Erroneous George

Moving house

2008-06-30T10:48:00.002+01:00

I've shifted permanently to the other blog now, so update your bookmarks and head on over that way.

Disclaimer: The other blog is mine and Paul's personal blog. It is about our time in Thailand and for the next year I am not a teacher, I am a Thai Boxer. Teachers swear, yes, but maybe not as much as Thai Boxers. If you are between the ages of 0 and 16 and you are reading this blog there will be occasional swear-words, because that's how I speak, but there will not be explicit content, because... well, why would there be?

If you're not an adult, then you are reading my blog without my permission and, as such, you should ask your parents.

Sarah x

Deletion of Posts

2008-06-21T20:46:00.003+01:00

Following the discovery that various of my previous pupils have found my blog, I have removed posts relating to my experiences as a teacher.

I have explained, in person, to my class why I left the school, which is that I was not well and had to take some time off. They accept this, and are aware that I did not leave because of them.

I apologise for any distress my posts may have caused, but have taken great care never to write about individual children, or specific incidents, nor have I ever given information which could identify the school or my pupils.

Now that the problem has been identified, it has been addressed. Further comments on the topic are welcome but will be moderated.

Evil Portents

2008-06-12T22:14:00.000+01:00

When we said in the site description that this might turn out to be a guide to ruining your life, rather than a travel log, I think we may have been onto something.

Our date of departure looms ever closer, only 4 and a half weeks away, yet we’re no closer to selling the flat. Thanks to media scaremongering everyong is convinced we’re about to hit a recession and seems to be sitting tight on their property.

Weeks come and go with no viewers, then three will show up, interested, enthusiastic and full of promise, never to be seen again.

We’ve gone to fixed price, and then reduced fixed price.

We’ve forked out hundreds on new schedules, advertisements in the Scotsman property pages.

We rush to clean floors and surfaces, arrange flowers, open the windows and plump the cushions, only to sit for 2 hours every Thursday and Sunday, waiting for…. something.

Avoiding peering out of the windows. Avoiding biting nails.

Avoiding.

I want to give up, purely because the stress is taking its toll, but I can’t give up a once in a lifetime opportunity to achieve my only real ambition. Paul wont let me give up anyway, he says we’re going, and that’s that. We just might be a little delayed, is all. He’s determined.

I don’t remind him that a couple of weeks ago he was equally determined that we were going on the 14th of July, and that was that.

I don’t think it matters how determined he is, or I am.

What matters is that Paul no longer has a job.

What matters is that, in 2 weeks time, I no longer have a job, and no chance of getting one now, having missed the current round of interviews.

What matters is our mortgage, our debts, our ties.

Not our plans, or how determined we may be to achieve them.

Masochism

2008-05-13T22:53:00.002+01:00

You get it into your head, as you do, periodically, that you are ugly.

Man-ish.

If you weren't married you'd be single forever.

You present about as much threat to other women as a suicidal chinchilla does to a shark.

You decide chocolate is probably the answer to this problem.

You wonder - "Could this be how I got a weight problem....?"

You eat the chocolate anyway.

And so the cycle continues.

Sorry for the silence!

2008-05-03T19:39:00.003+01:00

Hi guys - sorry for silence lately - I've been very busy, but go and check out my other blog (and check it regularly!) where we've got a few more posts about recent events :)

A Year in the Land of Smiles

A x

Esmerelda

2008-04-13T17:33:00.002+01:00

I arrive at the door and pause briefly to catch my breath before heading through to face whatever is going to happen next. I've spent the journey running through the procedures, the drills, the options I think I've got, but I know that whatever happens next may surprise me, could be the situation that lurks at the bottom of every cup of tea I drink for the rest of the day.

I'm ready.

I knock quietly, but enter decisively when there's no response and look around, expecting to find you somewhere obvious.

You aren't.

I pause at the door, searching for you, and find you where I least expect. You're on the floor, partially obscured by the duvet which has fallen off the double bed in the centre of the room - it looks recently slept in, the covers wrinkled and askew but cold to the touch. I'm temporarily halted by a sensory memory of the feeling of sliding in between cool, clean sheets at the end of a long, hot day, and when I bring myself back, grudgingly, to this dim and abandoned-feeling room, I worry briefly about how long I may have been standing and what you may be thinking about my strange behaviour.

With a sinking heart I realise I need not have worried.

You're blue.

Your eyes are open. They stare up - wide and huge, archetypally beautiful, with lashes which stretch up and out like feathers or wings. Your eyes stare up. Beautiful, black and lifeless.

I want to stop, be shocked and let my emotions stretch their legs. I want to wonder why you're on the floor and almost hidden, but I know I don't have time. Yet. So I move quickly, bending down and hitching my trousers up slightly at the knee to kneel beside you. I feel for a pulse, but there is none. Your skin feels... wrong. It is rubbery, thin and stretched tight like a balloon and it is neither warm nor cold, but simply wrong.

I notice with a lurch that your fingers are floppy, as blue as your face and utterly lacking in resistance or structure. I pinch you hard, and the slight squeak I hear initially makes my heart lurch back in the right direction, until I realise it was just the sound of the air within you shifting slightly.

I sit back on my heels, rubbing my eyes and pushing my glasses out and up and over my forehead.

I know there's nothing I can do, maybe could ever have done - you are who you are, and I can only question in dreams what might be if I had taken you with me.

But I didn't and that's for me, not you, to live with.

Standing up, my joints creaking, I turn and walk away, leaving you where you lie. As I close the door gently I feel your eyes on my back.

Wide, beautiful and black.

A Whole New World...

2008-04-11T18:22:00.002+01:00

That's it guys, I'm out of my old school and into a new one and I can't actually describe to you what a difference there is having moved.

It's like a separate planet! The children not only don't swear at you, run away, walk out, threaten violence or refuse to work. They actually..... *smile*! They actually, and I could be wrong abou this, but they appear to actually want to learn.

Oh

My

God.

I feel like a different person after 4 days at my new school - I actually remember why I wanted to teach, and that is that I do fundamentally like children. Younger children in particular generally avoid picking up the terrible inhibitions and complexes that we adults carry around without really noticing. Of course, that is provided they've had the right input from their parents to make that possible, which sadly the children at my previous skill often hadn't. They were contradictory that they lacked of emotional maturity but often had a very jaded and cynical attitude which we associate all to often with "maturity". Fortunately, my new class don't have that problem - they're exacty as they should be and I couldn't be happier.

Children keep you young. They make you smile and remind you that the world is fascinating.

They are unashamedly keen, interested and enthusiastic - they don't pretend not to care because it's not "cool" to care.

They usually know more than you think they do, but you have to ask the right way or they keep it to themselves. Most children are capable of far, far more than we give them credit for.

Children are deeply honest about things you wouldn't consider saying out loud. If your hair clashes with your jumper they tell you so, not because they want to upset you, but because it's true and they think you need to know.

Every day I remember another reason why this is the job I want to do, and I'm so happy to have landed in such a lovely school. However I do think that this will all work out for the best: without the experiences I've had I might never have decided to go to Thailand, and I wouldn't appreciate "normal" teaching for the great job it really is.

Things are finally looking up :)

Aarayan's Day of Pain (Part 2)

2008-04-02T21:06:00.009+01:00

As we headed off in the car to my tattoo appointment I yammered on about my trip Up North, my parents' new puppy, Meg, the difficulties involved in rehoming my many pets while Kal told me his various tales of derring-do in return. To be fair, his stories won.

Kal saw me into my tattoo appointment at 1pm at Venus Flytrap in Edinburgh and had intended to drop in and out, keep me company and consider whether or not he fancied a tattoo of his own. Unfortunately he was shooed away by what I assume was the apprentice, so went off to wander around, drink coffee and stress about his Paramedic interview for a couple of hours assuming I'd be done by 3pm, while I expected him to come back and see me at 3pm.

Calum the tattoist had drawn up a transfer based on the original design I'd given him (which I nicked of the tinternet - here is is on your left) but when I saw it I didn't like it. This tiger is more feline, slinky and fluid, whereas his was stockier, more masculine and fiercer. He rightly pointed out that mine looked like a tabby-cat, so we compromised on something in the middle. It did mean though that he had to free-hand the tiger on my leg in pen, going over and over it to refine it to the point where it could be inked. Redrawing it took about an hour, so we got started tattooing at about 2pm.

We stopped at 4.30.

Two hours of sheer hell. I have a huge tattoo already on my back, so I thought I was prepared, since whilst parts of it hurts like hell, on the whole it wasn't too

bad.

I wasn't prepared.

Not at all. The tattoo is on the outside of my left calf, coming up from my foot to my knee and there's just not a bit of that that doesn't hurt like a bastard. The skin is thin: bones and tendons are all too near the surface and fat is relatively scarce which is guaranteed to pinch. I wont bore you with the details of my shameful behaviour during those 150 minutes (9000 seconds, each one counted), but it boils down to quivering, whimpering, flinching, and trying to claw my way over the back of the chair without actually moving, since I did, I vaguely remembered, originally want (and had to *pay*) for said tattoo.

An hour and a half late, tattooed beautifully and a mere £140 out of pocket I met Kal, who was understandably grumpy, having waited for an extra hour and half in his car because I didnt have my mobile in my pocket to tell him how long I'd be, and I in turn hadn't realised he wasn't coming back at 3pm. Ooops.

Now that the cling-film is off and healing is underway it looks, I think, fantastic. And here's a picture to prove it:

So... Whaddya think?

Aarayan's Day of Pain (Part 1)

2008-04-01T11:20:00.004+01:00

Every now and then you come to a point at which you have to do numerous horrible things and sometimes it's better just to smoosh them all into one day and have done with it.

Such a day came about yesterday when I found myself with a dental appointment in which I had to have 4 or 5 fillings at 10am, followed by a 3 hour tattoo sitting at 1 pm. Ouch.

The dentist was.... horrible. The dentist herself was a lovely person, but the dentistry was horrible. I have a deep-seated and not entirely irrational fear of dentistry after a series of trips to the dentist a few years ago. The first thing that did it was meeting..... the Dental Hygenist.

No. You didn't read it right. Read it more like in a booming, tombstoney kind of voice. Like...

...The Dental Hygenist.

He was an absolutely huge, hulking man, with the delicate touch of an obese rhino, and his way of showing me that my gums weren't sufficiently healthy was to lean over me with his hugeness, poke my gums really hard, repeatedly, with a sharp and pointy metal thing and say "You see how easily it bleeds? See? See?!"

After that came the wisdom teeth. Yes. Two wisdom teeth were removed under a local (LOCAL!) anaesthetic, and a couple of hours of listening to bones being shattered with a hammer and pulled out of your skull with a pair of pliers will pretty much put you off dentistry for life. Just to hammer the nails in to the proverbial coffin, I got an infection after the procedure and my face swelled up to the extent that I couldn't open my mouth wide enough to get the anti-biotics in. I had to drink soup through a straw. For days.

So, it was with some trepidation that I arrived at the dentist yesterday. It was with considerably more trepidation that I watched the ABSOULTELY HUGE needle being inserted into my mouth to numb me up. Getting numbed up hurts like hell - it makes your jaw ache for days after, and unfortunately I have really high tolerance to medication. This means that I need loads, and regular top-ups, so I needed about as much anaesthetic as a small horse with a drug habit. After three goes I was finally, and blissfully rendered numb from nose to ear and everything in between.

Drilling commences and I spend 30 minutes literally stiff as a board, fingers arranged in a grotesque, rigormortis-like pose, stomach muscles quivering, fighting the strong, strong urge to shut my mouth and bite the dentist.

Fillings duly done, shaking like a leaf, I headed home to meet Kal. I had to go home via the shop to buy straws because I had discovered when the dentist asked me to rinse out my mouth that I was drinking with the fluid ease of a chronic stroke-victim; pinkish bubble-gum scented liquid merrily and attractively dribbing down my chin.

We had tea (tepid and through a straw) shared stories and laughed at my atempts to smile, lick my lips and speak, all of which made me look like I was attempting to audition for an amateur dramatics production of the Elephant Man.

Then it was time to head into town to get my new, shiny and beautiful tattoo...

Pictures and story to follow :)

A Year in the Land of Smiles

2008-03-26T11:56:00.004Z

Paul and I have started a new blog dedicated to our move to and adventures in Thailand, which you should bookmark and keep an eye on. It's fairly quiet at the moment, but there will be increasingly more to write and read about as time goes on.

I'll still be writing here about everything else :)

A Year in the Land of Smiles

The Agony and The Ecstacy

2008-03-23T18:05:00.003Z

I'm Up North for Easter, staying with my parents. This is an excellent opportunity for a proper rest - I've got nowhere I need to be, and no way of getting there anyway; out in the middle of nowhere in a beautiful house and no option but to relax. This is, in itself, excellent news. However, just to put the cherry on top, my mum and dad have recently acquired a gorgeous, soft, rottweiler puppy called Meg.

The ecstacy comes from the playing, the cuddles, the excessive cuteness and the restorative nature of playing with a puppy for a week. The agony comes from her needle-sharp teeth and her apparent desire to rip my face off to express her love.

I can live with that :)

Goodbyes

2008-03-18T23:17:00.002Z

Now that we're all decided about moving to Thailand, the quest to sell the flat and organise our trip has begun in earnest. The first step has been to have the flat valued, and the results have been very positive, suggesting we might expect up to £250,000, which is incredible. We paid £180,000 for it less than 3 years ago, so making £70k on it by doing not much at all is always good news.

Now we need to get the flat ready for the market - finishing off niggly cosmetic jobs, doing the tasks we've put off for months, and choose a firm of solicitors to represent us. We've had tradesmen in giving quotes, some dates in the diary and have arranged a date to move all our unnecessary furniture into storage -this Friday!

Part and parcel of all this, however, has been rehoming our pets. We've been really lucky in finding people who are prepared to take Sari and Cara on a temporary basis, and a family who want Loki, but only permanently as they have a child. In fact, I was absent from training tonight because me and Kal took the not-as-long-as-we-anticipated trip to Broxburn to introduce Sari to her new foster home. The man taking her seems a true animal lover, very kind and caring and I'm sure she'll be well looked after, but it's a very sad thing to do. I'm hoping that by the end of the week Cara and Loki will have homes to go to, and may already even be in them within a week.

Once that is done, the major work in the flat can take place and we will hopefully be on the market by the end of April at the latest. After that it's Visas, plane tickets and continuing to learn Thai and we will have done everything we can do. Fingers crossed, touch wood, weather permitting etc etc, we will sell the flat for a decent price without too much delay and be able to leave for Thailand in July with all our debts paid, money in the bank and nothing to tie us down for a year.

Bliss.

A trip down Memory Lane

2008-03-16T18:18:00.002Z

also known as falling off your bike for the first time in about 15 years.

Yes, I actually fell off my bike this afternoon when I was cycling to trampolining class when I went round a corner and my back wheel slid out from under me on a patch of mud. I skinned my knee, hurt my palm a bit and bled everywhere, but nothing that wont heal and form a badass scab...

And, AND! I didn't cry at all and I even went to trampolining even though I fell off my bike. Because I am A Big Girl.

Admittedly, I did go "Aaaaargh! Owwwwww!" and glance around to see if anyone was there to look worried and ask if they could help/call an ambulance/give me a cuddle/kiss it better, but sadly I was alone and my manly whimpering went unheeded.

My bike feels weird, though - all wibbly and unsteady (or is that just me?) so it's a trip to the bike shop to have it checked over and my front brake fixed again (remember how the kids playfully sabotaged my brakes? Well, they're still dodgy).

In other news, last night I went to the Tall Tales Oscars with Lovely Kal, at the Scottish Storytelling Centre on the Royal Mile. It was a fun night where storytellers competed to tell the best tall tale, for the honour of winning a trophy shaped like a gnome. Lots of jokes and very good fun, and obviously good company.

Tomorrow I have about 4,000 people coming over to value the flat, give estimates for work and so on, I have to get a passpor application form because my passport's still in my maiden name, have lots of passport pictures taken, and other wee jobs like that. I also need to make another appointment with my lovely doctor as my voice is still fucked, and I think I'm in need of a higher dose of anti-depressants. Training in the evening, and sorted.

One small step for man...

2008-03-14T21:26:00.003Z

... one fuck-off, scary-ass, massive, life-altering trip of a lifetime for Aarayan and Paul.

Mum, dad... we've got something to tell you.... we're gay.

Nah, not really (well, only a bit) - we're just going to live in Thailand for a year.

