Hello everybody, happy St. Monday to those of you lounging around in your jim-jams in front of Jeremy Kyle.
I've loads of work to do today, but so many distractions too. I need to get back to swimming after having a break due to awful sunburn (I don't think the attendants would have appreciated a thin film of my dermis on the surface). There's a rally to object to cuts in Further Education provision in this city - my comrades over there are in just as much of a mess as is The Hegemon. Finally, I'm just exhausted, and still decompressing from refereeing the English Youth Championships at the weekend.
It's a strange activity. We turn up on the Friday to do several hours of manual work setting the competition up. The group consists mostly of men, though not exclusively, who know each other only from doing this same thing in anonymous sports halls most weekends of the year. We don't know much about each other's lives outside this arena. We start to speak in a private language and acquire skills which have no application elsewhere: I'm now an expert at distinguishing which kind of tape will damage particular types of carpet piste, for example, and a myriad other tiny but important details. A whole set of brand names which mean nothing outside the sport dominate my vision for a weekend: Leon Paul, Allstar, Artos, Duellist and many more. I go from not knowing anything about the sport's internal politics - I stay away from the lively online forum though I might check this morning to see if anyone thinks I ruined their rise to the top - to being immersed in the minutiae of who's in, who's out, who's performing, who isn't, who's pulled a fast one in whichever committee, then immediately forget it when the competition's over.
The next day, suited and booted (officially - I forgot this time and turned up looking like a tramp), the refereeing takes over. It's stressful, naturally. The rules change all the time, and I'm slightly out of practice. I have to look out for safety issues, keep the fencers happy, interpret the action immediately and explain my decisions while keeping the fencers happy and blocking out the howling of friends, parents and coaches. My decisions led to one under-13 girl losing a semi-final on 2 rules infringements: I was right, but it's a shame the the fight ended on penalty points rather than fencing action, and facing a crying fencer and her terrifying coach isn't my idea of fun (video evidence convinced the coach I was right, but still…).
It's hard not to be caught up in the drama of it all. I know so many of the fencers through taking them on overseas or team trips, through their coaches and refereeing other events that I of course want certain ones to do well - but that has to stop when I'm judging their fights. It's sad when they don't perform as well as they should. It's awful watching anyone lose 15-0 (I've done that to someone once or twice, and I've lost almost that badly a few times), and it's brilliant watching someone step up to a higher level when it really matters.
After that, while parents, coaches and fencers natter and watch us, we're taking the hall down and picking up their litter, as though we're the hired help, and not volunteers at all.
It's a weird way to spend a weekend. Eating snack food, testing springs, never seeing daylight, trying to negotiate the convoluted politics and above all trying to do a good job under immense pressure.
I come back exhausted, aching, with a sore throat and happy. Also, hugely inspired by the quality and enthusiasm of the fencers. I'm a decent club level fencer who sometimes upsets much better competitors because I'm not as stupid as I look, but these kids are going places - some of the Under-11s have more style and grace than I'll ever have!
And yet: I love it.
Try fencing.
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