winning a bout (an unusual event)

As readers of this blog will know, I don't expect to win. Occasionally I get a good hit or two but winning - except against beginners - is a pretty rare event. Of course, in my fantasies I could take on d'Artagnan or Cyrano, but in real life the clash of blades is usually followed by a point to my opponent.

Last week, however, I felt on good form. Physiotherapy and the use of a TENS machine had done wonders for the pain from my fractured vertebra. I headed to fencing feeling cheerful and unusually alert after several nights' sleep uninterrupted by pain. I'd forgotten how good that felt. Ignoring the twinges in my back from the weight of my backpack - I still can't risk cycling - I enjoyed the scent of flowers and mown grass in the light evening. Lilac blossoms stretched over the tarmac pavement and the path to the leisure centre was lined by cow parsley.

The fencing boys were away on half term but the fencer I think of as the Welshman was there. (He isn't actually Welsh.) More importantly, he was keen to fence epée. As usual, I didn't expect to win but I hoped I wouldn't too badly. Like me, the Welshman is a late starter but he's been fencing longer than I have and has entered competitions. He also takes part in other sports so is plainly more athletic.

Still, I was filled with enthusiasm, especially when I surprised myself and my opponent by scoring the first hit.

I was relaxed, which helped, and moving more freely than I have for months. This probably wasn't impressive but it gave me the confidence to think about strategy and vary my attacks. When we started to score doubles, and I was ahead, I realised that a run of doubles would be enough. But as we reached 9-8, my opponent was faster and the score went to 9-9. But somehow I'd achieved the sort of calmness I needed and went for the next hit. I scored. "10-9," said the Welshman, whipped off his mask and held out his hand.

I hadn't been sure whether we were fencing to 10 or 15 but I was certainly happy to stop with a victory at 10. Victories don't happen often.

Holding onto the epée piste, I persuaded an intermediate foilist less than half my age that he'd like to give epée a go. He has the height for it. He's fast, but he's not yet familiar enough with the weapon. His en garde was still based on foil and I even managed a wrist hit. I could also take advantage of that little pause that is characteristic of fencers used to establishing right of way. It wasn't easy to beat him 10-8 but it was easier than beating the Welshman. After we'd finished I explained about his en garde and the pause and suggested he ask one of the coaches for advice. I wonder if I'll ever beat him again.

It would be good to end this post with a victory but that isn't how the evening ended. I fenced steam against an experienced and younger foilist who has done quite enough epée to avoid the usual errors. I couldn't get to grips with her foil technique and found myself repeating errors. We weren't keeping score but it was easy enough to see that she smashed me. But I still got a few hits.

stabbing children

The arrival of two young epéeists - evenly matched and enthusiastic 11-year-olds - has cheered me at least.

In all the time I've been a member of the fencing club, younger fencers have tended to stick with foil or move to sabre. I can see why that is. The epée is the heaviest weapon. Even lighter versions will cause a young arm to ache after five or ten minutes of practice. And then there's a lot of practice involved before it's possible to achieve a hit while moving - at least if you hit with a sabre there's a good chance the blade will land roughly where you want it. Moving from foil to epée involves feeling like a beginner again: missing what seem to be easy hits and getting rid of the slight pause that characterises fencers who need to establish right of way.

I think the youngsters started with epée. They've been fencing for a while and are good.

I had some advantages. Because there aren't any club epées below size 5 - and because I can't hold or fence with a pistol grip - the young fencers had to use a heavier weapon than usual to fence me. (Other fencers used borrowed a smaller, lighter, shorter weapon from one of the youngsters.) Then there was my greater height and weight. However it seemed to me that I had one disadvantage at least - I would be trying to hit a smaller (and probably faster) target area.

If I were a better fencer, I'd have started off lightly, giving the young fencers a chance. As a pretty weak fencer, hampered by a back injury, I decided to try to win. I'd watched the boys for long enough to reckon that, if I beat them once, they'd be busy working out ways to defeat me. So I used everything I had - strength, weight and, quite possibly, the boys' awareness that they were stabbing someone old enough to be their grandmother.

In the first bout I was quickly two points ahead and held the advantage as we fenced, with several doubles, to 10-8. I won the second bout 10-2. Then I wondered if I'd been mean. "No," I thought. "I learn a lot by fencing people who beat me - and it's probably the same for them."

They were back next week. I fenced only one of them and he beat me 10-8. Time for me to try even harder.

This all happened a couple of weeks ago. I'm trying to catch up on blogposts. More shortly, I hope.

hits and misses

One-hit epée changes the look of the salle. As I entered, the beginners were having a class at one end of the hall and a few intermediates were chatting but the main weapon being fenced in the body of the hall was epée. Even confirmed sabreurs were taking turns on the two electric pistes, determined to do well. There's nothing like the chance of a chocolate santa to inspire a fencer.

One-hit epée tournaments are regular events at our club. They happen towards the end of each of the three terms and the club president donates a seasonal prize, usually in chocolate, with plenty of smaller chocolate items for all.

I think this must have been the largest one-hit epée contest I've known. Eighteen fencers signed up for it. The skills range was from intermediate to international and the age range was nearly fifty years. A decision was taken to set up two poules of nine with the top two of each going through to the final. Looking across at the other poule, I felt I was in a group which would give me more chances. I reckoned that, for all the strong fencers in my group, I had a chance of a couple of hits at least - with luck. The other poule was already being christened "the poule of death."

One-hit epée isn't easy to predict and it's hard to plan for it. My first bout was against a sabreur. He came towards me, moving like a sabreur and hit me at once. I unclipped and handed the ground wire over to the next fencer. Meanwhile I noticed the other epeeists doing well.

I took more time in my second bout, against the doc, but the outcome was predictable. He hit me lightly and that was it. I tried to encourage myself with the thought that I'd have better chances against other fencers in the group.

Then I was against a fencer who has encouraged and coached me unofficially on a number of occasions. He tells me off for being insufficiently aggressive so I was determined to show him how aggressive I could be. I also remembered managing a hit on him in a previous one-hit epée context. It was a longer bout with considerable movement as we parried one another. Eventually we both went for a hit and my light came on. A couple of women near me applauded and I was feeling delighted when someone pointed out that my opponent's body wire had come free of the ground-wire - not his fault but a problem with old club equipment. Someone suggested it was up to the ref to decide if the point should be replayed but it seemed clear to me and I requested a rematch.

Once again I tried to be combative and parried energetically but my opponent hit before I could land a touch. I shook hands and said "well done" but felt slightly down.

I was beaten easily by my next opponent, a Chinese graduate student who fences with us as a guest when his usual club is on vacation. Then I was against a fellow epéeist who was doing well and who tends to beat me every week. I had one advantage - I'm used to fencing him. I can't quite recall what I did but I was determined to change my strategy and move more than usual. I heard the beep that meant a touch and didn't realise, till I looked, that I'd taken the point.

That gave me confidence for the next bout, against a fencer who had recently returned after a long break. Although he fences epée sometimes, he's still mostly a foilist. Being out of practice his movements were slightly wide - and I managed to hit him. Two points seemed respectable and I was feeling pleased.

My final two bouts were against intermediate foilists who had tried epée only occasionally. The first should have hit me but her attack missed and, in a messy scramble, I managed to land a hit on her. The second was quick and accurate and hit me first.