Following a period of epic unrest for me and a lengthy period of what can only be described (providing you're a bit middle-class and pretentious) as ennui for Paul the fates have presented us with a set of circumstances which are never likely to align again.

1 - I'm still young enough to make a go of training and fighting full time to see how far I can get
2 - I'm about to be out of a job
3 - Paul is bored senseless and wants to re-train as a teacher (fool)
4 - We were planning on selling the flat anyway

As such, we find ourselves young (well, I am anyway), child-free, moneyed up (I hope) and unemployed.

This will Never. Happen. Again.

So, what's the plan?

We're moving to Phuket, so that I can train and fight full time with Tiger Muay Thai, which appears to offer excellent facilities, for a reasonable price, and with good promotion connections. I want to get as much fighting experience as I possibly can, come down a weight category perhaps, get ridiculously fit and come back to Scotland and kick some ass :)

Paul's going to work probably teaching English, perhaps doing some web design, spend alot of time grinning his head off, drinking on the beach and learning to dive (not all at the same time, I hope).

He also thinks we're getting a pet elephant. I haven't got the heart to tell him it's not the same as owning a dog.

We'll get a flat on the island, and try and really enjoy our year in Thailand properly. I'm learning Thai with Bun down the road, and Paul's going to start lessons next week, I'm going to get as fit as I can before I leave to avoid too much unneccessary delay before fighting when I arrive.

Before all that, though there's all the unfamiliar territory of visas, work permits, selling our flat here, finding temporary homes for our pets, putting our belongings in storage and somehow managing to say goodbye to the people we love.

Paul, at least, has done this before and has some experience of saying goodbye, coming back and finding he hasn't been forgotten. He has many friends whom he sees intermittently and whenever their paths cross.

I'm finding the idea more difficult because, to be perfectly honest, I don't have many friends, but the ones I do have I love very much. There's Kal, Fran and Giles; Ally, Ann, Scott, Tessa and the guys from training; and the girls at school and saying goodbye is going to be very, very tricky. I've been in Edinburgh quite some time, and it's taken me this long to feel like I belong, so leaving it all feels like a big risk. All I can say is expect a very, very emotional Aarayan at our going away party (which, by the way, will be huge!)

So, I'm going to have plenty to write between now and July, when we leave, and even more after that!

Stay tuned, folks

A x

Boing!

2008-03-09T19:06:00.002Z

I decided to give trainng a miss on Sunday, mostly because one of my pupils will be there and I suspect I'd struggle to explain why I'm not well enough to teach, but I am well enough to smack the pads...

So, instead, I went trampolining, which is something I've always fancied trying. I'd done it a wee bit as a teenager and I managed to convince Mr Paul to come as well, so that took alot of the nerves out of the situation. At the risk of sounding abuout 12..... it was sooooo cool! I mean, how can bouncing dead high be anything other than cool, really.

The strange thing about it was that a) I was actually pretty good, and b) you don't feel nervous when you're doing it, but as soon as you get off you realise your heart is pounding and you feel sick with the adrenaline, it's all very strange. I'm going to go back again next week, but I doubt I'll be trying out for the Olympics any time soon.

In other news tomorrow I'm starting Thai lessons with a nice Thai lady up the road who teaches the language and does Thai massage. I'm going to take advantage of my excessive free-time and desire to be constantly moving by spending a few hours a week learning Thai until I go back to work, and then I'll carry on at weekends. It's something I've wanted to do for quite a while now, but put off for various reasons.

It's only been a week since I've been at work, but already I'm remembering a whole host of things about myself that I'd all but put aside for a rainy day, and it's actually quite exciting having the opportunity to pursue some of them.

As for work? Well, I'm not ready to think about that yet. I'm still struggling a bit with the symptoms of stress - panics, an aching jaw from clenching it and grinding my teeth without realising it, raw fingers and non-existant fingernails from the biting, difficulty sleeping.

I'll get there though, and before I do I will have learned some Thai and some trampolining moves :)

That Sunday Feeling.

2008-03-02T22:39:00.003Z

Having spent about 10 hours this weekend doing paperwork, and about 45 minutes planning actual teaching (doesn't that just say it all?) Sunday night rolls around again.

I hate Sunday night because it means there is absolutely nothing standing between me and Monday morning. My least favourite occurence in the week. I really shouldn't be allowed to speak to people on a Monday morning as I am pathologically incapable of being anything other than utterly depressed and negative and am likely to respond to a simple "How was your weekend?" with something along the lines of "Shite! It's all shite! I wish I were dead!", which is possibly a little uncalled for.

I've got to have a shower. I've got to go to bed. But I can't drag myself off the sofa. It's been days, if not weeks since I has a night's sleep that didn't include at least one nightmare about school. Last night's was particularly bad, and it's all symptomatic of just how awful my (and lots of my colleagues') jobs has become.

I'm a grown woman and all I can think is "I don't want to go to school tomorrow"

Sad.

It doesn't rain...

2008-02-20T19:29:00.002Z

I can scarcely believe it, but this would hardly be "Aarayan's Blog of Woe" otherwise, but I've got a fecking throat infection. How? Why?! Have I not suffered enough?

Apparently not, so just to get this karmic imbalance sorted out once and for all, I've arranged to visit a bee colony at the weekend to be ritualistically stung by many thousands of insects until near death. I will then, without applying lotion of any sort, take myself to a sandpaper factory where I will submit to be dragged around on a giant sheet of sandpaper by 3 old, smelly tractors driven by perverted, gangrenous tory MPs with B.O and trench-mouth.

After this, I will watch 10 back-to-back episodes of Emmerdale, followed by a slap-up meal of raw liver and mashed maggots.

I think that should do the trick.

Especially since I intend to tip my karmic balance all the further into the shit by eating a dominos pizza *with* starter. And wine.

Mwahahahahahaha! Just try and stop me :)

You can't win 'em all

2008-02-17T13:56:00.003Z

Yesterday was fight 4, at the Ladykillers II show in Wythenshawe and before hand I wouldn't say I was confident as such, but I wasn't pessimistic either. I was more determined to do my best, and of course I didn't want to get my first loss.

However, there's a first time for everything and lose is precisely what I did do, in fairly spectacular fashion.

I was fighting a girl called Sarah McCarthy from Bad Company and she was just too good. Her clinch was excellent, I had no match for her knees and her boxing was very strong. The first right hand she landed did something very painful to my nose which, whilst not broken is sore, swollen and blocked. Her kicks weren't painful at least and, as usual, I've got no bruises whatsoever (apart from my nose and my eyes).

Round one she definitely dominated and it was quite a shock. I don't remember much apart from being put on my arse twice - once she caught my body kick and kicked out my standing leg (which was *my* plan - bugger) and I think the second time must have been in the clinch or something, but my bum ended up out of the ring between the ropes, which was dignified.

Her straight knees were epic - very strong, very Thai, very, very effective. I haven't stopped feeling like I'm going to vomit since then.

In the corner after round 1 Ally told me to keep busy, keep out of the clinch, box strong and body kick so I can out all guns blazing at the start of round 2 and landed 4 or 5 decent, unanswered shots. However, then she got me in the clinch and proper fucked me up, putting me back on my arse again at some point. In the last 10 seconds of round 2 she did.... something painful which got me my 3rd standing 8 count and when the ref asked me at the end if I wanted to continue, I said no thank you. I knew I couldn't win by this point unless I miraculously KOd her, and the chances were much stronger that she would KO me pretty quickly - every punch she threw sparkled me.

I can't pretend I'm not disappointed. I know there's no shame in losing to someone who's better than you, and no-one can win all the time, but the fact that I gave up doesn't sit well with me. It was the sensible decision, but I feel like a coward.

Paul says not to be a daftie, and referred me to the following video, which I watched in floods of tears whilst going "owwww!" because crying makes my nose sting:

However, he has a point.

Anyway, it's only 4 weeks until the next fight and I'll just keep training and try to put this behind me and learn from it as best I can. For now, however, it's beer time!

Asthma is so last season.

2008-02-12T22:45:00.000Z

I've decided I'm bored of asthma now, so that topic is finished. I don't want to get all drama-queeny and boring about it and, really, there's only so much to say.

Sooooooooo.... what's new with you?

What - nothing?

Fair enough - I'll tell you what's new with me instead, because it's my blog and I'll randomly change the subject if I want to.

Firstly, teaching.

Fucksake. Kids these days.

To cut a long story short, and save you from excessive woe, the job's been a nightmare. The staff have been great and how they drag themselves in day after day and maintain any semblance of positivity is beyond me. The only thing keeping me going is the knowledge I'm moving on somewhere hopefully more inspiring at the end of this academic year. The upshot of it all is that the appalling behaviour, constant abuse and aggro and high-stress levels have driven me to drugs, and not even fun ones: boring anti-depressants. They don't even make you hallucinate or anything. Boo.

Interview time is, however, upon us, so I'm trying to be positive. I've applied for 3 jobs so far at lovely, lovely schools with children who have a whole range of different issues, but who are at least not likely to swear at me, run away, throw furniture, threaten violence or damage property on a regular basis. I'm trying for optimism and have started putting together an interview outfit which is actually proving more stressful than the application process. Honestly, what a girl.

In other news it is only 4 meagre days until the fight. FOUR.

SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT.

Nah, it'll be fine. Honest. (shitshitshitshitshit...)

I've trained as hard as I can: running, swimming, cycling, sparring, double pads with Ally and Ann, and I've cut a ridiculous amount of weight, going from 70kg to 62.3kg in 7 weeks. I've got an entire cupboard full of treats for the weekend of the fight, but I'm not going to go crazy with the food, I've got a fight a month after this for a few months so I need to keep my weight stable and I have no desire to go through this stupid weight thing again.

That said, here's my list of yummy food I currently crave:

- Thai barbeque ribs and chicken wings
- Dominoes BBQ pizza
- Burger King Bacon double cheese burger
- Snickers bar
- Croissant with raspberry jam or nutella
- Galaxy chocolate of any variety
- Toasted bagel with cream cheese and crispy bacon
- Oodles of toast
- Ben and Jerry's Chocolate Therapy icecream
- Fish and Chips
- Roast chicken & chunky home made chips

But I promise not to actually eat all those things - the last thing I want to do is but 8 kilos back on again and have to lose it by the 15th March...

I'm pretty much organised for Saturday. I'll be out of school like a bat out of hell when the bell rings at 12.35 on Friday, up to the Commonwealth Pool for a sauna, down to Tollcross to get my hair braided, maybe a sneaky massage in Stockbridge and back home for a salt bath to get this last 2 kilos off. I've got my kit washed and ready and I've stocked up on ibuprofen, thai oil, baby oil and vaseline. I've decided what I'm eating before and after the fight and bought as much of it as I can, with a list of what else is needed and what needs to be packed in my bag on the day.

I'm excited but not scared, I think I can make a decent go of this fight and maybe layeth the smacketh down.

Now, because I'm an honest girl and I think this is pretty funny (and I finally told Paul, so I can tell you), I'm going to share with you an embarassing example of how much of an idiot I am.

John, chief instructor at the gym, suggested Ann and I go and get a tan. We're both very pale - Ann's allowed because she's Swedish, I'm just pale... because.

I wasn't going to bother because, frankly, it's ridiculous, but I was a bit miserable today so I thought "What the hell, why not, treat yourself."

So I did.

Now I have sunburnt boobs.

Idiot.

Thank you.

2008-02-12T11:08:00.000Z

Thank you, lovely Asthma Nurse. Thank you for taking me seriously, thank you for seeing me at short notice, thank you for being concerned, and thank you for prescribing me a brown inhaler and telling me to come back ASAP if it gets any worse.

Thank you thank you thank you.

Dr Cock-Jockey could learn alot from you

As much use as a chocolate fish on a bicycle made of tea pots.

2008-02-11T21:43:00.002Z

That's what my verdict is of my salbutamol inhaler so far.

Next?

Worst week ever?

2008-02-11T08:14:00.000Z

Oh Lordy, troubles so hard.

It's been one of those weeks where the bad news just keeps on coming, really. All of it minor, but when you put it all together it makes for a sucky week, especially when you're fighting in a week.

Sunday - Couldn't train because I hurt my calf muscle
Monday - Still couldn't train because of the calf
Tuesday - Back to training - Hurrah!
Wednesday - Tooth got infected and had to be fixed - no training.
Thursday - Off work, still sick from the tooth, but managed a wee bit exercise
Friday - Back to training - Hurrah!
Saturday - Visiting granny. No training.
Sunday - Training, but not as much as usual. Diagnosed with asthma.

Harsh. Particularly the last one.

I've had the problem a few times that when I'm hitting the pads and I'm really pushing myself I get an audible wheeze and can't breathe - not like being out of breath, much worse. It's been happening more and more after first happening in October and last night I was still feeling tight in the chest so eventually I rang NHS24 and ended up with an appointment at the our of hours clinic.

Now, I've previously had an excellent experience of the out of hours clinic, when I got cellulitis last year, so it's a bit of a shame that I was seen by such an utter cock-jockey last night.

He diagnosed exercised-induced asthma with an oh-so-thorough examination. Involving listening to my lungs with a steth, ...., ...., ....., Oh. Yeah. That was all. he didn't do a peak flow, didn't take my blood pressure, take my pulse, even listen to my heart. He didn't even ask how I felt. He quite clearly desperately wanted to be somewhere else, and oh Lordy it showed.

Dr Cock-Jockey (as I fondly call him) prescribed a Salbutamol inhaler with the following stunningly helpful advice: "I don't know if it'll help, but it can't hurt. My advice would be to exercise less hard". When I explained I compete and I can't just stop if I'm tired, he said he didn't know what else to suggest. I asked him about preventative treatment and he denied any such thing existed when, clearly, it does. Here.

What a wank.

So, this morning I went to see my own G.P. armed with a wealth of information in the hope I'd get a more thorough diagnosis and treatment plan. She was much more helpful, (possibly partly because she had a student), and prescribed a peak flow meter to record how it changes when I've got the wheeze. She also confirmed that there are other drugs I can take if the salbutamol doesn't do the trick and recommended taking it 10 minutes before training as a preventative measure.

I must say, I'm rather chuffed with the Peak Flow thingy, because for a ridiculously competetive person like me, there is nothing like discovering your resting peak flow is off the chart :)

*smugsmugsmugsmugsmug*

Smug.

How has it taken me so long to realise....

2008-02-08T22:06:00.000Z

... I hate exercise?

It's all going a bit new-agey....

2008-02-07T21:35:00.000Z

Something I've heard from aspirational types, (you know; life-coaches, people who used crystals for "healing" purposes, women with purple, tie-dyed t-shirts with pictures of dolphins on them) is that if you write down your goals you're more likely achieve them, because you're admitting them properly to yourself and making them more official in some way.

Well.

I have some goals for this year which I thought I'd share, and I know the old saying "I want doesn't get", but I don't care - this is what I want!:

Career

I want to apply only for jobs I really want.
I want to be offered an interview for every job I apply to.
I want to have a full-time, permanent post which I'm really happy about secured for August.
I want to be able to sleep on a Sunday night.

Fighting

I want to have at least 7 fights this year.
I want to win as many as possible convincingly and stylishly.
I want to win at least 1 of them by KO
I want a title. I know it's not likely, and certainly not this year, but I don't care, I want one.

Holidays

I want to spend 3 weeks training in Thailand and then fight there (and win)
I want to spend 2 weeks having a holiday in Thailand with Paul and not put loads of weight on
I want to go to New York with Paul for Christmas 2008
I want to spend more time with Paul and visiting my parents
I want to visit a spa.

Money

I want to be earning £25,000 or more.
I want to have a smaller mortgage
I want to have more disposable income
I want to sell the flat at Easter for at least £225,000
I want to find a nice, but not too expensive rental property which accepts pets to live in until we manage the next one...
I want to find and buy a little house with a garden and a garage to renovate and love and make a mint on

Appearance

I want to have a haircut and colour every 2 months
I want to have a wardrobe of clothes I like which fit
I want to start wearing makeup occasionally
I want to maintain a walking-around weight of 63kg all the time

Other Stuff

I want a kick bag to hang in my new garage (which I'm going to have)
I want to learn to drive

And I think that's about it.

Not asking for that much, am I?

Dentistry Disaster

2008-02-07T10:21:00.000Z

Dentist: So, Aarayan... can you think of any trauma the tooth might have suffered? Hitting off a bottle? Suffering a blow to the jaw....?

Aarayan: A blow to the jaw... Well, I do get punched quite alot in the face.

