The snail's revenge

Blogging stopped for a while but fencing continued. I discovered that fencing while tired achieved few immediate results other than bruises. I attempted to learn something that might be called the second counter-attack - or was it the second counter-riposte. I didn't achieve it very well - mostly I waved my sword around in a hopeful way, trying to hit the coach's blade a couple of times before attempting to control it, move it aside and move achieve a hit. The coach looked slightly despairing and his attempts at smiling encouragement were slightly strained.













I managed some sleep before the one-hit epee contest. In a work of fiction, that would lead to sudden brilliance and astounding success. In real life, I'm still unfit, in my mid-50s and, where fencing is concerned, a slow learner Moreover, despite being rested, I had developed a nagging headache which was only partly dispersed by paracetemol.

Still, there were undoubted advantages to having slept. I thought more strategically than in previous weeks and worked out some good ways to win points. For example, I usually attack against one fencer so I decided to retreat and invite him to attack me so that I could use some of the new parries I'd learned. He seemed slightly puzzled, then moved forward, evaded my blade which was probably signalling its readiness to parry, and hit me neatly. Then I launched into a fierce attack on a fencer who points out that I fence him over-defensively. I remembered to get my stance right and moved forward as fast as I could. There were a few clashes of blades before he landed the hit. He assured me I was doing it right and politely didn't add that he was the better fencer.

There were two fencers against whom I thought I stood a chance. But the other woman in the contest, a foilist less than half my age and a beginner at epee, had the speed and agility I lacked and won her point quickly. And fencing one of the coaches - a good fencer but I've occasionally been lucky against him - we both went for a quick hit and scored a double. By the rules of one-hit epee, that's a double defeat.

A new fencer had joined us - an epeeist who had been a good student fencer but hadn't fenced for 21 years. He was causing the experienced fencers some difficulty and I couldn't see that I had any chance of beating him. I wired up feeling curious and prepared for defeat. My only hope seemed to be a quick attack as male fencers don't expect that from an older woman. I think he was surprised but not as surprised as I was when I realised his counter-attack had landed flat. I'd continued my attack as taught by a coach who makes us go for three successive hits (wrist/forearm, upper arm, chest) and, because I hadn't paused, it was I who had landed the successful hit.

It was my only win of the evening. Puzzled and slightly dazed by this sole success, I initially forgot the routine courtesy of shaking my opponent's hand and had to run after him to apologise. Luckily he's still talking to me - and still fencing me. He has sufficient experience as a fencer to give me useful advice but, as he's still regaining his accuracy, I can gain some hits against him. It won't last. I can see from the glow in his eyes that he's a good epeeist out of practice - I'm just waiting to see how good.

The evening's trophy - an Easter egg - was won by the Man man after a play-off against the club's president, who had donated the egg. And there were small chocolate creme eggs for the rest of us - and enough over for fencers who were practising other weapons.

The day after the one-hit epee, I headed off on a holiday which included the chef's birthday celebration at her apartment in Paris. I'm sad to report that she has not continued with her fencing in France and there was no swordplay at her party (perhaps because the apartment is not big enough). There was plenty of delicious food, however, as well as a lavish variety of gin-based cocktails. As it was my host's birthday the following day, I wasn't sure I'd still fit into my breeches on my return to England. It took a few deep breaths.

I thought the cycle ride to fencing would help me achieve fitness. It didn't. My bike had a serious puncture and I had to walk. At least I could enjoy the birdsong and the scents of spring. And I enjoyed the fencing even though there's no coaching in epee during the Easter holidays (coaches have holidays too). I was glad to see that the new epeeist had returned - there seems to be a good chance that he'll be a regular attender. I fenced a little and walked home. Two days later, I took my bike to the repair shop rather than struggle with the puncture alone. This meant I could have an Easter Monday bike ride as well as cycling to fencing.

It felt good to be on my bike again. The following week I headed off happily and enjoyed the evening, although I spent more time in conversation and less in fencing than I had planned. Now that I'm spending more time asleep I'm enjoying the fencing much more and can even make modest improvements.

I was reflecting on how good the evening had been as I wheeled the bike to it's usual place before locking it. Then, just beside the house, I heard an ominous sound. "A puncture," I thought and looked at the ground to see what I'd run over. I couldn't see anything that would have damaged the bike - just the remains of a snail whose shell I must have crushed. I was sorry about the snail but relieved about the bike.

I was relieved too soon. This morning I unchained my bike and prepared to set off for Quaker Meeting. As soon as I mounted it I realised that the front tyre was flat again. I think it's the snail's revenge. I'm seriously contemplating anti-puncture tyres.

And I'm hoping to return to regular blogging.

sparkling

It was nearly time for the fencing Christmas dinner. A little late, perhaps - I'd taken down my Christmas tree the previous day - but the fencing club tradition includes a Christmas dinner when the holiday season had ended.

