man goes down.

La Bete is now a little worked up.

The first assailant now 'notices' the weapon and draws up short. Hands raising in submission the assailant is 'startled' that la Bete has a weapon and begins to back up.

'Oh God, he has a Gun! Please don't kill me' begs the assailant.

But la Bete is a little worked up.

So, once the first assailant has been brutally gunned down la Bete turns to the first, who has now most probably dropped to his knees in the mud and is 'begging for his life', hands clutched together in futile prayer, rain streaking the mud from his final desperate expression. Nonetheless, the first assailant is coldly executed with another three rounds.

And thus la Bete stands victorious over his two victims. Rain soaking green blood into the muddy earth around the crumpled and huddled corpses of his assailants. Pleased at his heroic victory over the Bad Guys.

'Did you not notice that one of your assailants had given up...? asks the instructor.

Apparently this is a very common conclusion when the inexperienced defend themselves with a handgun. Under stressful situations it's very hard to make distinctions between the motivations of your assailants. Thus, it is common for someone to shoot every last person before noticing that some of them may actually have surrendered.

Don't blame yourself, la Bete.

La Bete has returned from his travels and he's looking better for his forays. No doubt he will regale me with many a tale of big guns, trucks and lunches.

So it looks like we're slowly getting back to normal. I've completed a little week-long holiday from life and am back in the gym pumping iron. However, I think I will take it easy on the sword front for a few weeks. Although we have another event in a month, with a shiney cup to win, I think I have collected more than enough injuries for the time being. In addition, when you train hard for soemthing you need a little mental break from it, otherwise it becomes a chore and feels stale. So, a break from swords for a bit.

Thus I can once again concentrate on my experiments. I've never told you about my private scientific endevour, have I? It's a little electrical curiosity I encountered some years ago, during my rocket science days. Unfortunately, or fortunately depending upon your point of view, to investigate this curiosity requires me to generate at least 5000 Volts.

So, what did the Doctor get up to at the weekend? Well, not much - by design. I figured I would make the weekend my last couple of days of recuperation from Dijon. So I indulged in some leisurly pursuits. In particular I made some more movies. Corporal Carrot and Anders had challegned each other to a duel whilst at Dijon (a bit of a firebrand that 'Carrot). Thus they fought with pillows. Why, I do not know. Anyway, I thought I would get a little arty on them. So a bit of slow mo and dramatic music was employed.

Came out quite well in my opinion - considering that is was just a pillow fight.

The Beast is Abroad!

A further report from la Bete's foray into the cultural landscape of our overseas cousins.

(An Abominable Aside...

And I thought he was the up close & personal type...)

Oh, by the way, the Python 'stumbled' over the following whilst no doubt researching the swordplay of Fiore.

Mistress Fiore

'Thoughtful Cruelty'.

I like it.

The Beast is Abroad!

Yup, we have a further report from our man in the field.

It's once again Friday and I'm once more at that tricky moment. After a week of cunning and clever mathematics all my numbers are now behaving and I'm feeling pleased. All seems to be functioning nicely. Numbers go in. Numbers come out. And those numbers are the ones I want to see. Great.

But.

Do I now embark on a whole new line of enquiry, half an hour from leaving on a Friday? Or do I idle and start afresh on Monday morning? Admittedly the next bit of endevour is rather tricky. So, what to do? Hmmm.

And in other news? My hands still ache after Dijon. I have bruises all over them and they throb. Aw well. I'm visiting my Best Friend in the Whole World this evening, so no doubt a few glasses of wine will distract me.

On the whole I've had rather a quiet week recovering. La Bete is away and I have the house to myself. So I've spent the time just idling. No gym. No swords. Just a nice Baileys or two and a relax. Apparently Schola are meeting on Sunday for a fight or two - the Parolee is apparently having symptoms of withdrawl from fighting. However, I must resist!. I must get my achillies healthy.

Schola have a number of events coming up over the next few months. I do hope we can get a few of the newcomers along to these.

I forgot to mention, la Bete is out of the country. Upon his return from France he elected to turn on his heel and go straight back out on holiday. This time to the States. He is off to train with knives and guns with some on-line chums, and to drive big trucks.

I do receive the occasional message on his progress. The first was to remind me to put his laundry in the drier, and the second is as follows.