Dentist: Can you think of any particular incident?

Aarayan: It's probably faster to think of the days I *don't* get punched in the face.

Dentist: Ah.

So. I've lost a filling from the side of my back molar at some point over the past couple of months and gradually, like a thief in the night, or a Rolls Royce driver in Sighthill, decay has snuck into the tooth and right the way down, down, down almost to my nerve.

On Monday my gum was a bit sore, on Tuesday by gum felt a bit sorer, by Wednesday 7 am my tooth was starting to ache and had turned grey. By 11 am I'd taken all the painkillers I could take without become the first accidental suicide victim in a Scottish school and had to admit defeat and go home until the dentist could see my at 4.30.

The journey home was a nightmare. Because the tooth in question is my back bottom molar, it's all too close to my glands and I very rapidly started to feel dizzy, sick and headachey but *just* made it home without vomiting all over a Lothian Bus. The punishment the driver would have inflected on me would have been epic. I got home and promptly fell asleep (after ringing Kal and saying "Am I dying? You're a more reliable opinion than NHS24!"

After taxi-ing it to the dentist 3 hours later I was numbed up, cleaned out and re-filled and told to come back on Friday to see if she'd got the decay in time. Because if not.....

ROOT CANAL!

Oh Fuck.

Today I am still off work sick because I'm sore, my head is pounding and I'm still feeling pretty sick, but I'm hopeful (?in denial?) that I wont need a root canal tomorrow.

No.

I'm not doing it.

Can't make me.

*sob*

Huzzah!

2008-02-04T20:14:00.001Z

I finally made it down to 9 stone 13.6 yesterday morning (63.3kg), and Lo, yea verily did I do the happy dance. This morning I was a pound up, 10 stone 0.8 largely due to fluid and the like, so I'm not concerned, and my measurements put my body fat down to 20%, which is my lowest ever.

That means that this week I've lost another 4lbs (2kg), bringing me down from 11 stone (70kg) as I was at New Year at an average of about 3lbs per week.

Unfortunately I haven't been able to train for a couple of days because of a small injury, but I think a couple of days of rest, plenty of ibuprofen and hot and cold compresses will sort it right out.

Back to training tomorrow, I hope!

Goodness me.

2008-02-02T17:17:00.000Z

It's only 2 weeks now until the 1st fight of the year, and I'm starting to feel the pressure. I'm confident now that I'll make the weight - I was 10 stone 1.8 this morning (64.2kg), and despite the fact I didn't manage any extra cycling or swimming today because my calf muscle is very sore, I'm still expecting to lose a pound or so more by Monday.

Today's sparring was hard for me: it was my last sparring class before the fight, and I really wasn't on my game, which threw my confidence a bit. Thankfully, Ally's a star and sorted me out so by the end of the class I felt much better. I'm definitely nervous, I want to succeed and do my best, and not make an arsehole of myself and all those other things, but at least I feel I've done all I can do so far. I couldn't have dieted or trained any harder up to this point, so I can feel proud of myself for that, whatever else happens.

One more hard week of training, and calmer week to build my strength back up and it's fight day... 13 days and counting!

Clarification

2008-01-30T07:20:00.000Z

Clarification on Dehydration ( makes a good rhyme ;p ). I mentioned in an earlier post that I was wildly de-hydrated after lots of trainng in a sweat suit, but didn't make it clear that I'm not deliberately de-hydrating myself. I'm drinking gallons of water, but I have a natural tendency to drink too little, and I'm always really dehydrated first thing in the morning. So, I promise I'm not being too silly :)

Training's going .... O.K. this week - I'm working hard, but I'm totally knackered and feel like a great big Pile 'O Shite. I'm hungrier every day, and really really tired, but it's having the desired effect. Weighed in this morning at 10 stone 3.2, which brings me down to about 64.75 kilos, and I think I could reasonably have reached 1o stone / 63.5 kg by next Monday. That gives me almost 2 weeks to lose the last 2.5kg.

And, AND! It's Thursday tomorrow! No training! Resting! Spaghetti Bolognese! There is only one bad thing about Thursday: it's almost Friday, which is 6 whole days away from Thursday.

A x

Ah HA!

2008-01-28T06:51:00.000Z

Wooooo!

Monday Morning Weigh-In: 10 stone 4.6/65.5kg ... 4 lbs off, which is nearly 2 kilos :)

My measurements are also down about an inch everywhere, which brings my BMI down to 23.4 and my bodyfat down to 20.7%, which is OK for a woman.

This is starting to look more achievable...

Huzzah!

urg....groan....

2008-01-27T18:33:00.000Z

It's been a week of ups and downs with the weight-cutting, but I think I've pretty much got the hang of it now.

Wednesday, I cycled to and from work, but the cycle home was a complete nightmare: heavy head wind, driving rain. I was soaked and miserable by the time I got home, following a ride that was nearly twice as long as it would normally be. After that, I was sorely lacking in energy, and for the first time since Saturday, my body noticed what I'd been up to and started shouting "OOOOOOOOW! ME HUNGRY! ME SORE! ME WEAK!!!!". I can honestly say I've never felt hunger like it - really deep and serious hunger. So, I cracked and went about 600 calories over for the day, but didn't feel I'd had much choice.

Thursday is a rest day anyway, and not having anything to do in the evening is always a killer if you're dieting, so again, 400 calories over.

Friday, back on the wagon, didn't cycle to work, and cycled rather than ran to training to ease myself back in, but trained in a sweat-suit, and kept to calories.

Saturday and Sunday, more of the same. Lots of cycling, swimming, running, training, drowning myself and by-standers in sweat (pleasant for all), and when I weighed myself this evening after training I was 10 stone 5. Tomorrow I'd expect to be much the same as although I'm carrying food in my body at the moment, I'm also wildly de-hydrated, so that'll balance out over the night.

Official weighing and measuring day is tomorrow, so we'll see what the official loss of pounds and inches is this week, and hopefully I'll beat it this week coming.

Philosophical Question.

2008-01-26T19:29:00.000Z

How do we cope with the innate uncertainty of life?

People tend to get stressed out by day to day uncertainty, I know I do. Not knowing what is going to happen in the next hour, or next day is something that I find difficult.

What am I teaching next? Where am I supposed to be at 4.30? How do I get to the hairdresser's? Are you coming over or not?

A study, used as an explanation for the shocking statistic that the average life-expectancy for a teacher post-retirement, [assuming they have taught for their whole career] is 9 months, showed that rats exhibit higher levels of stress when faced with uncertainty than with greater effort.

The rats were split into two groups, and measured for stress levels when running on a treadmill. In the first group, the rats ran quickly, but for a set length of time every day. They, I think, were also played a tone at regular period so they learned how much longer they had to run.

The second group ran less quickly, but for different lengths of time every day, and without a beep to tell them how much longer they had to go.

The study showed a higher level of stress in the rats that ran slower but never knew how long they'd have to run for.

So why, therefore, do we find it so difficult to cope with day-to-day uncertainty but have no problem with the knowledge that we have no idea how long we have to live, or what will happen next?

Anything could happen tomorrow - something terrible, like a terrorist attack, or a death in the family, or your husband or wife leaving you. Something amazing could happen: you could win the lottery, have an epiphany, inherit a fortune. No-one knows, but we're ok with it.

Why? Do we just not think about it unless we absolutely have to? If we all walked around, fully aware of the uncertainty of life would we live the same?

We tend to assume that everything will be the same tomorrow - the sun will rise, we'll live another day and everything will work out in the end. Is that optimism, or denial?

I promise I'm not being all depressive, but it's not something I've truly considered in any deep sense before.

What do you think?

Good start

2008-01-22T18:34:00.000Z

3 days in and the diet is going well. So far I haven't gone above 1200 calories per day regardless of exercise and I'm starting to see some results on the scales already.

Monday am - 10 stone 8.6
Ran for 50 minutes in a sweat-suit, trained 5 x 3 on the double pads

Tuesday am - 10 stone 7.4
Cycled home from work, 30 minutes (not *to* work because I'd left my bike there a few days ago), Cycled to and from training, 35 minutes
2 hours training in sweat suit (double pads, skipping etc)

I feel..... pleased that I'm showing so much self-control, but bloody tired. But I'm always tired, so I can't blame that definitively on the new routine.

Let's see how another night of training affects the weight and the tiredness. Looking forward to Thursday as it's my night off from training - hurrah!

A x

Christmas Karma

2008-01-20T21:15:00.000Z

Newton's 3rd Law of Motion suggests: Every action has an equal and opposite reaction.

Newton was a clever chappie, we know this because he discovered gravity and made up a fantastic game about apples, so we can trust him on this one. Now, because I too am a clever chappie I've made own Law, based on Newton's work:

If you eat like a numpty for a month and do no exercise, you will have to suffer in equal quantities to the amount of enjoyment you had whilst slobbing out.

I had *alot* of fun slobbing out. I ate chips, ice cream (many flavours), Thai, Indian, burgers, toast, full-fat cheese, chocolate, crisps... pretty much whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted it. Admittedly it wasn't all fun - I was aware of the changes to my body and I really, really wasn't keen, but I needed to get it out of my system after a full year of non-stop dieting and fight training.

Now, to make weight for this fight, I am going to have to really, really suffer.

This week I'll be conducting my very own weight-loss experiment. The kind that I would never recommend, because it's daft, but at least I know this, and Paul is warned and I'm well-prepared.

For one week, I'm going to be eating the calorific equivalent of Fuck-All, and exercising a Shit Load, and we'll see where we are this time next week. I'll be eating 1,200 calories per day, which is my normal amount, but I usually add on my exercise calories and eat those too (as is only right and proper). This week I wont be taking exercise into account. I'm going to eat 1,200 calories and be burning off about 1,000 through exercise. This is very silly, however, those 1,200 calories will at least be very high protein, low fat and heavy on the fruit, veg and lean meat, so it will be at least healthy.

I've actually already started, today, and I think I can handle it, but I'm going to be grumpy, tired, depressed - this I know. But, to be fair, what's new in that?! I'm always grumpy, tired and depressed, so maybe I'll at least be skinny as well.

My plan is to document my progress this week, share my exercise and my diet for one week and how it affects my mood and energy. It's been done before, sure, but not by me.

So - Sunday 20th January - 10 stone 9.4 - 1,200 calories in, 40 minutes cycling, 40 minutes running, 60 minutes training in a sweat suit. Tired, but not starving.

2nd Time Lucky...

2008-01-06T11:48:00.001Z

As you might recall, last year I was supposed to have my first fight on the Ladykillers show in May along with 2 or 3 other girls from the gym, but pull-outs are common and my opponent pulled out at the last minute, leaving me both in the lurch and in a very, very bad mood.

Well, several of us SMTC girls are matched again this year on the Ladykillers II, and here's hoping that we're all still matched when the day comes, because I know we're all keen to go down and fight with some different gyms, on what is a very unusual show, given that it features an entirely female line-up.

Women are obviously less common in this sport/martial art (that's a debate for another time!) than men, and our fights tend to be fewer, further between and subject to greater change. Because there are fewer opponents, therefore there are fewer options when your match falls apart, and many many women miss out regularly on fights because their opponent pulls out and nobody can be found to take their place in time. So, 6, 8, 12 weeks of training are not put to immediate use, a match is made for a show in another couple of months time, and you carry on training.

It's something you're supposed to get used to: every fighter will experience it many times, and at the last show I basically acted like a twat because I was disappointed. So, whatever happens this year, I promise not to act like a twat. I think that definitely needs to be one of my New Years resolutions: not to be a twat.

But between now and then, alongside my ongoing war with twattery, I mostly intend to train my ass off (metaphorically and literally, because it's currently HUGE), and do the best fight I can on the 16th.

Cue Rocky music...

Happy New Year!

2007-12-31T21:30:00.000Z

Having just been given a row for not posting enough, here I am, posting.

Suffice to say, Happy New Year, and I'll update much more in the coming year. I promise.

Paaaaaaaarrrrrrr Taaaaaaaay!

A x

Bigotry: The Greatest Evil?

2007-11-14T21:02:00.000Z

The low hum of conversation in the industriously busy classroom is a lovely sound: children thinking for themselves, collaborating with each other and developing some independence. There are moments, however, when a teacher might regret allowing children to chat, quietly, whilst they work.

Remember at school discos? When the song would come to an abrupt and startling close, just in time to expose the shouted "Fuck!" at the end of your previously private conversation?

...

"I hate chinkies!"

I'm somewhat taken by surprise by this comment, which soars like a lone, racist bird out over the buzz of chat which fills the classroom, leaving children, silent and awed in its wake. It's not difficult to find the source of the comment: I know the voice, and I know the location of its owner. I'm not keen to make a big fuss at the time because I don't want to give comments like that more attention than they deserve, and they don't deserve any. I settle for my standard recourse in a situation which I consider serious but where I want time to think about how best to deal with it in the long term:

"Language like that is totally inappropriate, and I wont stand for it in the classroom. That's 15 minutes of your Golden Time, and you can stay back after class to discuss the seriousness of what you have said."

Having made my point and cowed the accused, class continues and the end of the day rolls around.

We sit together, at the child's desk, rather than mine, so they feel comfortable and not like they're being interviewed, but I don't beat around the bush:

Me: So, what was that all about?

Child: Sorry.

Me: No, seriously, what was that about - where did that come from? For starters, explain to me what you meant with that comment.

Child: Well, I do! I hate Chinkies!

Me: Please, stop saying "Chinkies", it's not a nice word - do you mean Chinese food, or Chinese people? Either way, please say "Chinese".

Child: Chinese people.

Me: Why?! You can't just say things like that - where has this come from?

Child: Well, have you seen the state of the pollution in the rivers in China?

Me: [ ... ]

Me: Sorry?

Child: China's rivers and waterways are some of the most polluted in the world - it's appalling!

Oh....kay.

What can you say to that, really? I explained the difference between not liking pollution in China, and not liking all Chinese people, and how one really has nothing to do with the other.

I likened it to my own distaste for American foreign politics, which has nothing to do with the majority of American people, and the child seemed to get it.

But, seriously?

Inside I was laughing my ass off.

Bigotry... the greatest evil?

No, seemingly it's pollution in the rivers and waterways of Beijing.

Oooooh

2007-11-04T23:41:00.001Z

Who will be the thousandth visitor to my blog.... will it be you?

Or you?

Or..... YOU?!

Or me, maybe.

Dear oh dear.

2007-10-28T11:41:00.000Z

Not a good week at all. It started out well - my new training schedule firmly in place, I was duly up at 5am for my run on Monday morning, did a pretty good job with the diet, sprints in the evening before training... pat on the back for me, I thought to myself.

It was all downhill from there, however. Tuesday I did not do my hillrun as planned, although I did do my two Thai classes - I apparently decided to swap running for Olympic biscuit-eating. Goddamned staffroom.

And the rest of the week continued in that vein, really. I missed 3 Thai classes, only went running twice and ate myself stupid.

I don't know what it is - the change in the weather? First week of term exhaustion/self-pity? Just the fact that I've not had more than 3 days off training for fights since April? Anyway, it must stop.

After the last fight I was so disappointed in myself that I determined to train like a machine for the next two, win them both, achieve international fame and fortune (well, maybe not that one) and reward myself with a couple of months of well-earned debauchery over Christmas.

So, we begin again this week. Up tomorrow at 5am for a run and this time there will be NO BISCUITS.

D'ya hear me? NO BISCUITS, God damn you!

Fame. No fortune.

2007-10-18T18:52:00.000+01:00

Before I get started, I have an apology to make.

Mum, I'm really, truly sorry. I swear. Alot... I thought you knew! Just try to block it out - speak to Kal's mum, she knows all about blocking out blog-swears ;)

So, basically, I used to be fat. Really quite fat. Look.

See? 14 stone, aged twenty, or thereabouts. As we know, I am now quite a bit less fat for a few reasons.

Firstly, I lost 2.5 stone with Slimming World (comes highly recommended if you like your food and you need a bit of support), and then I lost the last stone and a half or so with Muay Thai training and help from www.weighlossresources.co.uk (comes highly recommended if you want to feel like you are solely in control of your weightloss and calorie intake)

When I uploaded some before and after shots onto my profile at www.weightlossresources.co.uk it came to the attention of the owner of the site who asked if she could use me as a success story for the website. I said "Why, yes - absomalutely", and a few weeks later she emailled to say that she had passed my story on to the editor of Zest magazine who was interested in featuring me as well.

