At Least The Four-Year-Old Suzukis Didn't Turn Up

Day 89, Monday March 30, 8.30 am: I'm not saying I failed my first piano exam. I'm just saying that, whatever the result, it was a close-run thing. I'll just have to wait and see.
Which is, of course absurd. I mean, I've been practssing assiduously for three months. All I had to do was play three pre-prepared pieces, answer a few questions and do a couple of scales and arpeggios. But as soon as I got there I got nervous My hands suddenly solidified, as if they were stuck in treacle. The examiner was nice enough, but distant-officious. That threw me. The last time I'd done an exam was as a schoolchild and that is what the environment made me feel like - a short-trousered, long-socked schoolchild.
It is no exaggeration to say that the score began to swim in front of my eyes. I could not see the music as I played - it simply blurred. That was no great problem as such - I knew it all by heart anyway - but it was very disconcerting. Worse still, my first practice was perfect. So, with a little time on my hands, I played the pieces again and made a mistake or two. So I had another go and made two or three, then three and four errors. The more I warmed up, the worse I got.
When the exam proper got underway, I played too fast, particularly the second piece, the Rumba, and botched notes all over the place.
Perhaps I should blame my piano teacher. Neal is a lovely fellow. But he says I nod my head like a pigeon when I play. During the exam, I could not get the image of a pigeon out of my head. He also told me that none of his pupils have ever failed the Initial Exam before. What he was saying, in effect, is that it's idiot-proof. But then, he's never tried to teach a pigeon encased in treacle before, has he? Pressure or what?
Neal's wife didn't exactly help either, choosing - rather thoughtlessly, it seemed to me - to have their second baby a week before my exam and thus meaning I missed out on my final lesson before the exam. Honestly - you'd think people could organise their diaries better and avoid such date clashes, wouldn't you?
At least the four-year-olds didn't turn up. Children as young as four take this exam. Bloody Dr Suzuki! Neal said I might find myself warming up for the exam with four and five and six-year-olds. I wonder what we would have talked about? The effect of the credit crunch? Global warming? The price of rusks and our favourite CBBC programme?
Fortunately I was at least spared that embarrassment. I was the only 'child' there.
I am not sure I did TRSNYRC particularly proud on Friday, for which I apologise. I'm still hoping I may have just scraped a pass. But I'm not convinced.

Big Mouth Unleashes A Storm Again

Day 85, Friday March 27, 7.30 am: The worst thing is that I knew this would happen. I knew exactly. I knew I was unleashing a storm.
I tell brother Roger about my new gym bike record - 244 calories burnt off in 20 sweat-laden minutes - and he immediately goes out to beat it again. Like he did last week.
Exactly the same thing happened to me a few years back with a younge, fitter office colleague. I ended up getting spanked on every single machine in the entire gym.
This story will now run and run, until my legs fall off. Which, small mercies, will be sooner rather than later.
I did, though, have a laugh. Roger, as I said, went out to beat the record yesterday and scored... wait for it.. 244. A dead heat! Superb. 20 minutes of slog for a dead heat! You have to feel sorry for the man...
PS : Another storm I've gone and unleashed - my first piano exam is this afternoon in Horsham, which I will take along with a bunch of other four-year-olds. Can you believe it - I'm taking exams aged 49 and feeling nervous... I think it's the four-year-olds who are unnerving me, not the piano playing.

