0-60mph in 2.5 Seconds!

0-60mph in 2.5 Seconds!

Acceleration is very addictive.

It’s one of those things that most people may never experience on a very extreme level.  Maybe the moment when an airplane starts its stampede down the runway will be familiar to most people.

I myself used to love that bit.  What a rush!

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And then I got into sportsbikes, and it’s all a bit ‘meh’ when it takes off now!

I even had a go on the ‘fastest accelerating rollercoaster in the Universe’ Rita Queen Of Speed at Alton Towers – and while it was pretty quick it wasn’t anything unusual to what I do commuting to work every day.

I’ve said before many times that unless you’ve been on a sportsbike you can’t even begin to imagine it.  The biggest mind-blower is how the damn things will pick up their petticoat and leg it with the slightest provocation.  It’s seriously unreal.

I saw a few YouTube videos where people were having a go at filming their 0-60mph times, and as I’ve already uploaded a video showing the top speed my bike does in first gear, I figured I’d have a go at this challenge myself.

First off, I found that it’s not as easy as you might think.  I mean, to go out and do this legally, you need a nice flat, uncambered road with masses of visibility behind (so you don’t get splattered), and obviously a speed limit of at least 60mph.  Even finding all this you then have to get lucky with traffic.

Then the realisation set in that I’ve never actually practised race starts on a bike before.  I know in theory you hold the revs high, drop the clutch, and then flip over backwards and die in a cloud of tyre smoke, flames, and excrement.  And almost certainly tear your pinafore.

Hence I just did this as I would pulling away from traffic lights – giving it a big handful and dropping the clutch as quickly as I could whilst trying to keep the front end down.

I’m under no illusions that someone with more skills couldn’t easily beat these times on my own bike.  I’m not a racer, the rear (Pirelli Angel ST) tyre wasn’t even spinning up, and the front hardly lifted.  Because that’s as far as I wanted to push it on public roads.  It is still well within the limits of the bike… Plus I had to roughly time this on a rickety old video editing package, as the ONE time the bloody time stamp on the camera would have been useful, it doesn’t show tenths of a second!  ARGH!

Life moves pretty fast when you can pull out 3 second 0-60 runs any time you want.

And do you know what?

You get used to it very quickly, and want it to do it twice that fast!

SHORT STORY: “Dangerous People”

SHORT STORY: “Dangerous People”

Here’s something I wrote about five years ago to wake my writing up a bit.  It draws back on the kind of stuff I used to write when I first started out.  It’s all done as it came out of my head, with no planning other than a rough idea of where I wanted it to go.  Oh, and it’s set in Birmingham Centre…  I have a great idea to turn this into a screenplay for a short film – very arty and panicky, with the sound of his heartbeat as the main effect running all through the film….

— — — — — —

“Dangerous People” by James Cater

He flinched as the girl reached and took his empty coffee cup away.

Not wanting to make eye contact, he waited until she walked away from his table before he let his eyes fall on her.  She wiggled back towards the kitchen area under his unseen gaze.

She was in her early thirties, and carrying enough extra weight to make a slight roll over the waistband of her black skirt.  He didn’t know why she was working in a place like this.

Who would want to work in a train station cafeteria, with all these people around all the time?

He subtly looked around at the other patrons.

A man in a charcoal suit, much like his own, sat drinking some type of coffee prefixed by fifteen Italian-sounding names to make ‘with frothy milk’ sound more interesting.

At the next table he locked eyes briefly with a young woman who looked plain dangerous.

So many dangerous people around these days.  He could tell from her eyes before he quickly looked away.

He almost felt sorry for her for having that look in her eyes.  It was pain and betrayal and anger at the world.

He could feel her eyes boring into him as he rose, heading away and up the escalators into the shopping centre.

A point on the ground two foot in front of him was his friend.  He looked there and only there, head down, trying to be invisible as he used his peripheral vision to warily survey all the other threats.