Sounds like he's having a great time.

Well, the last entry was a bit of a bore. Sorry. Now back to normal viewing. Hmm, something interesting...

Yes, we had a nasty injury at Dijon this year. A nasty injury that somewhat highlights my tiresome rambling. Two chaps were sparring at rapier. As a result they had to use steel. Blunt steel, but steel all the same. But they fought in t-shirts. Fencing masks, gloves and t-shirts.

Well, the potential was there so it had to happen eventually I suppose. A small error and one participant got run through. Fortunately only throught the arm, but run right through all the same. Entry and exit wounds. Apparently, despite the fact that the victim seems to have beeen very lucky, there was a great deal of blood and unpleasantness. Poor fellow. I wish him a speedy recovery.

Just goes to show how much damage even a blunt steel weapon can do.

Actually, whilst in Dijon I eventually solidified some thoughts I've been having on the interplay between the growth of a discipline and the avaialbility of the equipment required. Thus I am about to bore you to death on the topic I'm afraid. So a warning - the rest of this particular entry will simply be a really boring self-indulgent ramble. Feel free to skip it and move on.

Some say that the popularity of football is down to the expense and availability of the equipment required - a ball. I believe this to be true. Anyone can purchase a ball and kick it about anywhere. Other disciplines have more trouble expanding as the equipment required is rather less avaialable and rather more pricey. Sport Fencing is a good example, as is Kendo. Much more effort must be made to make safety gear for these sports either available or cheap. Not an easy task. I was armourer for Glasgow University Fencing Club for five years and I can assure you that arming and armouring a club of 30 is a time consuming and expensive endevour. This seems to limit the size to which a club can expand.

Now, let's look at the growth of a modern sport - skateboarding. Skateboarding was not the invention of some toy manufacturer. I'm guessing here, but perhaps somewhere around the early 1950s a couple surfer dudes nailed a rollerskate to a plank of wood and had some fun? They showed their friends, who also had fun. The relative ease with which one can nail a rollerskate to a piece of wood allowed others to take up the activity. Soon perhaps there were enough people doing this that perhaps they held large scale events. With such events perhaps comes responibility and therefore safety equipment. Perhaps they borrowed kit from other sports. Rock climbing helmets, biking gloves etc. This new potental market was recognised by manufacturers and kit became standardised, manufactured and unique to skateboarding. It may look like a climbing helmet, but it is in fact a skateboarding helmet. Now skateboarding is a multi-million pound industry with cultural associations shared with other sports such as the rather similar snowboarding franternity.

So, what allowed this growth? Well, obviously the discipline has to be interesting to a large group of people. However, I rather get the feeling that it was the evolution of the equipment that helped to drive it to where it is now. And from equipment was spawned clothing, and from clothing was spawned other cultural associations. And thus the whole activity of skateboarding assumes the mantle of a legitimate sport.

So, what has all this to do with swordfighting? Perhaps you can see where I'm going here.

As I mentioned in an earlier entry, Schola seems to have hit upon a practise weapon that is deemed by some to be sufficiently cheap, available, safe and accurate to stand in as a simulated sword whilst we fight. I'm not saying it's the perfect solution, but it does seem a popular idea. In addition, like the skateboard, it seems that at this stage in the development of HEMA practitioners seem to follow equipment designs that they can make themselves.

But with what should we protect ourselves from this weapon? HEMA seems to be at a stage similiar to my proposal that once you get larger groups of people getting together and holding events, perhaps you get an obligation to be responsible for the safety of contributors and so perhaps safety equipment begins to be discussed. Well I figure in a similar manner to the weapon this too will evolve naturally. But I reckon at this stage it must have the same characteristics of other popular equipment - fit for the purpose, cheap, plentiful, safe and well made or self made.

At this moment the discipline is at the stage of heavily borrowing from other activities. Motorcycle gloves, fencing masks, kendo masks, escrima masks, ice hockey helmets, riot armour, cricket pads, fencing jackets. The list is endless as equipment is tried, tested, adopted or discarded. For example, consider body armour.

