A diverse offering twixt the interesting, the unusual, and the amusing.
Wednesday, 2 December 2015
Men scrapping; the reality.
Fights are never as they appear in cowboy, or other, films.
One of the ghastliest flats I had in London was in Marylebone, in Paddington Street W1; just down the road from the Beatles 'Apple' shop.
Although the address suggested it was quite smart, in reality is was a damp Dickensian cess-pit.
One evening I returned to the house and found my flatmate, Nick, rolling about on the floor, grappling with our landlord. Not what one expects to encounter after a hard day's work.
I stood watching them for a while, not knowing quite what to do, as their arms flailed about only occasionally making contact.
Finally I decided that the best thing to do was to bring the fight to an end, and I prepared myself to hit the landlord. This wasn't easy as they were rolling around on the floor and not presenting me with a good opportunity.
Eventually the landlord seemed to be getting the better of things, and managed to be on top; I threw one sharp punch to his chin. He dropped to the floor and my flatmate pushed him off triumphantly, and stood up.
"What the bloody hell was all that about?" I asked.
"Oh nothing" replied Nick; and that was that.
When the landlord revived he told us to be out of our flat before the following mid-day; which we were quite happy to do.
So, back to my opening sentence. Fighting is never a question of exchanging perfect punches to an adversary, they are usually much more like the weird (and slightly comical) encounter I described above. I only offered one punch, and my fist hurt like crazy. Imagine punching a brick wall.
When John Wayne threw dozens of punches, received dozens of punches, and fell into numerous tables and doors, he and his evil opponent ended-up dusting themselves down, and not even rubbing their chins.
We went with friends to the Scallop festival in Whitianga; a charming
seaside town in the Coromandal District.
Had a great time...5000 people, lots of wine...
3 years ago
The difference between an optimist and a pessimist, is that the optimist enjoys himself whilst waiting for the inevitable! I AM that optimist!
This is a daily, optimistic, 'photos and comments' blog. I make no judgements (only occasionally), just notes. If you wish to comment in any way at all, please feel free. Everything and everyone is very welcome.
I was born just south of London, but for the past 44 years I've lived in S W France. I am a painter by profession, and writer by desire. Lady Magnon and I live in an ancient cottage, in a tiny village, in perfectly tranquil countryside. We have a vegetable garden called 'Haddock's' (this may crop up from time to time), a Border Collie/Black Lab' cross called Bok, a cat called Freddie, plenty of fruit trees, and a view that takes the breath away. I try to treat our planet with respect, and encourage others to do likewise (without preaching).
Contentment is a glass of red, a plate of charcuterie, and a slice of good country bread. Perfect!