The city had gone to shit.  Survival now was to guess which person was going to mug you first.

Looking confident didn’t work, as the gangs would take you on to prove themselves to their peers.  Invisibility was the best way.

Leaving the shopping centre, the cold night air hit him hard, causing his chest to clutch even tighter than it had through fear of imminent attack.

Down the pedestrian ramp, youths on each side looking him up from his seventy pound shoes to the seven hundred pound suit.  If he looked at them he’d see nothing but their contempt.  The briefcase which he carried became heavier in his mind, growing in size to a huge suitcase that he had to lug past the hordes of thieves.

His heart hammered.

Nobody should have to live like this!

He wished he could stroll around the city streets, but the cameras and Police offered no protection.

Not really.  The violence would have been all over before any help came.  What good was the protection of the Law, when your personal belongings had already been stripped from you, and you lay blackened and bleeding from an assault?

He crossed over the road, and eased over so that he was walking alongside the shop fronts.

A youth of around twenty was coming towards him, baggy trousers flapping about his legs, t-shirt hanging loose over his waist.  The lad had confidence, and wasn’t a target in this city.

Before either had to change their path, the youth turned right down an alleyway between the shops.

Turning the corner after him, he fell in two paces behind.  Fear was raging inside, but he refused to give the youth the satisfaction of letting it show.

Two feet in front is your friend.

Shadows fell darker, and as he reached a hand around the neck of the youth, he knocked out one of his ear plugs, and tinny sound exploded into the silent darkness.

As the youth gasped in surprise, the wire of the garrote met the killers other hand, tightening and pulling him backwards off his feet.

The youths back slammed into the killers knee just as he hit the floor, and the knee pressed between his shoulder blades as the wire was pulled even harder across his trachea.

With a barely repressed grunt, the killer crossed his fists behind his victims head, and took up the slack instantly as the wire sliced through flesh and gristle, the pungent stench of blood and excrement hitting his nostrils at the same time.

The youth was already way beyond any reprieve as the wire sawed into his spine at the back of his throat, and his dying gurgle was cut even shorter as the knee exerted enough pressure to snap the youths spine.

Pushing the ragdoll body face down onto the pavement, the killer stepped back and marveled at how little blood was on his hands.  He brushed down the front of his suit, the charcoal hiding the few flecks of blood well, and then carried on down the alleyway and onto the street at the other end.

He eyed the few people stalking the late evening streets with the same eager anticipation as before.

There were dangerous people out tonight.

Huge Hairy Bastard Climbing In The Window!

Huge Hairy Bastard Climbing In The Window!

I was at my girlfriends parents house, in her bedroom, as we both lay on the bed, watching TV and kissing on a hot Summers night.  Umm… Just to clear this up this was me and my girlfriend- not me and her parents in her bedroom.  Anyway…

Suddenly we heard a *THUMP* sound.

I tried to ignore it, as I was hoping for some thumping of my own without the ‘T’…

*THUMP*

We both looked towards the drawn curtains at the window, where the sound seemed to have come from, just as the curtains bulged inwards with another *THUMP*

Whoa!  Playtime over – this looked like there was somebody stood on the other side of the curtain, PUNCHING it!

She jumped up, screaming, and I got into my Close Protection mode, shielding her with my body as I got to my feet and turned to face the curtain.

Who the fuck….???

As it was her bedroom, this was upstairs, at around 10pm on a dark warm summer night. Sure, the windows were all open wide, but this was still spooky.

Being the man, I bravely told her to stay there, as I moved towards the window, flinching and dropping into a subtle stance as the *THUMP* smashed the curtain inwards again.

Then, just as I got close, something came flying around the side of the curtain!

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“AARGHHHH!” I screamed bravely, accompanied by the (slightly) more shrill scream from behind me.

The biggest fucking bright red moth I have ever seen in my life, was now flapping about the bedroom!

