Chris posted recently the lament of the right foot.
Being able to view yourself from the third person perspective is incredibly useful. Chris suggested a mirror, but a mirror makes you look at yourself practising or training. It cannot, under any circumstances, actually help you in a fight. Now I know that practise and repetition are the backbone of fencing, and as such it is imperative to be able to practise correctly. But the coaches are there to help you put your niggly worries and errors at rest.
My point is that, whilst practise can be a realistic simulation, there is never the true aspect of fencing- you are not aiming to get points in a competetive way, so the best true way to correct yourself is to iron out the creases in your fencing, not your training.
I took my camera to the U18s this year, and the footage was incredibly illuminating. I found that I was making little and large errors all over the place, and have been trying to prevent their repetition ever since based on those mistakes.
My point is, take a camera with you and get your competitive matches filmed 'for training purposes'
Thursday 30 October 2008
Thursday 16 October 2008
Snipers, Time-warps and Mastery of Counter-attacks
This, the third post of the evening, relates to Monday, when the most experienced fencer at Nottingham Uni Club yelled to me across the room before puttin his mask on: "If you can score ten points against me, I'll buy you a pint."
Whether this was great self-confidence on his part, or underestimation of me, I accepted the challenge. And so we began (an epee match, I should mention), and I let the match drift to 10-5. I was meeting him, for the most part, on a speed level, and he was bloody fast. I was feeling a little suave just at being able to match him blow for blow, even if the point ratio was skewed a little.
So we entered the final five points of the match. It went as follows...
Double... I picked him off as he had just passed my defensive wall
Double... I attacked and got picked off
Double... The point is less relevant because he made a remark about losing £2.30 (the price of a pint of my beloved Guinness in the student bar) and I smiled knowing that I was two doubles away from a free drink
I then went one point down- he came at me like a blur and I panicked, overwhelmed by the speed, and forgot to stick out my arm
Finally, I gained another double. 15-9. One green flash of light away from free booze... I made a remark about how close I had come, and he praised my speed (athough the nine points were the praise I was after).
Snipers are in the title, because the correct timing is vital to my style of epee- I snipe at the person's arm when they come forwards but can easily switch to head or, much less frequently, knee if neccessary. I am not ashamed to say that my priorities are askew when I fence. I put much more emphasis on waiting and responding to a scenario than making one- beaing someone at a game they created is much more satisfying, and you don't tire yourself out chasing them down the piste because they have come to you, gifting opportunities!
Time-warp (not the dance, for the love of all things not the dance) is in the title because it reeally felt like I was bending time to my own ends in that match, keeping up with an incredibly fast fencer as they sped like forked lighting towards me. Matching them move for move was a blissful feeling, that much is true.
Mastery of the Counter-attack is what I would preach to an apprentice- there must be a counter-attacker in every scenario, and it is not always a disadvantage to be the one who does not make the first moves. Far from it, the counter-attacker has the position of choosing whether the attacker succeeds or fails. Once you have lunged, you are in a vulnerable position. Straight arms are an easy target too, and as such it pays to only move when the attacker has over-reached. Keep good distance and you may never need attack again.
Obi Wan's question about fools can be answered thus- the fool that follows can react to the fool, and counter his actions with better ones.
Whether this was great self-confidence on his part, or underestimation of me, I accepted the challenge. And so we began (an epee match, I should mention), and I let the match drift to 10-5. I was meeting him, for the most part, on a speed level, and he was bloody fast. I was feeling a little suave just at being able to match him blow for blow, even if the point ratio was skewed a little.
So we entered the final five points of the match. It went as follows...
Double... I picked him off as he had just passed my defensive wall
Double... I attacked and got picked off
Double... The point is less relevant because he made a remark about losing £2.30 (the price of a pint of my beloved Guinness in the student bar) and I smiled knowing that I was two doubles away from a free drink
I then went one point down- he came at me like a blur and I panicked, overwhelmed by the speed, and forgot to stick out my arm
Finally, I gained another double. 15-9. One green flash of light away from free booze... I made a remark about how close I had come, and he praised my speed (athough the nine points were the praise I was after).
Snipers are in the title, because the correct timing is vital to my style of epee- I snipe at the person's arm when they come forwards but can easily switch to head or, much less frequently, knee if neccessary. I am not ashamed to say that my priorities are askew when I fence. I put much more emphasis on waiting and responding to a scenario than making one- beaing someone at a game they created is much more satisfying, and you don't tire yourself out chasing them down the piste because they have come to you, gifting opportunities!