Personally I currently prefer the Gambeson. I think it fills the role required. It covers the vulnerable areas, but doesn't take all of the sting from a successful attack. This doesn't mean I have a desire to standardise the gamberson itself. In fact, at Dijon I was pleased to see many different designs of gambeson in the field. It just looked better to my eye. In addition, as Gambeson are made specifically for the purpose of HEMA it lends an air of legitimacy to proceedings, in my opinion. But at this stage of 'nailing a skateboard to a plank' in the development of HEMA perhaps a gambeson is too complicated an item for the individual to make themselves, and too expensive an item for them to purchase.

But what of riot armour? Well, this too fulfills our needs - it is fit for the purpose, cheap, plentiful and well made. In addition it makes you look somewhat fearsome. Personally I haven't seen a complete piece that protects everything that worries me (in particular neck, armpit, back of the head) but I'm continuing to keep my mind open and my eyes peeled.

Thus it is the above process of testing and compromise that I feel that the necessary equipment needed to engange in HEMA is 'discovered'. And as cheap, practical, avaialble equipment is employed, so the route to growth is perhaps eased. If newcomers can easily and cheaply get their hands upon the equipment needed to join in, then they will perhaps remain engaged with the topic.

Of course the trip to Dijon isn't all just sword fighting. There is also beer. And by golly did I drink a lot of beer. See, HEMAC sort of 'own' a bar in the center of town for the few days of the event. And thus one feels obligated to ensure that this wonderful bar sells enough beer during this period.

That's my excuse, anyway.

Continuing on the subject of equipment, we attempted to ensure that Schola troops were replete with equipment before disembarkation. Thus Schola took a lot of equipment to Dijon all of which was eventually accounted for I think. However, in my opinion there was a little too much dipping into the bags of others without asking going on for my liking.

I mean, I'm as happy as the next man to lend kit

But if you're going to a sword fight

you should surely

at least

take

And so my encounter with Corporal Carrot leads me to think of equipment. I took a few bits of experimental equipment to Dijon this year. Quited Gambesons, Kendo Shinai, and Schola Ringpieces (500 gram leather covered lead rings).

Well, this seems to be a cheap, sucessful and generally acceptable solution. People seemed to rather like the weight and balance of a ringpieced Shinai. In addition, construction is simple and breakages are a reasonably cheap event. So, jolly good. Job done. Of course these aren't the only solutions, but they are the ones that I am satisfied with.

It does rather seem that the question Pad the Man, or Pad the Weapon is slowly reaching some sort of general consensus. Pad the Man. However, debate still continues on the correct armour to wear. Personally I prefer ot wear as little as possible. I prefer to keep mobile and cool. In addition, although one would prefer to avoid serious injury one doesn't want to take too much sting out of a successful attack. That leads to dopping - the unfearful and unconstrained wild swinging of weapons at one another. Nasty.

So, a quilted gambeson is enough for me. However others prefer an alternative approach - modern ballistic or riot armour. Now this stuff looks cool. Plates of black nylon coated plastic which make you look like a modern day knight. Robocop stuff. In addition, it's typically cheaper than a good gambeson. However, I think it too much armour collected in some places and typically not enough in the vital areas of neck, back of the head and armpit. You pays your money, you takes your choice.

Corporal Carrot chose to try both at once.

So, the mind was willing, but the body was a little weak. But I fought and fought as much as I could. And as I fought I discovered a brand new interest - halfswording. Holding the weapon in both hands, but the left hand is in the blade, about halfway along. The aim being to work the point into the weak spots on an armoured man. See I'm not that confident with my longsword as yet, unless I halfsword. Then I seem to know what to do. So, for examaple, I fought Priscilla. He was permitted any weapon he liked - in this case a Sabre, and I restricted myself to only halfsword.

Priscilla is now covered in little round bruises. 'Sorry' Priscilla.

Of course I'm not going to stop there, am I? Lets push this halfswording a little further. Lets find the ultimate halfsword. So in an act of drunken bravado I challenged Corporal Carrot to fight with poleaxes. Big five and a half foot wooden pole axes. And Corporal Carrot being the chap he is, and also a bit drunk, accepted. So not being the sort of chaps who back out of a drunken challenge the next morning we wearily armoured up.

(Here I must point out that Corporal Carrot donned considerably more armour than the brave and noble Doctor.)