I tell you this because that's where I was yesterday: in London having a photo shoot for Zest. Rather funky, eh?

It was a pretty hectic day, preceded by a bit of fuckwittery on my account ("It's 23.30, I have to get up in 4 and a half hours, but I've left my passport at my flat and I'm staying with a friend. Shiiiiiiiiit...") and involved flying out to London at 06.30, flying back again at 14.05 and six tube rides inbetween. I arrived in North London at Veryposhhouse, on Richpeople Terrace in North London at about 09.45 and the people from the maazine were really welcoming, very friendly and professional, even though it did seem like most of their jobs consisted of having a lovely chat and a nice croissant (I'm sure there's much more to it than that, but I'm still strongly considering a move into the media industry).

The shoot itself took all of about five minutes - what really took the time was making me look like.... (prepare yourselves)... a GIRL!

Seriously, I was in makeup for about an hour and a half, and yes - I looked hot, but it really takes some of the joy out of it when you know that you *do* scrub up nice, but only with 90 solid minutes of professional help.

Once I looked female we went out into the garden for some lovely smiley shots of me in "leisure wear" (tracky B's and a nice vest top) and they took some pictures of me kicking as well, in which I pray I don't look too much of a gimp, otherwise I'll never live it down!

By 11.30 I was on my way with a bag containing a Pret a Manger sandwich and chocolate cake portion and by 16.00 I was back in sunny Edinburgh for a 2 hour stint of furniture-moving (we're having our floors sanded, hence the staying with a friend) and then off to training.

It was a busy day, but something thoroughly out of the ordinary for me. It's always nice to receive a compliment, and it makes a change to have people (from London, who work with proper girls) saying nice things about how you look, so I was feeling pretty good yesterday.

Muay Thai is great, and I'll never swap it for anything, but I find it plays havoc with my own sense of femininity. Girliness is generally *not* an advantage in contact sports, and spending most of your free time red-faced and slick with sweat is not going to make you look or feel attractive, so it was lovely to spend a morning reassuring myself that, with an effort, I can pass for pretty and it was a nice bit of recognition for the effort that's gone into losing this 4 stone.

The interview will be done over the phone apparently, and I'll mostly be mentioning Muay Thai, and the SMTC every second sentence to make sure I get some promotion of the sport in there, since god knows we need all the help we can get!

Anyway, my "Real Success" story will be in the April edition, I'm told, and I'll be sure to keep you updated with any news as it breaks (see, media-speak ;p)

In an aside, I'm deeply curious about who, if anyone, reads my blog - do me a favour and leave me a wee message so I know who's lurking there, and I will prepare myself to be extremely embarassed by the lack of responses....

Running

2007-10-16T17:49:00.000+01:00

Holy mother of God. Where once I had regular, non-flamey thigh muscles, now I have two large, frayed elastic bands which appear to be ON FIRE.

On Sunday the 14th October I went down to Manchester with some people from the gym (Ally, Marty, Graham and Wee Mark) to watch Master Sken's Supershow. Always a big event in the Muay Thai calender, I wasn't really too bothered about the specifics of who was fighting because I don't *really* care, I just love to watch fights. However, one of ours, Chris Polley was fighting full rules against Alix James and since some folk on the net were convinced this would be a walk in the park for Alix, we were all keen to go along and watch them realise the error of their ways.

Chris is a fantastic fighter - aggressive but composed, really unique style and incredibly fit, and since he'd just come back from Thailand we knew it would be a stormer and we weren't disappointed. He easily dominated rounds one and two, but since it was a 5 rounder and Thai judging scores rounds 1 and 2 of a 5 round fight equally, the first 2 rounds wouldn't normally make a massive difference to the outcome of the fight. However, he opened up quite a nice cut on his opponent's eyebrow in round 2, so that may have had an impact on the scores in Chris's favour.

Round 3, as Ally put it, was like something out of Rocky - Chris took two standing eights which could quite easily have cost him the fight, but his performance in rounds 4 and 5 was epic and he won the fight convincingly and against the odds.

His face looked a wee bit mashed afterwards, but he said he felt he could easily have fought another 2 or 3 rounds if he'd had to, and in light of this and my disappointing performance last week, I've thoroughly inspired to take up running. Alot.

For some reason I'm convinced I hate running, but in actual fact, if the last couple of days are anything to go by, I actually rather enjoy it. It reminds me of being a kid again in the Highlands when it's windy and rainy, and when it's sunny I get this sense of elation from being outside and listening to my favourite music.

Anyway, I asked Chris what he does to prepare for a fight, and apparently he goes running 8 or 9 times a week in addition to his Muay Thai training.

This is just a teeeeeny bit more than I do.

It's about 8 or 9 more runs a week than I've been doing, actually. So yesterday a new era dawned, and I went running round Arthur's Seat in the wind a rain and felt high as a kite afterwards, in addition to the 10 miles I cycled and the hour of training.

Today, my thighs feel as previously described: ouchy. But that's beside the point - I feel more positive, I feel like if I can keep this up for the next 6 weeks I'll mostly be keeeeking some bott at my next fight.

All I need to do is re-read this post every single morning at 5.30 when I need to get up for a run, because I can absolutely guarantee that this is not how I will be feeling when I have to run around Edinburgh in the, cold, wet nasty winter mornings which lurk just around the corner...

In light of this I am making a public pledge and I invite anyone who reads my blog to call me on it regularly and question/hassle/mock me about my running.

I, Aarayan, hereby solomnly swear that I will get up and go for a run at 5.30am every monday, wednesday and friday morning, and that I will also go for a really good run on a Thursday night because there's no training. Furthermore, I swear that at least 2 of those runs will include nasty shit like hill spints and steps. I promise this on pain of mockery and poor performance in the ring.

Watch this space...

Made it.

2007-10-13T20:49:00.000+01:00

It's finally the october break, and I'm so tired that there isn't even a descriptive term for it. Every new teacher (and every experienced one, for that matter) will tell you that it's that first term which really stings. The sheer work involved in that first round of forward planning, where you have not a clue what you're supposed to do. The unfamiliarity with the resources in the school - where the fuck is everything? What are you supposed to do? The daily battle with behaviour: a problem in any new class, let alone a class like mine. New children, new staff, new surroundings - it's a big challenge and one which takes its toll on any teacher.

There have been many occasions over the past 8 weeks where I have really, truly doubted my ability to make it even this far as a teacher, let alone to the end of the year, so I do have a certain degree of pride in the fact I've made it to half-term, and further that I've done so without a nervous breakdown. It hasn't, however, been easy. I've cried myself stupid many times at school, in the toilets at lunch and break, in my room at the end of the day, thinking "What the fuck am I playing at - it's not worth it". And I'm not the only one, by a long stretch, it's been hard for others who I know, harder even.

But, it's not been a wasted term: I've made progress personally and professionally. My disaterous first unofficially observed lesson has been improved upon with two good, if not outstanding lessons, of which I'm fairly proud. The constant stream of bad, shocking behaviour has been, if not replaced, broken up by lessons in which the behaviour could be desribed as very good. It's been a good few weeks since I've cried from stress or despair about teaching, and it's also a few weeks since I've considered quitting, although the last week was a time in which I regularly had to force myself into school against my own wishes.

Of course, I've made life a bit more difficult for myself with the training - I've spent a term getting into school for 7.15, working 11 hours a day to leave at 6.15 (when the school closed), and training for an hour or sometimes two every night. My poor, uncomplaining husband has literally not seen me for more than 2 waking hours a day for over 2 months, but he never makes a fuss - he may well be too good for me.

So, praise be, I've got a week of no school. A week of sleeping late, doing what I want, or not doing anything at all. I've got no fights scheduled at the moment, so I don't need to diet as such, but I intend to eat healthily, exercise lots and try to get a bit more healthy: I am at the moment a bit on the grey, spotty, cold-ridden side, as my immune system has taken quite a wallop recently.

The highlights?

It's made me very happy to see the way that some wee boys, who would have me believe they're the hardest thing since Ghengis Khan, will light up with joy and self-satisfaction at the mention of a pleased note home to their mothers in a special, silver bound jotter with stars on which says "Colin* is a Star!" inside the front cover. (*names changed to protect identity)

Small victories, like having taken two girls who hadn't understood in maths, out of class in my own time to try again to explain how fractions convert to decimals and vice versa, and having them say "oooohhhh, right....I get it now - I understand", can really make your day.

Hearing, second or third hand, that management consider you "well organised" is nice in an anally retentive, superficial kind of way.

Camp was a great experience - some of these children are just not designed for formalised education, and they thrived in the environment of activity, self-relience, and challenge which camp provided. Also, being surrounded by young men and women who were all, without exception, cool and who were not afraid to tell the little hard-nuts just how unimpressed they were by their antics certainly did them no harm.

So, it's not been all bad by any means, and I'll stick it out I think and make it to the end of the year.

But in the meantime?

Fuck teaching. I'm on holiday :)

Results....

2007-10-10T18:03:00.000+01:00

Well, it's not quite the unblemished record I was hoping for, but it is, as they say in East Lothian "No Bad". I got a draw this time, against an embarrassingly young (15) female fighter called Hayley Thomson from Fighting Fit Gym, but who I can safely say is tough as old boots.

Another C -class 3 rounder, I was much more tired during this fight than for the two previous ones, for various reasons. Initially I was supposed to be fighting a different girl at 64kg, who pulled out at the last minute because of weight issues, and was rematched with my opponent, Hayley Thomas, at 62 kgs. This did mean a 2 kg weight cut in the 5 days before the fight, which was no fun at all, especially since I also had to go away on school camp the weekend of the fight. Have you ever tried sidling up to a chef at an activity camp and telling him his pizza and chips looks fab, but would he mind heating up this bowl of Weight Watchers soup? No? It's embarrassing.

Anyway, camp was great fun, but did unfortunately involve forfeiting the usually standard rest period before a fight and swapping it for 17 hour days of abseiling, archery, trapeze, raft-building, and child entertaining. Not a plan of action I intend to ever repeat again. Turns out that looking after 10 children on an outdoor activity weekend, in the cold on 800 calories a day is actually not much fun at all, but I am glad I went even still.

So, in addition to all that, obviously I had no access to a sauna or a salt bath, so the day before the fight ran thusly:

06.00-07.00 - 3 mile run in a sweat suit.
08.00 - fruit for breakfast
09.00 - 10.30 - abseiling
10.30 -12.00 - archery
12.00 - 14.00 - Lunch (soup) and general child coralling
14.00-15.30 - trapeze
15.30-17.00 - Raft building (sat on the side for this one - didn't fancy dunking myself in a freezing cold muddy pond!)
17.00-18.00 - child minding and dinner (soup)
18.00-19.00 - 3 mile run in a sweat suit
19.00-20.30- Child activities
20.30-11.00 - getting children to sleep
11.00-06.00 - lying awake worrying about weight

Come fight morning I was mostly grey, spotty and knackered and in a final fart in the face from fate, spending a weekend with 50 hormonal girls brought my period on with no warning, on the morning of the fight. Nice.

So, a very kind colleague gave me a lift back to Edinburgh at 06.30 from the camp just north of Perth, getting me back to my house at about 08.30 on the Sunday morning, and Ally picked me up about an hour later and we and Kim drove through to Baillieston for the weigh in at 11.00. Come 12.15 my opponent hadn't arrived yet and rather than risk me going out and hunting down a ned for sustenance the referee officiated my weigh-in so I could get down the serious business of eating..... EVERYTHING.

Or, at least, everything that was left after Ally got his grubby paws on it... ;)

The fight itself is a bit of a blur - I remember various points with particular clarity, such a the moment when John shouted "push her off and high kick", so I pushed, stepped in and threw my hip, only to watch my "high-kick" hit her just above the knee.

"Hmmmmm...", I thought. "Shit."

I remember thinking "Holy fuck, I'm tired. I wish she'd just go away!", but she didn't, so we fought it out to the end. I beat her on the outside because I'm stronger and more technical, but she beat me in the clinch because she's fitter and had a much higher rate of activity. In the end it was announced in the ring as a win to me, but it was a mistake and was in fact a draw to us both.

To be honest, I'm happy with that - I felt at the time I didn't deserve to win, and I'm more comfortable with that decision. However, I am disappointed not to have another win, obviously, and I'm also a bit disappointed in myself because I know I can do better, and that I didn't prepare well enough for the fight.

However, I learned alot from it - I know exactly what I did wrong and why I didn't win, and I know how to fix it, and next time I definitely wont be making the same mistakes again.

So watch out ;)

Check out the photos of the show here, I'm about halfway down, looking, erm, photogenic as ever:

http://www.marktimmphotography.co.uk/gallery_99026.html

Yet another fight

2007-09-21T23:05:00.000+01:00

Righty-ho: those of you who know my oh-so-secret and well-guarded identity, this is fair warning that I'm fighting again in just over 2 weeks on the SMTC show in Baillieston (near Glasgow).

This show here, in fact:

This will be my 3rd fight, provided I can get matched with someone before then, as my original opponent has pulled out due to apparent weight issues.

It's looking like I'm going to need to weigh 60kg for this fight, that's 2kg less than I had to weigh for the last fight, before which I was so very very hungry, so wish me luck!

In other news, happy birthday for tomorrow to Ally (my instructor)

Hip hip, HOORAY!

A x

Aarayan - 2, other folk - 0

2007-09-17T12:14:00.001+01:00

Hooray - I won yesterday's fight in Ayr, so I'm feeling rather chuffed with myself today and not too sore either.

Getting down the the weight was quite a struggle this time and I was very very hungry and very very dehydrated by the time I weighed-in, but I was quite a bit under weight which means I can fight that little bit lighter if I need to. Mind you, everybody was under, so it might just have been the scales. Anyway, the weigh-in was interesting as me and my opponent were the only two females on the show, and whilst she had rather sensibly changed into her shorts before the weigh-in, I just merrily whipped off my jeans and displayed the pants which it had seemed perfectly reasonable to put on a 5am that day - a pair of polka-dotted knickers with lacy trim. Hmmmm. I may not have done my reputation any good there, but at least they might ask me back. Especially as I was standing there in my pants for what felt like about 4 hours while they tried to get the scales to work. Nice.

I got a good look at her during the weigh-in anyway and it was pretty obvious that we were very different builds - I was quite a few inches taller and alot slimmer than her which is definitely an advantage as it means I've got further reach and more leverage in the clinch. That helped to boost my confidence a bit although my stomach still felt as though I'd just eaten about 15 very angry snakes.

I was on 5th which was about a 3rd of the way through the show, so I didn't have too long to wait to go on. I had my medical check, which goes:

Doctor: Alright?
Fighter: Yup
Doctor: Any injuries?
Fighter: Naaaaah.
Doctor: You understand the risks?
Fighter: Yup.
Doctor: Here, sign this. Good luck!
Fighter: Ok, thanks.

After that I got my hands wrapped, changed, gloves on and warmed up. The waiting around before-hand has got to be the worst thing - I felt like I was going to vomit pretty much the whole time, but I was trying to look hard and confident because my girl was warming up outside and she was having a very good look at me.

In general I don't remember a huge amount of detail about the fight. I know that I came out in the first round and landed quite a few head-kicks since I wanted to take advantage of her height deficit, and I know I did most of the moving forward for the duration of the fight, but beyond that I didn't have a particularly clear idea that I was winning.

I felt we were fairly even in the clinch inspite of her height, and although she didn't actually hurt me, I think she might have been a bit fitter because she was very very busy the whole time. I remember hearing Ally screaming at me to get my hands up and thinking "oh, whoops" having not realised they were practically around my waist, and I'm aware she did catch me 1 good right hook as I have a nice bruise on my jaw.

However, I'm very pleased with how I did, I think it was a good fight and I can't wait for the next one, although I'm anticipating a much harder fight next time.

In addition, it was quite nice as our fight was announced as "Fight of the Night", so I got two trophies instead of one, *and* the MC said he fancied me - what more can a girl ask for, eh?

Now for a day of lounging, movies and food

Huzzah!

Another fight

2007-09-16T04:32:00.000+01:00

I'm fighting for the second time in, oh, about... 10 hours in Ayr.

In a cage in Ayr.

That got your attention, eh?

It's not a cage match, it's a regular Thai Boxing fight, but it's at an MMA show where they have to fight in a cage because in a regular ring they run the risk of accidentally rolling out under the ropes whilst they're doing all that terribly manly and not at all homo-erotic wrestling on the floor.

Nevertheless, it'll look Damn Cool. Yeah, that's right - capital D, captial C. Damn Cool.

