Sweet relief - back at my desk

Good morning all. I'm back in the office, having largely recovered from my Polish exertions.

It's a weird experience, being in a team. On the first day, I knew two of the fencers a little. By the end, we'd worn the same clothes, eaten the same food, undergone similar highs and lows. I'd learned their names, their fencing styles, a little of their psychologies, what kind of support they wanted (and didn't want), how they coped with victory as well as defeat, how to engage their attention and when to leave them alone - and then it's all over in the time it takes to collect bags from the conveyor. A quick goodbye, hand them over to their parents and those intense days become the past, relationships stored away for a year to be reactivated once more at the next event.

I'll miss the cosmopolitan air of Wroclaw though - the Poles were very friendly and curious about our band of England-jacketed kids. Great cheeses and sausages too!

I've added some more photographs: a few more by me, some by parents and some by fencers. It's interesting how different they can be. The fencers' shots are all of people rather than places/things, and they're much more personal: the subjects are more intimate and idiosyncratic because the picture is being taken by an equal and a friend rather than an official.

We met Andy's ancestor in the museum!

Details from medieval paintings in Wroclaw museum

Good Polish cheese. 

Coming back holds its own joys too - seeing friends, sleeping in one's own bed, settling back into my own office chair ready for hard work (which is lucky, because I've got to write a whole conference paper by Friday).

Events draw to a merciful close

I can barely keep my eyes open. It's been enormous fun, and the team have performed brilliantly. Despite Dan McGlade managing to lose a fight 5-4 by hitting himself on the foot, all the boys made it through to the direct elimination, and almost all of them exceeded their seeding: one ranked 57 beat the no 6 seed. In the end, we came away with a 3rd place, a top 8 and a load in the last 16 and 32.

Other entries with pictures of Challenge Wratislavia are here, here, here, here and all the photographs are here. 

They all got on famously despite spending most weekends in British sports halls as deadly rivals.

The Polish hosts were perfect: efficient and friendly, and the teams mixed really well. Facebook contacts may well have been swapped.

This guy won. Same as last year. He's…well… very confident. He's arsed up this fleche quite badly.

Indoor Fireworks (is also a Laura Cantrell song)

Ugg Boots: apparently part of this year's kit…

It's back to work on my return: I've just realised that the conference paper I thought was for the end of April is actually to be delivered on April 4th or 5th. Really need to write it in the next 5 days. Oops…

For the immediate future - make sure they're all settled down, then go for a celebratory sparkling mineral water in the bar (and no, that isn't a euphemism, it's an alcohol-free trip).

Injury time

After a full day of girls hitting each other with inflexible weapons, we are sad to report a series of horrific injuries.

2 girls, despite the devoted attention to their welfare of highly trained professionals, have sustained cuts… while shaving. The wailing of the afflicted and their grieving comrades was highly affecting. Or do I mean 'affected'? The identities of the victims will remain confidential - partly because that's right and proper, and partly to maintain various parents in suspense until their daughters return.

Obviously, I shall tender my resignation on my return. Many thanks to the life-saving medical care of Dr. Andrew Goodier. I thought blood might be shed on this trip, but I meant it metaphorically…

If blood and shaving make you faint, do NOT watch this 1967 Martin Scorsese film, The Big Shave, which is an allegory for the Vietnam War.

Final fencing fun for the day

If you're desperate for results, follow @fencingarmourer. He's astoundingly popular.

Coaching instructions of the day: 'Put the brick down' and 'leave everybody's nipples alone'. 

This was the medal ceremony. You can't beat fireworks for a sense of occasion (click on it for a larger picture).

We let the boys play while waiting for the girls' final…

Girls' U15 final

Double hit. 

Rest of the pictures are here

Fencing fun (continued)

I've posted a load more here: probably of interest only to fencers!

Miranda lands one

Luckily, the referee agrees

Francesca lands one on the wrist

Parried!

News from the Land of Nylon

My first full day in artificial fibres: trainers, England tracksuit etc, trapped in a dim sports hall while the sun shines.

Today's competitors were from 20 countries, including India and Israel amongst predominantly East European countries.

Still, the first day of competition was enormous fun. It was girls' epee today. Some were nervous, others very cool: coaching is often a matter of knowing when not to say anything, of hanging back and letting the fencer cope (rather than rant and rave like some I saw today).

I was seriously impressed today. None of the girls underperformed, and two got to the last 16 of their age groups, and some met tough opponents earlier than they might otherwise have. Meanwhile, the boys played their part today: as slaves to the girls. They get their revenge tomorrow.

England fencer appears to aim for her own leg

Wroclaw pictures again

More here and I'll add extra every day.

Me, today. 

This one really works

Top quality cheese, meat and pastry at the market

A villain's penthouse if every there was one

Read more books.

