Boxing Moustaches

Hello Chaps,

I am still here. I'm just so exhausted most of the time. Not the sort of malady that falls on one when they black dog visits but a fitness mid-life crisis.

I'm not exactly sure it is a mid-life crisis but I am well, 30 and suddenly I've signed up to a load of new things. I box now.

Proper boxing in an East London gym, I'm new to it so mostly I spend evenings being punched in the face by people with tattoos.

It's hard to explain the pleasure of it, I suppose it's something to do with being told your entire life not to punch someone and then finally being told to punch someone as hard as you can.

There are rules of course and some of my fellow boxists don't entirely follow them. There is a chap called Joel who is Italian and seemingly doesn't understand that the face isn't part of the torso. When you spar with him, and the trainer - called Bill of course - says body hits only Joel still goes for the face.

So after he has smacked you in the chops you have to stop and say 'No look Joel, I know this is a fight but no punchy the face, capiche?'

The fight resumes, he behaves for a bit and then clocks you in the bonce again. The fight pauses again and this time the trainer Bill who looks like he would win a fight with a train steps in.

'Look Joel, no face punching okay? Just body hits'

I stand back and check I still have a nose. It's hard to do while wearing boxing gloves.

'I didn't punch him in the face' says Joel, doing a shrug. He is trying to look like the sort of person who couldn't even imagine punching someone in the face.

'I saw you do it Joel, keep the punches to the body, okay?' says the trainer.

Presence of nose confirmed, the fight resumes. It goes on for a bit, Joel is a wild swinging boxer and fast, so it's like fighting a squid, one that keeps clocking you in the face.

BAM.

I now have wonky jaw.

The trainer shouts at Joel again. Joel appeals that he could never have punched me in the face, I must have moved my fast forward and down suddenly into someone else's fist.

The fight begins again. I'm learning to protect my head.

Joel takes a swing at my head, but it is blocked. I let out an internal cheer. He smacks me on the other side of the head. I spin around a bit. A detached part of my mind things 'wow, that does really happen.'

My rage is building, fast. I've told him to stop. The trainer has told him to stop. In social situation this might end with a fight, but we are already fighting. I don't know how to respond.

I decide to write him a stiff letter. While deciding on an appropriately chilling sign off I am punched in the head again.

The fight is stopped. Joel gets a telling off from the trainer. I spar with someone else who because he is a gentleman only punches me in the stomach. It's bliss.

I still can't explain why I go, but I'm not stopping.

I may grow a moustache get the whole Victorian strongman look going a bit more. I know that this will mean that the delights of women would be forever closed off to me, but one has to pay the price for progress. I'd quite like a caddish pencil moustache, which would eventually grow into a quite bushy number.

One should never pick facial hair lightly. It's an investment

I am not gay and I am not dead

No really. I'm still here. I've just, well I've just got into some bad habits, and briefly, into some bad women.

Here are some things I'm loving at the moment:

Navy stripes

the whole Breton thing. I've got a selection of t-shirts and jumpers in that style. I'm thinking of investing in a cap too.

Chelsea boots

it's been this year's winter boot and it's got just the right mix of traditional with a hint of naughty.

Bold coloured socks
Just about the only bad thing about Chelsea boots is it is hard to show off pleasingly coloured socks. I've recently bought a whole load of delightful shades so I have options for almost every occasion.

And some things I'm not loving

Black, in clothes
I'm trying to remove black from my wardrobe. It's a slow process because my only sensible coat is black. I am prepared to suffer a bit to look good but when you are so cold it feels like your soul is freezing it's time to dress sensibly.

Lumberjack shirts
If everyone is wearing them, then I want none of it. I do have one, it was a bribe and I only wear it when I'm actually chopping wood.
Long hours
It's a side effect of an interesting job I know, but really? really?

More work

The work fun continues. I'm being stretched, dusty neurons that have been asleep for years are firing up again. Most nights I'm exhausted by it all, I think I've pulled a muscle in my head a few times.

I'm loving every moment of it.

Also I've been there just over two weeks and I've no had an affair with ANYONE. Well done me!

It's not thought want to suitable people mind you. I was in a morning meeting and I realised I fancied every woman in the meeting. I'm such a slut sometimes.