This was bigger than my fist – I shit you not!  He was so big I could virtually see him wearing a charity wristband with “I HATE HUMANS” emblazoned across it.  And this fucker could seriously use some a back, sack and crack wax!

The wench behind me had gone hypersonic, as this moth bounced around, leaving huge clouds of red hair every time it hit something. I dodged, trying to stay calm and act like my girl’s Protector, and wondered how the hell I was going to sort this situation out?  And I hate moths!

“KILL IT!!!!!!!!” she screamed at me, resolving one problem.  Shit, she must have been scared if she was bypassing her usual ‘catch and release’ approach to creepy crawlies (and boyfriends, as it turned out) .  So Death it was.  I caught the Red Barron with several hard right crosses, knocking it out the air, but it would get up and come diving straight back at us, like some little red, hairy Rocky!

I’ve seen pretty big moths on David Attenborough programs, and this was a match for any I’d seen on there, but FFS this is ENGLAND!  This shit was about ten times bigger than anything I’d come face to face with, even in Zoo’s!!!!

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One blow knocked it down, and it started flapping around underneath her bed, making a hell of a racket with it’s wings. Still being the Wind-Up Merchant, I announced she’d be fine now and that I was going home!  Job done.

She didn’t find that half as funny as me.

After much more screaming, I felled the beast, trying not to hit it too hard, because that was a lot of ass to splatter! Then I was forced to pick the carcass up, using a JCB crane, and I chucked it back out of the window.

Unfortunately, by the morning it had gone… so no pictures or identification, and nobody else would probably believe the size of that behemoth (ha!).  Apart from some lucky cat/fox/hedgehog who got a free lunch…

Mounting Veho Muvi Cams

Mounting Veho Muvi Cams

Everyone has to agree that these cams are great.  Whether you use an £8 MD80 or £60 Veho Muvi Pro, the fact is that only 5 years ago this sort of kit would cost well over £200.

The main problem people come up against, and one of the most common questions I’m asked, is where is it best to mount it on a bike?

I like the cheap and easy option.  Duct tape, a bit of foam, and you can pretty much mount this anywhere just using the tape and foam itself to get the right view angle.

I’ve mounted cams on track bikes in minutes this way.  If you have a heavily tinted screen it cuts your options right down, but otherwise most bikes will be able to take the cam on the rear of its dash.  This can be a bit fiddly, buit obviously you get protection from the elements and especially wind noise.

Incidentally, some cams need a bit of tape over the microphone hole to filter out most of the wind noise whilst keeping the bass sound of the engine.  Have a play around.

On some bikes (like my ZX9R C model), you can tape the camera to the front of the brake fluid reservoir and get good results.  This was my chosen place.

I even fashioned a custom mount to cut down on vibration and be easy and quick to remove and install:

If you’ve got good duct tape you can mount it pretty much anywhere, facing in any direction.

For my Veho HD10+ I tried the duct tape method but it wasn’t that great because of the cameras extra size.

I decided to have a play around with the ‘official’ mountings supplied with it.  The smaller cams and MD80 has similar mounts and so this may also work fine for them.

I found the tank mount had far too much vibration to make it useable.

The mounting I use now is actually kind-of a mistake, where I wanted to try one of the sticky pads on my top yoke, but found it doesn’t quite fit on there and has to be at a slight angle.  And on full lock the screen brace touches the camera…

Luckily it works really well.  This is good, because that glue on the sticky pad is immensely strong!  Make sure you’ve got it exactly where you want it.

You may also want to try (especially for the smaller cams) one mounted on your pillion footrest hanger, or even the number plate surround.

Or my trusty helmet camera using a length of duct tape behind the helmets cheek pad and just wrapping it around the camera and sticking it down outside the visor.

You can see loads of videos using all of these cameras and more on my YouTube channel:

http://www.youtube.com/user/nastyevilninja

Feel free to subscibe!

UK Street Riots: The Future

UK Street Riots: The Future

The Politicians will tell you that it’s easy to fix the problems with the Bored Youth.  Build them all a youth club!