Now, it should be noted that neither of us really knew what we were doing. We haven't really studied poleaxes but elected try and copy what we'd seen in texts and presentations - striking the most heroic poses we could. I think this was the most fun fight I had all weekend. A real blast. All felt a bit shakey for starters, but we began to get the hang of things after a few moments. So, in Corporal Carrot's own words, while I was making things up he simply watched me and tried to do it right back. Some good blocking, some occasionally nice grappling, and some lovely punches and palm strikes when the distance closed. I am pleased to inform you that Corporal Carrot has a lovely black and blue grid pattern upon his forehead from a punch that drove his mask into him. All things considered I figure we performed reasonably well.

Right up to the point where Corporal Carrot broke his poleaxe on me. Well, on my weapon really. I executed a cracking parry and dove in at him with the head of my axe. However, the parry was literally cracking and snapped his weapon in two.

So, we picked up a couple of longsword wasters and just kept going.

After this most fun encounter I decided to lead by example. They weren't our poleaxes. In my opinion if you're using someone's weapon and you break it you should pay for it. Thus I paid for the breakage. So, Corporal Carrot, at the end of that fight you were holding half a poleaxe and I was wearing the other half.

So, I expect you'll be wondering about the Fiore's Ankle? Well, it hurt like the blazes for much of the event, but fortunately held together. For this I am most thankful. The trick is massage. The Dijon event hosts many lecture hall presentations amongst the fighting. These last about an hour. So, during these hours I would massage and massage my achillies. And as I rubbed and rubbed for a solid hour the pain receded and I could fight.

This pleased me greatly. However, the more I fought the more I aggravated the condition and the more I had to massage. So, now it really hurts.

However, if I was to critisise, I would critisise the following - big hitting as a defence. Yes, some folk seem to simpy be using enormously powerful attacks and counterattacks as a method of keeping you off them. Rather than perhaps employing a more subtle approach to defending themselves they simply terrify you into not attacking them. However, if you pluck up the courage and are willing to risk a nasty injury should your plan fail, then one finds that these big hitters typically have little in the way of a solid defence behind their enormously powerful counter-attack.

So, this gives me an interesting problem to solve. One ends up playing a game of nerves, and must trust that one's repertoire will work. Which of course it doesn't always. Not yet. Hence I am covered in some huge bruises. But I'm not complaining. Really, I'm not. Anything that takes us away from counting the light touche as some sort of victory is fine by me. And I suppose it's perfectly 'historical' and 'realistic' to have to deal with this manner of defending oneself.

I'm back. And I'm still so tired. There's lots and lots for me to report. However, rather than babble it all out in one long entry, I'll post as things occur to me, in no particular order. In addition, at some point I'll write a little reportage of the event - for posterity.

So, where to start? With the fighting, of course. Well, in my opinion the standard has certainly improved since last year. Last year I remember flattening some folk like a steam roller. However, this year things were a little trickier. Most were faster, sneakier and had some intersting repertoire to contend with. So, I had to work quite hard on some people to get a good clean hit. Perhaps one might think this may be less pleasing from a personal point of view. Well, perhaps a little. However, it's more pleasing to see the general standard improving.

Right.

Time to go.

See you in 5 days.

So, here I am, spinning on my chair munching on my lunch musing about our little trip. And I notice a colleague on the other side of the room on crutches. His leg is in plaster from his knee to the tips of his toes, and he's hobbling across the office with difficulty. 'Good Lord' I explain, What the devil happened to you?'.

'I burst my Achilles tendon' he replies.

Oh that is just fantastic. Fate does enjoy her little games. The day before I leave for France with still a rather tender achillies and I have to see that.

Great. Feeling real confident now.

However, there is a little comfort to be had from my poor collegue's plight. Apparently he had no symptoms whatsoever before his rupture. No tendonitis. No pain. It just popped unexpectedly. So, perhaps everything will be perfectly okay. Perhaps everthing will be fine. Perhaps my condition and his are completely unrelated.

They say that if a vending machine doesn't vend it, a software developer doesn't eat it. This is generally true. Throughout my Science, Engineering and Computational career I have survived for long periods on the comestibles dropped, rolled, thrust or squirted from these noble machines.

However, the latest oasis that graces the corner of my current office has an additional trick. It seems that this refrigerated device houses the cash box very near to the refrigeration unit. Hence, you pop in some money, press a button or two, and with a clunck and a thump your treat of choices thumps out of this softly glowing, humming machine. Once your choice is retrieved you hear the gentle clink clink clink of your returning change. You whip this out of the receiver and typically I pop it straight into the trouser pocket of my suit.