Time-warp (not the dance, for the love of all things not the dance) is in the title because it reeally felt like I was bending time to my own ends in that match, keeping up with an incredibly fast fencer as they sped like forked lighting towards me. Matching them move for move was a blissful feeling, that much is true.
Mastery of the Counter-attack is what I would preach to an apprentice- there must be a counter-attacker in every scenario, and it is not always a disadvantage to be the one who does not make the first moves. Far from it, the counter-attacker has the position of choosing whether the attacker succeeds or fails. Once you have lunged, you are in a vulnerable position. Straight arms are an easy target too, and as such it pays to only move when the attacker has over-reached. Keep good distance and you may never need attack again.
Obi Wan's question about fools can be answered thus- the fool that follows can react to the fool, and counter his actions with better ones.
Rising Stars in the East
I recently made the long and arduous journey down to Norwich, the land that polydactyly will never forget. The main aim was to watch NAFs youngest and most promising.
I arrived at NHS, fencing gear prepared if necessary, and was amazed to find Tom Durrant and Alex Vozza doing roughly the same thing- filling in for absent coaches (or as was apparent). Why NAF had no coaches is, however, irrelevant. I was handed the pool sheet of the 'D' group and told to preside over them. Resplendant in my Norwich School leaver's hoodie (since it was NHS' open day I thought I'd promote the competition), I proceeded to open up the fencing. There were pupil I remember, and Alex W was all the way down in 'D' (presumably through non-attendance rather than poor technique), and, as expected, he won the pool (despite my betting he lose the deciding match- that's tuppence I'm not getting back from Vozza...).
More interested was I in what was going on in the middle of the table. The fencers were all roughly the same age and quality, although (mega hint for Dave if he's on the look for a much younger protégé than usual) one of them, whose name I believe was Seb, was fencing with technique. He had clearly learned from his coaches, taken on board what was being asked of him and actually ddoing it, rather than the multitude of nigh-on unrecognisable manoeuvres being employed by some of the others. I will actually coach the next time I am down- this was a mere factfinding mission to prove to myself that standards wouldn't slip if I wasn't there (ah, the modesty...).
I can say with conviction that I was neither aweed nor disgusted at what went on- the D group functions as it always has; it is where you go if:
I- you don't go regularly enough
II- you don't give a damn
III- you are not listening to your coaches
IV- you are new to this whole fencing lark
And as two of these categories are nearly irrevocable, some people will always be in D group. The newbies and rare-attenders, however, can be taught how to come into their own and will, in three or four years' time with the right attention, be at the top of the tree.
I hope that when I return again in the future, some of the names on the October 11th poolsheet will be much higher up the ladder. If not I will have to coach them to the standard they owe themselves.
Rising Stars are in the East, and I will watch them till morning light blinds me.
I arrived at NHS, fencing gear prepared if necessary, and was amazed to find Tom Durrant and Alex Vozza doing roughly the same thing- filling in for absent coaches (or as was apparent). Why NAF had no coaches is, however, irrelevant. I was handed the pool sheet of the 'D' group and told to preside over them. Resplendant in my Norwich School leaver's hoodie (since it was NHS' open day I thought I'd promote the competition), I proceeded to open up the fencing. There were pupil I remember, and Alex W was all the way down in 'D' (presumably through non-attendance rather than poor technique), and, as expected, he won the pool (despite my betting he lose the deciding match- that's tuppence I'm not getting back from Vozza...).
More interested was I in what was going on in the middle of the table. The fencers were all roughly the same age and quality, although (mega hint for Dave if he's on the look for a much younger protégé than usual) one of them, whose name I believe was Seb, was fencing with technique. He had clearly learned from his coaches, taken on board what was being asked of him and actually ddoing it, rather than the multitude of nigh-on unrecognisable manoeuvres being employed by some of the others. I will actually coach the next time I am down- this was a mere factfinding mission to prove to myself that standards wouldn't slip if I wasn't there (ah, the modesty...).
I can say with conviction that I was neither aweed nor disgusted at what went on- the D group functions as it always has; it is where you go if:
I- you don't go regularly enough
II- you don't give a damn
III- you are not listening to your coaches
IV- you are new to this whole fencing lark
And as two of these categories are nearly irrevocable, some people will always be in D group. The newbies and rare-attenders, however, can be taught how to come into their own and will, in three or four years' time with the right attention, be at the top of the tree.
