summer stabbing

It was three weeks since I'd stabbed anyone and I was getting restless. Walks in Scotland are all very well but my quest for Ben Gunn had been insufficiently piratical. I hadn't carried a sword. I wanted to fence.

So I was restless and my restlessness took me back to the fencing club website. browsed vaguely when an announcement caught me. It was about the other leisure centre used by the club - the one a long way away where I've never fenced. (There's not a direct bus and most evenings I'm on homework/bedtime patrol.) But the announcement suggested something wonderful: "2nd Thursday in the month: epee priority night". It's school holidays. I had to get there.

It should have been two buses and I wasn't sure how I'd manage with a shoulder bag of swords. It's a foil-bag really and it doesn't shut properly when holidng epees. I wasn't sure what would happen if I had to walk through the city centre, wearing my club hoodie and carrying weapons. Still, I was prepared to give it a go.

In the end I got a lift there. I missed usual journey to the leisure centre. The water meadows have been lovely on the rare warm summer evenings, though I can feel a little uneasy when I walk home. But the warm welcome of the leisure centre staff when they directed me to the changing rooms (with large free shower!) made up for the unfortunate odour. I wished I'd brought a towel.

The club had a fairly small space - enough for two pistes - in a large, L-shaped hall. There were badminton players, of course, but they were decently hidden behind a curtain they didn't disturb us. Diagonally opposite was a class of graceful girl gymnasts in black leotards. Sometimes the smallest and slightest would sway precariously on the shoulders of others.

Next to us, a male coach was training four teenage women boxers. As there were no actual bouts, I could watch without wincing and see the skill and strength with which they placed their blows or parried in defence. They kicked upward too. I don't know how long they practised - certainly more than the two hours we were there, and they worked without a break. One of the fencers muttered a bit, though not to me or the other women. He didn't approve of women boxing. "Go and tell them," another fencer suggested. But he didn't seem to think that was a good idea.

There were thirteen or fourteen of us and six were epeeists. This was a night for practice, not for coaching - the coaches turned up to fence. I'd like to say I fenced well but I fenced like a not very good fencer who hadn't practised for three weeks. Towards the end of the evening I was happier with myself but I was too often slow and inaccurate, for all the encouragement of my opponents. But it was splendid to be fencing again, when I hadn't expected an opportunity this month.

After the fencing I found a bus - not the one I wanted but it looked as though I could reach a place I knew and get a second bus home. But then a car stopped. It was one of the coaches, who insisted on giving me a lift. Politely he moved to turn off the radio. "Don't," I said. He supposed it wasn't my kind of music. "It is," I said. At first I didn't know what it was but gradually I recognized the Kyrie Eleison from Bach's B-Minor Mass - a performance with small choir that I didn't know. It was as close to perfection as any music I've heard in a long time. As soon as I was home, I turned on the radio and retuned it to hear the rest of the Mass. Stabbing was followed by perfect peace.

I think I have a recording somewhere. I must listen to it again. It will see me through two more weeks without fencing.

more important than fencing?

What can be more important than fencing? Quite a lot actually.

I'd been hesitant about fencing this week. Pain in my right wrist and arm - probably from typing with the keyboard at the wrong angle - left me worrying about how long I could hold an epee and how accurately I could hit. Being a worse epeeist than last week didn't appeal.

Then there was a new claim on my time. My son was asked to play a keyboard with a group in a school concert (one item on a packed programme). I had to persuade him that I'd behave well. "Don't say anything, don't clap along, don't join in the songs - whatever other people do," was the command. Instead of going fencing, I went to the concert.

Mu son's involvement was arranged late. I didn't know there would be tickets till the last minute. And I took my fencing kit just in case. I wasn't really hoping to challenge someone to a duel but the school is next to the leisure centre where we fence. As the concert began at 7.00 and fencing lasts till 9.30, I thought I might get half an hour's fencing at least. A couple of weeks back the epee coach had reckoned he could offer some help at 9.00, when the beginners moved on from coaching to free play.

I'd forgotten about school concerts. They are filled with unexpected delights. They are also long.

I'd asked my son how long it would be. "Long," he said, but could give no detail. "Long" was a fair description. The first part lasted an hour and a half. Luckily I loved a great deal. The opening samba band thrilled the audience with gusto . A teacher - evidently a trained singer (professional standard, surely) - sang songs by Roger Quilter and Vaughan Williams. It wasn't quite to the pupils' taste but I was enraptured. He sang my favourite Quilter song - a setting of Tennyson's most erotic poem (although the wonderful couplet at the centre is omitted from the setting). A student gave a startlingly intense and interior rendition of Bach on an elderly and inadequate keyboard - and produced wonders. There were performers filled with enthusiasm and many with great promise. Some technically imperfect performances were moving. I willed them to do their best, knowing that one day they might do better still.

At previous school concerts pupils were compelled to wear school uniform. This time they wore their own clothes, which seemed to boost their confidence. The costumes were mostly casual and not extravagant - but they showed the characters of the performers. The audience (family, friends, other performers) cheered every act wildly. Pupils left the stage grinning

At half time I headed for the leisure centre to give my apologies. The hall looked cool and relatively empty (quite a few fencers were on the stage or in the audience). I looked longingly at the white-clad fencers as they moved swiftly and skilfully. All at once, I wanted to be among them. The epee coach wasn't there so I had no apology to give. I wondered briefly whether 20 minutes would allow me to get my kit on, exchange a few hits, change back and sit calmly in the audience. I knew it wouldn't. "If it ends early," I asked, knowing it wouldn't, "could I keep my jeans on and slip on a jacket and fence foil - just steam?" The coach I asked agreed but we both knew I was unlikely to be back.

It was a good concert. I just needed a time-turner. Sometimes I need to be in two places at once.

The first half had included popular and classical items. The second moved more towards rock. The version of YMCA in which my son was involved sounded like punk to me, but my knowledge is dated. I think Village People might have found it unexpected. The rock version Pachebel's Canon was startling. An energetic death metal performance (preceded by a polite announcement that was half explanation, half apology) had the young people applauding ecstatically while the grannies smiled. It all took them back to their youth. They thought happily of Alice Cooper.

The concert ended after 10. I was filled with energy as I collected my kit and swords from the leisure centre reception and headed home.

Next week, I hope ...

Meanwhile, I can fantasise ...