On Books

Ever since I could, I have loved to read.

I can remember reading what I thought of as my first proper book, some sort of story about an boy who’s mum marries an ice cream man. I also remember reading horror novels when still a pre-teen with The Exorcist and The Rats and the Crabs books being favourites of mine when I was maybe 11 or so. I have found almost a second home among the bookshelves of libraries and have spent many a happy hour browsing the books at boot fairs or bookshops.

To put in metaphorical terms, when finding a secondhand book, it’s almost like adopting an unwanted child. In effect you’re rehoming it. I love the feeling of turning pages that have been handled before, of releasing that books story to be told again. There’s something utterly entrancing about the feel of a well worn book, or the smell of the pages. In fact that smell can be called one of my favourites and the way a secondhand bookshop smells is wonderful.

Then again, I also love the feeling of being the first person to read a brand new book. I love the feel and sound of the virginal pages turning. It’s almost as if the book in question is a songbird singing for the first time. Perhaps I overanalyse at times but to me, the written word ranks among mankind’s greatest achievements. The power of the written word is almost beyond compare and be used to bring about good in society as well being used to wrought evil.

When I would be going through a bad time, such as being bullied at school or being imprisoned I would escape that by delving into a book. To my mind that is the real power of the book, it’s ability to transport you to a different time, a different place. Books have the ability, like movies, to stay with you long after you have finished them. They can plant seeds in your head, seeds that sprout into ideas, into careers, into endless possibilities. A book thrill, excites, saddens and moves your emotions and mind around at will. The good writer has the ability to pull you into the book. The feeling of lights coming on, of gaining knowledge that can only be garnered from reading is wonderful.

I love reading, and if I am ever lucky enough to become a parent I hope to be able to pass on a love of the written word. If I can manage that then I will consider myself to have done a good job.

A Moving Story

I live on Chatham High St and as I was walking back from training the other night I was struck by a thought. It was either that or some mild concussion had made me think of things that in a different way. See, the Medway Towns, where I live comprise of 45 principle towns, Chatham, Rochester, Gillingham, Strood and Brompton. For the most part it’s a working class city with all the attendant problems.

~However there are pockets of nice areas, of places that gladden and enrich the soul. As I meandered along the 3 n half mile walk, I thought upon how my favourite part of Medway, namely historic Rochester gives way to Chatham. The road I walk is a more or less straight one and Rochester High St changes into Chatham High St almost without one noticing. However, if you pay closer attention you can notice the gradual increase in the shabbiness of the buildings as you pass Rochester train station. You can almost taste the seediness in the air. By the time I get to my end of town, and I live in the penultimate building on Chatham high St, so I really am down amongst the dregs, then you almost ascribe a graph like drop in the quality of the area.

To give a few examples of what my end of town is like, I have opened the street door to find someone defecating the doorway on more than one occasion now. When I walk Milly, I have to keep one eye on the pavement as dirty syringes litter the sidewalk. It’s an unusual day when a beggar does not approach you for cash. As I write this post on a Friday night, I can hear police sirens screaming by. I have to dodge all the bodily fluids left on the road when out. In the last 2 months 5 people have been murdered in a 500 yard radius and for all this I pay £495 a month. it’s not that I don’t like the flat I live in, it’s a nice and big apartment however it is in a really shitty area.

I have joined a Credit Union with the idea of saving and taking out a loan in around a year for a kick arse holiday. However I have decided to save for a little longer and take a bigger loan in order to move out and head to my Rochester High St. How can you beat waking up to the peals of the bells of Rochester Cathedral or being able to wander into the grounds of the castle and plonking yourself down to read your paper?

Summer Lovin'

Tomorrow I am heading to see my favourite football team, Gillingham take on Bradford City in a League Two match. Before I launch into the rest of this post, I don’t half wish the authorities would stop messing around with football. It’s not League two to me, it’s Divison 4 as that’s what I grew up with.

So, whilst I anticipate tomorrows match with Bradford, I think back to some of my happy and not so happy memories of the gills. One thing keeps nudging at the back of my mind though, a memory rising to the surface. It’s the summer I spent my holidays from school painting the ground. The previous season we had declared bankruptcy and the future of the club was in doubt. There was an appeal out over the radio for people to come down and help get the ground ready for the new season. I had just finished my schooling for good and I was a t a loose end so I answered the call. I turned up at the ground and was given a pot of bright (and I mean bright!) yellow paint and a brush and was led through dark and dingy corridors. This was where I started getting all excited, I mean to me, this was akin to an American being led around the White House. The old boy unlocked a door, bright light flooded in and all of a sudden I was pitch side. I was shown to the Town End and asked to get started on painting the crash barriers. Through the next 4 or 5 weeks I painted the carriers, the walls etc around all 4 sides, the turnstiles, in fact just about everything.