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Wake the fuck up and get some idea of the Real World!

No fucker will want to go to a youth club, probably run by weirdy Christians, unless they wear glasses and cardigans!  And already do all their homework.

We had a Youth Club in the village run by -ing Baptists (like even weirder Christians) called Seekers.

We could work in groups to build shit from egg cartons, and we’d be rotated around in groups to some even shitter activities.  Ooh and maybe even a ping-pong table!!

Until we realised that Seekers was really just a dry place where we could skin up before drinking a stolen bottle of Anthony’s Dad’s wine and fighting on the back car park.

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Which was more fun?

Get glue and glitter on your fingers or get the juices of Mary-Jane Rottoncrotch on your fingers up the graveyard?

And youth clubs aren’t even open every night!  Do they expect teens to go out once a week and then sit in the rest of the week talking wholesomely with their families?  Yes, yes they do!

The scum who did all the looting and rioting weren’t paupers with no opportunities in life, as they’re all bleeting on about now.  They have the same opportunities as anyone else, if they put down the soap bar and cheap cider and get a job.

Oh, but of course they burnt even more businesses out, in protest of them not being able to get a job?!

That part alone should tell you all you need to know about the mentality of our thick-as-pigshit society.

In the future, expect it all to happen again.  Because they know we’re too soft – just like their parents are.  There are no consequences other than a very slim possibility of prison which will enhance their Big Hard Man status even further.

Unless we harden the fuck up…

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Consequences Of The UK Street Riots

Consequences Of The UK Street Riots

I’m shitting myself that one day I’ll get caught for speeding – which will potentially mean prison time and the loss of my job, followed by years of massive price hikes on my insurance and possibly retaking both my driving licenses.

At the same time, these fuckers are burning down buildings and stealing as much as they can carry, knowing the chances of even being caught are slim, and if they ARE caught, what then?

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A night in jail?

A small fine that they can’t pay anyway because they’re claiming benefits?

They won’t see prison time for the vast majority of cases because our prisons are too full.  And they know this.

They won’t even have to worry about getting their head smashed in with a truncheon, because if our Police dare to actually hurt the poor underprivileged darlings, THEY will be the ones answering to the politicians and losing their jobs in disgrace.

Consequences?

Yeah – they’ll have even more chance of continuing their life on the dole, because they’ve burnt down even more of the businesses that couldn’t hire them in the first place, and now their cousin is also on the dole because they burnt down the JJB Sports store that employed them.

Clever.

In the meantime, us – the REAL people – will be paying higher taxes to foot the bill as usual.

I’m scared.  They don’t give a shit – because it’s people like ME who will suffer any consequences from all this, and not them.

And don’t try and tell me this shit that these poor youths had nothing to do because they never had a Youth Club and Arts Centre, or a skateboard park to break them out of the rut.  THEY made their choices in life – just like I did without having any of those things myself.

Get a grip, people, and put the blame where it’s deserved for once, rather than the politically fucking correct option.

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London And Birmingham Riots – YOU DON’T SCARE ME, SON!

London And Birmingham Riots – YOU DON’T SCARE ME, SON!

Well it was only a matter of time.

The Government has been fucking us all over for so long now, life as we knew it is dying or long dead, and at last the over-taxed masses have risen up to overthrow the Government and the namby-pamby do-good PC cunts.

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Wait… what?!?

People are rioting because someone in London got shot???

You have GOT to be shitting me?!  Oh, I see – so the Police shot them, rather than another Londoner.

So at last people get off their asses, and then it turns out it’s just a bunch of dole-dossing ‘gangster’ scummy teens smashing shit up for the Hell of it?  What a waste…

At least Boris Johnson is returning from his holidays to be with us in the UK.  Hallelujah!  We’re saved!

From what I’ve seen on the news footage, all the Police are standing around in lines, sort-of… not doing anything.  And then occasionally they drop back a bit to let the rioters burn down a JJB Sports store.