I looked at the score sheet. I'd won three bouts and three fencers from my group had scored only two. Whatever had happened in the other poule, I wasn't last. Meanwhile the doc and the Chinese guest tied for first place in our group. No-one was sure how the final four would fence for the chocolate santa so they fenced again. There was a series of doubles before the guest landed a hit and won first place from the group.

Meanwhile the club president had won the other poule and four fencers were tied for second place. The ref quickly organised them into further bouts. The tied fencers included a regular epéeist and an international sabreur. But the winner of the battle for second place was a confident intermediate foilist who was holding an epée for only the second time in her life. She was smaller and slighter than the other fencers and her quick, delicate touches took her opponents by surprise.

After some debate, a decision was made that the final four would fence in a poule unique. This was more fun for the spectators, especially since the initial result was a tie between the president and the doc. We gathered to watch the final and cheered as the club president won - and was duly presented with the chocolate santa he had donated. Then he produced small santas for the rest of us.

When I looked at the final scoresheet, I discovered I'd had my best one-hit contest ever. Five fencers had achieved two hits and four had managed three. This meant I was in joint tenth place. I don't think I'd have done as well in the other poule but, all the same, it felt like a good result. I happily gnawed the head off a small chocolate santa.

continuing (with injuries)

The club competition was never going to be easy. If it hadn't been for a comment on this blog, I'd have given up. I had plenty of excuses: my calf hurt and my workload was huge. I took some with me on the Sunday - I wasn't the only one. It's sad to see how, in a time of high unemployment, those with jobs work absurdly long hours. It would be better to share the work around.

I registered for foil and epée, looked at the people in my poule and fenced without conviction. "Where's the aggression?" a fellow fencer asked and added, correctly, "You've lost it."

He was right. I wasn't expecting to win and I wasn't trying to win. I attempted to pull myself together. I still didn't win any bouts but began to perform a little better - at least, I began to feel more satisfied with the attempts I was making. But my footwork was more a shuffle than anything else - I didn't want to risk worse damage with the epée still to come.

Every so often I felt an urge to win but never for more than a point or two. Needless to say I was ranked low, fenced a strong fencer in the Direct Elimination, and was eliminated (15-5). Somehow I didn't come last overall - just bottom from last. But in the competition for the lower ranked fencers I did come last.

Still, I was fencing which seemed like some sort of achievement.

In the epée once again I made occasional attempts to win but didn't sustain them. My best poule bout went to 4-4 - I was briefly ahead before that. Then I looked at my opponent and my aggression ebbed away. She's a foilist who I can beat on occasion but I lost that last point before the ref. said "Fence."

All I had left was the D.E. I was against the fencer who had beaten me in foil. This time I had nothing to lose - there was no longer any point in trying to look after my injured calf. I attacked, parried and did my best. It wasn't that good but it felt more like fencing than anything I'd done before. We were at 14-6 (to him of course) when the ref. called for a minute's halt. I took off my mask and tried to muster my determination. I was going to go for that next point. As soon as the ref. said "Play," I attacked and drove my opponent back. He was disconcerted and in danger of going off piste when I took the point. And I took the next with similar tactics. It wasn't pretty but it was more like fencing than anything I'd done in the preceding six hours.

It couldn't last. My opponent took the next point and I was eliminated. But 15-8 seemed a respectable score. I still came last but didn't feel too bad about it.

I stayed to watch the final and applauded the victors. Then I headed home for more work.

My calf didn't seem any worse for the fencing so I was back for more after only three days. Early in the evening I found myself against a visiting 13-year-old, very highly ranked in his age group. He's a swift, elegant left-hander and much smaller than me. I watched him getting annoyed with himself as he failed to beat the club champion. He had an easier task fencing me.

We agreed to fence to 10. He took some points easily, I managed one and then he caught me from below in the ribcage. I must have advanced at speed onto his lunge. It hurt so much I cried out. The boy was devastated and apologetic. I insisted it wasn't that bad but it hurt enough to affect me for the rest of that bout (the boy won 10-2) and in the rest of my fencing that evening. I was glad I hadn't cycled and accepted a lift home. For a couple of weeks the pain didn't get better and even, on occasion, woke me at night.

It's a torn muscle, I think. I considered going to the doctor but work was too busy and, in any case, he wouldn't have been able to offer more than strong pain-killers. I fenced the following week but only against a couple of very experienced fencers who were unlikely to cause much pain. I was nervous, forcing myself to fence.

I departed early. But before I left people started to remind me, "One-hit epée next week."

"You're taking part, aren't you?" asked a coach.

"Yes," I replied.

Curry and high heels

I don't know how duellists managed in the 17th and 18th century. The extravagant menus must have weighted them down and as for the costumes, and the shoes ...

My most recent experience of fencing reminded me of them - and I felt more sympathy than usual for the rich, well-fed and elegantly dressed.

The team lunch at work was my idea. We needed to prepare for a meeting at lunchtime. There were the usual possibilities: bringing sandwiches, going hungry, cheese and biscuits in the pub. But there's also an excellent South Indian vegetarian restaurant round the corner offering a bargain 3-course buffet lunch. I thought a meal there would be a cheerful occasion - and it was.

But by the time I struggled into my fencing breeches, I was feeling uncomfortably full - not the best beginning to the evening. And after a couple of weeks with few epeeists, a couple of the regulars had returned. I'd have liked to fence well. Perhaps the lunch wasn't such a good idea.

Halfway into my first bout against the doc, I noticed another problem - an ache in my ankles. Perhaps the elegant shoes I'd chosen for work (a bargain from the Marks and Spencer sale) weren't such a good idea either. I suspect the ache came from running for the train in high heels - trainers would have been more comfortable. I did my best but I didn't even try any deep lunges. I knew my limits.

All the same, it was good to have an epée in my hand. A younger fencer invited me to fence foil as well and I enjoyed that too, though I kept having to remind myself about right of way.

While I was glad to fence, I was also pleased when it was time to go. But just as I walked to the side of the salle where fencers leave clothes, water bottles and spare swords, I noticed something small and dark scurrying around, slithering on the shine of the floor between the kit bags. It was quickly out of sight but I'd seen the sleek fur and a black sparkling eye. I felt sorry for the mouse - it was cold and damp outside - but it was at risk from a fencer's foot. Nor would a fencing kit bag be the best or safest place for a small animal.

The mouse was evidently too fast to catch but the doc joined me in steering it away from the kit bags. It ducked beneath the first of the double doors and headed towards the car park, but was then caught in a frenzy of anxiety. It tried to climb the wall and managed so well that the doc had to scare it down by hitting the wall with his sword. That's when the mouse gave up and jumped over the step of the second door, which we'd opened, and out onto starlit tarmac.

I hope the mouse has survived. There have been torrential downpours since then and I'd like to think he found a warm, safe shelter.

fopée again

I was exhausted - the sort of exhaustion that lingers when a virus has visited and not quite gone. Somehow I got on my bike but, by the time I reached the leisure centre, I was breathless. I wondered about going home again but the effort seemed too great. Reluctantly, I pulled myself into my kit.

There weren't many epeeists and, for once, I was relieved. "I'll do a little foil," I said, thinking of the lightness of the weapon. I was forgetting about the speed and the need to adopt a lower fencing stance against smaller, lighter and mostly younger opponents.

