Wednesday, 8 February 2012
Friday, 17 June 2011
From the Home Page of the All England Tickling Federation
Tickling is perhaps the oldest English martial art. It pre-dates shin-kicking, bicep-punching, pillow-fighting and 'Karate-Jitsu' by several centuries.
The earliest 'tickle' on record took place in Cornwall on 14th May 1242, between Geoffrey Locke of Nottingham and Edmund Caxton of Derby. According to a contemporary document unearthed by archaelogists, 'Caxton didst skrag his adversarie unto deathe, and was proklamed verily the winer.'
Of course, modern tickles are no longer fatal - nobody has been 'scragged' to death in mainland Britain since 1997 (although the Scilly Isles still hold a traditional death match every Easter). These days it's practiced for sport and as a means of self-defence, as well as a way of preserving quaint old English traditions.
A tickle takes place on a patch of grassland, roughly 4 square feet in diameter, which is known as 'the killing field'. The ticklers wear tracksuit bottoms and t-shirts - no footwear is allowed. They face each other, and each clasps the back of the other's neck in their left hand.
On the command of the 'Gaffer' or referee, they attempt to tickle each other, using the right hand only - the left must stay in place on the opponent's neck at all times.
Acceptable targets are the armpit, belly, under the chin, and the soles of the feet. The latter is of course the hardest target to reach while standing, although it is estimated that some 67% of tickles eventually go to ground. A tickler indicates submission with the traditional cry of 'Stop it! Stop it!' The first tickler to get three submissions is declared the winner.
The earliest 'tickle' on record took place in Cornwall on 14th May 1242, between Geoffrey Locke of Nottingham and Edmund Caxton of Derby. According to a contemporary document unearthed by archaelogists, 'Caxton didst skrag his adversarie unto deathe, and was proklamed verily the winer.'
Of course, modern tickles are no longer fatal - nobody has been 'scragged' to death in mainland Britain since 1997 (although the Scilly Isles still hold a traditional death match every Easter). These days it's practiced for sport and as a means of self-defence, as well as a way of preserving quaint old English traditions.
A tickle takes place on a patch of grassland, roughly 4 square feet in diameter, which is known as 'the killing field'. The ticklers wear tracksuit bottoms and t-shirts - no footwear is allowed. They face each other, and each clasps the back of the other's neck in their left hand.
On the command of the 'Gaffer' or referee, they attempt to tickle each other, using the right hand only - the left must stay in place on the opponent's neck at all times.
Acceptable targets are the armpit, belly, under the chin, and the soles of the feet. The latter is of course the hardest target to reach while standing, although it is estimated that some 67% of tickles eventually go to ground. A tickler indicates submission with the traditional cry of 'Stop it! Stop it!' The first tickler to get three submissions is declared the winner.
Wednesday, 2 February 2011
The Memoirs of O'Sensei, Part III
Seamus O'Sensei here, oh seekers after enlightenment. I have been reading a history of Japan recently, and a thought has occurred to me. Where are the ninjas? I've got as far as the Tokugawa Bakufu and so far not a whisper of a ninja. Have they been airbrushed out of history? Or is it merely an example of their much vaunted skills in the art of concealment?
Ninjas are a crucial part of world history and it's a crying shame not to have this recognised. I believe it was Batman who acquired his powers after being bitten by a radioactive ninja. Speaking for myself, it was in the Year of the Attenuated Wombat that I first went to Japan, acting as a bodyguard at the court of the Geranium Throne. The Japanese for 'bodyguard' is Yojimbo, as in the famous film. And also the famous TV show about a masterless light aircraft playing two rival air traffic controllers against each other: 'Yojimbo & the Jet Set' I believe that one was called.
Now it's a little-known fact that whoever is supposed to be the ruler of Japan at any given time is in fact anything but. The power behind the Imperial Throne at that point was one Fujiwara something-or-other, a royal advisor whose efforts to marry his daughters off to successive emperors meant that he had become his own great-grandson.