And I saw a Greggs on fire!  Holy shit – thousands of toddlers will starve to death without their pasty as their Mummy and Daddy drag them down to collect their Job Seekers Allowance!

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We’ve been turned into a nation of pussies.

The Police are all too terrified to try stopping the rioters in case they accidentally hurt them.  WTF?

Give the power back to the Police totally.  The only people on the streets at the moment are the scum who are rioting.  Let the Police shoot the fuckers and beat the shit out of the rest with absolutely no fear of having any charges brought against them afterwards.  Just for once.  If the filthy criminals don’t learn to respect them then they might actually start to fear them a little!

THAT will sort this shitstain of a country out.

It’s either that or we take off and nuke the whole place from orbit… It’s the only way to be sure…

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***EDIT***

I know some will say I’m a heartless bastard, and there ARE good reasons for the rioting… to them I’ll ask one simple question:

Just what exactly did Greggs the bakers do to any of the rioters to give them direct reason to smash, loot and torch the shop?  And all the other innocent victims?  Fuck your ‘reasons’.

School Fights Part 3: Behind The Bike Sheds

School Fights Part 3: Behind The Bike Sheds

This was probably the biggest fight I ever had with anyone at school.

It was rather different to fighting Chompy The School Bully.

I think this one was a direct result of people knowing that I was fighting in tournaments and stuff, because the only reason he’s given to this day as to why he wanted to fight was: “I dunno, I just wanted a fight.”

Let’s call this one ‘Tompy’.  He was one of those ‘almost a friend’ type people – in the same class, we got on pretty well – but were never best friends or anything, nor had the will to be.  He was a known ruffian and fighter, and I guess considered one of The Hardest in the school.  He certainly was in his High School the year after we fought, anyway!

So I got the message sometime during the school day that “Tompy wants to fight you behind the bike sheds after school!”.

“Umm… why?”  I asked, thinking how I didn’t particularly want to have my brains bashed in.

“Dunno.”

“Err… OK then…”  Well, I could hardly find fault with his reasoning, could I?

People spent the rest of the day helpfully informing me how hard he was, and started to avoid the Dead Man Walking again.

After school I went to the bike sheds and he was there already, with an even bigger crowd than when I fought Chompy the year before.

“Are you ready?”  He asked me, as I put my bag down on the floor.

“Well… yeah…”  I told him, getting ready to get into all the “COME ON THEN!!” stuff again…

*WHACK*


What the fuck was that?

It was him, smacking me with a right hook before I’d even finished speaking!

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Ok then.  We got straight into it – both dancing about, much to the joy of the crowd.  I didn’t really want to be fighting still, but that first punch told me I either had to fight, let him kick the shit out of me, or cry like a baby and call it off and never live it down.

I was a hell of a lot better fighting by this stage, and was getting much nastier, having got into some more brutal styles of martial art.

Unfortunately, I was still shitting myself about fighting him, so I was holding back, and more fighting just to stay even and stop him killing me.  I don’t know why – guess it was just our good buddies Fear and Adrenaline Dump.  Street fighting is a whole new world away from organised competitions, and I was still pretty inexperienced about dealing with my own fear in a ‘real’ fight.

It was an impressive fight – we were using punches and kicks and everything else, and unlike Chompy, Tompy was hitting me hard and I was feeling it.

The fight is still a bit hazy to me, but I remember certain parts of it, either because I’d done something awesome, he’d hurt me, or something surreal was happening.

Now, in competitions, I was a kick specialist, and even to this day I’m an excellent kicker – even though, as back then, I prefer to use hand techniques.  He made the mistake of trying to take me on with kicks early on in the fight.  I remember after fielding a few of these (and this was probably the first time my sixth sense had kicked in during a fight), he tried a kick, but somehow I not only saw it coming, I actually jumped in the air over his leg and kicked down on top of his kick.  He never attempted another kick, and my confidence soared from that point.