Oooh, those coins are chilly.

Okay, so now I'm getting genuinely excited about our overseas ambitions. Making travel arrangements and preparing equipment has been a bit tiresome, but now were're nearly ready to go I can indulge in a little pre-launch excitement.

The Doctor's Official Objectives for Dijon

• Fight everybody at least once each.
• Win a little.
• Lose a little.
• Learn a thing or two.
• Have a great deal of fun.

Hmm, have I missed anything out? Oh yes...

• Fight much MSH
• Close distance.
• Punch.
• Grapple.
• Halfsword a bit.

Oh, and for the readership..

• Film.
• Photo.
• Take copious notes.

Yet another fantastic weekend for the Doctor. I really am having quite the lucky streak recently. So, it's round to my Bestest Friend In The Whole World on Friday for beer and movies.

Then it was busy busy busy getting ready for Dijon all of Saturday morning. Much rushing around the shops for kit. Now, it was whilst shopping that the Doctor had a brainwave. See, I wanted to find a few tops for fighting in, to go under my Gambeson. They have to be long sleeved and in particular rather close fitting. Thus I perused the 'sports' shops of Oxford street.

Now, I call them 'sports' shops, because it seems that shops that ostensibly sell sporting equipment seem to be expecting clientel that don't intend to do any sport at all. Hence if one if legitimately looking for sporting apparel one can never find what one is looking for.

Particularly thin, tight, close fitting long sleeved tops. Everything seems to have to be baggy these days. Then I have a brainwave. See, I'm a Friend of a Friend of Dorothy's, and as a result I remembered that all those Nice Boys who may frequent the clubs and pubs of Soho very often wear thin, tight, close fitting tops. Okay, okay, I know it's a bit of a stereotype I'm conjouring, but if memory was serving me well fitted tops can be quite de rigour. So, Sports Shops were abandoned and it was off to the Soho boutiques for some proper shopping.

And it turns out that I was entirely correct. 5 minutes aftering entering Soho I had what I was looking for. 4 black long sleeved close fitting tops in which to fight. And to my delight they have silver and Gold wings on the back. The aerospace engineer in me was delighted with the wings. I love having wings. In fact, if I ever got a tattoo perhaps I'd get a tattoo of a huge pair of wings.

However, when in my wings la Bete now calls me Party Fairy.

So, Saturday ended with yet another lovely date for the Doctor on Saturday evening. Then back home on Sunday morning for yet more busy busy busy getting ready for Dijon. Those reading this journal in chronological order may have noticed that me and la Bete have been making Schola Ringpieces. 500 gram rings of lead that when slipped onto a Kendo Shinai weight and balance it to feel much more like a real sword. This involves melting lead in a pot, then pouring it into a ring shaped mould. 22 we have made. 11 kilograms of lead we have melted.

Me and la Bete did done makin' Schola Ringpieces. We is done melting lead all nite. We not do thinking that thu melty lead has done hurt our brains much.

I rather enjoyed reading once more of our 2004 endevours in Dijon. I'm very glad I wrote that all those months ago - I'd have never remembered half of what happened otherwise. So, this year I will do the same. But this time, rather than try to remember events through a drunken haze, I shall go prepared.

I shall take a little spiral bound notebook.

I was idleing at my machine, waiting for some funky mathematics to process. So, I thought I'd browse the web for a few moments.

And so I found myself clicking upon my own journal, to see if it had been updated since last time I read it.

Right, I've had a little dig around and I've found my Full Report of The War from Dijon 2004.

Been musing since Sunday. It's always good to get a bit mullered before an event. It really batters the cockyness out of you and drags you back to reality. In addition, it exposes flaws it sets you goals. Yeah, The Magic Frog got far far to many hits upon me for my liking. I must dig out the video for you at some point. Yes I returned a few good hits, but felt an overall weakness in my fight. This is something to muse about in Dijon. This is something to work upon in Dijon.

So, within our training we have a curious balance to strike. On one hand fighting amongst ourselves obscures our progress, as we all improve together. On the other hand, fighting amongst ourselves obscures our weaknesses, as we all get rather over familiar with one another's fight.

