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.
THANK YOU MA'AM ..........
*Queen Elizabeth 11 has been a constant throughout my life. I was two years
old when she ascended the throne so, she has always been there. A constant ...
3 weeks 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 (except the obdurate and dictatorial) is very welcome.
I was born just south of London, but for the past 50 years I've lived in S W France. I am a painter by profession, and writer by desire. Lady Magnon and I live between an ancient cottage in a tiny village in perfectly tranquil French countryside, and a bijou townhouse in Brighton UK. In France we have plenty of fruit trees, all situated amongst a view that takes the breath away, in the UK we have a handkerchief sized patio. We also have a Border Collie called Billy. 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!