Skander-san's Adventures Beyond the Ultraworld 9or WTF?

The one where nobody seems to recall what we did the week before. Except me. Cunts.

I push the envelope a little again this week, rocking up 15 minutes late. Yeah, I can get into insolence when I want to. But I haven't missed a jot this time. They've only just started the warm-up, the old laps of the dojo thing, and I can see why: there are only 15 of us initiates here. After last weekend's massive crew of more than 50, it's v strange to have a grand total of 20 people forming the initial warmup circle.

So through the warm-up we go: ankle rotations, hip rotations, neck rotations, star jumps, calf rises, and then into the hemisphere things, first the left side and then the right side. The place looks so empty. Strange. Then the saburi, which are the practice cuts we do, 30 men, 30 side men, you should know the drill by now. But today, instructor Vu throws in a new one: the anchor-shaped saburi. Just in case anyone thought we may have been getting somewhere with this bloody art, he throws this in to make us all feel like a bunch of right dickheads. The idea is basically to get us back to practicing our footwork. I know my left heel likes to edge its way back in towards the centre of my being, so we must look a terrible bunch, because, of course, I am one of the best. Suck. This anchor movement, which I'm sure has a Japanese name that I'm unaware of, or unwilling to recall, involves us making men cuts as we move in, surprise, surprise, the shape of an anchor. Well, a half-curve shape anyway. So we move to the right, right foot sliding first and left foor following, with its toes, as ever, two fists out from the heel of the right foot. The difference here is that we are now facing a 30° angle inward. So our second movement is to the left, and here is where it gets confusing: we have to lead with our left foot, and follow with our right, and reverse our stance so our feet are in the inverse position to what we've been told for, like, ever, all while executing the stroke . WTF? We have been taught to always lead with the right and follow with the left, so this is basically turning our newly-constructed origami world upside-down, or at least folding it inside out, if I want to keep my metaphor alive.

30 of these then. And another 30. And oh, shit, I've fucked up a bit there, my feet are all over the place and I'm having a bit o' trouble with my balance when I'm not thinking about it. There we go. Another 30. Now 50. Okay, we get the idea. Moving from left to right and bacl again, always cutting to the same point in the middle, where we began. Which is quite a change, as we've only been cutting straight in front on previous occassions.

Thank god that's over. Now we line up for kiri-kaeshi, the 15 of us and 5 seniors, and I notice that I'm opposite the the oldest bloke in the beginners' course. Ands I notice that he wasn't for installment number 8 on our road to kendo enlightenment. Which was the essential lesson where we learnt how to receive the kiri-kaeshi. Which isn't that hard, but if you don't know what you're doing, it's godawful. For me, that is, godawful for the guy who does know what he doing when the other bloke has not got the faintest fucking idea. Anyway, "hanashimasu" is called and we begin. And this bloke has seriously no idea. He's waving his shinai around and looking like a right dickhead, and there's no time, and less inclination on my behalf to actually show the fucker what he should be doing. A pointed "You weren't here last session, were you?" and one or two tips sufficed, and "kotai" was called, meaning we all move round one place ('and the little one said "roll over" and they all rolled over and one fell out.' But I digress).

So I'm up against my next partner, and she was here last session. I sigh "Thank god you were here last time, that bloke has no idea what to do". Famous last words? She seems to have left her brain at home as well, and gets the whole motodachi thing wrong too. "But you were here last time!" my exasperated mind cries silently. Yeah, I know, I sound like a whinger. Well, I am having a bloody whinge, because it shat me half to tears.

At this stage I'm casting my eye around, and realise I am the last in line to get any practice with the seniors, who might actually be able to help my technique, and that won't be for a good, ooh, 8 more kiri-kaeshis. And that my next few partners weren't here last time either and have no idea and it's all gone very very pear-shaped as far as I'm concerned, and I'm all "What the Fuck is going on with you cunts? Can't you get this right? It's not that hard at all". The instructor notices the crappiness of what so many are doing, and so guess what? We have stop and go right back to basics. Infuriated, I am.

Now my issue with all these guys and their motodachi (I've decided receiving sounds a bit ner-na-ner) is not that they're getting their footwork wrong, or holding their shinai a little limp-wristedly, or any of the other things that the seniors are picking up. Being the tallest of this bunch, I naturally have a longer reach. But a lot of these people, and I won't single them out, but they're a specific group—you know who you are—simply don't fucking move backwards far enough during the exercise to maintain the proper distance between the two parties. Which leaves me trying to get my technique right with my target being three feet in from of me instead of almost 3 metres, and doing these funny wee men cuts which are a) wrong, b) exceptionally bad in terms of helping me perfect my technique and c) effeminate and pansy. It drives me crazy. And led to me using my right arm more than I should (this whole kendo thing is left-hand drive—and left foot for that matter) which in effect drags my strokes down, rather than out—ie my right hand has taken over in the strength department when it's meant only to steer the shinai, because the the targets I am hitting are simply way too close. It's like trying to swing a cat in a phone box. I am still feeing the effects of this now—I still get feedback from seniors telling me to stretch out further, a problem which has its genesis in these bastards' misjudgement of space.

They're better now, much better, but that night, I coulda killed a handful of my colleagues. Lucky there aren't proper swords in the dojo. As far as I know.