Friday, 31 May 2013

A bug in a bucket

Not really, but I thought it sounded nice. I was on the roof today, and because I'm a bit of a forgetful idiot, I left my mp3 player at home. Bugger. On the other side, I brought my Kindle (which I didn't even take out of my bag) and my notebook and a pen with me. Well, two pens, none of them really working. One gave up the ghost after only three sentences and the other one was a pain in the arse to write with.
But hey, I had a scene banging around my head and needed to write it down. And here it is, freshly typed, already altered since I couldn't decipher my own handwriting, yet unsurprisingly unedited:

They stared at each other in silence. Letisha swallowed hard, considering her options: a quick dash for the door? No, she wouldn't get past it.
Shout for help? Quite possibly attracting more of them. Her eyes flickered for a second across the 16sqm office, over the two joined desks in the middle of the room, the sideboards and boxes cluttering up the minuscule space, and fake ficus tree in the corner, right next to it. No, there was no way out; she was trapped, alone with that monster.
Now what? It was next to impossible to keep calm, yet she tried. Rumours had it that those aliens had dog-like senses and could smell fear from miles away. If that was the case, Letisha knew, she'd only seconds to live. Despite her not being religious, she thought an urgent prayer, hoping she somehow might get away.
Slowly, she lifted her gaze; the alien hadn't moved, its eyes still on her. But why didn't it attack? Rumours also had it that they'd charge immediately. Letisha remained still, despite her heart pumping so loudly in her ears, she almost felt dizzy. Without her wanting to, she released a shuddering sigh before her hand flew to her mouth as if to muffle the sound.
In that moment, as if a light had been switched on, moonlight fell onto the creature's face, revealing turquoise eyes and a face that couldn't be described other than handsome. He was one of the rare males, only to be recognised by a slightly larger forehead. He cocked his head and … smiled?
Alarmed, Letisha stiffened.
Was he smiling at the prospect of killing her? Fear spread through her every fiber of her body and she swallowed again. Why the heck did she have to stay late?
I'm so stupid; I could have an amusing dinner with Liam and Steph; Instead I'll be …
'Don't be scared; I mean no harm.'
Did he just …? She'd heard about them speaking very good English. This man's tongue was not any different to those who grew up in England. She'd never encountered one of the aliens before. Or maybe she had and didn't notice. Apparently many of them wore knitted hats or caps, so one couldn't distinguish them from the native humans.
'Please, I need your help,' he said.
His voice was surprisingly pleasant and low and since he didn't make any attempts to charge for her, she relaxed for the first time in minutes.

That's it. I also jotted down a very weird dream that has me suspecting my being abducted last night. Which may or may not be the reason for my high intake of sugars today. Because:

The bucket
on my way back, I stopped at Lidl to buy milk and, because you never get decent wafers here, particularly not chocolate coated, I also bought one of those. Yeah, probably a good thing that I'm going to boxing tomorrow. 

Sunday, 26 May 2013

Am I getting too old for this?

Woke up this morning, after a solid 10-hour-sleep, and still felt--or better am feeling--yesterday's exercises. I wasn't feeling too good yesterday, but as I didn't want to miss boxing, I went nevertheless. Had a few dizzy spells, and had so sit down for a minute, but went ahead after that. Shite happens, right? Left training, as always, happy, energetic and glad I went, and with the trainer's promise to work with me on my footwork, to which I'm much looking forward to. When shadow boxing, I look more like dancer than a boxer, and that's quite ridiculous if you ask me. You'd think looking 'cool' when throwing some jabs is easy, but let me tell you, it's not the case. Particularly not if you're still overweight.
However I had a shower and a quick, light meal to give the body what it needs, but then I sagged and crumpled. Now I had a loose agreement to go out and see the fight Froch/Kessler in the evening, and called my friend to see what the plan was. Even he noticed my being shattered. After our conversation I went on the couch and fell asleep.When I woke up, I couldn't decide if I wanted to go to the fight or not. The venue was the Casino in Stratford, not exactly around the corner. I normally don't mind a longer ride, but because I wasn't feeling as fit I contemplated:
1) staying at home
2) going via public transport

The second option wan't really an option, because I'm not a fan of public transport. Plus, why else did I get me that stunning racer if I don't use it on longer stretches. Okay, I think I'd made my decision before the second option popped into my mind. I love cycling, the weather was good, so there wasn't any argument against cycling. Unfortunately through unknown territory and that's when things always go wrong. I had poured over the plans and the internet route planner for at least an hour and finally decided on the best route for me. I tend to write every important turn down, so I have some reassurance. I packed my Bruce Lee bag (my friend thinks it's embarrassing) and off I went. Needed to stop and ask for the way twice, but otherwise, it went fine and I enjoyed the 45-minute ride.

The coolest bag in town
First indication of how exhausted I really was, that I only had one pint of beer, and didn't want any more after that. I normally never decline a second pint, but I was starting to get really hungry. So we went for a meal at Wagamama's before the match (thankfully, as I later thought), then watched the excellent fight.
It was unbearably hot in that casino and as we arrived just as the fight started we had to stand the entire time. I longed for some tap water, but it was too crowded to make your way to the bar. Yet another time tiredness set in and I wasn't really looking forward to the ride back, particularly Orient Way, as it's a rather long and even more deserted stretch. I'm pretty fearless, but that scared me a little.

Not the best way to cycle alone at night

Anyway, I didn't need to worry about it, 'cause I missed it and found myself asking a nice TFL man about Lea Bridge Rd. When he heard I wanted to go to Finsbury Park, he raised his eyebrows, right before his expression changed to feeling sorry. 'You've got a very long way to go, I'm afraid.' To which I replied that I'd know that, but wanted to avoid going further in the wrong direction.
I cycled through the (unlit) side roads, past a few groups of locals who seemed up to dodgy business, and a drunk who zig-zagged over the whole street; almost collided with a car, coming from the left and finally made it to the safe base Lea Bridge Rd. Then I got lost at a big roundabout. I swear they quickly changed the scene, just to confuse me. I'm serious, everything looks so different at night. To make matters worse, my back light, which I'd fixed to my jeans, slid off and I could just rescue it before the car, rushing towards me, turned me into roadkill. It broke. Great, I thought, what I really need is the police stopping me, for I don't have a back light. But I got home after a few more moments of feeling lost when cycling through familiar and unfamiliar areas, suitably relieved as well as knackered. I think it took me about 70 minutes. Shortly after, I fell into bed and sank into a deep sleep. Today, with everything aching and still feeling the exhaustion, I wonder how my younger, 25-year-old would have coped with a day like that.