Well actually I've sort of changed tactics. I have my eye on someone but it's a long shot. A very long shot. It will require tactics, cunning and more luck than I've ever had before.

Let the games begin.

We need to talk about velvet

So I'm back in London. Yeah. The new job is bloody amazing. It's such a delight to be in the warm bosom of a women's magazines.

The first week was well a bit stressful really. It was aces fun but I was so tense that I gave myself stress headaches. Fool. A early night combined with running again helped sort that out. Also I relaxed a bit.

I had my first Friday in the pub with the gang, it was excellent and I was invited onto the newly formed 'Style Council' by the fashion desk. We have had our first theme day velvet and on Thursday the theme is tweed.

There will be feature on how velvet is coming back in a future issue of the magazine, and that is my fault. I'm not just fashionable, I'm setting the agenda!

Also I'm going to get a make-over. I have a gang!

It's so great to be back it doesn't feel entirely real. I keep thinking I'm going to wake up or get sent back to the Wilderness...

Let's hope not eh?

London Ho! (possibly)

Yes. I know it's has been a while, but I have news!

I've moved back to the ghetto, it's a just a stepping stone though, one surrounded by burnt out cars and needles. Actually it's not that bad. I doubt it will ever impress a girl, but it is warm and cheap.

The reason I'm not that bothered about it is that a return to London is more than on the cards, it's in motion.

Someone has left one of the London magazines. I found out via Facebook and contacted their old boss to say I'd like to be considered. You have to do stuff like this because London jobs are often just mysteriously filled without ever being advertised.

They were shocked that I would even be interested in the job, but very interested in the prospect of getting me in. I had to explain that I would be delighted by the prospect of moving back to London rather than fretting over it.

I've already met the editor, and a couple of other key people so now I have a trial day coming up next week. The only skill left for them to test me on is funny writing. I could have done some today but since I have near-fatal man flu (annoying headcold) I didn't think I'd be on top form.

Also I want to buy some new clothes for my trial day so I look suitably cool, and get a haircut. Eek! I need to organise that. The standard of dress in the London office is astoundingly high so I'll have to up my game a bit.

Which I'm actually really looking forward too.

As for places to lives. In a sort of miracle, one of my best friends has got hold of a lovely house in London for free and I've got a room reserved. It's like the cottage, but warm, with furniture and in London. Hurrah!

This would mean moving house twice in a month, but I think it's worth it. For a start most of my stuff is still in bags so I won't have to do much packing.

Moving on.

Well I'm nearly done. I got a bit frantic because I had so much stuff but actually it's not as bad as I feared. I still haven't managed to get a suitable home for the sofa or the fridge which means they are off to the dump. I just have to destroy a bed, clean a kitchen and scrub down the cottage. Simple.

Moving house is horrible but it will be over soon and I'm feeling really positive about the move now. This is definitely the right thing to do and if everything goes to plan, just a first step back to London.

So yeah, feeling good about it all. Coolie has it covered

Freecycle, moving, and things.

Freecycle is amazing. I have furniture I don't need and I really, really don't want to take it to the dump, because it's perfectly good furniture. So I've put it on freecycle.

The response has been great. Hopefully by the end of the day I'll have got rid of most of my stuff. The only minor glitch is people being really fussy. It's a free table, I'm sorry if the the colour doesn't quite work for you no need to get so stroppy.

Also freecycle has quite a lot of people asking for unrealistic stuff. I doubt you will get a new top of the range laptop, people don't tend to give those away.

So this weekend will involve a lot of frantic scrubbing of carpets and a sort of reverse evolution of the cottage. The washing machine is going in a bit, the fridge will be later and the sofa is going to disappear too. It's a little bit sad until I think of my bank balance.

Then it's the best thing I've ever done.

Cancelled, cancelled, cancelled.

I've been cancelling loads of stuff because I'm leaving the cottage. Water, council tax, phones, all sorts. It's very satisfying to realise that these huge chunks of cash aren't going to be flying out of my bank account on the first of the month anymore. Even more satisfying is the fact that I'm due some refunds.