One Day You Fly, The Next You Eat Dirt

Day 84, Thursday March 26, 12.30pm: Funny thing, my body. Or is it my head?
Yesterday I got on the gym bike and I absolutely flew. My brother Roger had just set a new world record for 20 minutes on the gym bike and I massacred my personal best to pip it.
Jan says it's because I'm competitive. Me, competitive? I used to be, but now my joints make strange noises when I bend down to pick up 7-Year-Old's discarded clothes and I take afternoon naps. Me, competitive? Roger, years younger and lither, longer legs and without pacemaker, could regain the world record within days if he wanted to.
No, it's not that. I just felt good and I pedalled and I didn't seem to get tired. So, enjoying the sensation, I pedalled even faster. And there you have it.
So today I went for my swimming lesson, apparently determined to beat my eight consecutive lengths of crawl. And I gave up. After five and a half. I spluttered to a stop. I just felt lousy and I seemed to get tired and, not enjoying the sensation one little bit, I headed for the side of the pool.
Was it my body or was it my head? I don't know. Funny things, bodies and heads. One day you fly, the next you eat dirt. Or, more accurately, swallow more chlorinated water than is good for you.

Introducing Yogi Clare and Motorman Mike...

Day 84, Thursday March 26, 6.30am: Yesterday was the first day of Motorman Mike's new life. I'll have to ask him how it went.
Mike - and Yogi Clare, his short-term, long-term partner - are sub-radar members of TRSNYRC.
They've been busy resolving, but quietly. I'm still awaiting the details. It's just that they've both been rather busy to chat to a blogger, that's all. It's understandable. They've both been trying to make sense of their new lives together.
Mike and Clare offer us real romance - they were together, weren't together, are back together - as well as real drama. Like One-Lung-Is-Better-Than-None Mike and Not-At-All-Lubricious Linda (see Day 71) and Matt The Mildly Mad Magistrate (Day 44), they have decided to turn things upside down in a very big way.
Clare and Mike began, like many of us, by cutting back on the alcohol and, in Mike's case, doing a bit of cycling - 36 miles in one go the other day, he tells me. I think weight loss may also be involved. And Clare is also a marvellously talented musician and talks about reviving her piano.
But then Mike decided to go the whole hog and quit his job. He decided he didn't need the stress. We're right in the middle of a credit crunch, when everybody tells us to be worried about money and work, and he goes and jumps ship! The man's a legend.
Yesterday was his first day of freedom. The first thing he did - well, on the evening before, to be honest, as he was taking off his office tie and suit for the last time - was to break one of his earlier resolutions and get through a bottle of wine. We'll overlook it, Mike, this one time.
Clare, meanwhile, still has a few hurdles in her attempts to sort out her life. It's all a bit complicated and rather tiring.
But then, I'm sure, we can expect a few more details.

The Two Exceptions That Prove The Rule

Day 83, Tuesday March 24, 8.30pm: My theory - that TRSNYRC is a real force for good and a real force for change - has lasted intact this far, despite the fact that I have not been able to convince everyone - that's everyone as in the world population of 6,895,313,008 (it will, I grant, have gone up a shade by the time that you read this) - to take an active part in my quietly ambitious social experiment of transforming the face of utterly everything forever and forever.
But then along came Gary and along came Daniel.
Gary is another Lindfield Primary house dad. We've stood within touching distance at school pick-up time for the best part of a year but only just got to conversing in the last few weeks.
Gary smokes. Gary knows he should give up. Excellent, says I. Join the TRSNYRC and you'll crack it in no time.
No, thanks awfully, says Gary. If it's all the same with you, I'd rather not.
You see, in the past few years he's gone through a liver and kidney transplant - if he hadn't had it he would have died within a matter of weeks, he's since learnt - a messy split with his wife and an ugly court custody battle over his young son. For good measure, he's even managed to give up drinking along the way.
Gary knows he should give up smoking. But, all things considered, he's not sure he's got the energy yet to make the break. He's happy to puff on for the moment.
Argue with that if you can.
Daniel's my cousin.
Unlike Gary, Daniel does not have a lot of problems and difficulties on his plate. Arguably, indeed, he doesn't have any at all.
Daniel is a transcendental meditation devotee. He does yoga each morning. He seeks a balanced life. He is as fit as fiddle, without an ounce of fat and walks up New Zealand mountains on his days off while contemplating his beautiful world.
It would be silly to ask him, surely, to make a New Year's resolution? He's been cleaning up his act for so long that grime is no longer an issue. There is not even a suggestion of a speck of the stuff left upon his person. What the heck would Daniel resolve that has not already been resolved and sorted?
Gary has too many problems for resolutions just now, and Daniel too few.
I take their points. I'm not sure I envy either of them, but I'm in serious awe of both.
PS The world population now stands at 6,895,325,752...