A few times, we had to stop fighting because a Teacher was walking past on their way home, and we’d all wander off slowly then leg it back when they’d gone, and it was straight back to the fight.

I managed to grab his hair, intending to pull his head back and drop a hammer fist on his face (my current favourite Nasty Move), but couldn’t quite get his head back so the move failed.

He got me in a head lock, and was smacking me right in my mush with his other hand – fuck knows how he didn’t have my teeth out or break my nose!

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Then he tried to throw me on the floor, and I got a hold and took him down but landed hard on my shoulder.  We both jumped back up and carried on.

Then, I remember clearly that I was stepping back for a bit of a breather, and threw out two super-fast left jabs.  Both connected with his nose, which spread out all over his face and gushed blood.  A few punches that I thought were gentle taps and all that damage from them!

He was still fighting, and seeing the damage to him, I’d gained total confidence in myself.  This was MY fight.  I was in control.  The fear had gone.

I asked him if he wanted to stop, to which he quickly said (just like Chompy had) “He wanted to stop – you all heard that!”

Fine by me – but I really was going to go for it after that!

For some fucked up reason, most people said he’d won that fight, and it wasn’t until a few years later when I spoke to those same people that they admitted I absolutely battered him!  I guess they were his mates, or wanted to stay on his good side as they went to his High School, and I went to mine.

All I know is that I was the one cleaning his blood off me that night, and I’d found out this time that I really could fight – and I was good!  Although that fall totally fucked up my shoulder, so it was probably good that the fight ended there, rather than not long after when I found I couldn’t raise my arm!!!

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School Fights Part 2

School Fights Part 2

A few times, everyone had to very slowly walk away from the school, as a teacher left. As soon as the teacher had rounded a corner, the crowd eagerly rushed back to Ground Zero.

Finally, the Lollipop Lady left, and it was Fight Time.

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Having never done this before, I wasn’t really sure what happened to get things moving. We faced off against each other, and we took it in turns saying “COME ON THEN!!!!” at each other for a few minutes.

Neither of us was seemingly going to ‘come on’. Frankly, everyone else seemed to be getting a bit bored.

Some helpful soul in the crowd gave me a hearty shove in the back, propelling me towards Chompy like a hang-glider heading towards a mountain.

I got my hands in the way and gave him a good old shove. He returned the favour, asking me to “COME ON THEN!!!!!!!” even louder than before.

Another few long minutes of this passed.

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It was becoming clear that this big hard bully who’d called me out for a fight, didn’t actually want to START the fight!

I decided to take the initiative. My Karate Competition Winning Move (yes, I had one, and it changed every few months – no, it was never the Crane Kick) at the time was a hefty old reverse lunge punch to the gut.

I dropped down and my lightning-fast fist went into the folds of flab on his belly, sinking deeper and deeper… and deeper… and deeper… and….

Surely I should have hit SOMETHING solid by now?

I must have been almost shoulder deep in the fuckers belly, and I still hadn’t hit anything solid! Usually people would be crumpled up and spewing on the floor, and the Judges would wave flags in my direction and yell “Point!”. All I got here was a muffled “Oomph!” from Chompy as I retrieved my hand!

He didn’t look happy about the whole affair though.

He came at me, making little “Uss! Uss!” noises every time he threw a punch. Ah – that would be his Boxing training! Whatever it was, it was fucking irritating, and something he had the piss ripped out of him for years afterwards… I suppose at least I hadn’t yelled out a bloodcurdling “KIAI!!!” when I punched him, or I may have got the same!

It’s funny how when you’re younger, you can smash each other in the face multiple times and cause no damage. There’s a line you cross somewhere between 16 and 21, when all of a sudden one smack in the mush is enough to end the fight in a shower of blood and snot. I guess fighting when young was more fun in that respect.

We both danced around – me doing the gay Karate freestyle bob, him wiggling his Station-from-Bill-&-Teds humungous ass and ‘Uss! Uss!’ing his little heart out.