I've not been getting my 25% of council tax for being a poor lonely singleton and so I'm getting that back. It's like a government organised saving scheme. I've put a away a little every month and now I've got a reasonable wodge of cash that I didn't expect to get.

You know, it might just be the thing that inspires me to start saving, once I've paid off my debts. They have to come first. Actually maybe I'll just use the wodge of cash to pay off some more of them. That would be a bit more sensible.

This new cheaper lifestyle is like getting a massive raise and it should allow me to do things again, like go on holidays or take nice girls out for drinks. Is this downsizing? If so I love it.

Maybe I could turn into a vacuous feature for someone? People who are moving to cheaper digs to improve their lifestyle.

The move, well at least thinking about it.

In less than a week I will be moved out of the cottage. EEK. I've done almost no packing, which is at least true to form. To be fair though, I've still not unpacked some things from when I first moved so it does balance out. I just move the bags around.

Hopefully this next move will be a short-term one. Just a little step on the hop back to London, or perhaps America. Anyone want any furniture? I've got tables and sofas and all the other things that people need. I think I'll just phone up the recycling man and get him to take it all away.

I need to cancel lots of direct debits too. It's annoying how signing up for a phone and things can be done in moments online or over the telephone but cancelling it requires letters and 28 days notice. That's just annoying, and slightly sharp business practice if you ask me.

Still it will be worth it. I'm looking forward to not paying £50 a month for water, which given that I shower at work and use about a kettles worth a day seems a bit much. I suppose that's the thing people never say about living on your own. It's all 'oh it's great walking around in your underpants (in the summer) and being able to watch what ever telly you like (that bit is good)' they don't mention the absolutely crippling bills, or vague sense of loneliness that makes you seriously consider cats.

A very good chum has moved to London and has spare rooms, or will have them soon. So the vague plan is to land a job in that London and live with him a bit. The house is quite remote, but I think living with him would be amazing. I'm really quite looking forward to it.

Made of Rar! Bad week, good week.

Last week was a tricky one.

On Monday a bike got stolen while in my care. Arrgh etc. Just after getting my wheels back, for the first time in over a year allowed a bike over the weekend and BANG. It gets stolen. I was furious.

As you can imagine this rather messed up my week. I don't know if I'm going to be banned again because of the bike disappearing. On Thursday night I thought 'enough was enough'.

And so did something a bit bold. I emailed a publish with a pitch for a non-fiction book. Something to do with work. It was a fairly short email, focused if you will. I sent it across first thing in the morning.

Twenty minutes later I had a meeting arranged to go in and talk to the publisher about the idea. GET IN. I just need to tell my agent about this now, I hope he isn't upset.

Visits

My brother his here visiting which is aces. It was a last minute thing so I couldn't get time off work which is less aces but the whole situation is still aces.

When I have guests it's one of the few times when having the cottage pays off, just about. I'm going to be so glad to be no-longer shackled to the vast bills of living here. I suppose I have learned an important lesson - living on your own is bloody expensive.

My brother brought some beans up with him. Lots and lots of beans. I'm not really sure what to do with them. Any ideas?

Days Marching by

In the past week I've been to a great party in London, passed a riding assessment with flying colours, ridden about a dozen new bikes, flirted with more girls than I should and resolutely refused to ask for any of their numbers, gone out to local bars and had fun.

It's been really rather good. I mean surprisingly good. I still miss London desperately but work up here has been about as good as it can be in the last week or so. I'm still moving on, but this is definitely helping make the days march by.

I'm only in the cottage for a few more weeks now. It seems a bit sad, but any time I start to have regrets I just think about all the cash I'm going to save by moving out. Cash I can use to do fun stuff.

I'm going to get some new clothes too. I need a new waistcoat that fits and I'd like some new shirts too. I'm not sure what exactly, but I'll know when I see it. It will be a new beginning shirt.

Review

I had my feedback review at work, or what-ever it is called. This one was a weirdly pleasant experience. Well pleasant in parts.

Given that I don't want to be working there anymore that allowed me a bit of freedom in what I said. So we went through the usual areas of things I could improve. Annoyingly writing came up again, which is annoying because I've not written anything in almost year.

I did point this out, and the point was conceeded. The other 'area for improvement' was on the production side of things. This I think comes down to a lack of explaining and communication. People want you to write plans down rather than juggle them in your head.