I hadn't exactly solved my fashion dilemma but I'd reached an accommodation with it, thanks to the discovery of an old, but quite well-cut, black wool dress in the back of my wardrobe. I bought it years ago to look smart in an understated sort of way and thought it might be possibly to add something glittery. I planned to buy a red scarf to go with my new red handbag, or something in pale grey and silver, so that I could wear my new grey shoes. As I hate shopping, I found excuses to avoid trips to the shops, thinking I could leave it a day or two. Then work got busy in the week of the dinner and I hadn't bought the scarf I wanted. I settled on a green shawl with sparkly thread and added long sparkly earrings with a matching necklace. I even found my old make-up bag. There was some powder left, the lipstick hadn't broken and the mascara still worked! I felt remarkably lucky. It must be nearly six months since I last wore make-up - probably on my trip to see Cyrano de Bergerac at the Comedie Francaise. By the time I'd stepped into my black high-heeled shoes I felt almost glamorous.

It didn't last of course. An old dress, a shawl, some jewellery and make-up were never going to compete with the colourful cocktail dresses on display. I felt a bit like the dowager aunt or the governess in the corner when I saw all the frocks. The men were peacocking too, with their bow ties, dinner jackets and colourful waistcoats. I wondered if I should sit with the children and waved at a young fencer, shyly elegant in red, who was present with her father. But one of the epeeists called hallo from the bar, following this with the welcome words, "What would you like?" With a glass of wine in my hand, I began to relax.

The meal was better than I'd expected and the kitchen staff, learning I was one of the two vegetarians, were quick to assure me that the potatoes had been roasted in oil and the Yorkshire puddings cooked in butter. There was a good range of vegetables to go with my quorn fillet and the meal brought back memories of the sort of meals my family used to enjoy on special Sundays: good, filling food in lavish quantities. I had melon with sorbet to start and crumble to finish, followed by coffee.

But no-one goes to the fencing dinner just for the meal. There was a quiz and there were awards so it was a time of celebration. I joined others sitting at my table for the quiz and found that I knew some things that my fellow team-members didn't. Usually I contribute literary knowledge but this time my successes include correct answers to questions on sport (In which year did a British man last win the singles title at Wimbledon?), science (How is ascorbic acid better known?) and pop music (Which was the highest selling British single of 2008?). I hope my knowledge took the sabreurs in the team by surprise as it certainly startled me. When the answers were checked it turned out that we had won. So I began the year with a fencing-related victory, even if it didn't involve any swordplay. But the sense of friendship and camaraderie was better than the food or winning the quiz.

A lavish dinner with wine may not be the best preparation for the fencing season but, as I teetered home through the frost, I felt it had been a good night out.

As for those quiz questions, it's easy enough to find out the answers to the sport and science questions. And here's a clue to the pop question though unfortunately the composer and performer on the video didn't reach number one with his version of the song.

culinary genius

It might have been rude to take pictures of every course at a dinner party, so I didn't. But this picture, of a pavlova made by the chef for a party this summer, gives some idea of her culinary genius.

The chef greeted me with an offer of cocktails - I chose one with elderflowers and gin - then took me to see her bathroom, which has recently been renovated. "Probably the best bathroom in the world," I agreed and offered my compliments to the grouter.

The chef's house was strangely bare of books, since she's been packing, but filled with wonderful odours. I will give you the menu so that your mouth can water as mine did.

We began with rosemary soup. I've never experienced this before but I've learnt that it's a traditional recipe and that the first stage involves steeping fresh rosemary in milk. Later potatoes and onions are used. It's a wonderful flavour and the soup was garnished with more sprigs of rosemary and served with warm, fresh bread. We started on the wine too - a Pinot Gris from Alsace.

The main course was a frittata, with cheese and cauliflower. The chef always has spare egg whites, possibly because she likes to separate eggs in her spare time. She included some of these so that the frittata was remarkably light. She served it with a green salad.

The dessert was home-made creme brulee with a crispy top (formed with the aid of a blow-torch) and a raspberry base - a coulis, perhaps. It was wonderful.

We rounded off the meal with fresh coffee - black and strong - accompanied by brandy. Conversation was easy - perhaps I talked too much. We had more brandy ... and more. It was pleasantly smooth. Then, suddenly, I glanced at my watch and found to was 10 to 1. I decided I'd better go home.

The pavement swayed in a disconcerting manner and my feet took a slightly curving route over the paving stones. The teenagers were waiting for me. "What sort of time do you call this?" they asked, and, "Mum, have you been drinking?"

I was too abashed to complain that they were up late. I began to hope that the pleasant evening wouldn't hamper my ability at fencing the following night .... or the fit of my breeches.