Obviously, I can't pull a fast one on you: it's 4.44 am and I'm awake an writing rubbish in my blog, and this would be indicative of the fact I'm very very nervous. I run through scenarios in my head: what happens if she does this, what do I do there, which way do I go to seal the ring, again? And it doesn't help that in order to make the weight I've had to de-hydrate to the max and so my head hurts, my lips and mouth are bone-dry and I'm starving hungry having barely eaten yesterday.

But it'll all be fine soon - the weigh-in is at 10.30am and then I have until my fight to eat and drink myself back to normality. I've got pasta with sausage, sundried tomato pesto and mushrooms, 2 bagels with cream-cheese and smoked salmon, various Lucozade drinks to re-hydrate with, sugar-free Red Bull (to make up for the sleep I'm not getting tonight), a Galaxy Caramel and a bag of Thorntons treacle toffee.

"Is that all?" I hear you ask - Why, no! No it's not. Apparently the gym who're hosting this show, Wossobama, also do a mean buffet for the fighters after the weigh-in, which includes a selection of tray-bakes, so don't worry about me, I'll be fine ;)

Anyway, in the spirit of confidence and positive thinking, I intend to win very convincingly tomorrow, since fighting at another gym's show generally means you're less likely to win as the judges, referee and crowd are sometimes a tad biased towards their own fighter. As such the best plan is to "stop them or drop them", meaning put them on their arse repeatedly to knacker them and make them look bad, or KO them before the end of the fight and then there's no doubt about who won. So, that's the plan. Expect an update on Monday - we're looking for Aarayan 2 - World 0 ;p

Wish me luck!

A x

On the treadmill

2007-08-21T22:28:00.000+01:00

That's it - I'm Mrs Aarayan now, and *I* am a Real Teacher. 32 11 year-olds think so, so it must be true.

All weekend before the Monday I was, how shall I say.... a miserable git. Just feeling terrified, negative: "I can't do it, I don't even know if I want to do it, I can't cope".

The news early on Friday morning, just as I was starting to feel like it *might* just be ok, that I was to have a new boy, with extremely complex additional needs, and who would bring my class total to one under the legal limit, put me on somewhat of a downer.

So, I worried myself sick, irritated my husband beyond belief and dragged myself up and out the door at 6.45am on Monday morning, to begin what I was sure would be the first day of a truly crappy career. However, as is so often the case, I was wrong.

Yes it's definitely going to be difficult, but it's going to be ok - I'm earning the class's respect and reaping rewards in generally good behaviour. I'm managing not to take bad behaviour personally and set appropriate sanctions and rewards, and I'm making my class a positive, effective learning environment for the children who want to learn.

I am confident that I will have plenty of stories to tell, albeit deeply anonymised, because this is certainly going to be an interesting year if nothing else.

The first battle is won - never again will I have to endure the build up and the dread of that first bell on my first ever day as a teacher. I've started on the treadmill and I've survived. And more importantly, I'm starting to believe that I may actually be a real, live teacher.

Let's wait and see....

Let's start at the very beginning

2007-08-16T17:43:00.000+01:00

Today was my first day as a salaried teacher. Admittedly, I didn't have to teach anybody anything, it was inservice, but my contract began today, and from today I am a real, live teacher.

So how was it? Well, the school performed very badly in last September's HMIe inspection report and as such has alot of work to do to avoid this ever happening again. Much of this work has been begun, but alot still has to happen, and since the previous HeadTeacher has now left and a new HT has joined the staff, big changes are afoot. The school is also in the process of being systematically rebuilt and refurnished, so it is a time of massive change and, hopefully, improvement.

The upshot of all this is... meetings. We discussed the previous inspection and the results, how the staff felt things had improved and where they felt things needed to go in order to develop which was interesting for me, not having seen the school as it was when the fateful inspection took place. I know what I need to be doing in my class to improve learning and teaching and meet the requirements of the HMIe, but it's difficult to think in a wider, whole-school context because I don't know the school. This will be a long-running thing, and I think the theme of the year will be "Development Meetings".....fun.

After that we had some discussions about contracted time and stuff which made no sense to any of us probationers, followed by a yummy lunch.

A Fire Dude (official title) came to talk to us from the Council, due in part to the fact that the school has only *just* ceased to be an official "building site" and instead be classified as a "place of work", so we now know how not to burn to death.

After this I had a meeting with my stage partners (i.e. the other teachers of P7, of which there is 1 full time, 2 job share and my own 0.3 - the teacher who takes the class when I'm not there). We planned activities for the week ahead, and all in all I feel much more comfortable about what's going to happen next week and what I'm going to be doing.

Then I went back to my classroom, faffed around for an hour and came home, steadfastly resisting the urge to take stuff back with me, stare at it, panic, and do nothing useful at all.

Tomorrow it's back to school to get all the fiddly little jobs like putting name labels on the children's trays, creating group sheets, making laminated letters to label the big wall boards with (saying things like "environmental studies" etc.) and I expect we'll talk more about timetabling, development plans etc.

So, now you know what an inservice day is like (you poor, bored souls), tonight Paul and I are going to order a new and lovely bed, and I'm going to drink some wine and possibly have chinese for dinner (even though that's very naughty) to celebrate the fact that I am now, officially, a properly independent grown up.

Now, when you're all facing the front, listening carefully and not talking, you may put your chairs up on the tables, get your bags and line up at the door for home-time....

Good evening, class - see you tomorrow :)

General Catch-up

2007-08-12T18:41:00.000+01:00

Well, until school starts on the 20th I have very little of Earth-shattering importance to share, so instead I thought I'd just tell you about all the gubbins I've been up to recently.

For the first 3 days of next week I'll be attending a Probationers induction thing giving us, I presume, all the information we should have had a uni in the space of 3 days, to prepare us for the year ahead as woefully under-prepared and inexperienced teachers. The last two days of the week will be in-service days in school, talking about.....schooly things. I think.

I've already been into school for a day and organised my classroom, which feels a weird thing to say: "My classroom". As though I am in some way.... in control. This feels not only weird, but also like a big fat lie. Anyway, it looks pretty lovely now and just needs a few homely touches, such as some nice kids' books (which I have loads of.... What. They're good!), a plant or two and a lamp. Yes, I'm a girl - there's not a room in the world that can't be drastically improved by a plant and a lamp.

All I have to worry about now is what I'm actually going to teach. But, Pshaw! 'Tis but a minor concern.

In other news, Paul and I are doing all sorts of nice housey things, like repainting, having the floors sanded and buying a new and oh-so-lovely bed. When you've spent 6 years sleeping on a mattress which came from Ikea you'll understand the joy this news brings me. No more springs in the armpit in the middle of the night! No more bruises on my hip-bones from said springs, which I can only assume are made out of the earthly manifestation of Pain. Nonononono. Now it's all pocket-sprung, memory-foam, super-dooper loveliness, originally commissioned for the Emperor Fabulous himself, coupled with a solid Oak bedframe which will weigh an utter ton, but look like the dog's bollocks. Or even the Emperor Fabulous's bollocks - I mean, why not - we've already got his mattress.

Furthermore! There is a blocked up fireplace in our bedroom. We may, just *may* unblock it, and then we'll have a working fire in our bedroom. By the sea.

Do *you* have an open fire in your bedroom by the sea? No? Well I do. Nearly.

We're also having our hallway repainted. I accept full responsibility for the fact that our hallway is the same colour as Hell. I thought it would look cool and sophisticated or something. How wrong I was - it looks like we got very very drunk, and said;

"What colour shall we paint this internal hallway which has no windows in order for it to look as shit as humanly possible, and so that if any small children wander in they will assume that they have accidentally stumbled upon the lair of a wicked witch who will, at best, turn them into hideous beasts and enslave them and at worst eat them?"

"Oooh, honey, there's one on this colour chart called - 'Bowels of Hell Red 104' - would that do? Or would you prefer 'Intestinal Tract 19'? And make sure you get it all over the ceiling as well - that's a really classy look."

So, no more of that - we're going for plain old boring pale, ivory-ish yellow.

No, not Magnolia. No. Magnolia's.... different. How? I don't know, it just is.

Really, completely different.

Ok. It's Magnolia. Shut up.

Japanese Folk - crazy or cool? You decide. Provided you decide they're cool.

2007-08-12T18:37:00.000+01:00

I know it's bad form just to post YouTube videos on your blog, but the world needs to see this, due to its fantastic-ness.

Deos this make me feel good?

2007-07-23T11:02:00.001+01:00

Erm.... No.

$4725.00

Mingle² - Free Online Dating

Daft Punk

2007-07-22T20:29:00.000+01:00

I've only recently discovered that I actually really, really like Daft Punk, and Paul showed me these videos on the wonderful world of Youtube.

I want to be able to do either of these things. Now, please.

In this one, I believe she danced at half speed to the track played at half speed and then it was returned to the correct speed, which makes it look extra cool.

Happy Anniversary

2007-07-20T22:42:00.000+01:00

Paul and I have been married for a year now, which seems just an impossible thing. Come tomorrow we will officially no longer be newlyweds, and you stingy bastards who haven't got us a wedding present will be too late to do so. FOR SHAME!!!

I suppose it's traditionally about this time that people tend to reflect on the year gone by and consider what they've learned. I've learned a fair bit, mostly in the last month.

I've learned that I am neither as strong nor as weak as I had hoped or feared, and I am not independent, or adventurous, or wild or anything of that sort. I'm lap-dog, not a lone wolf: I wont be travelling the world alone and sleeping in yurts or whatever it is that properly strong, independent women do.

I need company, a person to support me, reassure me, understand that I'm needy and insecure, but keep me strong and show me I'm safe. I need someone to talk to, to describe things poorly to, to be able listen to my nonsense about Orwell, the economy and tomato-shaped universes and not judge me for it, realising that it's not a sign of pathological stupidity, as it may seem.

I've learned that I need someone who reminds me that I'm beautiful and who believes that I'm worthwhile and special and unique and feels better for having seen me, and who can tell me all of those things without feeling weak.

I've learned that I need a partner who understands and supports me and never judges me and finds me lacking.

And I've learned that I have all of that, and I've learned that I have all I need.

Happy anniversary, Paul xxx

At last, I'm finished!

2007-07-19T12:41:00.000+01:00

Go, immediately, to my Flickr page, for Lo! I hath uploaded all my pictures and they're *damn* cool. There's elephants, and fights, and my hair looking really *really* stupid.

Go!

NOW!

Scotland 1 - Thailand 0

2007-07-19T10:23:00.000+01:00

Woo hoo! I won!

Before the fight all day I was pretty nervous - I was supposed to be resting or sleeping but really I was packing and worrying and eventually got a nap about 4 pm and had to get up again at 5pm. I ate some food, worried a bit more and eventually met at the gym to head to the stadium at about 8.30pm.

Then it was all set for many more hours of waiting around, watching fights and going "oooooooooooooh! Ouch!" at the slapping, cracking sound that the fighters' shins mad against one another's legs, and thinking " I really don't want any part of me to make that noise".

Noom arrived with my custom shorts, which in no way resembled the design I had given him and were the wrong size, so had to deal with that and tried not to let it throw me off.

Eventually, about 10.00pm I went back to get my hands wrapped, get changed and start warming up. I was massaged with Thai oil and vaseline to get good and warm and slippy (no jokes, thank you) and then it was some stretching and shadow boxing to keep warm - they don't hit the pads here in Thailand before a fight since they're all already pretty warm most of the time!

There's alot less fuss made about fighting here, so no entrance music, no big intro, my trainer just walked off and went "Sayla!" (which is the closest they can get to my name), I followed him, and before I knew it it was time to get in the ring.

In Thailand women aren't allowed to go over the top rope, because we suck, apparently, so I went under the bottom rope, bowed all around and waited for my opponent to get in. Then the announcer gave us both a big intro and I got a huge roar from the crowd - it was very busy and there must have been quite a few people there from Scotland or Europe,. because they were very supportive.

Once the music started, we both sealed the ring and performed our Wai Kru's. And I didn't even fall over! Although I nearly went round the wrong way to seal the ring, which was a little embarrassing.

The ref called us into the middle and said.....something, and I nodded like I understood and went back to the corner, Tim took my Mongkon off and it was time to get started. The plan was to go Thai-style and stay relaxed and playful the first two rounds since they score them 10-10 whatever happens, so I kept her off with a few front kicks, followed up with a wee bit of boxing. She got me once or twice with punches to the face, and one of her teeps through me off balance as I was about to kick when it landed, but I recovered and came back forwards. During the first break after round 1 Tim told me to stay in the centre of the ring, keep in front of her and don't let her run around too much, since she was constantly moving backwards.

Round 2, I followed Tim's advice and kept to the centre of the ring, staying in fornt of her always. We continued with the teeps and punches exchange but I was obviously starting to intimidate her a bit, since I was bigger and moving forwards all the time. I landed one elbow during a flurry and got sparkled by a right hand in return and blocked, gave and received a kick or two. We got into the clinch at one point with me up against the ropes, so I turned her, got her against the ropes and kneed, which I was rather pleased with.

After the round, Tim told me to start faking left front kicks and stepping into a right body, or vice versa - step and kick, step and punch.

3rd round - just did as I was told. We both stepped up the pace and got in each other's faces a bit more. I stayed inside her range and kept pulling her guard down to get her with right elbows and must have hit her 5 or 6 times before I finally caught her an absolute cracker on the jaw with a cross elbow. She dropped her guard, stepped back and rubbed her face, went to her corner and I eventually remembered to go to the neutral corner while she got her standing 8 count. While I was standing there though, the ref came and got me and lifted my arm to say she had asked for the towel to be thrown in and I had won.

I couldn't believe it, and looked to the corner to say "Eh?!" and everyone was celebrating, so I figured it must be true and grinned my head off, and that was that really. The crowd went mental, which was good - I was worried they'd be rooting for the Thai and I'd get booed, went to thank the other team and get some water from them (this is just something which happens, I don't know why) and it was all over.

I'm totally un-injured - I don't have a single, solitary bruise from the fight which, as anyone who trains with me will know, is miraculous, as I bruise much like an over-ripe peach. In fact, I could have fought again the following day, with no trouble at all, and I can only hope it wont be too long before I get the chance to try my hand in this country.

I'm very pleased with how I performed - the one thing I wanted to achieve was to look confident and competent - like I knew what I was doing, had sound technique, and preferably that I had fought before, and I'm told that's what I looked like, so I'm happy.

If it transpires that there's a video to show I'll post it on the blog - I really hope there is, but I'm not holding out much hope.

I'm back at home, unpacked and washed, after a mammoth and awful journey home, with sleep-deprivation to the max. But I'm home, and that's what matters :)

And that's all folks!

(Yay, Scotland!)

Here come the nerves...

2007-07-15T15:42:00.000+01:00

So, the fight is in about 24 hours, and any semblance of being cool, calm and collected has pretty much been stripped away.

My heart is already beating faster, I feel sick, my head hurts and I'm clammy with sweat - either I'm sick or I'm very anxious: I'll reserve judgement for the time being.

I had a very strange experience this evening - I went to the Sunday market with Damon to find a present for Paul (this I did, and oh what a present, but more of that later....) and was handed a poster with a big picture of me on it, advertising the fight tomorrow. That will just never, ever, ever happen again. Never in a thousand years, unless of course I fight again in Thailand, will I, personally, be used to advertise a fight, and rightly so. Seriously, if people actually come to this show just on the basis of that poster they're going to get a pretty skewed idea of what Muay Thai looks like! Anyway, it was scary, and it was very odd, but it was also kind of cool :)

As for the present? Well, what can I say? Not much, actually because it's a surprise, but he'll love it, and he'll love the fact that I managed to get it back from the night market riding as a helmetless passenger on the back of a moped in Thai traffic, clinging on for dear life, trying not to decapitate other motorists with it. And hopefully he'll appreciate the truly epic and monumental effort it's going to take to get it and my rucksack back through 5 airports on 2 (3?) different continents, despite the fact it's going to exceed all my baggage allowances. Mostly I'm just chuffed I managed to find something that, whilst probably still overpriced tat will look damn nice at home and make my honey smile.

In other news, I never managed to see Doi Suthep, because I was stood up by the guy who was going to give me a lift, but I probably needed what passed for the rest I had instead.

I did, however, see elephants. Lots of elephants. Big ones, small ones, ones as big as your.....elephant. And I have LOTS of photos, but you'll have to wait till I get home to see them because I've got other things on my plate just at the minute.