The big, and slightly shocking feedback is that one of the chaps I work for doesn't think I do anything. He has been acting weird ever since his engagement was announced, which might go to explaining this outburst.

I dealt with the issue, in my feedback but I sense a clash is coming up. Not as a counter attack or anything from me, but he is just getting so fiery towards everyone.

The big moment in the feedback session thing was when I told my boss that I wanted to move to London. I said the job wasn't going anywhere, and that I've lived in the wilderness for nearly two years and I don't have a single friend outside of work. I said I'd been talking to the London office about jobs.

He took it rather well I think, thanked me for my honesty and said he'd would also see if anything came up. I imagine at some point the editor will take me to the side and have a chat with me about it, but I'll just be honest too.

Thing is, I don't want to spend the rest of my life in the wilderness and while playing with motorbikes is fun, it isn't everything to me.

So yes, very productive feedback thingybob, I think, but I doubt it's over yet. I'm sure there will be aftershocks, but since the lease on the cottage over and I'll be moving back to tiny little gigs that cost nothing. Well if I got asked to leave I'd just contact a direct competitor and said 'Would you like to win the battle over the internet?'

I'd bet a bottle of gin that I could do it too.

Gym of death

The gym mission continues. I'm starting to get a bit bored of it though. I think I need to move to a new gym, or find someone new to lust after.

Actually that's a bit of a weird one but I'm not really in the mood for girls at the moment. The last one wasn't awful or anything but I just can't see the appeal. That's a bit of a sign isn't it?

Anyway, I was in the gym yesterday doing my now traditional Monday spaz out. I'm usually a bundle of energy on Mondays so I have to go extra bananas to sort of use up that energy.

This took the form of the tread mill. Which I've not really used much. I put it on 14, which might be 14kph but might not. Either way it was a pretty solid gallop, not a jog by any means.

At 7 minutes I stopped and measured my heart rate which was 181bph, or just shy of a heart attack according to my chum the medic. I think this means I'm not allowed to run that fast for that period of time, or perhaps I need to work up to it first.

My heart rate dived afterwards, and I felt fine so I don't think I've killed myself or anything. Still it's quite exciting to reach the limit of something. On the plus side, and this is a mega plus my knee wasn't weird or anything. It's a bit tingly today but fine which is excellent.

I'll be spending all of today in a van in Wales which is less excellent so I suppose that shows that in everything there is balance.

Work tries harder

Work has been surprisingly skill in the last week. Shockingly so. It's as if 'work' knows I'm planning to leave it and it's doing a last ditch attempt to keep things together. You know, fancy underwear, flowers etc.

The main example of this is tests. I work at a magazine based around a specific hobby and it's products. It's a big, hobby shared by quite a few chaps. Anyway. On the magazine we have a few people who are employed to test these products. They get flown around to hot countries to test new things and are constantly sent new things to test. It's amazing the life style they lead. I think only A grade rock stars get treated better. They still moan about how hard things are for them.

Anyway, sometimes they need other people to help test these things. Which means a day out of the office doing the hobby and having a nice time. I've never been invited on one of these tests, but I've helped film one or two.

On Monday I was selected to take part in a three-part mega test which will be inspired by a well known TV show lets call it Highest Ratio. This TV show features three chaps who are into a method of transport messing about and completing challenges.

I'm going to be working on a three part feature like that, which will also be filmed. Two senior testers are involved and they want japes and misadventure. I'm a bit nervous, just because I've always stayed behind the camera in the past because I'm a bit too posh for our beloved readers.

This could be a bit of a turning point, it will give me a great portfolio piece and for the first time in about five years an up to date show reel.

Blimey eh?

Endings

My time in the cottage is nearly over, and hopefully by extension my time in the wilderness. Hurrah.

Slightly less hurrah is the break-up of the thing with the hat. It was the right thing to do for a whole range of reasons. I won't go into them but the fact there was a range of reasons is fairly telling. Ho-hum.

I'm going to be single for a bit. It's a life choice, no really it is. Okay I'll list some reasons why things ended.