I hope that when I return again in the future, some of the names on the October 11th poolsheet will be much higher up the ladder. If not I will have to coach them to the standard they owe themselves.
Rising Stars are in the East, and I will watch them till morning light blinds me.
Wake up and Laugh
On youtube there is a video for the Rage Against the Machine sog 'Wake up', which begins with a picture of Malcolm X, the legendary and radical Muslim American who preached the words 'Anger is a Gift'. The video proceeds to show images mocking American totalitarianism, which are much less relevant.
Malcolm may have had a point. Some fencers run on liquid anger and, in the face of such sheer faith in darkness, even the most level headed and technically adept can be overcome by the power vested in their red-eyed opponent (I direct all to the legendary duel betweeen Masters Yoda and Palpatine- an unresolved and much speculated draw).
So, when faced with others' anger, it is important to force errors in their approach. Make them try too hard or stamp their feet failing to. There is nothing more amusing than watching someone embarass themselves by throwing equipment across rooms and screaming. Crying comes in a close second, with storming out of the room a mediocre third.
I have been angry at things- when a hit just can't quite land, or fail to register when they do, there is always the chance of drifting into the spiral that prevents you from getting close. I wipe my feet and imagine some of the finer points of the vast array of comedies that I watch when I am resting. Laughter is the ultimate cure for almost anything. It is especially good against anger, whose potency is inherrrently weak against the power of a good joke. But it has to be really funny- not the kind of funny you smile wryly at, but the kind that makes you laugh until you have to rush to the toilet to prevent an accident. That kind of funny.
Chris and Dave have spoken about letting the anger subside, just avoiding things that frustrate. But I have proposed a theory of dissipating the anger so fast you forget what you were angry about. It can be so vital in a game of split-seconds that you remain in the perfect (or close enough) mindset. Then you win points again, restoring the psychologically upwards cycle.
As Ringo Starr said this week: "I'M NOT SIGNING ANY MORE BEATLES STUFF... Peace and love, Peace and Love"
Malcolm may have had a point. Some fencers run on liquid anger and, in the face of such sheer faith in darkness, even the most level headed and technically adept can be overcome by the power vested in their red-eyed opponent (I direct all to the legendary duel betweeen Masters Yoda and Palpatine- an unresolved and much speculated draw).
So, when faced with others' anger, it is important to force errors in their approach. Make them try too hard or stamp their feet failing to. There is nothing more amusing than watching someone embarass themselves by throwing equipment across rooms and screaming. Crying comes in a close second, with storming out of the room a mediocre third.
I have been angry at things- when a hit just can't quite land, or fail to register when they do, there is always the chance of drifting into the spiral that prevents you from getting close. I wipe my feet and imagine some of the finer points of the vast array of comedies that I watch when I am resting. Laughter is the ultimate cure for almost anything. It is especially good against anger, whose potency is inherrrently weak against the power of a good joke. But it has to be really funny- not the kind of funny you smile wryly at, but the kind that makes you laugh until you have to rush to the toilet to prevent an accident. That kind of funny.
Chris and Dave have spoken about letting the anger subside, just avoiding things that frustrate. But I have proposed a theory of dissipating the anger so fast you forget what you were angry about. It can be so vital in a game of split-seconds that you remain in the perfect (or close enough) mindset. Then you win points again, restoring the psychologically upwards cycle.
As Ringo Starr said this week: "I'M NOT SIGNING ANY MORE BEATLES STUFF... Peace and love, Peace and Love"
Thursday 9 October 2008
Returning to the Start
I intend to return to Norfolk for the weekend. Whilst I am there, I may feel a need to transfer a titbit of wisdom to the youngest of the new fencers. I hope that this will be a ladder week, as these are where the competetive spirit truly shines out of the younger ones. They show just exactly how they fence, rather than routinely putting on a good show for their coach in the in-between weeks.
And the true colours of a fencer are always brought out by a touch of competition. Even the most mild-mannered people throw away hint of timidity. Which is exactly what I hope to return to. A group of little ones putting all their effort into besting each other on piste.