Anyway, it's probably time I was going home and trying to sleep, but actually just lying in bed going "ohgodohgodohgodohgodohgodohgod" until 5 am.

Wish me luck!

Aarayan x

3 days and counting....

2007-07-13T13:26:00.000+01:00

The fight's on Monday, so I'm all finished training now - it's time to rest and let the muscles repair themselves. Mr Kob's had the posters made and it's most scary seeing myself on one (looking terrible I might add) and the promise of a "Scottland [sic] vs Thailand International Fight!" - let's hope it's worth watching!

My opponent has had 10 fights, which sounds alot but isn't many by Thai standards. She's 55kg, which is quite a bit lighter, but hopefully not too embarrassingly so. By the sounds of it at least I wont be fighting the tea-lady ;)

I achieved a nice bit of gift shopping today, and tomorrow I'm off to learn about elephants (very exciting). On Sunday I will go and visit Doi Suthep, get a massage, and go to the Sunday Night Bazaar in town for more, hardcore shopping.

Monday will see me resting, cleaning my room, packing, getting my Kruang Wrang and dad's Buddha blessed by monks at the temple and then it's time to put my money where my mouth is.....

I'll be in touch before then, but think of me on Monday at about 5-6pm GMT...

Aarayan x

Sunny Sunday Sightseeing

2007-07-08T10:29:00.000+01:00

After last nights very late night, I had a lovely long lie this morning, with no thoughts of having to get up for training and running and all the rest of it, and finally dragged myself out of bed at about 10.30 for a shower. I met up with Ben at 12 and went for lunch down the road, having for myself half a roast chicken with sticky rice. Yes. I'm fat :) After the waiter claimed to have absolutely no idea what pad Thai was, or what a noodle looked like, Ben gave in and ate the chicken satay which was brought to him and blatantly should have gone to someone else instead. You snooze you lose.

After that we headed into Chiang Mai on Ben's moped, and went to see Wat Phra Singh which is, seemingly, the finest example of a wat (temple) to be found in Chiang Mai. So says my Rough Guide to Thailand, and it was very beautiful, but I would love to have seen Doi Suthep while I was here - I just don't think it's going to be possible though, without a willing volunteer with a moped to take me.

I have uploaded some photos of the wat here, and it was lovely to see such a beautiful building and experience some of the atmosphere of calm inside it. I got myself blessed by a monk, who threw ALOT of water at me whilst chanting, presumably in Pali, and received a small, scented piece of white string tied around my left wrist. I wont lie: I have no idea what it means. Ben had to tie it for the monk, as monks are forbidden to touch or be touched my a woman, presumably because it's just not fair when you've been celibate for 50 years.

Because it's Sunday it's eat-what-you-like day (this is an unofficial thing, obviously...) so Ben wanted to go to Mike's a place which sells hellishly unhealthy Western food, like chilli burgers and the like, and after a wee basket of chips for me I felt pretty damn Western, I can tell you. Honestly, the look of internal struggle on Ben's face whilst his conscience fought his appetite was a wonder to behold :)

And that was that, really. We headed back, got a coconut icecream with Damon at the gym from a wee man on a moped who came by, then had another coconut icecream and sat about an shot the breeze whilst the heavens opened and dumped ridiculous quanities of water on Sunpaliang.

I had kind of hoped my day of tourism might last a bit longer, but it's been good to get out and about, and see some things which have nothing to do with Muay Thai. I'd really like to go to the Night Bazaar this evening, but without a friend and some transport it isn't going to happen so me this week. Perhaps something will come up - you just never know. Either way, perhaps banana rotee will feature in my plans...

I'm really looking forward to getting home now - I'm pretty homesick and quite lonely alot of the time, although it's been much easier this week with having plucked up the courage to force innocents like Ben and Damon to hang out with me. But I miss my friends, my family and my Paul.

One more week to go of hard training, then a day of bathing and feeding elephants, two days off, and a fight - plenty to think about and keep me occupied at any rate and before you know it I'll be back in rainy, rainy Scotland, damp but happy :)

Aarayan x

Transformers: The Movie

2007-07-08T10:13:00.000+01:00

Last night a few of us from the gym decided to get the hell out of Sunpaliang and go and see a movie at the mall, also called Central Airport Plaza (a magical sounding place, I think you'll agree).

Anyway, like a child who has spent long weeks locked in a cupboard under the stairs with nothing but a book about antidisestablishmentarianism to read, and no company beyond that of a small, unhealthy hedgehog called Bert, I was terribly excited by all the bright shiny lights and flashing things, and jingly noises which emanated from the various games machines and shops in evidence. However, since the movie wasn't actually on until 10.20, and as we arrived at 8.30 and the mall shut at 9, we had very little to do in that palace of wonders for an hour or so, but eventually, however, the time passed, and the hour of wonder drew near: a movie! In English! With *colour*!

And we weren't disappointed. How could we be? They're *robots*....

.... and they're IN DISGUISE!

Obviously, the plot was.... shaky, and to call it far-fetched wouldn't even do it justice, what with it being about a race of alien robots.... IN DISGUISE! But none of that matters a jot. The special effects rocked the Casbah: the robots transform and fight and move in a way that made me feel like I was 7 again and watching the cartoon movie for the first time. It was exciting, slick, funny and can only really be done justice by the big screen and a healthy dose of Dolby Surround Sound with sub woofers.

Now, it *is* a Spielberg movie, so it's not without its issues - there's alot of Optimus Pride based sentimentality about his duty to protect the fledgling human race, and no small amount of American war propaganda, with American soldiers proclaiming "All I want is to see my little girl again" as they tenderly care for the small Arab boy who, of course, has befriended them. I mean, why wouldn't he?! *All* Arabs in war zones just love the Americans, and likewise, all American soldiers are brave, fine, upstanding young family-men who wouldn't hesitate to lay down their lives for small children and alien races. Obviously. It's America.

Anyway, those irritations aside, it's well worth watching, and from my admittedly hazy memory of the original cartoons, it does the story justice. Just remember, none of those other things matter, because they're fucking cool robots....

IN DISGUISE!

Tourism, at long last.

2007-07-06T15:13:00.000+01:00

I've got a plan. On saturday the 14th I don't have to train because the fight is on Monday and I'm supposed to have a rest. So, rather than resting in the *traditional* sense, I'm going to go and visit an elephant conservation park for the day and learn about feeding and bathing elephants. I'm going to do this all on my own, because *I*....... am a brave little soldier. My mum should be proud. I even have a waterproof camera, so I can take pictures of big, wet elephants right up close :)

I'm also this Sunday going to go to see a temple in Chiang Mai with Ben from the gym and go to the night bazaar and get some souveniers, so it's tourism all round, really. Finally! Some pictures of something other than Muay Thai!

In other news, it has been decided that my fight will be 5 x 3 rounds, full rules (since they all are here) and Tim assures me the girl wont be tooooooooo tiny (maybe 5kg lighter) but will have a few fights experience to make up for the deficit (but not, like, 200 or anything). At any rate, he assures me she wont be "embarrassingly small", which is good. The last thing I want is just to beat up a tiny little woman.

Everybody seems to think it's going to be a walk in the park for me, and she'll take one look at my relatively massive, Western self and go "ooooh, I fell down! I'm KO'd" about 2 minutes in. I hope that doesn't happen, I want it to be fair, and I want it to be a proper experience which I can learn something from - I'd rather lose in a fair fight, and feel that I did my best than win unfairly.

So, I am attempting to lose at least 1kg this coming week, so that I come home at 63kg, and if I could lose 2kg then so much the better, and so I bid farewell to pad thai, to khao pad, and to sticky rice, and usher in a new dawn of yoghurt, fruit, boiled rice with chicken, and soup....

...and banana rotee. Of course, still banana rotee :)

Fotees.

2007-07-05T06:43:00.000+01:00

Photos are up now on my Flickr account - check them out here. There's more going up all the time, and I'm going to try really hard to get out to something touristy this weekend so I have at least *some* pictures which aren't about Muay Thai :)

Aarayan

Banana Rotee is made by God.

2007-07-03T15:33:00.000+01:00

Handily, or perhaps unfortunately, for me, God has a little cart at the top of the road where she makes and sells this heavenly dish....uh-oh.

Banana rotee, for those philistines amongst you who don't know, is basically chopped banana, mixed with egg and condensed milk, fried in an egg-based, thin pastry-type casing, and all folded in on itself, fried more and then, when it's all lovely and crispy and golden (and at this point about 8mm thick and the size of a paper-back book in length and width), chopped into bite-sized chunks, covered in more condensed milk and sugar.

Oh. God. Yes.

What's that?.... Did I lose weight in Thailand?...... Um......

What else is new. I've been introduced to the food market in Nongghoy, which is the suburb of Chiang Mai in which I'm staying, and it's a fabulous place. There's loads of tiny little stalls, each selling something different, like pad thai (stir fry), khao pad (fried rice), barbequed meats like pork (muu), chicken (gai), duck (yaang) etc, seafood, all sorts of yummy things in different formats and different combinations. Also, there are plenty of stalls selling sweets and fruit, and for some reason the fruit here is amazingly sweet - pineapple tastes totallt different, and the watermelon is fantastic. Jealous? ;p

Training is still much the same, very different, not always as hard as I expected, and I hate running, so very very much. So much. However, at least running at home will be easier, because it wont be 30 degrees. That's going to be enough of an improvement.

Other than that, I have some hopes to perhaps go to the zoo at the weekend, or visit Doi Suthep if I can convince someone to come with me - I need to have been a tourist at least once before I leave!

I'm trying to get some pictures up for you, but it's a bit of a nightmare - keep checking Flickr, there'll be something tomorrow or the day after, come hell or high water......

Aarayan x

Long, hot days

2007-06-29T13:59:00.000+01:00

Training is ticking along nicely - I'm learning so much, particularly in the clinch, and my kicking technique has improved a shitload, it's fab. I didn't make it along to training this morning because I was feeling pretty rubbish with a sore throat and a sore stomache, so I'm hoping the throat will clear up quickly and not develop into anything too sinister. I actually managed to sleep all night, too, which was both big *and* clever, as usually I wake up every hour or two to switch the air conditioning on, then off, then on, then off....

At about 7am what sounds like a convoy of articulated lorries appears to roar through my bedroom, but it's just the Thais starting to head off to work outside on their phalanx of mopeds and trucks and cars, but it's pretty bloody loud, so that acts as an effective wake-up call. Today, however, I slept (with difficulty, but someone's gotta do it) until about 10.30, then took a wander up the road to find tesco, buy some fruit and rent a DVD to watch in the afternoon. I lay around drinking OJ, eating Chinese pears and watching an o.k. sort of Robin Williams movie (The Good Guy - doesn't warrant a review), ate lunch, collected laundry and went to training. So it's not terribly exciting alot of the time, and this is why I don't have many pictures. So far, I've taken 3 pictures of geckos, and 5 pictures of what my room looks like......sad.

Anyway, I'm going to try and force innocent bystanders to come and do touristy things with me, like ride an elephant or something, so I've got some good pictures - I'm very selfless like that.... or incredibly selfish, not sure which...

In other news, I went to watch some fights last night - Pedro from the gym was having his first fight and we all went along to support. It's alot different from fights at home: weight disparity doesn't seem to be much of an issue, and neither is experience by the looks of things, since Pedro, for his first fight, after training for only 3 months, fought a Thai with over 60 fights, and there were several wildly mismatched fights throughout the night. Makes a good show for the spectators, but it's not much fun for the fighters...

Also, they don't seem to care nearly as much about who actually wins - the ref seems to decide, just holds the winner's hand up and that's that - no big fuss like at home, with build ups, and 3 judges, and trophies for the loser, or even the winner. Mind you, they do all get paid. About 30 quid.

But it was a good atmosphere, and interesting, and when Dave fights on Monday I'll take my camera along and get some good pictures for the sharing thereof, have no fear.

Now it's the late hour of 8pm, and time to go home, eat a pear and read my book until I fall asleep, ready for training in 12 hours time.

Take it easy, speak to you soon

Aarayan x

Sawatdee Ka!

2007-06-27T09:46:00.000+01:00

Hey guys,

just a quick update to let you know that I've arrived safe and sound in the land of smiles, I'm set up with a place to stay, and I've started training at the gym. I've not got time just now to upload any photos, and to be fair I don't have many yet - I've mostly been sleeping and training today and yesterday, so I've only got pictures of my room.

The journey here was pretty epic, and I'm glad I'm only going to have to do that once more - it took a full 27 hours from waking up on Monday to arriving in Chiang Mai, and I didn't sleep for any of it. On the plus side, Qatar airline who I flew with from Gatwick to Doha and Doha to Bangkok do a decent range of fims and you can pick what you want to watch. I just hope they've changed them by the time I head back since I watched just about all of them.

So I arrived in Chiang Mai and got a taxi to the gym where I was met by Noom, who showed me a guest house just opposite, I got unpacked, had a shower and had a wee nap for an hour before heading out to training for the evening.

It's completely different from the way we do things at home, obviously- you start out with a run which is supposed to be about 5k, but I only did 1 lap yesterday, so about 1.5k, since I was knackered. Then you go with one of the trainers in the ring for a few rounds of doublepads, which is thoroughly knackered but really improves your technique no end. Mind you I'll have to stop doing half of it when I get home since some of it's wildly different from the way we do things, but anyway. Then either shadowboxing or bagwork, and back in the ring for grappling and technique work. Technique is bloody hard, becuase they're asking you to body kick their hands without pads, so you can't go hard, but they want me to relax - I find it very hard to relax when I'm kicking a Thai stranger and trying to be gentle about it.... Then it's situps in the ring and you're all done. If you're me, at some point someone will also weigh you and then laugh/look disturbed/tell you you have to weigh 55kilos (What?! Lose 10k in 3 weeks?!) - we'll just have to see about that, I'm only human.
So, All that takes about 2.5 or 3 hours and then you go an eat something from one of the many little outdoor restaurants. There's one near where I'm staying and I just go there because the food is amazing, and the nice man understands I don't speak Thai and just cooks me something different every day.

Today's training was mental - it was really quiet so one of the trainers just took my in the ring for literally about 2 hours - one on one training: exhausting but fantastic.

This evening Dave of Hammerhead Gym very kindly came and picked me up on his moped and took me for a ride into town to have a look around the night market and change my traveller's cheques. The Thai's are insane when it comes to driving - think "traffic lights are guides, not rules", marry this with a lack of speed limits and you've got some fun conditions. I'm definitely going to have to bring home some nice gifts from the market (once I learn how to barter - Paul knows how badly I suck at this), lots of pretty, touristy tat :)

Anyway, it's been a very long day, and it's time to go to sleep, so I'll bid you adieu and I'll get some photos uploaded when I have some to show.

Fann dee

Aarayan x

Here we go...

2007-06-23T17:49:00.001+01:00

Hullo to those of you who I've just informed about my blog so you can see what I'm up to in Thailand! I'm very embarrassed to have written most of the crap I've written, so please don't mock me too mercilessly, or at least wait until I'm out of earshot.

And Mum? I'm sorry, but I do swear- a fair bit. Please forgive me.

So, it's now officially the day after tomorrow that I head off, and I'm well on my way towards being prepared - I have piles and piles of clothes on my study floor which I'm going to pack tomorrow, and carefully tick off the list I made earlier in the week so I don't forget anything vital. I've got my tickets, I've got my money and travellers cheques, I've got a whole bunch of stuff I'll never need but seems important now, I've got travel insurance, at a whopping £62 for 3 weeks cover. I rang up the company and said:

Me: I need comprehensive insurance. I'm going to Thailand to do Thai Kickboxing

Her: That's fine, you're covered for that with this package.

Right, but just so you know, I'm going to be training full time. I intend to be getting into a ring on a daily basis and potentially volunteering to get punched in the head. Am I still covered?

Yup, you're covered.

So you're saying that if I deliberately get smacked in the face, doing a martial art, and need hospital treatment you'll pay? And further more, if I accidentally mortally wound someone else, and *they* require hospital treatment, you'll cover their treatment *and* my legal costs, even though I was doing a martial art, on purpose, for fun?

Yup, pretty much, and if you die we pay out £5,000,000

....and you'll require *proof* of death, I suppose.....?

So, if I don't make it back from Thailand in one piece, don't mourn too much- I'll probably be "dead" on a beach somewhere on a tropical island. Either that or Paul will have bumped me off, he'll be on the beach, and I'll expect you to avenge me.