I should have fenced a tall young man who moves fast and hits hard. The architect must have seen my trepidation and, knowing I'd been ill, suggested I wait and fence one of the intermediates - a girl of about 17 who, it turned out, has excellent technique and accuracy. I have neither.We set out to fence to 10 and I tried to remember the rules of foil. As I paused before each attack, trying to establish right of way, I quickly discovered that my young opponent had a deft and deadly parry riposte. Her neat fencing quickly gave her a clear lead of 6-2.

Evidently my foil skills were not going to win the bout. I changed my method and began to fence foil like an epeeist, but doing my best to aim for the smaller target area. This puzzled my opponent who had been trained to fence foilists. I got rid of the pause, worked on taking the blade and forcing my attack through. It wasn't pretty but I began to win points and suddenly we were at 8-8. My opponent was looking anxious and uncertain - an advantage to me, I thought. I continued with my furious and inelegant technique and she faltered. It was 9-8 to me and I was suddenly determined to win. The next point was a messy scuffle but I landed the necessary hit. 10-8 to me.

The architect, who had been watching, could hardly stop laughing. "That wasn't foil - that was epée," she said.

"I know," I replied, "but it worked."

Later I fenced the architect at epée. She fenced like a foilist. She won.

Ow!

After nearly a fortnight without stabbing anyone, I was happily anticipating my return to fencing. I managed an early night in preparation. Then I woke at half past four and soon realised I couldn't get back to sleep. I headed downstairs for camomile tea and started to surf the net.

I was sitting still at my computer when the pain hit me - a sharp ache just above my hip. At first I couldn't think what had caused it. Then I remembered how awkwardly I'd tranported lemonade and orange juice in a shopping bag on wheels - the bad my children object to and call my "granny bag." (As I point out, I'm old enough to be a great-grandmother, but they don't think that's a good excuse.) "If I can get back to sleep," I told myself, "the pain will go away."

I managed sleep but the pain persisted - not all the time but whenever I moved in certain ways. Tying shoelaces was the worst. Luckily there is no need to tie shoelaces while actually fencing but as the day progressed I began to wonder whether fencing would be possible. Eventually I rang the doctor's surgery just in time to get the last appointment of the day.

The doctor reassured me that it was just a pulled muscle - I had began to worry lest it was something worse - and wrote me a prescription for strong painkillers. I assured him I didn't drive or operate heavy machinery. "How about fencing?" I asked.

The doctor asked me to show what moves would be involved. This seemed a lot sillier than lying on a couch to be poked and prodded but I got to my feet and adopted a fencing stance. It didn't hurt. I made a few fencing moves backwards and forwards and attempted a small lunge. "It's OK," I said in amazement. "No pain."

I assured the doctor that I'd be able to stop if it hurt and he agreed that I could fence. I began to look forward to the evening.

Putting on my breeches and lacing my trainers was excruciating. I realised cycling would be unwise, especially since the pain-killers were going to make me woozy. Although the backpack for my kit was slightly uncomfortable, walking was the best solution.

Once again there was a shortage of epeeists but this time I had the sense to borrow a lamé and ask a couple of foilists for bouts. I warned them about my muscle strain and they helped me in the tricky and painful tasks of doing up the lamé, picking up my mask, and connecting my body wire. I was quite glad to begin with a light weapon, even though I've lost any expertise I ever had. My technique is now, as an opponent said, based entirely on epée. I kept forgetting about establishing right of way and simply tried to hit the smaller target area. To my surprise, I managed a few points.

Then one of my opponents discarded her lamé and borrowed a club epée. We fenced steam scoring, so far as we could tell, double after double. But it felt good, after a day of caution, to be moving up and down the piste with relative ease.

I'd decided early that this would be short evening. But before I left, I had a chance to fence with one of the coaches who didn't know about the muscle-strain. I was beginning to feel relaxed and reckless as the pain-killers kicked in. At first the coach just made me practise technique, though I wasn't too sure what I was doing. Then, seeing I was getting tired, he suggested as usual that we see who was the first to get two hits. It's never been me in the past, however much the coach invites a hit. Perhaps the pills subdued my certainty of defeat. I went for the first hit and caught the coaches arm. On the second point, I parried his attack and managed a chest hit. 2-0 to me.

Then I packed up my kit, heaved my backpack onto my shoulders and limped home.

a hole in my hoodie

My fencing hoodie is falling to bits. That ought to be a metaphor for something, but it's not. I have simply worn it out.

I noticed a problem with the cuffs months ago. Perhaps I should have found time to darn them then but I didn't. And the holes around the cuffs multiplies. I know darning is based on weaving but by now I'd almost be weaving more cuffs.

And now there a hole in the pocket - not the sort of hole where coins fall out but a hole through which anyone can look to see the too-large bundle of keys I shove in my pocket for convenience when going out. It's the usual bundle that has acquired all sorts of extras that aren't keys at all: the remains of a Paris key-ring my daughter gave me after a school trip, a picture of the children when they were both under 5 and - most usefully - an old-fashioned bottle opener. What with all the keys, it's not surprising there's a hole in the fabric. The key rings have worn there way through to the outside world.

Perhaps I could force a metaphor out of the hoodie, saying that I too am wearing out. But that would suggest I was once glamorous and effective as a fencer and I was neither. I'm continuing with my once-a-week attendance, unless something else crops up, and, for the first time, we're fencing through August. There's just two hours of free fencing and, at the moment, a serious shortage of epeeists. I mostly fenced foil this week.

There's not much new to say about my experience of foil fencing. I tend to attack like an epeeist, without the little pause foilists use as they take right of way from an opponent. This gives me a slight advantage at times, but not enough to compensate for lack of speed. But the foilists, who included a few visitors or new members, were a cheerful bunch and I enjoyed myself.

Watching was good too - not just seeing the skill of others but enjoying the splendid moment when an energetic fencer attempted a fleche, tripped over the box and tangled in the curtain that separates fencers from badminton players. For a wonderful moment I thought there was, at last, a chance for the sword v. racquet meeting of which I've been dreaming. However no badminton players or fencers were hurt in the making of this blog and the fencer, like his audience, was caught in the hilarity of his over-enthusiastic fleche. (He was a good fencer enjoying his sport who won the bout.)

I managed a little epee at the end against the architect - a woman who is smaller than me. Since the chef's departure for Paris I've mostly fenced men who are taller than me so have developed a tactic of moving in close so that they lose the advantage of reach. At the beginning of our bout, I scored two points, using the advantage of reach. Then habit took over and I got too close. Every so often I corrected myself and stayed away, working on parry ripostes. But I must have lost five points by reverting to my custom of seeking a close encounter. The architect, who is young and fast, won 10-7. She'd probably have won if I hadn't made the mistake of getting too close, but the bout would have taxed her more. However I enjoyed the bout for all my mistakes - the architect enjoys her fencing in a way that's irresistibly infectious.

The architect is back in town for a while. She doesn't usually fence epee but can handle all three weapons so I hope for further bouts. Meanwhile the chef, who is spending summer in the Antipodes, has not yet encountered - let alone fenced - any kangaroos.

"Fail again. Fail better."