Wratislavia challenged

I've put the first load of photographs up here: mostly architecture and people wandering around, as we don't fence until tomorrow. It's a truly beautiful city.

Now that's good typography

Ships that sink in the night

In an earlier post, I joked about meeting a Radio 4-loving single girl at the airport. Well, when the plane came in to land at Stansted, the Polish young woman next to me noticed my abject terror (is this an attractive feature?) and we chatted until we'd collected our bags 20-odd minutes later (I didn't even pun). We exchanged names and talked about what we do, shook hands and said goodbye. Did I give her my number? Of course not. The very idea makes me sweat.

Decompressing from my trip was very strange. For four days, I lived in a bubble. I'd never met virtually all of the children on the trip, and we were placed in a strange relationship in an alien city. Over those days, I learned all their names, picked up on their personalities (who needs coaching, who doesn't, who's loud, who's quiet, how they respond to winning and losing), and spoke to very few other people. We explored this new city together (within limits) until parts of it became familiar, coped with victory and defeat - then dispersed again over a period of ten minutes, back to our ordinary lives. It was as though the trip hadn't happened: only my England shell suit says it did.

After four days of listening, talking, warning, entertaining, encouraging, advising, I was alone again, looking forward to a couple of days of my own company. The coach from Stansted (5 horrible hours) gave me time to listen mostly to downbeat music (Mazzy Star, Tindersticks, John Adams) and relax - until I hammered on the door for half an hour trying to wake my housemates after discovering I'd lost my keys.

Sunday was the day for buying birthday presents in Birmingham. I have to confess to purchasing a few little presents for me too. Largely, you'll be hugely unsurprised to learn, books. Then, finding myself outside St. Philip's Cathedral at 3.30, I went to Evensong. I know, I know, atheist Catholics shouldn't indulge, but the music's good, though I didn't realize I was letting myself in for more than an hour and a sermon (interrupted by the regulation drunk nutter). The sermon was kind of interesting: beautifully delivered and thought-provoking until he decided to reference Jade Goody and Murphy's Law in the course of his disquisition on Britain's pseudo-Christian culture. Let's be clear: fiction is written to make a specific point. It's constructed. It doesn't, therefore, prove general cultural truths for extrapolation.

After that - off to Wagamama for a solitary meal and read of the Guardian while being elbowed by beautiful couples. And so (as Pepys said, though not at 5), to bed.

Footnotes from history

One of the cultural things we did in Wroclaw was to visit the Panorama. Inside a fairly bold concrete building was a huge (15 metres high, 120 metre long) painting, cunningly blended with a real foreground. The subject was a battle near Wroclaw (Raclawicka) between Russia and the Polish rebels, led by Kozciuszko (pretty much the only battle the Poles won against anybody for several hundred years - and they lost the war). I'd heard of him in relation to the American War of Independence but didn't know anything about his fight for a free Poland. He was a cool guy and we should all hail him!

But this panorama had a fascinating history which was rather glossed over. Painted in the 1890s, it was stored by the Soviet regime for years after WWII, before being finally put on display in 1985. I can understand why the Russian-dominated USSR/allies wouldn't want to encourage Poles to visit a display of nationalist, anti-Russian pride. What I'd like to know more about is the decision-making process leading to the reversal of this policy. Poland was under martial law from 1981-1983 following the deviationist-nationalist activites of Solidarity. Was the decision to display the panorama a concession to Polish nationalists to placate them, or did it signify recognition in government circles that to survive they needed to disassociate themselves from the USSR?

So sleepy

I'm utterly exhausted. It was boys' epee today, and they all did brilliantly in a very high standard competition, so congratulations to you all. I've put more photos (of fencers, and of Stalinist tower blocks in moody black clouds) here.

I am rather missing the Guardian and Radio 4 now. Oh, and sleep.

Welcome to Wroclaw

Well, here we are - I got a coach at midnight and haven't stopped since then (it's 3 p.m. Polish time). As usual, flight was slightly less pleasant than dysentery at a funeral, but the fencing kids seem quite happy.

Wroclaw is beautiful in its own way, a semi-gentrified old town (looking deeply Hanseatic in places), ringed by brutalist postwar blocks. The food's good, and the locals appear not to mind being swamped by 35 swaggering kids all wearing England tracksuits. I have one too, though it's XL and therefore more like being wrapped in a parachute and landing badly. It felt a bit weird showing my Irish passport, wearing an England tracksuit, clutching a (reactionary but fascinating) book called Britons, by Linda Colley.

More pictures will appear here as I take them.

WITAMY WE WROCŁAWIU!

I'm going here for Challenge Wratislavia - looks fantastic - except that I'll be in a windowless sports hall chasing infuriating - sorry - highly talented young fencers for four days, before going back to the airport. Maybe I'll see some of it from my window… except that looking down on the ground from the air brings back the horror. Heavy things shouldn't be up. They should be resting on solid things.