I'll update the blog and get pictures up for you regularly, here, so you can all reflect regularly on how much you hate me, and how you wish you were in Thailand instead, whilst looking at handy visual aids to really make the jealousy burn ;)

On second thoughts, I'm starting to think I shouldn't have told you about the insurance pay out.... not before I mocked you, anyway. Bugger.

Keep in touch, leave me comments, and I'll see you in three weeks!

Love,

Aarayan

Many Happy Returns

2007-06-22T21:44:00.000+01:00

Tomorrow it is my birthday. I've forgotten quite a few times already over the past few days and gone "...huh?" when Paul mentions the party on Saturday. However, I'm not as dense as Paul who has accidentally convinced himself that it is he who is going on holiday on Monday, and is in for a very disappointing morning, silly billy.

I've never been a huge fan of birthdays, to be honest. Other people's are usually great fun: everybody gets a bit pissed, has a good time, the birthday boy or girl has a fab night and doesn't feel awkward or embarrassed at having gathered all their friends together for such a patently self-centred reason, because it's absolutely fair enough, and nobody considers it to be egotistical or presumptious - including me.

When it comes to my own birthdays, however, I've never quite got the hang of this, and always feel.....apologetic at having thrown myself a birthday party. Kind of like I've forced people to reveal their hand and throw their friendship cards down on the table. For this reason, I haven't actually had a birthday party since I was about 7.

This is very silly. I know this, and tomorrow evening I am going to not be such a paranoid idiot, and do the birthday thing, and a lovely time will be had by all. I will eat Jamaican food and not, even once, complain that I am fat. I will meet friends at the pub and not, even for a nano-second, look at their shoes instead of their faces to avoid seeing an imagined look of "When can I go home?".

Most importantly, I will get quite pissed, have a laugh, say some ridiculous things and will not, under any circumstances torture myself for weeks afterwards by constantly thinking "Oh, God! Why did I say [insert drunken comment here] - what a twat!".

This is my pledge as I enter my 25th year. It's a dramatic pledge, I know, and very out of character - check out the reaction of this chipmunk who I told earlier on today:

It's about bloody time I grew up.

At least a little bit. Happy birthday, me :)

The end of an era...

2007-06-18T22:03:00.000+01:00

Thank Fuck.

Ding Dong, Moray House is dead! I've finally finished the course after a mind-bogglingly awful 9 months, and I am most, most pleased. (I passed, by the way)

My final placement went very well, thank you, the school was lovely, the kids were lovely, the teacher was.....very helpful... and the management were friendly, competent and approachable- what more can you ask? Obviously, what with the fight training and the ridiculous work-load for uni, and teaching full time as well I was mostly made out of stress, and it's nothing short of a miracle that I still have a husband in tow (bless his little, antibacterial cotton socks which my Gran gave him for Christmas. Two years in a row. Insulting, much?).

I developed a habit of crying at entirely random moments in the evening, throwing childish tantrums about ridiculous things, like having to go to the shop to buy dinner because Paul had forgotten ("It's just not bloody fair - why is life so shite?!"), and becoming hysterical at movies which should technically be, if not funny, not actually psychologically scarring...

We watched "Click", that Adam Sandler movie about a guy that gets a Universal Remote and, guess what, it remote controls....THE UNIVERSE! Surely a recipe for comedy japes and misunderstandings, but in a calm, controlled, non-perilous way. And it was, unless you're quite nicely teetering on the brink of a nervous breakdown, in which case the whole moral of the story about a guy who wishes his life away a died, alone, unfulfilled and regretful (and fat) in the rain is just a bit....too close to the bone. So I had a proper, wailing, uncontrolled crying fit for about half an hour, emitting strange snorts, squeaks and mangles "I don't want to die!"s so that in the end I was laughing as much as crying and laughing at the crying and crying at the laughing in a horrible, snotty cycle of stupidness. Paul, however, thought it was hilarious, which is pretty handy.

Anyway, the long and the short of it is that the placement went as well as could be expected, my final presentation went quite a bit less well than could be expected, (doing me out of an Distinction which I wasn't really bothered about but felt like I ought to try for) and the fight didn't happen at all.

Which I was naturally not too pleased about, in light of the whole working-myself-into-the-ground thing I mentioned above, but sadly that's just the way it goes sometimes. Remember I said there were many reasons not to get overexcited about a fight, because at any moment it just might not happen... well the most common reason happened, and she pulled out at the last minute. But, thankfully, she pulled out for a reason which at least makes people go ".....huh?!" when I tell them. She became "unfocussed" (just all of a sudden, apparently...) and decided to elope to the States with her girlfriend. Plausible *and* fun! I acted like a mardy cow for the day, had a shitty time and, showing my stylish nature, encouraged everyone to join me in my lovely pit of self-pity - nice.

However, there will (presumably) be other fights, and I will certainly get pulled out on again many more times, and I'll just have to get better at dealing with it, because that's the way it works sometimes. With a bit of luck I might get my first fight in Thailand, which will certainly be an experience (don't, for God's sake, tell my travel insurance people...)

So that's the next big thing - one week from today I will be merrily winging my way to Thailand, and by "merrily winging my way" I do of course mean that I will be terrified, self-doubting, and constantly checking that I have my passport, I'm on the right flight, and I am actually who I think I am - I usually am, but it's prudent to check from time to time.

One week and counting guys - yipes!

Back to School

2007-04-28T00:50:00.000+01:00

I started my final placement recently, so for the next 5 weeks I'll mostly be pretending to be a teacher, and trying to look like I know what I'm doing. (This is a running theme in my life - I pretend this alot. Alot alot.)

During this year at uni I've been to several schools on placement - the Headteacher (HT) at this most recent school described my experiences as ranging "from the sublime to the ridiculous", and I'm pretty much with her on that. I've taught in a very poor area, a very nice area and somewhere in between, and seen various ranges of resources, types of social and economic backgrounds and issues which go along with them.

This new school is, however, by far the "best". It has a flawless HMIe report, Interactive Whiteboards (IWBs) up the wazoo, a body of pupils entirely made up of middle-class, pretty well-behaved children, a young, energetic, innovative staff, and a brand new school building choc-a-bloc with brilliant ideas and resources for the kids.

Obviously I can't tell you which school I'm at, any more than I can tell you any of the other schools I've been to - for starters I might decide I want to say something rude about one of the children, and then where would I be? Up Shit Creek with no paddle, that's where... (And obviously all that confidentiality stuff too, etc etc, yadda yadda).

So, I'm feeling very lucky, but don't think for a second that this means everything will be fine and dandy: all children have issues, all jobs have downsides: one school is much like another in that sense, it's just a question of how much easier or harder the situation is made by external factors like money, colleagues and parents.

Placement proper begins on Monday, which is also when the teaching (blagging)and working (panicking) really begins, and I am looking forward to it in a way. It's nice to be in the classroom again, and not at bloody, bloody uni (sorry, I literally can't help it - I've developed Moray House related Tourettes Syndrome), and the kids are lovely, as is the teacher I'm working with, so I'll be sure to share all the good stories I'll inevitably collect over the next five weeks...

...'Cos kids just say the funniest things, don't they? Funny, cute things? You know, all the funny, cute, not at all terrifying and inappropriate things 11 years olds say, ask, repeat?...

Watch this space.

Curse of the Golden Flower

2007-04-28T00:21:00.000+01:00

You have to hand it to Chow Yun Fat: he deserves a Nobel prize, or a humanitarian award, or maybe one of those awards you get on ITV, presented by the likes of Carole Vordeman, for being a very special, heartwarmingly helping and kind person, for the fact that his movie has a cast which consists of EVERYONE IN CHINA. That is employment on a massive scale - I can only assume that that's all of China's problems sorted now, everyone is famous, rich and in Hollywood...

Anyway, the film. Well, we went to see it on a Friday night, at 9.00, and there were a total of 7 people in the screening. This could be for one of two reasons, either:

A) Everyone is out having fun, getting drunk, or watching it at another, more central cinema

B) Everyone who has already seen the film killed themselves as soon as it ended or before, thereby making it impossible for them to recommend it to anyone else. (In this sense, you could describe the film like a particularly virulent disease which succeeds in wiping out an entire species, and then itself.)

I'm plumping for B) on this one. It just seems more plausible.

I don't want to spoil it for you, so I wont give you all the twists and turns, but the upshot is this: everybody dies or goes stark raving bonkers.

EVERYbody.

And since the population of China is 1,313,973,713, and they're all in the film, this takes quite some time, not to mention an inordinate quanitity of fake blood. Do not be fooled, however, by a death-count which would put Pol Pot to shame, nor by the trailers which show many interesting Ninjas leaping about the place excited/ingly. No, no, you fools. Yes, there are Ninja types, and a ginormous battle, but these scenes are the exceptions to the rule of slowness which controls the rest of the film.

The plot is good though - it is essentially a Greek tragedy in Chinese (in a number of ways) but I was somewhat let down by the woeful lack of fancy-ass Wing Chun, and deeply put out by many of the highly irritating details of the film, like why the Emperor (who appears to be the richest person in the world) would actually pay people to wander round his huge palace banging gongs on-the-hour-every-hour, shouting stuff like "Heaven and Earth collide, giant wombats fall from space - Now is the hour of the terrapin!" or words to that effect. Just buy a clock....showy bastard.

The film has its good points - the costumes, the sets (comedy factor if nothing else -what is the point in see-through bamboo doors?), the acting, the plot and, if nothing else, the sheer scale of it.

Nevertheless, if you recommend it to a loved one and they commit suicide soon after, well, its probably going to be your fault. That's all I'm saying....

Think about it.

Holy Mother of God

2007-04-22T20:46:00.000+01:00

Ok, ok: it was *my* idea. I *asked* to be allowed to do it - I even pestered to be allowed to do it. I know this. However, now that I am definitely on for my fight at the end of May I am, how shall I say...shitting bricks. On Sunday 27th May, I will be having my first ever Muay Thai fight, down in Manchester at this 'ere show:

(I personally think each and every one of you who reads this should come and shout me on. Or form a protective barrier around me so I can run away in safety...)

It'll be a C-class fight - the lowest of the low, apart from amateur fights where they wear padding - and it'll consist of three rounds, each lasting two minutes (C Class 3x2, in case you ever see that written down and wonder what the hell it means). I'll be wearing probably 10oz boxing gloves, and a mouth guard for protection and that's all. Well, obviously I'll be wearing Thai shorts and a sports bra, otherwise it's just porn, but you get my drift.

So now comes the Rocky-style training montage, because I've got 4 weeks, I've been out of training for 3 weeks, my fitness is down, my weight is up and I'm a big, fat chicken... Running and weight loss = things I hate to do, but I'll be doing ALOT of this over the coming month, and just you wait, I might even post some technicolour pictures of my bruises. But only if you're very, very good.....

In addition to this, anyone who is in Edinburgh and who wishes to be my friend MUST come to this show - it is compulsory and will count towards your final grade in my Friendship exam:

Do it!

The Life of a Cyclist

2007-04-20T18:44:00.000+01:00

I have always had a bike, and until recently I used it just for getting to and from training for a wee bit of extra exercise, but after getting a new one a couple of weeks ago I've taken to cycling everywhere...EVERYWHERE. Since Tuesday evening I have cycled......wait for it......62 miles, and I must say I'm *rather* proud of myself :)

The downside of cycling so much in so short a space of time (aside, of course from the permanent bike-seat impression which has been left in my butt, and the windscreen effect of bugs splattered all over my face) is that it's all too easy to begin to take liberties with fate, and get a teensy weensy bit over-confident.

For example, I am normally not the kind of person who relishes confrontation, but cycling 20 miles in one day will erode your patience for spotty-faced, tiny-dicked, wimpy little men who drive sporty-looking-but-cheap-and-cheerful red sportscars.

So, when the little snot-stain pulled out of a juntion without so much as glancing left, nearly tranforming me, magically, from the wonderfully unique human I am into so much road-kill (I can see the headline now: Young Newlywed Primary Teacher Killed in Tragic Accident by Waste of Space) , I was more than happy to catch up with him at the next set of traffic lights and give him my best Primary Teacher "you should be ashamed" row. Ok, I didn't say that, but I did demand an apology, and would happily have dragged him out of his car and spanked him in front of a crowd, forcing him to repeat, with every stroke, "I", "Will not", "Be such", "A dick".

However, this is apparently forbidden by law, both inside the classroom and out (who knew?), so I didn't. And that's the only reason why not.

So, as you see, cycling lots: good for the thighs, bad for the soul ;)

The Final Countdown

2007-04-11T14:07:00.000+01:00

I have an essay due on Tuesday - 3000 words on Curriculum, Teaching and Assessment, theory and practice of Environmental Studies and Expressive Arts. Yep, it's pretty boring. And, as usual, I'm procrastinating like nothing on earth, so it is for this reason that I set the following challenge:

I want to create an Ultimate Cheesy Training Soundtrack, filled with the sorts of tracks which you'd expect to accompany a Rocky training montage. So far I've got:

Eye of the Tiger - Survivor
The Final Countdown - Europe
Hero - Bonny Tyler
Gold - Spandau Ballet
Going the Distance - Rocky Theme Tune

So, come on guys - rise to the challenge.....Your country needs you!

Sarah xx

Normal(ish) Service Resumed

2007-04-08T18:21:00.000+01:00

Finally, after a whole lifetime-long 23 days away from training, I'm finally back at class! I'm suffused with a warm, glowey all-is-right-with-the-world sense of bliss.
This is in direct contrast to the presiding emotion of the last few days, which has been one of "AAAAARGGGGHHHHHH! BLARGYBLARGHYBLARGHHHHHHH!!!!"
It's not something I have any place writing about, except to say I think things are looking up and I think I probably have the best friends in the whole world and I am very, very lucky.
You guys rock

Cellulitis? Just the beginning....

2007-04-02T17:17:00.001+01:00

Sounds ominous, doesn't it? Well, it may not be quite horror movie standard, but things did get worse..... much worse.....a bit worse, at any rate.

My cellulitis improved with the ingestion of FUCKLOADS of antibiotics (2 kinds, 4 times a day), but I was left with a very angry, purple, hot lump right where the very first sign of the infection had a appeared. Rather than get, say *smaller*, the lump got bigger, and hotter and angrier and I finally realised, with the help of the internet, that it was a big abscess and determined to take myself to the doctor on Tuesday and go "Look! It's an abscess! Fix it!". This I did, at 15.40 and was sent, posthaste to the hospital to have it drained.

I thought they would just make me wait for ages, then stick a syringe in it and make it go away, but i was wrong.

I was seen by a doctor at 17.00, had x-rays to check the infection hadn't gotten into the bone, and blood tests to check the infection hadn't gotten into my blood by 18.00, and was admitted to the orthopaedic ward by 19.30 to have surgery first thing the following morning, which I really wasn't expecting.

The orthopaedic ward is an interesting place to be, since it is largely populated by old women and men waiting to have hip-replacements, and I was easily the youngest patient by a margin of about 50 years. I was in a room with 3 little old ladies: one was lovely, sparkly and articulate (and referred to the other patients as "old women" despite the fact they were her age), one was fast asleep for the first day, but after her surgery the following day cried almost non-stop, and the other was stark, raving bonkers - totally unaware of who she was, where she was and what was going on, and as such was utterly terrified and prone to screaming for long periods for no reason. As you can imagine, this was conducive to both rest *and* relaxation...

Anyhoo, the first night in the hospital was one of the longest of my life and I didn't sleep at all, mainly because I was a bit scared of what they might find when they opened up my leg the following day. There's something very isolating about being awake in a hospital at 3am or 4am, with the nurses chatting, or marching around and you with nothing to do but worry or listen to Regina Spektor on your headphones. I gave up pretending to sleep about 5am and got up for a shower and watched the Clangers on the cool wee personal TV things by each bed.

About 8am a woman I now know to be an anaesthesiologist appeared and asked some questions about allergies and whether I "fancied a spinal" as opposed to a general anaesthetic, but I had a general in the end. Sadly, when the surgeon rocked up with his entourage shortly after this I was utterly brain-dead from not sleeping and couldn't understand his Irish accent, which earned me a very stony glare, and I reckon I'm lucky I still have my leg.

They took me to theatres about 9am, and got me all prepped including giving me pain killers through my veins and it really hurt and kind of made me panic because I was woozy and it was all really scary and nasty, but after that I don't remember anything until I woke up after surgery (which only took half an hour). I was seemingly a bit cold after the operation so I had a cool blanket thing full of hot air, and also lots of morphine (which was lovely), spent a bit of time trying to talk to the nurse and failing miserably because I was too drugged up, and then spent the rest of the day sleeping, really.