I'm back on Blogger. I didn't mean to take a break but life (and death) caught up with me, as they do. I've missed a couple of fencing evenings, once because I had to travel to the funeral of a friend and once because I was away at a Quaker event - Britain Yearly Meeting - where we finally and overwhelmingly reached the decision to treat same-sex marriages in the same way as opposite-sex marriages. It was quite an easy decision and relatively quick, given Friends' labyrinthine processes - it only took us twenty-two years.

In the meantime, my fencing has been erratic. I was greatly encouraged by a postcard from Beth at Screw Bronze which arrived just as I needed it. Losing a friend can make it hard to focus on anything and this friend worked hard at remembering to enquire after my fencing progress. There was even a phone-call once announcing that there had been fencing on the television. I was thrilled. "What weapon?" I asked. There was a pause, then a question in reply, "What's the difference?" But those regular enquiries helped immensely. It's ever so good when a friend takes an interest.

Back from the funeral, I found myself fencing a young woman of less than half my age who usually defeats me easily, even though foil is her main weapon. We agreed to fence to ten. I didn't feel like doing anything but decided I'd fence as if my friend was watching and supporting me. It felt good. I took the first two points, then we realised that there was a problem with the wiring. When it was corrected, we started again from zero and, yet again, I found I was two points up. I didn't seem likely to win, even with that advantage, but I determined to do my best.

Somehow, every time she caught up, I pulled ahead, never by more than one or two points. She drew level at 8 all and then I managed the hit that took me to 9-8. I wanted to get the next point and win the bout. As I darted forward with my blade, I felt her point attach on my arm. I was sure it was 9 all. But when I looked at the electric box I saw both red and green lights. It was a double - I'd done it and won 10-9.

After that my fencing slipped but it was good to know what winning felt like. I tried to remember that as my skill slipped in the rest of the evening - and in the club's one-hit epee contest where, to my surprise, I didn't come last. I gave advice to a couple of young sabreurs who were trying epee for fun - one hit me while my brief bout against the other ended in a "double defeat" (doubles lose in one-hit contests). I managed a solitary victory against a fencer who said he'd done what I warned him against last year - somehow he walked onto my sword. I knew that what I needed was the will to win - and, ideally, greater strength, speed and accuracy. The club president, who is in his 60s, had one of his frequent victories though he refused to take the sparkling wine which he had donated as the prize.

August is for free fencing and we have the hall for only two hours. I made it this week. Attendance had slipped to no more than thirty, mostly foilists and sabreurs. I spent some time fencing the only epeeist there - he's taking a break from coaching foil. Again I fenced as though I were showing a friend what fun it was - and I was faster, more varied and quicker to see openings. I may have achieved a hand hit by luck but it wouldn't have happened if I hadn't been doing my best. I remembered to parry more and to follow each parry with the best attack I could manage, even though my wrists weren't quite strong enough to take my opponent's blade easily.

Towards the end, I began to tire and when my opponent suggested we fence to five my will to win had evaporated. He attacked more strongly and my defences were too slow and weak. He won 5-0. But he remarked that I had improved and was harder to hit, adding that in our preliminary fencing I'd managed five hits in a row, so I didn't feel so bad.

There were no other epeeists. Seeing a 12-year-old sitting at the edge of the hall, I asked her if she'd like to fence me at foil. It's sometimes hard for fencers of that age to challenge fencers who seem much older and more experienced. It was good for me to try the discipline of foil and good for my legs to take up the challenge of fencing someone much smaller than me. After only a year, my young opponent has a good stance and technique. Perhaps she'll move on to epee when she's bigger and stronger. (I won, by the way, though she'll probably beat me when she's a bit bigger. Still, it's important to remember that fencing is not just for the young.)

"run forward as fast as you can and keep attacking"

My evening of fencing began and ended with a crime.

I'm usually a law-abiding individual though lately so many laws have been passed in Britain that it's probably impossible to avoid committing a couple of cimes a day. However I prefer to break laws by accident or for ethical reasons rather than for my own benefit. But I have to admit that, when I last went fencing, I did break the law.

I was looking forward to the epee class. For the first time in weeks I wasn't entirely exhausted. I was worried about work, however, and thought that a bit of stabbing was just what I needed. It was a bit of a rush but I got my kit together, slung my swords over my should and prepared to mount my bike.

I turned on the back light - no problem. I went to turn on the front light. It wasn't there. There was no time to walk, even if I'd had the energy. There wasn't even time to wait for a cab. I thought about the route. There's a short stretch of road - a few yards - before the cycle path begins. The cycle path is well-lit and I'm not sure whether cyclists are compelled to have lights as it's not, strictly speaking, a public highway. And then there's the driveway to the leisure centre. I don't know if it's a public highway or not. I know I can walk on it legally - but I never feel safe doing that as there's no pavement. I looked at my legs. They were bright in white breeches and socks. I decided I was probably sufficiently vsisible. I got on my bike and cycled all the way.

As I arrived in the leisure centre car park, a woman kindly pointed out that my front light wasn't on. I explained my dilemma and apologised. She said my back light wasn't very bright either. I suppose it isn't. I apologised about that too. Then I went to the epee class.

We began with parries. I felt more confident than usual, probably because they were relatively easy: direct parry, circular parry, semi-circular parry. It was like doing foil again except that, as epeeists, we were expected to complete each parry by landing a hit.

The coach was encouraging. I watched the other epeeists take turns. We're not really the beginners' group that was planned. We'd been joined by an epeeist who gave mesome of my first lessons in the weapon. Every epeeist in the club joins the beginners' epee class from time to time - and the coach is a sabreur. All the same, we're learning.

Sometimes we're puzzled about what is required. I was uncertain about a long list of instructions which included the sinister words "reprise" and "redouble." After he'd returned from what looked like a longish bout, I asked my former epee teacher what the coach required. "Just run forward as fast as you can and keep attacking," he replied. I had a few goes and eventually I managed to respond to everything the coach did with an attack of my own. It wasn't great.

I knew I had to leave early - I had a very early start at work the following day. But I managed a few hits against the other (young) woman in the ill-named "beginners" group. She really is a beginner at epee, though an excellent foilist and - dangerously - a left-hander. Her experience in foil gave me a slight advantage since she still tends to pause after parries as though establishing right of way. It was only a knockabout but for once I managed to land a few more hits than she did. Then I packed my kit, mounted my bike and headed - illegally - home.

It's possible that my illegal cycling covered no more than 15 yards if, as I hope, the cycle path and drive-way don't count as public highway. It still wasn't a good idea. I've found my front bike-light now - evidently it fell off when I last unloaded my bicycle basket. But the woman at the leisure centre was right - neither light is very strong. Perhaps I should buy another set of lights .... or would that be bad for the planet?

missing the moment

"It's - - - ," the coach said.

I didn't catch the word and wouldn't have understood it anyway.

"That's Polish," he explained. "In French it's 'a propos.' In English it's - something like - the moment. You have to find the moment and take it."

The coach was explaining the remise which was. he said, at the heart of epee. He'd already described epee as a real duelling weapon with such enthusiasm he warmed us all. We almost forgot that his chief loyalty was to sabre. We'd warmed up with hits to the forearm while moving, then practised taking the blade and binding in it in a counter-attack. (There's not much defence in epee. Even retreats are conducted with an arm outstretched, blade to lead ready for the slightest chance to dart forward for the hit.) But the remise is trickier. Instead of sticking close to the opponent's blade, it is, as our coach explained it, a matter of looking for the split second when an opening appears, changing the line of attack from a standing position, and going for the hit.