Hence I feel that events like Dijon are not only cracking good fun, and a way to meet all those other sword practitioners, but also seem so very important to the overall evolution of our fight. The combination of seminars, classes and fighting always causes me to return from an event with a head full of musing. Not only does one feel as if all the little kinks have been battered or lectured out, but also that the really big kinks have been highlighted, in 20 foot high letters, with a big red flashing neon sign above it that reads 'This Is A Kink'.

This Is A Kink?

Schola have a couple of cameras going to Dijon, and I assume others will be taking theirs too. So, I figure I should mention a couple of things I have discovered during my short movie directing career about the filming of sword play.

Fill the frame: It is absolutely essential that one fills the frame with the participants. As every Air Show enthusiast knows, something that looks very very big to the naked eye can actually appear very very small when transferred to film. I have hours and hours of footage which show two tiny specks on the horizon that appear, if you look very very closely, to be sword fighting. Therefore one should try and squeeze as much of the action into the frame as possible. In fact, I find that if both players are almost touching the sides of the image then one has framed things about right.

Don't use the zoom: The trouble with magnifying the image using the zoom it that is does a grand job of magnifying any shakes or wobbles of a hand held camera. If one wishes to fill the frame with the action then simply get closer to it, rather than use the zoom.

Change your point fo view: I find an overwhelming urge to simply film the action from the side and pan left and right as the competitors move. There's no rule that says you must do this. Try different angles. Over one of the participants shoulder, looking up from the ground, an overhead shot from a tree...

So, the essential lesson is this - Move Your Feet!. I have found that simply standing stock still and rotating around yourself like some movie crazed gun turret usually results in footage that is either totally boring or completely useless.

Oh, and one more thing - get sundry shots. You know, images of when nothing is necessarily happening, shots of people offguard and doing silly things, reactions from the spectators, etc. These are handy later when editing together something interesting.

Anyway, there are some tips from my brief dalliance with movie making so far.

(Nursey Speaks...

Just though I would point out with my marvellous observations skills that the list you made for Dijon on the 21.3.05 and your latest one are very different. There are appears to be less equipment on yesterdays one. Is this intentional? Is La Bete travelling cage taking up too much room in the car? Just thought I'd check as I'm sure you will need Dopper covers x 2 and lead balance weights! Will have interesting day today packing car and cleaning all those thongs.

-Leather Nurse)

Ah, excuse me Leather Nurse. Let me explain. I was simply conjouring up a list of the absolute minimal kit one should have at Dijon, for the benefit of others. A Public Service Announcement, so to speak. So, if one is going to Dijon,I figure one at least needs what is on that list.

So, at last night's post Schola drinky a curious question was raised.

Possible answers conjoured up by the Schola Braintrust.

• Shout
• Stamp their feet
• Play brass instruments, or perhaps the drums
• Wear Hawaiian shirts
• Talk loudly on their mobiles
• Eat noisily

Indeed, the last Schola meet before Dijon has occurred and the team has dispersed to their start lines. Now all that remains is the checking of equipment, the packing of bags, a brief prayer to your diety of choice.

Now, no-one likes to go into action without the correct kit. So, perhaps it'd be best to post a checklist of the bare minimum one should take.

Essential checklist.

• Mask
• Gloves
• Fighting trousers
• Fighting shoes
• Longsword waster
• Assorted Shinai
• Passport
• Money

Tonight is Schola Night. In fact, it's the last Schola Night before Dijon. Then we disperse to our Jumping Off Points, and prepare to travel our various routes to converge upon Dijon for some fighting, fun, booze, party party and a whole lot of education.

So, do we have any final points we need to brush up on tonight before our journey? One last class before we're on our own? A little more drilling perhaps? Any final little bits of repertoire to perfect? Any last words of advice before departure?

And so a lovely weekend ended with a drink or two at our local watering hole, the back to the Python's for wine movies and pizza. A very pleasant way to end a very pleasant weekend. However, by that time the Doctor was extremely tired. I mean, sick-tired. So, I hung out on the sofa and rested my head on a big furry stuffed gorilla and gently dozed.

For a change the Sylvanian did not have to endure any more of the Cold Steel promotional DVD. Instead she was treated to many hours of la Bete's knife fighting instructional movies.