After that it's mostly sleeping, pain killers, waking up for hospital food, more painkillers and bucket-loads of IV antibiotics and blood pressure and temperature monitoring, and aside from a bit of low BP dodginess all went very smoothly and I got out on Thursday in time for getting Lewis on Friday, which I'll post about a bit later.

I'm on the mend and looking forward to getting home and weighing myself and finding out the true damage I've inflicted on myself over the last week (feeling *very* heavy*!) and having abit of fun :)

The 300

2007-03-25T11:27:00.000+01:00

Xerxes: what a tool. My credentials as a historian may not be quite as respectable as David Starkey's (also a tool), but I still feel justified in making that bald, unsupported and general statement. I mean really, if you've got anywhere between 500,000 and 2,000,000 soldiers, why would you send them against 300 soldiers in relatively small waves, with plenty of time in between for the opposition to clean up, have an apple and take a wee snooze? No, you'd send them *all at once* and then all they'd have to do is squash the Spartans.

Anyway, I'm glad Xerxes was a tool, because the Spartans rocked, and deserved to take out around 50,000 Persian soldiers in 2 days with only 300 soldiers with spears, swords and shields - wooo! Gooooooooooo Spartans!

The film itself was fantastic - beautiful cinematography and easily identifiable as having been inspired by a graphic novel. At first I wasn't sure whether I'd enjoy it, as it did seem like it was going to be a little bit OTT, but I was wrong, very wrong. Any qualms I had were squashed when the 300 soldiers appeared over the brow of a hill, wearing nothing more than a pair of pants, boots and a cloak each - I felt like Columbus, laying eyes upon a beautiful New World for the first time...I felt like applauding. Six-packs like those take dedication - 300 beautiful six-packs, that's 1800 abdominal muscles, carved and cut to perfection...

Anyway, that is obviously not what the film is about (shame ;p). Don't be fooled by the monsters in Xerxes's army - the descriptions were taken from actual descriptions of the battle, the monsters aren't added for fun. However, this doesn't mean that the rest of the information about the battle is unreliable - historians and archeologists have uncovered the remains from the battle and proved that there were indeed only around 300 spartan soldiers, and anything from 500,000 Persians upwards, so it is an epic story.

It was beautiful to look at, enjoyable to watch and left me with a lasting interest in the Spartans and the battle which inspired the film. I've even got a book and everything (my dad would be so proud), which Paul got me after the following conversation:

Paul: I'm in Waterstones trying to get you that book about the Spartans, there's one here about the Persians though, the same battle.
Me: But I don't like the Persians
Paul:......well....it's the same battle though, it ends the same
Me:But....Xerxes was a tool
Paul: Yes. Xerxes was a tool. He loses in this book as well, though.
Me: Well.....so long as he loses, I guess that's ok
Paul: Yeah. He loses.
Me: Cos he was a tool.
Paul: Yes, honey, he was a tool. Shhhhhhhh.........

Go watch the film. Because Xerxes was a tool :)

Cellulitis: as icky as it sounds

2007-03-19T10:58:00.000Z

Soooooo, on Friday morning I woke up at 6am, and went....."Owwww - my leg hurts", but there wasn't anything to see, so I took some Ibuprofen and zonked out again until noon. At noon, I woke up and went "Shit! I was supposed to meet Kal to try out Buddhist meditation!" (which seemingly wasn't that much of a loss for me) , closely followed by "owwwww, my leg hurts still". This time, there was a little something to see - just a little red welt about the size of 2 thumbs together, but very hot and very sore.

Anyway, it was an interesting day: I went to meet Kal and we looked around the Pixar exhibition, which was excellent. Go there, find the xoetrope, which is a fabulous spinning thing (which is waaaaaay too complicated for me to understand, let alone explain) and watch it at least twice, preferably three times - twice to go "WOW! How the hell.....?" and once to look at the expressions on the faces of everyone else as they go "Wooooooaah! How the hell......?", which is good fun :)

We had yummy sandwiches, naughty flapjacks, saw the exhibition, and then went back to Kal's for a bit. By this time, I felt officially like crap - I was thinking "oh, lord, what luck: I've probably got DVT (Deep Vein Thrombosis) and will die, *and* I've got the flu. Harsh. So we went to Kal's: he played videogames, I watched Peepshow and drank vast quanities of tea, occasionally going "Owwww", *goan*, *whimper* and generally was quite pathetic. I didn't want to go home, because Paul, the husband, was supposed to be away for the weekend, and fearing a gruesome death or, worse, having no-one to make me tea, I was not keen to go anywhere, but all good things must come to an end, so I headed home about 6pm. Fortunately for me, Paul wasn't able to go away, which just worked out dandy in the end, but did kind of involve him being defrauded out of £100, so I am *pretty* selfish for thinking that's good (don't worry, he got it back - I'll tell you about it another time). As the evening wore on, my shin got bigger...and bigger..... and bigger and began stabbing me and throbbing, so about 9.15pm I gave in and rang NHS24 for advice. They were, eventually, and against all the odds, very helpful and got me an appointment within 45 minutes at the out of hours, drop-in centre at the hospital... but only after *this* conversation:

Me: Hi, yeah, my shin is really sore and swollen - very angry and painful
Nurse: Ok, has anything happened (etc etc, fill this bit in yourself)
Me: No, I just woke up this morning and it was sore, and it's just been getting worse all day
Nurse: Right, does your foot hurt all the time, or just when you move it?
Me: Well, it's my shin that hurts, but yes it hurts more when I move in general
Nurse: Ok, so the foot has been sore since 6, and is just getting more swollen?
Me: No.... no, my *shin* is swollen and sore, sore at 6am, now very swollen and red and sore
Nurse: So it's not your foot?
Me: No. It has nothing to do with my foot. It's my shin.....
... and so on and so on, until the message sunk in.

So, I jumped in a taxi (for jumped read; limped, was half carried, stumbled and lurched, with many exclamations of pain and distress) and was at the hosital for 10.20, with my appointment due in 10 minutes. But.... they saw me straight away, I saw a lovely, friendly "practitioner" (what does this mean?) who diagnosed cellulitis straight away, gave me useful information and free medication and sent me on my way. We were back in the taxi by 10.30 and on our way home, with the advice that should the swelling progress above the line on my leg (which the practitioner drew in biro) or if my fever got worse, my glands were to swell, or I began vomiting, then it was straight back to hospital for me for IV antibiotics.

So long LONG story short, Saturday was awful. I felt like crap, was running a sweaty, smelly temperature, looked like a zombie, couldn't stand or walk alone, had to be taken to the loo by paul, didn't want to eat, and was regularly in so much pain that I was crying like a wee girl. Sucks. To. Be. Me. I wanted to go to hospital, except that the thought of trying to get dressed, get downstairs, get bumped around in a taxi and actually try to *tell* someone what was wrong was just not on, so I stayed home, and I'm glad, because by Sunday things were much improved. I could hold a conversation, watch telly, read and, get this... go to the loo alone! How much do I rock!

Today finds me still largely incapacitated - I can hobble about without Paul (which is good since he's at work!), I've eaten, and my temperature is much more regular, even though I have a nastily insipid cough that stops me from breathing deeply. My leg looks *revolting*, I wont bore you with the details, or even a close-up picture :p

But in spite of the ickyness and the pain and all the rest of it, there have been a few shiny, comedic moments:

The discovery that if I wear fluffy socks Paul can push me around the house like a trolly instead of having to carry me, and it is *damned* hard to steer with only one foot on the ground.

The classic moment last night when Paul, after a long day of helpfulness, went to fetch my laptop so I could email uni, and dropped the battery pack for the laptop directly on my sore shin, resulting in a few minutes of near-hysterical tears of pain and shock, closely followed by a few minutes of actually hysterical tears of laughter as he desperately apologised. Bless him :)

So, here's hoping that soon, very soon, I will be able to get the FUCK off this sofa and do something. Anything!

The Number 23

2007-03-15T18:51:00.000Z

I went to see The Number 23 today with my lovely friend Kal and I must say, it was absolutely spine chilling. Call me suggestible, call me impressionable, call me credulous and I'll call you a cynic but I'm sorry, there's something just.......wrong about that number:

"Oh, oh my God! Look at the date - it's the 15th of March, 2007! 15.3.07....15 plus 3.....18. Add 7......25.....erm......25....that's 2+5, so that's 7, take that away again, which is 18 again, but 1+8 is 9 and 18 add 9 is 27 and then multiply that by 5, which is the number of letters in the word "MARCH", which is....135. Now, 13+5, that's 18 again.....*shit*.... No! Wait! 18 + 5 (which we already established was the number of letters in the word "March") is 23!! OH MY GOD!!! It all fits......."

Spooky.

Teaching Reading Comprehension

2007-03-13T11:53:00.000Z

This (see above) is what I am supposed to be giving a presentation on at uni on Thursday morning. Oh Lord. As you can probably tell, by the fact that I'm here rather than working on my presentation, I am not exactly filled with excitement and joy at this prospect. "Clueless" would be one way to describe me on this subject. Another way would be "hopeless". Without hope, even. So, given that I am "without hope", you'd think it'd be a good idea to be working my butt off to try and get on top of this task......

You'd be wrong. The best thing to do is ignore it and hope it goes away, somewhat like a big spider, or a monster. Perhaps if I stick my fingers in my ears and go "lalalalalalalalalalaaaaaaa" with my eyes closed, when I re-open them it will be Friday, the presentation will be over and I will have blown everyone away with my perspicacity. What does that mean...? I dunno. But it sounds good - an ideal example of obfuscation ;p (look it up).

So, in a pretty flawless example of how to procrastinate (and use long words so that updating your blog takes even longer, another good way of procrastinating) here is a link to the funniest thing I've seen all week (if anyone knows how to embed video links and could tell me, that'd be great):

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zvul3DC4l4E

Now back to my presentation....... Lalalalalalalalalalalalalalaaa..........aaaargh!
Go away big, scary, spider-monster!

A period of inactivity

2007-03-11T13:05:00.000Z

Following my recent and sustained period of blogging inactivity, I've decided to start writing more regularly because now, ladies and gents......I've been matched for a fight! This means that although I will have plenty to talk about, it will probably all be about bruises, weight, more bruises and my all consuming fear.

Being matched for a fight is an interesting process because there are alot of factors which need to be taken into consideration and which can throw you off course.

Weight, for one. You have to be the same weight as your opponent, so you agree a fighting weight before-hand and then both do whatever you have to do to make sure you're that weight on the day. Now, on the 1st of January I weighed 73.7kgs (which is 11 stone 8.2 for those of you still on imperial, like me), and I'm fighting on the 27th May at 63kg, (which is 9 stone 12.6). Now, whichever way you look at it, that is alot of weight to lose. ALOT.
So this is Issue number one: Being the right weight. If you are not this, you will probably not fight. Today, inexplicably I am 10 stone 8, even though on Friday I was 10 stone 5. Bastards.

Assuming, then, that you're doing OK on the soul-crushing calorie-controlled diet, there's no guarantee that your opponent is as well...

Issue number 2: Pull-outs
Pull-outs happen all the time especially, for some reason, in female fights. I've been matched once before and she pulled out, apparently due to weight, and my friend Ann has now been matched 3 times for the same fight, which has failed to happen twice for various reasons, so there's no point getting too excited until a bit nearer the time.

Of course, not getting excited doesn't mean not training like a crazy-lady, you have to do that anyway, but that's another thing which can go wrong...

Issue number 3: Injury
I get injured alot. Often, even. With monotonous regularity. All over. I've only had to miss training twice because of injury, and only because I physically couldn't train, but nevertheless, a broken hand or foot, a dyslocation, something along those lines would be bad news. So far I've torn the ligaments in my ankle twice, hyperextended my elbow, trapped a nerve in my back, had a sacro-illiac strain and broken a toe, and haven't even fought yet. Also, I bruise like a peach. So much so that I look more like I enjoy baiting Neds on a Friday night before helpfully handing them a baseball bat each than that I practice martial arts in a safe, controlled, consenting environment.

Last, but certainly not least:

Issue number 4: Getting the screaming heebie-jeebies.
This is not a medical term. I've never fought before, so whilst I *think* I want to, I don't *know* that yet, never having done it. Most of the time I'm like "Yeah, bitch, bring it on!" and other, not very Edinburgh-sounding phrases. However, occasionally I get an utter pasting at sparring class, can't lie on my side for a week because of poorly placed bruises and I do wonder to myself if it's really such a good idea. Yesterday being a prime example of this "utter pasting" I mentioned above. I graduated up to the Fighters Class for the first time yesterday (this, as the name suggests is a sparring class for people who are fighting soon, so it's harder work, harder contact, harder in general) and whilst I was pretty apprehensive and pretty much expecting to take a beating, I did somewhat under-estimate the situation. Think "baptism of fire", think going with the chief instructor's incredible brilliant wife for the first round and having her go heavy so they can see what happens.

Well, this is absolutely fair enough, and I'm glad to say I reacted like any hard-as-nails female Thai boxer should....

....that's a complete lie. I cried like a girl.

Nevertheless, I'm glad I went, and I'm glad they did that, because you've got to learn sometime. Nobody had ever hit me that hard before, and it hurt like a motherfucker, and I've got bruises (little ones) on my face and bruises (giant ones) all over my legs and hips, but I'd much rather I got used to that in the privacy of the gym rather than got completely taken my surprise for the first time in the ring and made a total arse out of myself.

At the very least, by May 27th I'll be able to take a punch, even if I do look like Rocky.

Erroneous George

2006-01-17T19:31:00.000Z

Erroneous George

Poyem.

My friend, Kal, got a book of poetry:
It made him question his literacy.
For him I write this, posing as a bard
oh shit, iambic pentameter is
difficult.

Well

2005-12-01T15:32:00.001Z

Broken umbrella, lying defeated
and dripping in the hallway,
legs akimbo like some grotesquely
broken daddy-long-legs.

Silence, broken only by the intermittent
and unrelenting drip-drop-tick-tock
of rain on winter-hardened soil
forces me back, unforgivingly,
to a time when I had little else to listen to

and liked it that way.

Like the buzzing of a small fly in a
hot summer room invades
the peace of sleep, so my reflections are
distubed by ripples of now, washing over,
and over, wearing away
the gentle sandstone facade of nostalgia.

My eyes fix, unconsciously, unwillingly,
on the invisibly twitching and ludicrous vision
drying slowly and painfully on the floor,
as I fumble with numb and leaden fingers for my keys.

Erroneous George

Moving house

Deletion of Posts

Evil Portents

Masochism

Sorry for the silence!

Esmerelda

A Whole New World...

Aarayan's Day of Pain (Part 2)

Aarayan's Day of Pain (Part 1)

A Year in the Land of Smiles

The Agony and The Ecstacy

Goodbyes

A trip down Memory Lane

One small step for man...

Boing!

That Sunday Feeling.

It doesn't rain...

You can't win 'em all

Asthma is *so* last season.

Thank you.

As much use as a chocolate fish on a bicycle made of tea pots.

Worst week ever?

How has it taken me so long to realise....

It's all going a bit new-agey....

Dentistry Disaster

Huzzah!

Goodness me.

Clarification

Ah HA!

urg....groan....

Philosophical Question.

Good start

Christmas Karma

2nd Time Lucky...

Happy New Year!

Bigotry: The Greatest Evil?

Oooooh

Dear oh dear.

Fame. No fortune.

Running

Made it.

Results....

Yet another fight

Aarayan - 2, other folk - 0

Another fight

On the treadmill

Let's start at the very beginning

General Catch-up

Japanese Folk - crazy or cool? You decide. Provided you decide they're cool.

Deos this make me feel good?

Daft Punk

Happy Anniversary

At last, I'm finished!

Scotland 1 - Thailand 0

Here come the nerves...

3 days and counting....

Sunny Sunday Sightseeing

Transformers: The Movie

Tourism, at long last.

Fotees.

Banana Rotee is made by God.

Long, hot days

Sawatdee Ka!

Here we go...

Many Happy Returns

The end of an era...

Back to School

Curse of the Golden Flower

Holy Mother of God

The Life of a Cyclist

The Final Countdown

Normal(ish) Service Resumed

Cellulitis? Just the beginning....

The 300

Cellulitis: as icky as it sounds

The Number 23

Teaching Reading Comprehension

A period of inactivity

Erroneous George

Asthma is so last season.