I couldn't get it. I was too slow. The moment was too brief - I needed closer to a minute. Finally I managed a couple of clumsy hits in a different line, well aware that the coach was in slow motion.

Worse followed. We were to attack, redouble, redouble and hit - at speed. This meant a succession of lunges - reprise after reprise - down the length of the piste. I don't achieve beautiful low lunges and I'm not fast at moving in and out of a lunge. There were four of us. Two have been fencing epee longer than I've been fencing any weapon and the third is a young, graceful, experienced foilist looking to add another weapon. They sped down the piste, moving in and out of lunges till, with the final stretch at the end of the piste, they landed their hits. Then it was my turn.

I lumbered up and down, with the shallowest lunges I dared, fearing my right knee would give way as I tried to recover.but determined, at least, to reach the end of the piste without falling over. It wasn't much of ambition but at least I stayed upright and hurled my blade roughly in the direction of my waiting coach. Not surprisingly, he hit me first.

And then the coaching session was near its end and the coach was promising more difficult tasks in the future. We ended with a quick round of one hit epee. To my surprise, I managed a single hit - on the Man man - and then it was over.

The foilist donned her lame and joined the historian on the piste. (His appearance as a foilist was startling but it's better for his injured elbow.) There was a queue for the electric pistes and the hall was still crowded. I invited the doc to a quick steam bout, assuring him it could end when the Man man secured a box. I just wanted some real fencing before going home. The bout was brief but pleasing.

Then, still tired, I left the hall. Long days at work are still exhausting me. The cold hit me as I mounted my bike. I ascribed it to the tiredness until I got home and tried to open the wheelie bin. The lid had frozen shut. The next day, it was warmer. It snowed again.

neat hands

Like most fencers, I admire good qualities and skills that I lack. There are plenty of those. For instance, almost all fencers are faster and more accurate than me. I can usually beat beginners. Occasionally a better fencer will have an off day and I'm learning to take advantage. But that's about it. And my age is against me.

Still, there are fencers it is a pleasure to watch and fight. I like fencers who evidently enjoy the bout. Every so often I'll fence someone who is skilled at fencing but doesn't seem to enjoy it - or whose only interest is how many points he (it's usually a he) can score. I understand fencing to win. Even I want to win. But I can't understand people for whom their own progess on a score board is their only pleasure.

I fence because I love it and I enjoy people who share my delight in swordplay and the fun of it all. They often fell in love with fencing through watching the old, swashbuckling movies and enjoying the swordplay. Some even read forgotten authors like Stanley J. Weyman.

Happy fencers come alive with sword in hand. Their eyes glow and they laugh with pleasure at good hits or amusing errors. While TV audiences thrill to Strictly Come Dancing, I just know that Strictly Come Fencing would be ten times as much fun - so long as the fencers enjoyed it. (But there isn't going to be much fencing on TV. It sounds as thought British fencing has just lost all its support in the run up to the 2012 Olympics.)

Some fencers win through strength as well as speed. The Historian (who the chef calls, approvingly, the Curmudgeon) is like that. Lately he's been suffering from epeeist's elbow (as tennis elbow has been renamed) so he can't take control of my blade so convincingly. The Doc is neat and subtle. He's a great admirer of neat hands and deft parries.

One of the newer fencers is skilled in both. At the club championship I found myself in the same poule as her and another young fencer. She was the nervous one, worried that she would make a fool of herself, so I reassured her, telling her she could look for hits one at a time and not worry about the outcome of the bout. She didn't tell me she was a left-hander and I didn't realise, until I saw her fence, that she was a quick learner with a good eye and neat hands. She won her first bout, against another intermnediate, 5-0 and began to relax. I managed three hits to her five. Then she beat her coach 5-1 and her poule fight against the club's best sabreuse ended with a 4-3 to the sabreuse, thanks to a hit just before the call of "time." She was beaten easily by the best fencer in the poule but went into the D.E. ranked eighth out of eighteen - quite a feat for a 16-year-old who started fencing only last year. As for me, I was knocked out easily by one of the club's best fencers (I think the score was 15-1) and finished fourteenth overall - the highest I've ever finished. (Thank you, newish fencers, for joining in - you'll all be beating me this time next year.)

I think I am improving a little but I didn't do well in the epee poules. Fortunately the D.E. saw me fencing a veteran epeeist (who prefers sabre and rarely fences epee on her visit). She's a few years older than me but not easy competition - she fences internationally as a veteran and sometimes brings home medals. I was pleased that the final score - in her favour - was 15-10. I enjoyed the bout.

Last night was devoted to sabre (I know that fleches aren't allowed in sabre any more, but couldn't resist the picture.) A visiting team took on some of our sabreurs in a team competition. Our club was victorious - we have a number of excellent sabreurs - but it looked like a good match. There weren't many epeeists but we took turns on a spare piste, pausing from time to time to watch the excitement.

When the match was over, members of the visiting team joined in casual fencing. It was good to see one stripping off his lame and taking an epee in hand. He approached us and asked if he could join in.

He was a young Frenchman, spending a few months in England between school and university. Without thinking, I replied to him in French and found myself scraping around for words - it's too long since I've had to speak French. He fenced us all, although only the Doc was a good match for him. Learning my age and relatively recent involvement in fencing, he set out to encourage me, letting me win subtly, encouraging me to attack and enjoy the bout, I don't always like it when I'm allowed to win but he was so encouraging and so polite that I was charmed. However, I didn't accept his invitation to fleche him.

Fencing in French felt special. The young fencer didn't resemble d'Artagnan and was far too youthful and enthusiastic for the cynical Gil de Berault but the language was right. Besides, as the Doc pointed out, the young Frenchman had excellent parries and ever such neat hands.




Note: I've been absent from the blogosphere for a while. I've been busy with work and other matters. I'll try to find time to blog more often.

advancing the arm

Every so often at fencing, someone tells me something so obvious that no-one had said it before - and that I hadn't managed to work out for myself. It happened this Saturday.

I was being coached by a fencer whose chief interest lies in sabre - epee is definitely his third weapon. For all that, I was doing badly: failing to land easy hits, failing to attach the blade, hitting wide, moving clumsily. I was holding my weapon too tight and my arm ached. There was no point in crying so I laughed.

But the coach, who joined me in laughter, took his job seriously. After a little practice, first stationary, then moving backwards and forwards, in which my hitting was erratic, the coach pointed out something new. "You need to straighten your arm as you move backwards. Your sword should be the last thing to follow. It's not like foil or sabre. You have to keep defending from an attack."

It made immediate sense. I'd been retreating from failed attacks or withdrawing down the piste with a bent arm, opening myself up to rapid arm and wrist hits. I was startled that I hadn't realised this before.

The coach went on to explain that he'd been at a coaches' day for foil and sabre but had watched the epee session. He'd wondered why the footwork practice for all three weapons had been feet only - and then learnt that in epee the arm must move differently - not just outstretched in advancing but also stretching out defensively when moving backwards. I tried it out: step backwards letting the arm follow the front foot. I practised down the length of the small hall: step back, pull in the arm; step back, pull in the arm. It felt right but also tricky.