The power behind the power behind the throne was the Shogun, Rikkardu Kambulin. He had escaped from a prison in order to train as a doctor and musketeer before eventually rising to the rank of Shogun. The power behind the power behind the power behind the throne was the previous emperor, Mohito, who had retired to a monastery in order to run things from behind the scenes. And the power behind him was... well, it was the current emperor. So there was something agreeably cyclical about the whole thing. Which may be why it eventually spiralled out of control...
Ninjas are a crucial part of world history and it's a crying shame not to have this recognised. I believe it was Batman who acquired his powers after being bitten by a radioactive ninja. Speaking for myself, it was in the Year of the Attenuated Wombat that I first went to Japan, acting as a bodyguard at the court of the Geranium Throne. The Japanese for 'bodyguard' is Yojimbo, as in the famous film. And also the famous TV show about a masterless light aircraft playing two rival air traffic controllers against each other: 'Yojimbo & the Jet Set' I believe that one was called.
Now it's a little-known fact that whoever is supposed to be the ruler of Japan at any given time is in fact anything but. The power behind the Imperial Throne at that point was one Fujiwara something-or-other, a royal advisor whose efforts to marry his daughters off to successive emperors meant that he had become his own great-grandson.
The power behind the power behind the throne was the Shogun, Rikkardu Kambulin. He had escaped from a prison in order to train as a doctor and musketeer before eventually rising to the rank of Shogun. The power behind the power behind the power behind the throne was the previous emperor, Mohito, who had retired to a monastery in order to run things from behind the scenes. And the power behind him was... well, it was the current emperor. So there was something agreeably cyclical about the whole thing. Which may be why it eventually spiralled out of control...
Friday, 6 August 2010
Wednesday, 2 June 2010
Editor's Note
It has been brought to my attention that I have misspelled 'separate'. By somebody who counts English as his third language. Smug git.
Monday, 24 May 2010
The Horizontal Samba
I recently saw the following on the timetable for a swanky Central London gym (the 's' in 'swanky' is silent of course):
"BRAZILIAN JIU JITSU: A martial art and combat sport that focuses on grappling and especially ground fighting. Ancient slaves used to practice this combat form disguised as dance."
Hmm, are they also suggesting that Capoeira was brought to Brazil by Japanese immigrants? Exactly what kind of dance could you disguise ground fighting as? Mind you, I believe O'Sensei was once caught lying on his back attempting a triangle choke on his partner, and he claimed they were dancing. The manager of the Locarno Ball room in Basingstoke asked him never to darken their door again.
"BRAZILIAN JIU JITSU: A martial art and combat sport that focuses on grappling and especially ground fighting. Ancient slaves used to practice this combat form disguised as dance."
Hmm, are they also suggesting that Capoeira was brought to Brazil by Japanese immigrants? Exactly what kind of dance could you disguise ground fighting as? Mind you, I believe O'Sensei was once caught lying on his back attempting a triangle choke on his partner, and he claimed they were dancing. The manager of the Locarno Ball room in Basingstoke asked him never to darken their door again.
Wednesday, 19 May 2010
Kung Fu Whispers: the Memoirs of O'Sensei, Part 2
So, seekers after wisdom, it’s Sifu Seamus O’Sensei here with the second chapter of my memoirs. Today I want to talk about the acquisition and transmission of knowledge within the martial arts.
A little knowledge, they say, is a dangerous thing. But how much is a little knowledge? How dangerous is it? For all I know, the knowledge that a little knowledge is a dangerous thing is a dangerous little bit of knowledge to have. I must look that up on Wikipedia.
One thing I do know is this: beware Chinese whispers. The expression comes from the days when students in a Kung Fu school in Shanghai would watch their Sifu – a notoriously strict and unforgiving teacher - demonstrating a technique, then whisper to each other as he stalked around the room, ‘I think he did it like this…’
Many years ago, in the town of Letterkenny it was, a man began courting a young lady. When the day came for him to go to her house for the first time, she cooked a joint of lamb. The first thing she did was to cut one end off of the joint, before putting it in the oven. The lamb was delicious, the best he’d ever tasted. He asked her what difference cutting the end off made and she said ‘I don’t know, but Mammy always did it and it seems to make a difference.’