I was allowed freedom to wander the corridors in the main stand and quite often I could walk into the office, help the secretaries to do basic tasks, I was often sent to the corner shop for sundries. For those few weeks I felt like a proper part of my club. I still get goosebumps now thinking about players recognising me and saying hello to me as they passed me. I was there, actually at the ground when Paul Scally bought the club. I was there when we signed Jim Stannard, Leo Fortune West and Dennis Bailey. That last guy became one of my favourite Gills players of all time when he gave me and the other volunteers that were there that day £20 to go and get fish n chips for our lunch. I smile at that memory now as I do at the time I went into the home changing room and saw graffiti left by the players that slated Mike Flanagan, the manager who was made redundant when we went bust. When I was in the Town End, painting away one day I accidentally kicked a tin of yellow paint over and for several years afterwards there was a bright yellow splodge running down the steps!

Perhaps my age is forcing me to reminisce but the ground has changed since that heady summer with it now being all seater, with all 4 stands being replaced. I know some things have to change but that summer marked the last of my nascent childhood and the start of my adulthood. I’ve included some pics of the ground as it was in the summer I was let loose with a paint brush, just to illustrate. I’ll edit this tomorrow after I get back from the match.

Sparring

Tonight , at training, I sparred Mick. Now Mick has fought for England, had over 60 bouts when he was active and was all set for turning pro when he buggered his knee up. After that he joined the army and boxed at amateur level there too. He is easily the best boxer I have been in with although my coaches son runs him close. Needless to say he battered me, with one punch in particular giving me double vision! However Mick also teaches you a lot from his sparring and whilst I take a pasting, I also take that pasting and learn from it and use it as a positive.

He gave me some tips during the session, and when I tried them, it immediately made a difference. Afterwards he complimented me on my jab and my body shots. I do sometimes have the raving hump when a sparring session goes badly but tonight, whilst I was quiet, that was more down to the sheer intensity of sparring. I think that my footwork and moving around has improved greatly as has my blocking and parrying. Sadly though, not quite improved enough to stop some of them bloody hard shots coming through but it’s getting better all the same.

I made a point of thanking Mick for the sparring and the lessons learned therein before I left. I am now looking forward to having another blast tomorrow night.

Gym Will Fix It

50 press ups
50 squat jumps
50 star jumps
50 tuck jumps
100 bench presses of 50kg
100 reps of 'skullcrushers' (10kg0
50 sit ups
10 minutes of pad work withthebest coach in the world
10 minutes of skipping
10 minutes of shadow boxing
15 minutes of bag work
4 x 3 minute rounds of sparring
2 lots of ground work

Damn i love it at the gym!

Feline Grumpy

I did have a long post planned about the abdication of responsibly that runs through our society. That’ll keep for another time but for now, and tying in with that, I have a little something about pet ownership.

I am the proud owner a small furry family with canines, felines, rodents, pisceans and soon I think, something exotic. However, before I get any pet, I think through carefully and weigh up how much money I can afford to spend on the set-up, feeding, vet bills, attention, it fitting in with the rest of the other pets etc. That’s before I even head to the pet shop.

I head to one of two independent pet shops in the Medway towns as I think they both offer a better choice of stuff than the food or suchlike you can get from supermarkets. The staff there are also knowledgable and I do love to torture myself by looking at the pets there that I know it’s a bad idea for me to have. I fall in love with things like Pygmy African Hedgehogs on a regular basis. The outside of the shop in Gillingham is festooned with ads form people that are selling their pets. Now this is a regular and expected occurrence, especially when people are feckless enough not to neuter or spay their pets. That’s not such an issue, and sometimes it is a good source of a pet for those who may not be able to afford £500+ for a purebred puppy. One hopes that the owners realise from their mistake and spay the parent animal.

Today though whilst I popped into the above shop en route to the hospital, I perused said notices out of curiosity. I was taken aback by the amount of people wanting to give away their animals. There were cats and kittens, puppies and dogs all with owners wanting shot with none of them wanting more than £30 for a feline or £100 for a canine. Some of the ads broke my heart as the owners were clearly financially stricken and rehoming their pets out of desperation. Some of the ads made my blood boil as the owners were clearly to stupid to be allowed to breathe let alone keep pets. How on earth can someone place an ad offering a Rottweiler X while saying it was too much for them to handle? One would think that had they been better owners then that would not have been an issue.

I am not a parent, not yet, and to me, my animals are replacement kids and I could no more ditch them than a parent could just get rid of their children. Why Can’t people think a little bit more before they take on the responsibly of pet ownership? I’m still brooding over the fate of the animals in those ads. I hope they find a better home. I want to take them all but I know I can’t and that makes me feel like a heel.

I think too much sometimes.

Normal service to be resumed...

...at the weekend. I have been so damned busy and tired from work, training and being a dashing man about town that I've been too knackered to blog. This shall be rectified soon, promise!