I continued practising with the coach. Everything I did fell apart: I was trying to do too much and thinking rather than acting. My sword arm was out of sync with my body and my failure to land hits became hilarious. Yet I knew I'd learned something important. We free-fenced for a while, then rested. I rang home to enquire after Joe the cat, who had made a determined attempt to accompany me to fencing by running beside my bike. Eventually he decided to take interest in a different kind of fencing and headed home by a new route, throuigh a neighbour's garden. He wasn't yet home safely.

There were only four of us at fencing: two coaches, me and a small, intermediate foilist marked by a keen determination to learn.
She was practising foil and I was drinking water when the lawyer entered, wearing a pair of her favourite stripey socks. I was delighted. The lawyer is a sabreuse but, being busy with a new job, she hadn't been fencing for a while. I'd suggested on Facebook that she might come along on Saturday but never expected she would. She looked at the new colour-scheme for the corridors: "Hmm: baby-poo and the Exorcist" was her mild comment on the two tones of paint. It seemed as accurate a summary as any, and reassured me that the bright shades in the main hall are cheerful, if extremely bright, by comparison.

I assumed the lawyer had arrived to practise sabre but, as I'd suggested she turn up, she started by fencing epee with me. I had to adjust to fencing a smaller woman - I was out of practice since the chef set off on her Parisien adventure. At the same time, I was beginning to remember to straighten my arm while moving backwards. It was starting to feel right.

The lawyer suggested we fence to 5 and I agreed, wondering, as usual, how badly I would lose. Then I scored the first hit, followed by a double. I began to think that, just possibly, I could win and my mood changed. The lawyer brought the score to 2-2. I pulled ahead to 3-2, then 4-2 - and she caught up. 4-4. The next hit would be the decider, we thought, then hit simultaneously. 5-5. We continued. With a burst of energy, I advanced and somehow, in a scramble of blades, managed the final hit. 6-5.

I should point out that I had numerous advantages. The lawyer was out of practice and generously fencing in her third weapon. She had also rushed from home without inserting her contact lenses. When her glasses steamed up, she removed them, so she was probably fencing a white blur. But something had changed for me: I was ready to take advantage and fence for victory. It felt good.

There was a pause. My son rang to announce that Joe had returned home. The small foilist continued to practise with increased determination when her mobile phone rang. It stopped as she reached it. She looked at it - "My ex-husband," she said, with a groan. "Excuse me."

"Tell him you're fighting," the lawyer suggested. We gathered round to listen.

"I was fighting," she said. "With a man." ... "I just stabbed him." .... "In the chest." (We were trying to stifle our laughter by then.) "With a FOIL." She listened some more as we laughed and then, as the call ended, turned to us. "He thought I'd really stabbed someone in a fight." We roared.

I began to fence the other coach as the lawyer practised sabre. There were problems with my grip and my stance and I was opening myself up to attacks. Every so often I was getting through but not often enough and my hits were clumsy. After a while, the coach suggested we fence to 5. He took the first point easily. Once I would have folded at that point but I didn't. Instead I took the next point with a clumsy but effective aggressive hit. He stayed ahead till 3-2. I began to hope. We reached 4-3. He countered my attack easily. 4-4. He'd mentioned that he found it hardest to fence me when I rushed him. I rushed him. There was a clash of blades, he went for me and missed. My hit landed. 5-4. I was the weaker fencer but I'd won ... again.

I didn't win great or important fights and I wasn't against the best epeeists in the club. However I've suddenly found that I have the will to win - something I lacked in the past - and it feels good.

At the end of the morning I fenced the small foilist, marvelling at the lightness of the weapon and trying to remember rules about right of way. She has developed an excellent circular parry - apparently she'd spent much of the morning getting it right.

And so I cycled home to see my son and Joe the cat. Joe had brought a dead bird with him - possibly a supplement to breakfast or a small, unappreciated gift.

"really cool"

I'm becoming a twice-a-week fencer - or, at least, a three-times-a-fortnight fencer. I don't know how long it will last.

One of the coaches at the club has set up Saturday morning sessions at the local leisure centre. I shan't be able to go every week - sometimes I work, sometimes (too rarely) I visit my parents and sometimes there are simply other things to do. But this week I got on my bike at just after 9.00 in the morning, balanced by sword-bag against the basket and set off in daylight.

It was the first Saturday morning session and I was a bit nervous. I thought it might be all the best fencers in the club ... and me. I'd forgotten that there was a competition fairly near - and I think the bad weather had left people tired and longing for a lie-in. There were six of us - three women and three men. All the men were coaches (though only one was officially coaching for the session) and we'd all fenced one another before.

We had one electric piste. There was space for the rest of us to fence steam - and we could do all the fencing we wished. I started with epee and was soon getting helpful tips as well as much-needed practice. My movement and grip were better than usual and I found I was far more alert in the morning than at evening sessions.

I began with epee. Later I fenced foil against the gardener, a foilist who began when I did. Back in the days when I did foil, I frequently found myself fencing the gardener. We were so used to one another that we'd frequently make identical attacks at the same moment. She was more skilful than me, however, and her neat parries and counter-attacks would always bring her victory. It was comfortable to return to fencing her and to discover that her practice in foil and my experience in epee made the fight more varied. It was only a knock-around - we didn't have a ref or try to debate right of way but I think, if we had, she would have won.

Meanwhile the blonde, who a few weeks earlier had sworn undying loyalty to foil, decided that, after all, she'd like a go at sabre. As soon as she picked up the weapon, her eyes shone. She glowed from the thrill of her first lesson - evidently she's found her true weapon and it isn't foil.

I'm not going to be seduced - I know I'm an epeeist. But every so often I like to try something a bit different and it's nearly a year since I last tried sabre. So when a coach (the villain) asked if I would like a short lesson in any weapon, I decided to do some more beginner's sabre. It's certainly not for me, which is just as well since it takes more speed and money than I can manage. But occasional sessions are certainly fun and help me appreciate why the sabreurs enjoy it. Not that I'm deserting epee.

By the end of the session I felt fit and joyful. Cycling home seemed easy in the sudden sunlight.

The fencing was terrific - two hours with as much fencing as I wanted, in all three weapons. There were useful tips and I felt I was improving from the gentle coaching provided. I fenced a range of opponents.

But the highlight of the session came when I was fencing epee and glance towards the door. A group of Chinese students stood at the door of the hall, taking pictures of us on their mobile phones. I spoke to one who looked at my sword with admiration. "Fencing .... that's really cool," she said.

I followed enough of the Olympics to know that the standard of fencing in China is pretty high - much higher than in our club. But I like to fantasise about people in China receiving the photos on their mobile phones and saying, admiringly, "That's really cool."

It's probably just as well I didn't see the photos.

trepidation

After last week's experience I was hesitant about returning to fencing.

It had been a difficult week and, gently as the dentist was, she confirmed that I had, as she put it "a fractured tooth". It's not bad, which is just as well as I have to wait two weeks for treatment.

Getting to the dentist was quite a trial. I decided to cycle, forgetting that my dentist resides close to the summit of a mountain peak in the vertiginous ranges of South Nottinghamshire - or, as the chef put it, on a slight incline. I found I couldn't keep going for the whole of the slope and got off to push my bike, uncomfortably aware of the young, energetic and, I assumed, contemptuous students swirling about me.