Some time later she took him for Sunday lunch with her parents. Her mother, sure enough, cut the end off of a joint of lamb before cooking it, and again it was a superlative meal. The man asked her, ‘Mammy, you and your daughter both cook a fantastic joint, and you both cut the end off before putting it in the oven – what difference does that make?’ Again, Mammy wasn’t sure – ‘Me own Mammy always did that, and it seems to work.’
The day came when our young Romeo came to visit his love’s grandparents. Sure enough it was another Sunday, and sure enough the roast was a joint of lamb - almost as if things had been worked out purely for narrative convenience. The young man was drooling with anticipation. But his girlfriend’s Nan simply grabbed the joint, stuck it in a tin and shoved the tin in the oven. Our lad was shocked, but sure enough, the joint was utterly delicious. If anything, though he wasn’t fool enough to say it, Nan’s cooking was the best of the lot.
‘Nanny,’ he asked her, ‘You, your daughter and your granddaughter are all fantastic cooks. But your daughter cuts the end off of the joint before cooking it; so does your granddaughter. They both say they got it from you, and yet you just stuck the whole joint in a tin and stuck that in the oven. Why don’t you cut the end off of the joint?’
‘Oh,’ said Nanny, ‘I bought a bigger tin.’
There is a moral here for martial artists, and I cut the arms off of many students before I realised what it actually was: you don’t have to shove someone in a tin to teach him martial arts, but if you do, it’s a pretty good conditioning exercise.
And you can always buy a bigger tin.
A little knowledge, they say, is a dangerous thing. But how much is a little knowledge? How dangerous is it? For all I know, the knowledge that a little knowledge is a dangerous thing is a dangerous little bit of knowledge to have. I must look that up on Wikipedia.
One thing I do know is this: beware Chinese whispers. The expression comes from the days when students in a Kung Fu school in Shanghai would watch their Sifu – a notoriously strict and unforgiving teacher - demonstrating a technique, then whisper to each other as he stalked around the room, ‘I think he did it like this…’
Many years ago, in the town of Letterkenny it was, a man began courting a young lady. When the day came for him to go to her house for the first time, she cooked a joint of lamb. The first thing she did was to cut one end off of the joint, before putting it in the oven. The lamb was delicious, the best he’d ever tasted. He asked her what difference cutting the end off made and she said ‘I don’t know, but Mammy always did it and it seems to make a difference.’
Some time later she took him for Sunday lunch with her parents. Her mother, sure enough, cut the end off of a joint of lamb before cooking it, and again it was a superlative meal. The man asked her, ‘Mammy, you and your daughter both cook a fantastic joint, and you both cut the end off before putting it in the oven – what difference does that make?’ Again, Mammy wasn’t sure – ‘Me own Mammy always did that, and it seems to work.’
The day came when our young Romeo came to visit his love’s grandparents. Sure enough it was another Sunday, and sure enough the roast was a joint of lamb - almost as if things had been worked out purely for narrative convenience. The young man was drooling with anticipation. But his girlfriend’s Nan simply grabbed the joint, stuck it in a tin and shoved the tin in the oven. Our lad was shocked, but sure enough, the joint was utterly delicious. If anything, though he wasn’t fool enough to say it, Nan’s cooking was the best of the lot.
‘Nanny,’ he asked her, ‘You, your daughter and your granddaughter are all fantastic cooks. But your daughter cuts the end off of the joint before cooking it; so does your granddaughter. They both say they got it from you, and yet you just stuck the whole joint in a tin and stuck that in the oven. Why don’t you cut the end off of the joint?’
‘Oh,’ said Nanny, ‘I bought a bigger tin.’
There is a moral here for martial artists, and I cut the arms off of many students before I realised what it actually was: you don’t have to shove someone in a tin to teach him martial arts, but if you do, it’s a pretty good conditioning exercise.
And you can always buy a bigger tin.
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