The Noble Art

At the start of March in 2010, I weighed 24st, or in American, 336lbs, I knew I had to do something to change and I took the decision to walk into a boxing gym. It’s now November of 2011 and I weigh 14st 6lbs (202lbs American). I can credit boxing with that but it doesn’t really tell the whole story. I couldn’t say everything in one post as it is but I am going to go into more depth here.

I like 2 sports, namely football and boxing. The football I grew up living and the boxing I had handed down to me from my grandparents and stepfather. I would avidly read books about the famous fighters of yesteryear and I would eagerly wait up till the early hours of the morning to watch the big fights and especially those of my childhood heroes Mike Tyson and Evander Holyfield.

For the obvious reasons of sloth and gluttony (thankfully I’m not a Catholic!) as a teenager and adult I reached the size I did. Looking back now, I would overeat out of boredom and to make myself feel better. I would guzzle things like family sized bags of crisps and wash them down with 2ltr bottles of full fat Coca Cola. I would devour kebabs and chips and on more than the one occasion I would monster 2 18” pizzas, garlic bread, family sized desserts and chicken wings from Pizza Hut. Once I had started in the gym, I swapped gradually and am now eating porridge or toast for breakfast, perhaps a salad for lunch and grilled chicken breasts with rice for dinner. I still eat crap now but it’s not everyday.

So when I did go into the gym for the first time, I asked the owner if I was wasting my time there, if they could do anything for me. I was made right at home and to be honest with you, that’s what made it for me. People would encourage me and I was never made to feel like a joke for being there. After a time, maybe 3 months or so, the room in the gym I used would get busy so I wandered into the room next door and that’s where John , one of the coaches, took me under his wing. Without wanting to seem gushing, if John hadn’t made the time he still does for me, to bring me on, then I don’t know if I would have stayed there. His coaching style, is 90% boll locking whilst instructing you and 10% praise. The thing is, the 10% of praise is worth each and every drop of sweat, every bit of blood shed. I realise that I am training for myself, to get my fight but now I can see that I am also doing it to make John proud. I do get frustrated when I don’t get things quite right straight away but when I do crack the thing that’s been irritating me then it’s brilliant. There’s nothing as satisfying as hearing that special noise when you land a punch properly or when you have a good sparring session.

I’ve got the first goal I set for myself in losing weight. I’ve dropped 12 inches off my waist as well as going down 4 sizes in shirts. I’m getting ancillary benefits such as a wider choice of clothes, increased confidence and more success with the ladies. I’ve made friends I never would have before and I’ve been to boxing shows all over the south east. At a home show, back in November of last year I was called up to the ring and was awarded a trophy for all my hard work. I honestly don’t think I can express quite how much that meant to me. My ultimate objective though is to get matched for a fight and that’s getting closer and closer now. I am confident it will happen and I do have the butterflies in the stomach when I think about it but I do want to get in there and smash my opponent. Boxing has gotten right under my skin, it occupies my thoughts and on occasion my dreams. I have to sacrifice a few things but the sheer glory of fighting will be worth it.

tech-NO-logy

Perhaps I am going o come across as an utter hypocrite but sometimes I do rather worry abut societies over reliance upon technology and it’s ability to sap our morality.

I have a Facebook account like most folk and given that your reading it, I rather obviously have a blog. However I have noticed that technology is allowing more and more of us to behave like utter arseholes. Case in point being the young lady I saw the other night. She was rather inebriated and was staggering on and off the sidewalk, shouting incoherently at the traffic that was swerving to avoid her. People were egging her on and I reckon around half of them were filming her antics on their mobiles. Note that they weren’t using said devices to call for the old bill to assist the clearly at risk woman, they were using her distressed state as a source of entertainment. It’s a similar thing whenever there’s a disaster of accident, people tend not to call for help, their first instinct is to film the goings on in the hope of garnering a little fame for themselves and perhaps a few bob at the same time.

There’s a whole host of so called funny videos on Youtube of drunks unable to walk or making prats of themselves. When did we lose our decency, our instinct to help our fellow human being? When did it become ok to laugh at those less fortunate than ourselves?

That’s not to mention the lack of etiquette when people use mobiles. I understand that they’re to be used when out n about but why on earth do people feel the need to have loud and public conversations about things that should remain private? I’ve heard countless tales of peoples sex lives or work colleagues they don’t like.

Then we come to the internet, an invention both wonderful and evil in equal measure. If it wasn’t for the internet, I wouldn’t have made the friends that I have, nor travelled to the places I have. I dread to think what my life would have been like had I not logged onto the world wide web. However, whilst the internet has enabled humanity to communicate great things it has also given us the ability to spread great evil around the world like so much plague. Look at child pornography (don’t actually look at it, I was using a figure of speech!) or terrorists posting beheading videos. See, that’s something else I don’t quite get. There’s a proliferation of gore websites. Why on earth use something as wonderful as the Web to look at something as dreadful as dead people?



I despair of people at times. Perhaps I am just a Luddite!