I got lost on my way to the surgery and found myself surrounded by the young. Even the dentist seemed no more than twelve, though I'll concede she may have been fifteen. She was very gentle and seemed pretty good at her job despite her lack of years.

At least cycling downhill was exciting - and I managed to avoid an over-enthusiastic articulated lorry as I swerved out onto the roundabout to take the quick, main route home.

Having faced the dentist, I shoud have had no qualms about fencing. But my jaw still ached and I didn't want another run of mask hits. For the first time, I was nervous about being hurt.

I've been bruised and even cut before and it hasn't worried me much. But those repeated blows to the mask unnerved me. The chef, communicating by i.m. from Paris, gave me advice: "You don't have to fence the youth," and "You could always do foil."

Wearily I pulled my jeans over my breeches, clambered onto my bike and cycled off into the night, slightly late. My swords clanged against the bicycle basket. I felt wimpish and stupid but my confidence returned as I gained speed in the cool air. By the time I'd chained my bike at the leisure centre I'd made a decision. I wouldn't fence the youth. And I'd consider doing foil.

I confessed my nervousness, with some embarrassment. The doc said it was like riding a bike - that, if you fell off, you must get on again at once. I saluted and, clumsily as usual, pulled on my mask.

I didn't have any good bouts at epee. However, I found I was moving better against the doc - not just attacking, which is what I usually do when I lack confidence, but trying to vary speed and tactics. I even got a few decent arm-hits. Later I fenced the Man man. He was, I assume, slowing down and giving me a chance, letting me get ahead and then overtaking me. I was grateful, I think. At least I took advantage of the chances so that he only beat me 15-12.

Things were slightly uneasy between me and the youth. He'd meant well, after all. I just didn't want to fence him. So when I found myself talking to one of the intermediate fencers - a young woman who started foil a year ago, I suggested a bout. We fenced a couple of points and then she was called for some coaching. Then the coach agreed to referee a bout between us.

I assumed I would lose. My opponent is younger and had been tough to fence when she tried epee. She's fierce and determined, using strength and speed. And it's a while since I've handled a foil. I did a quick mental check-list: remember to parry, straighten the arm fast, show you've established right of way. Then I picked up my foil, saluted, put on my mask and prepared to be beaten.

About five hits into the bout, I realised I could win. I'm not sure what it was - I think that the new tactics she'd learnt were making her pause, infinitesimally, before she put them into action. And once I was ahead she was cross with herself and uncertain.

The coach called encouragement and advice to her - then apologised that, as a ref, he shouldn't do it. But it seemed fine to me. I was the more experienced fencer and I was ahead.

I didn't want to be brutal or overly aggressive but I wanted to win. One hit I landed on her collar-bone hurt her. I paused and apologised. The coach pointed out that I was fencing, as usual, with my electric foil (the only one I have) while she had a practice foil with rubber button. I don't think she was badly hurt but she probably took a bruise. As an epeeist I expect 6-12 bruises a week but foilists aren't used to that.

The bout continued. I was fencing better than usual and she was fencing worse. I won 15-9.

Next week, my opponent won't pause when she uses new tactics, and I'm unlikely to fence so well. But it was nice to win a bout for a change.

the villain laughed ....

I left work as early as I could to be sure of reaching fencing on time. But all the trains were halted and, when they started running again, the company chose to ignore the anxious passengers for my small, local station. Every other possible destination was served but, with we had to wait an hour and a half. There was a brief, hopeful interlude inwhich we were told to get on a train. We settled in our seats but it turned out that the interlude had been provided merely for entertainment and exercise. After five minutes of sitting comfortably and waiting for the train to move, we were told to get off again because it had been cancelled.

I eventually arrived home, hungry and thirsty, less than an hour before fencing was due to start. I urged the teenagers to feed themselves, grabbed a pasty and then sat down for what was meant to be a minute or two. The minutes passed.

Suddenly I noticed the clock. I would have to cycle - I had no choice. The only choice I had was what to wear. I could cycle in white breeches and glow in the dark or attempt to wear jeans over my breeches. I've never tried to wear jeans over breeches before - I wasn't convinced they would fit. To my surprise, they did although the combination felt bulky and awkward. I clambered onto my bike, remembeing how to balance the sword bag under the basket, regretting that the chef, en route for Paris, wouldn't be there to laugh at my attempts to dismount.

I sped along and managed to get off the bike with relative ease, only to struggle with the lock at the leisure centre. I usually chain my bike to a metal column. This involves manipulating a coiled bicycle lock that behaves like a recalcitrant snake. The coil was particularly bad-tempered and it took several minutes of struggle to wind the plastic-coated wire through the back wheel of my bike and round the column so that I could - at the tenth attempt - snap the device shut.

I missed footwork practice.

We're still in the small hall with classes taking place in a couple of squash courts. The beginners' class was over by the time I arrived. I caught sight of a work-colleague with his new-to-fencing nephew on the balcony and went up to say hello. It's the first time anyone from work has seen me in fencing kit but this didn't strike me till later. I stayed chatting - and showing off my epee - until two epeeists from the hall below waved to me to come and fence.

Fortunately my colleague had left before my first bout began. As usual, I lacked the brilliance I would like but was glad to be moving much more easily than earlier in the year. I seem to be over the fall from the loft and my heel barely hurts now. All I have to do is gain the speed and quick reactions of someone half my age, and increase precision and accuracy. I know it won't happen but perhaps I can get a little better, especially since epee classes will begin in a few weeks. Unfortunately some of my regular opponents will also receive coaching.

The lack of space makes it hard to get as much fencing as I would wish, and some fencers still haven't returned from holiday. I'm continuing my practice at corridor-fencing which is excellent at encouraging precise bladework. I haven't attempted corridor epee yet - there's an obvious risk to the wall, ceiling or blade. The foil blade is safer because lighter and more flexible but I'm not good at aiming for the torso, let alone establishing right of way.

Club-members are divided on corridor-fencing. Some worry about the health and safety implications - suppose we stabbed a squash player or someone leaving the toilets. We haven't yet. Occasionally non-fencers seem slightly surprised when they chance on a duel but, so far. we've always stopped to let them by. (We tend to giggle as we realise how we must look, which probably spoils the effect.)

I encouraged more people to use the corridor and fenced two opponents there myself. The second was the senior coach. Away from the piste he's a kindly individual who offers lifts and listens to Bach. On the piste he's bloodthirsty with a tendency to laugh when oppponents miss - plainly the villain in any swashbuckling film.

I know what the ending should be. I should fence backwards up a spiral staircase. There should be a moment when I spin the sword from my opponent's grasp. Then I should pause and, with sublime generosity, allow him to pick it up. He attempts by a trick to take advantage of my better nature and that's when I close in for the kill, possibly by swinging from a chandelier.

It didn't happen quite like that. My opponent laughed as he parried, tricked me with feints and leapt back from my blade. I don't even have my usual excuse for failure - he's ten years older than me. I managed to land a couple of hits on the bib of his mask which he generously conceded had, thanks to new fencing rules, been a valid target since 1st September.

Then I struggled back into my jeans only to realise, as I cycled back, that I'd forgotten to turn my bike lights on. It's very hard to reach the rear light of a bicycle when loaded with three swords and a back-pack. But I realised that, having covered my white breeches with dark blue jeans, I was almost invisible. And the streetlights along the half-mile driveway to the leisure centre were all out - perhaps a side-effect of the flooded water-meadows on either side or perhaps an attempt to save the planet.