The crowd was all excited, as we harmlessly bashed each others brains out with our fists.

I dropped down low to deliver my trademark sweep, when he gave me an opening… and promptly fell off the curb into the road.

He ‘uss’ed me with an uppercut right on my jaw just as I was struggling to get out of the path of the car that was coming down the road! The cheek!

I gave him a quick tomp on the side of the head as I got back out the road, and we reached a lull.

Big Ole Chompy was looking a bit worse for wear – not because of battle damage, but he was obviously only used to collecting other kids’ dinner money, not having to ‘uss!’ more than a few times.

“Do you want to stop?” I asked him.

“You heard him! He wants to stop!” He cried to the crowd, picking up his bag and waddling off up the street.

I blinked a few times, rubbed the tiny bruise on my jaw, accepted the pats on the back from everyone, and never got bullied again!

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School Fights Part 1

School Fights Part 1

Believe it or not, even though I first started Martial Arts when I was 8 years old, I’ve only had two ‘real’ fights at school.

You may think this is because they all knew I was winning competitions and kicking ass, so they were all to scared to give me any hassle – but in actual fact I kept it all pretty quiet. Sure, I could have been bragging about it to everyone, but if you do that eventually someone will come along and say “I’m harder than you” and proceed to tear off limbs and other appendages and beat you to death with them.

It’s always better to let the Hard Guys get on with it – deep down they know that if they get beaten by a snotty nobody then their reputation is in tatters – and if they win it’s only to be expected.

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I was always very skinny, and just above average height. I was good at sports, had a bit of a brain, liked a laugh, and so generally avoided the attention of Bullies.

Until the third year of Middle School (or Year 7 for you young whipper-snappers).

The biggest, fattest kid in the school – let’s call him Chompy, because he can’t have had time for many other activities – must have been bored with his current crop of cattle, so turned his attentions onto me.

He started pushing me around, and making threats, and generally trying to make my life as miserable as he could. It worked quite well, because behind my happy-go-lucky front, I was just another scared, insecure kid.

I told a few people he was bullying me, and had the usual advice of  ‘stand up to him’!

OK, I had the skills (probably), but this guy was about three times my size, and I was used to being the biggest in my weight category for competitions, so wasn’t too happy at the prospect of Chompy sitting on me. Plus the fact that Chompy had been taking Boxing lessons, and thought himself tastier than a lard sandwich.

I put up with it for a week or two – which seemed like an eternity at that age, before it finally came to a head in the middle of a classroom.

The teacher was out of the room, but the class was full, and Chompy said something to me to try and get the other scared kids to laugh at me, and I turned and walked away, across the middle of the classroom.

Suddenly I felt one of this big fuckers hooves whacking me in the back of the leg!

My expected thought of “Ow! Fetch Mummy!!!” didn’t come.

Rage did.

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I’d had enough of that shit, so I turned back to face his huge moon-like sneering face, and as I did, brought my fist around in a right hook.

It connected hard with his temple. I’d hit a lot of heads by this time, but NONE like his. I swear my fist bounced back off his protective blubber as if I’d just hit a stack of tyres with a rubber mallet!

Time stood still, as all the air was sucked from the room by everyone watching.

I thought “Uh-oh!”.

He went a bit cross-eyed and sat on a desk behind him, going bright red like some kind of big bullying angry tomato. His whole body seemed to throb like a cartoon thumb that’s been hit with a hammer.

After what seemed like time to take at least three much-needed bowel movements, he spake thus:

“You’re dead you are, Cater!”

Thunder boomed and lightning lit the side of his face in a fun-house show of Doom (well, ok – I may have made that part up, but it may as well have).

The air came back into the room, to be replaced by lots of “Oooh”s and “Ahhh”s.

And so word spread, and everyone spent the rest of the day in eager anticipation of the David & Goliath Fight which was to happen after school…

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