Some of you have heard this already, one of you, to my shame witnessed it.

On wednesday A and I go to Aikido training. Aikido
is quite a fun martial art based around avoiding being attacked,
moving out of the way and being a highly skilled wimp who knows how the body’s geometry works and how to do spock-like moves on weak points of the knee and hand. At the end of our two hour session, our “sensei” decided that we should play British Bulldog (otherwise known as forty-forty or basically a tag based game). If you remember this kids game involves running from one
side of the playground to the other, avoiding catchers who try to tag you. If they get you,you join the tagging team. An easy game you might think. No complex rules, no real skill involved. Its not chess or go, or even rugby, lets face it.

We played a couple of rounds, and after one scintillating twinkly toed bit of sprinting and whirling I was the last one remaining. Catching my breath I missed that our sensei said that I was now the catcher. The next round begins, I
sprint, whirl, and dazzle my way past everyone, ending with a superb kind of twizzly-dive to get to the end. I have run past them all. I am
a genius, I think. Truly a british bulldog. I have invented several new moves, pushing back the boundaries of this, our national playground game. Only I am not. I was meant to be the catcher. My twizzling running the result of everyone avoiding me as they thought I was trying to tag them. I am no genius, I am a pillock of the first order.A 7th dan jedi master pillock. Everyone laughs at me. I am seven years old again, my cheeks burning red with shame, my latin nouns declined incorrectly; 50 points from Gryffindor, no apple pie for tea. I have had regular flashbacks ever since, waking in the middle of the night. L cries with laughter whenever I retell my shame. I am a turdy, I shall never amount to anything for I am this.