* She told boring stories
* She hated The Flight of the Conchords
* She didn't like my suits
* Or my fancy underpants
* She wanted me to call her a few times every day
* We spent some time apart and I was perfectly happy.

So there you go.

George Orwell's haircut

I've got a new haircut. I LOVE IT. it's a sort of 1930s haircut, short back and sides but messy on top. It's great. George Orwell would approve.

I can't remember that last time I was so pleased with a trim. To add to the fun, if I apply a bit of Brill Cream I can sport a proper Chap Magazine approved hairstyle. Ding dong.

Speaking of hairdressers. Has anyone noticed that the can have a wealth of nicknames that make them sound so dangerous? For example:

'Oooh who is your stylist? That look is fabulous?'

Can become

'Nice barnet, who is your scissorman?' Or my personal favourite 'I like the new look, who is your cutter?'

It makes it sound a bit Guy Richie.

I celebrated the new haircut by going and buying some new fancy pants and another tight t-shirt. They are my new weakness. I've still got to shift a few more pounds, which isn't helped by me needing a near constant supply of chocolate while I write, but still. I'll just hit the gym harder next week.

I've also been playing around with vegatables a lot. Not in a sexy way, but with my new grill machine. Courgettes are amazing grilled. So good that when you eat them you have to do a little dance. I eat them a lot now.

The cottage is far more pleasant in the summer. You can forgive it a lot more. I'll be almost sad to see the back of it now. Although not so sad to see the back of the garden. The hedges needs more attention than my girlfriend. Also concrete is no replacement for grass. I don't think anyone would consider and afternoon lounging around on the concrete with the Sunday papers.

Hay dogs

It's hay making season and unfortunately I've managed to be in the countryside at the same time. Luckily it was only 190 hay bales that needed to be picked up from a field, loaded onto a trailer, taken off the trailer and place into a barn.

I hate hay baling. It's heavy manual labour, I've done it for years and yet I've never been paid. Oh the joys of growing up on a tiny farm. A tiny farm that still isn't mechanised really.

It's been restful, slightly more tense because my brother has his exams, I have to work on a re-write of the book and my mother is talking about breaking up with her live-in boyfriend.

I can manage but only with the help of gin.

Holibobs

I'm on holiday at the moment. I've returned to the ancestral hall which means I'm spending my days being glared at by geese and holding ducklings. I love how angry geese are. It's like they are made of rage. The five geese are currently engaged in a territorial battle with the drake. The outnumber the drake and are larger than him but he just won't give up. It's terribly impressive and the resulting battles have carpeted the gardens with a thick layer of feathers.

The weather here is amazing. Not roasting hot but sunny and warm. Ideal for walks and eating cucumber sandwiches. I've not done the latter yet but perhaps today is the day.

Mostly I've been running. I hate running. I really, really hate running but there is nothing like it for getting a chap into shape and I've been forcing my brother to do it too so it seemed only fair for me to stumble out into the fields with him and wheeze away. It's been a very healthy break so far and I'm feeling very relaxed.

I've made a point of not checking my work emails which is a first for me. Also having a smashed up phone means that work just can't get hold of me. That is very relaxing. It also means I have time to write, or at least that is the plan.

Instead I've been cleaning and fixing things. Not 'fixing' like the phone was 'fixed' although trying to sort that out is part of the mission.

I should be writing now but instead I'm messing around on the Interspaz. Some things never change.

Lost without Phone

Dear all. I am in London. I am sat in a warm office in Soho. I'm drinking Gin. In short I'm in my spiritual home. I'm only here for a weekend visit but it is lovely all the same. I'm sneaking down most weekends to see the girl (things still going well) and for various work reasons.

I'm dressed unusually. A work mate said I look like a 'Jewish Action Man, a gay one'. I think I can rock that look, but it is a sign I need a haircut, and possibly some new trousers.

London is melting slightly, which I rather like. It's terribly good to be back.

I also destroyed my iPhone today while trying to fix it. It had a cracked screen which I managed to fix but at the cost of breaking the special button and the sound. So it's not really a working phone anymore. This is quite exciting, it means you can't contact people while moving and you have to arrange to meet people at VERY SPECIFIC TIMES.

I'm sure it will annoy me in the end but for now it's an adventure.