restless fencer looks for a mirror

I was late to fencing and had to leave early. One hour and ten minutes just isn't enough.

All the careful arrangements for lifts fell apart so I rang for a taxi. There were none available. After trying a list of cab firms without luck - what was going on? and why wasn't I invited? - a friend gave me and my son a lift. I'd missed the warm-up and the club was swarming with sabreurs, whose slashing movements take up (I'm convinced) more room than foil or epee.

The good news was the return of an epeeist who has been unwell and off work for the past eight weeks. I thought this might affect his fencing but, while he may be rebuilding stamina, his accuracy was devastating. Perhaps he spent eight weeks in bed practising wrist hits on visitors.

I fenced two other opponents with a little more success, still not managing a stance in which my wrist was well-guarded. "Practise with a mirror," I've been advised, but we don't have any big mirrors - our biggest is about a foot square and awkwardly placed in the kitchen between the cooker and the saucepans. That's probably not the best place to brandish an epee. There are a couple of mirrors on bathroom cabinets but no space for a lunge. And then there are a couple of small mirrors (about four inches square). I suppose I could hang one on the raspberry bushes that are taking over the garden - or even on the plum tree - but I wonder what the neighbours would say if they saw me with a sword in the garden. Might they think it's a new technique for cutting the lawn or trimming the hedge? If not, an ASBO seems inevitable.

I had less fencing than I wished, but I probably had a better evening than my son, whose back is troubling him. The doctor says it's a result of growing rapidly; he's suddenly taller than me (only just) and his voice has deepened. Growing an inch a month for six months causes odd aches which makes fencing tricky. He did his best, but left early and walked home in the warm Spring night.

Since the curtailed club night, I've been tired and restless. I'm busy at work, but too much time is spent sitting at my desk. I look for excuses to prowl the corridors or go up and down stairs. I'd quite like to stab a few colleagues (consensually and competitively). But it's probably not a good idea. Mind you, there are some good big mirrors in the ladies' toilets. Now there's a thought.

foiled again!

Perhaps I shouldn't have worn the club hoodie to work. I was short on sleep - writing administrative documents after midnight and before 7.00 is a bad idea - and not feeling too well. I didn't want to be cold and .... well, I like my hoodie.

What's more, I wanted to fence. I'd been watching friends compete at a tournament on Saturday. I shouldn't have been there as I'd so much to do but I took a little detour on the way to the supermarket. It was a big detour really - it involved a bus journey. But it was great to see so much fencing even if Saturday was devoted to foil and women's sabre. One of the young fencers at the club was doing his first adult (men's) competition - and getting on quite well.

I tried to watch everyone I knew but spent most of my time at women's sabre. I don't do sabre so had to ask about the rules. But there were two women from my club competing, and one started fencing when I did. She's rather good now and, once she'd got used to the competition, won a few bouts.

The sabreuses looked a great bunch, ranging from teenagers to women in their sixties. Lots of GBR and England lames too. I was particularly taken with the older women, who looked well able to defend themselves against attack. I wondered what people who met them casually would think, if they found out about the swordplay. My fantasy about Miss Marple with a sword is true.

After the tournament, club night was sadly empty - and I was the only epeeist. I'd been feeling ill enough to think I might stay home but once surrounded by fencers I wanted to join in. I even thought of trying sabre - but there wasn't a coach available. In the end I had a couple of bouts at foil. What a strange weapon it is - so small and light (like foilists) and these days I can't think my way through rules about right of way.

Then the foilists fenced me at epee. This was much easier than fencing the regular epeeists as it was the foilists' turn to think through the rules and they sometimes forgot to hit epee targets. I managed hits to the knee and jarred one opponent with a firm hit to her mask. (We were fencing steam so I had to be extra sure of landing the hits.) While it was still obvious that they were more experienced fencers, I was evidently the epeeist. But I missed my fellow epeeists (one, I hear, is injured - not by me) and the usual bouts.

So perhaps wearing the club hoodie to work came from a wish to dream about epee. The students noticed, of course.

Then a colleague (a fellow epeeist!) came in to pick up some papers he'd left behind. I was in the middle of talking to the students about poetry of the Spanish Civil War but I stopped, courteously. He couldn't resist a political joke and I immediately responded - who wouldn't? - "I challenge you to an epee contest."

"Go on," the students urged. "Show us ..."

Somehow we couldn't resist and assumed a fencing stance, going back and forth. He lunged and got me on the wrist. We resumed. I saw and opening and went straight for the mask - but there wasn't a mask. I knocked his glasses off. as I caught him on the cheekbone - and the students burst into applause. "I'm so sorry," I said. "One all," he said. And then I realised the students had their camera phones out.

"Do it again," one said. "I didn't catch that."

I was minutes away from being on youtube. My colleague and I agreed that masks were essential - and that epees and jackets would help. He left, and we had a great class on Auden's "Spain" and Edgell Rickword's "To the Wife of any Non-intervention Statesman." At some point in the discussion I remarked I was a pacifist but I'm not sure the students believed me. ("Fencing's different," I said. "It's consensual. Now, back to that phrase about "the necessary murder".")

Still, it was a neat point and appropriate for International Women's Day. And one of the students made me a lovely ASBO on a sheet of file-paper to put up on my office wall.