I twisted uncomfortably on the saddle and somehow managed to turn on the rear light. Life was much easier when the chef was there to help me.

corridor fencing

My breeches seemed to have shrunk slightly in the past twenty-four hours. It's strange that dinner with the chef should have that effect. It seemed possible they would shrink further if exposed to the rain, which was bucketing down. I decided to remain dry and conserve my energy for fencing. I booked a cab.

Something bad has happened to the floor of the main hall at the leisure centre. No-one is allowed into the hall but, crossing the bridge to the small hall allotted us, I could see an expanse of fractured concrete through gaps despite curtains of plastic sheeting obscuring the view. No-one knows when we shall get our floor back.

For the moment we have two rooms: the small hall often dedicated to kick-boxing and a squash court. There wasn't space for a full-length piste and we gazed around anxiously. The main hall was further cluttered with large blue mattresses. A large rubbish bin stood in the middle of the floor, collecting drips from a leak in the ceiling. I tried to look on the bright side. The bin could be part of a fencing fantasy. It would become a barrel of wine, due to be pierced by a sword or pistol-shot in the course of a lengthy fight. The effect is included in the d'Artagnan street - and rooftop - theatre at Parc Asterix. As wine gushes from the barrel, d'Artagnan tastes it and comments, mid-fight, and comments, "mauvais cru" ("lousy vintage").

We stood in a circle for warm-up and footwork practice saw us in two rows. At least the weather meant attendance was down - somewhere between twenty and thirty, I think. We kitted up and established four pistes in the hall: two electric and two steam.

As the intermediates headed to the squash court for a lesson, I found myself gazing down the corridor towards the changing rooms and further squash courts. "It looks like a piste to me," I found myself saying. "We could fence there."

One of the intermediates - a tall, dark girl who looks as though she should learn epee - looked up and her eyes gleamed with understanding. Quickly we agreed to to fence foil in the corridor once her class was over. I returned to the small hall. Only two other epeeists were looking for a bout: the youth and the student. They had arranged to start by fencing each other. For some time I watched.

Fencers were careful not to monopolise the pistes and bouts were fast and short. All the same, I did quite a lot of watching before I picked up my sword to fence the youth. He's better than me and hits hard - I've numerous purple circles on my right thigh to prove this.

For some reason he was aiming at my head. He caught the mask with blows that made my teeth chatter and once hit the centre of my forehead so forcefully that I felt the blow there, even though my forehead's well-protected by the mask and no blow can actually land on my face. The hits to my head did him no good. While he scored many more hits than I did, I tended to catch him on the wrist or forearm as he advanced to attack my mask. But his hits landed all the same.

Later I fenced the student, who had remarked that he was very out of practice. For a while I thought I wasn't going to score a single hit. But in the end I landed a few blows. I comforted myself with the thought that he was young enough to be my son. Then I re-assessed. He's young enough to be my grandson.

Eventually the moment for corridor-fencing arrived and I can't praise the practice enough. It was like being in a movie. We went back and forth between the walls and the only thing we could focus on was hitting one another.

When my opponent had to leave, I tried again, against one of the coaches. He'd done dungeon fighting - a real-life fantasy gameplay - and loved it at once. The focus of the bout is sharpened, you need to keep your blade under control and your footwork precise while watching your opponent. All are things you should do in ordinary fencing, but corridor fencing is far more intense. - It feels both real and like freeing fantasy prisoners from a castle dungeon

I managed to ignore the painted walls, the radiators and the safety signs. Stone would have been better.

"Perhaps we could try the staircase," the coach suggested, and then, hopefully, "the leisure centre might agree .. as a one-off, for a promotional video."

Perhaps they'll even install a chandelier.

It's not the same

It must be at least four weeks since I fenced. The floor at the leisure centre had better be good when it's repaired because I'm going to be sadly out of practice. The chef did suggest fencing in a garden but the dates and the weather didn't work out.

I went to Southsea and Portsmouth, where I briefly contemplated other weapons. I wasn't tempted by the cannon but had to admit that these shiny pistols were beautiful. Friends of mine were involved in antique pistol shooting, which seemed to involve such arcane crafts as making bullets (in a saucepan on the stove!) and I can see that it requires skill and a sense of history. I'm told it's chancy too - with early guns one of the biggest dangers was that the gun would explode in its owner's hand.

The guns were on board HMS Warrior, an iron-hulled battleship which seemed spacious compared with its older neighbour, the Victory. But rows of guns and canonballs - as well as a few sabres - recalled its purpose. The ships at Portsmouth are made to help people kill efficiently at sea - some of the glamour of the Mary Rose, which sank off Southsea in sight of Henry VIII, is lost at the thought of those 200 archers and the effect they would have in warfare. In the Mary Rose museum I got to hold one of the heavy stone balls used in early cannon and I smelt the tar - its odour was still strong - on an original timber. We were allowed to pick up pikes and try on helmets but there was no opportunity for swordplay.

War in Southsea and Portsmouth is serious. There are two tanks on the seafront and a huge anti-aircraft gun. I thought of the smashed houses and lives and the delicate bombers hurtling down in flames with their human cargo. It seemed a long way from the skill of fencing though I know there's skill involved in warfare too - so much training to aimed at death and conquest.

Still, I'm sure the exercise of scrambling over ships - and chasing after three teenagers - was good for me. And later I had my afternoon of swimming in the sea from a crowded English beach on the Isle of Wight. I drifted and swam gently as far out as I could - sometimes the tips of my toes touched sand and sometimes I was too far out. The water was cold and my skin tasted of salt for at least a day. The only sorrow was my return to land. I hate reaching that point where lightness and grace depart. At the end of each swim comes the moment when my feet feel the sand as grit and my body drags in the unaccustomed air.

My heel ached, and sometimes my legs ached from the exercise, which I thought was probably a good thing - though it may simply indicate how little exercise I've taken.

On my last day away, the Olympics began. I haven't caught any fencing - it's barely covered by the British press who don't seem interested in a sport where Britain lacks good medal chances. I picked up some clips on the BBC website. There's a small space dedicated to Olympic fencing, but the authors are mainly describing it as a British disaster, although Richard Kruse's 15-14 loss to the number 1 seed (who had priority against him, forcing Kruse to attack) seemed pretty good to me. I've been limited to the video replays. Unfortunately the commentary I've heard has been lamentable. There's little explanation of the points, no use of video replay and commentators even refer to the time periods as "rounds" as though they were watching a boxing match. I've seen fencing on Eurosport with excellent and clear commentary, explaining the bouts in a way which would appeal to non-fencers as well. But so far as I can tell, the BBC commentators have never fenced - nor taken the trouble to learn how fencing is described and judged. It's such a shame that a sport that works so brilliantly on TV with proper commentary has been left to people who seem confused by the rules and terminology.

It's not all difficult - it's easy enough to use terms like "attack", "parry", "counter-attack" and "lunge" without confusing an audience. And it might help to explain the different rules for each weapons and even - where relevant - rules about "right of way". After all, it's much simpler than offside in football.



The picture shows the great Italian foilist Maria Valentina Vezzali (facing) fencing fellow Italian Margherita Granbassi in the semi-finals. Vezzali won that match and went on to take her third consecutive Olympic gold medal.