A 24-Hour Reprieve From Obesity

Day 82, Monday March 23, 10pm: Yesterday, for the first time this year, I was not overweight. Today I am again. It's a vague science, this calorie counting.
Yes, yesterday, for 24 very short hours, I was - just, and with a little poetic licence - within my recommended weight range.
Actually, probably, to be honest, quite a lot of poetic licence.
First I had to make the decision that that I am, in fact, 5ft 9ins (I'm probably 5ft 8 1/2 ins, but if I learnt to stand up properly...). Then I decided that I'm of large rather than medium build. In which case 79.4kg (12st 5lbs) is the maxium acceptable. I came in at 78.9! Hurrah!
(If I had admitted to being 5ft 8 ins and a medium build my maximum would have been 70.3kg but I'll let that pass).
Actually, it gets even better. Reading a little further in my Reader's Digest "Eat Better Live Better" bible I discovered: "Because muscle weighs more than fat, it is possible for a muscular athlete who has very little body fat to be above his maximum desired weight".
Perfect. Henceforth I am a 5ft 9ins, large build muscular athlete with very little body fat and I spit in the face of those daring to contradict me.

It Only Took Five Short Words... And An Exclamation Mark!

Day 79, Friday March 20, 8.45pm: I must admit, I was wavering.
I'm not saying I was losing the faith. I know I'd have been okay.
But John The Fish just made it a lot easier to find my feet again.
It only took him a few words, after I had suggested I was finding my resolutions somewhat tough to keep in the last few weeks. Five words, to be exact. Short ones. Plus an explanation mark. 'Tony don't let me down!' he wrote in his comment to 'The First Big Hiccup' posting of day 76.
Which is what TRSNYRC is meant to be all about. We are meant to be supporting each other.
So thanks for that, John The Fish. I'm back in the gym and swimming again and attempting to chew my food 36 times (it now takes me one and a half hours to get through my breakfast porridge).
It was good to know that somebody is out there.
I may have mentioned this before, by the way, but it's the same supportive principle which led to the creation of the Sacred Band of Thebes. Just much more proper, and platonic and British, of course.
The Sacred Band, in case you didn't know, was established by Gorgidas, a military leader in far-gone ancient Greece, some 2,300 years back.
The band was made up of 300 warriors - or rather, 150 pairs of pederastic lovers. Not gay, exactly, as I understand it, but that way inclined, one chap a mentor and the other one a young buck. I surely don't have to spell it out. You know what the ancient Greeks were like.
The idea, though, was obviously a sound one. Gorgidas had worked out that his men may not be that keen to die for King and Country, but they'd do their best for their best mate standing at their side.
Which is why, I gather, the British army regularly recruited its World War I soldiers in pre-established groups - rugger XVs, darts teams, troupes of actors, stamp collecting societies, village drinking mates and fellow trainspotters - and kept them together in the same units. Thus organised, they were much better at dying together. All because of their shared passion for treble 20s, Shakespeare and the Penny Black.
The Sacred Band were pretty good at copping it together, too. Considered Thebes' finest battle group, they met a gallant, bloody end at the Battle of Chaeronea, in 338 BC, at the hands of Philip II of Macedon.
Amazing what you learn, blogging.
PS: Note from our legal department - please be assured, by the way, that the above refereences to the Sacred Band in no way reflect on the sexual preferences of any members of TRSNYRC. Each to his or her own. Live and let live.
(I see nothing strange in someone being more interested in pike than human beings, John. Really I don't).