Younglings are the best fencers, in many respects, because they are doing exactly what they have been told to do (in general). Their en guarde position blinds them to their feet, and their arm straightens every time they make for the attack. Of course, these are rough observations, but they hold true. An experienced younger fencer will have a difficult time fencing a beginner because they have slipped into their own routine, which inevitably differs from the starting points given to them by the coaches. Even after seven years I can remember shuffling vaguely in seemingly odd positions that now come so naturally to me (if slightly personalised to accommodate my laziness and Epée styles), and I want to observe this curve through the eyes of an onlooker, to see if this crop of younglings make similar mistakes...
Why am I saying this? Partly to warn NAF of my unexpected arrrival this weekend. Sorry people, but I wouldn't miss it for blood nor money. Also, it is partly to express what maturity I suddenly feel thinking about how much I have changed, and about what it will feel like going back to watch beginners start their journey on the path of the fencer.
I hope to be pleasantly surprised, and may (Andy-willing) try to fence a handful of them. Don't worry, I intend not to hurt them- simply to teach them a thing or two...
Maybe in influencing them at such an early stage in their fencing I would curse them into my own habits... That would be entirely unfair given that they should develop their own styles, not feed off a mixture of their coaches' respective stances and mannerisms.
Perhaps watching will suffice after all.
And the true colours of a fencer are always brought out by a touch of competition. Even the most mild-mannered people throw away hint of timidity. Which is exactly what I hope to return to. A group of little ones putting all their effort into besting each other on piste.
Younglings are the best fencers, in many respects, because they are doing exactly what they have been told to do (in general). Their en guarde position blinds them to their feet, and their arm straightens every time they make for the attack. Of course, these are rough observations, but they hold true. An experienced younger fencer will have a difficult time fencing a beginner because they have slipped into their own routine, which inevitably differs from the starting points given to them by the coaches. Even after seven years I can remember shuffling vaguely in seemingly odd positions that now come so naturally to me (if slightly personalised to accommodate my laziness and Epée styles), and I want to observe this curve through the eyes of an onlooker, to see if this crop of younglings make similar mistakes...
Why am I saying this? Partly to warn NAF of my unexpected arrrival this weekend. Sorry people, but I wouldn't miss it for blood nor money. Also, it is partly to express what maturity I suddenly feel thinking about how much I have changed, and about what it will feel like going back to watch beginners start their journey on the path of the fencer.
I hope to be pleasantly surprised, and may (Andy-willing) try to fence a handful of them. Don't worry, I intend not to hurt them- simply to teach them a thing or two...
Maybe in influencing them at such an early stage in their fencing I would curse them into my own habits... That would be entirely unfair given that they should develop their own styles, not feed off a mixture of their coaches' respective stances and mannerisms.
Perhaps watching will suffice after all.
Sunday 5 October 2008
Questioning Faith
I am writing in response to a question posed by Chris, a swordsman (foilist) of keen renown in NAF and NFC. He asked of himself why he fences and, whilst I cannot answer that at a personal level for him, I can attempt to do so for myself.
First of all, it is a question that I have never posed before, but having seen it written down I can barely wonder why it has taken so long to crop up. At least I feel wise enough now to postulate towards an answer instead of simply going "Er..."
I started fencing in the Winter of 2001, having spent a summer holiday not sure what to do with myself sports-wise./neither a keen footballer or a competent rugby/hockey/cricket player, I was lost for things to do. Fencing, as proposed to me by my mum as a 'fun thing to do', seemed to be something kooky and different (and I must admit the whole 'swash-buckling cavalier' thing did flash in my mind briefly...). And so I went, completely lost as these funny foot positions and oddball names flew at me. Being persistent and ever-attendant, I stuck with it. Sometimes I think it stuck with me, but that is another story.
Shortly after I was hauled up to a club on saturdays, where the standards were awe-inspiring (at the time) and I remember being put into the D pool, with a budding young Abby among others. It was Dave (although he may not remember it) who claimed that she fenced 'like a terminator'. That much was true. I, however, fenced with a degree of timidity and a lack of confidence, landing somewhere in the middle and so not moving groups that fortnight. This eye-opening day proved that there was great room for improvement, although I was of the age where improvenment does not come easily and mistakes are there to be remade, not to be learned from.
This tale, in stark contrast to the last one, is based upon the fierce spiral of the learning curve, rather than that sense of achievement from thinking you have reached the top of it (at least momentarily). And it answers the question in three ways:
1: It answers the question because it outlines the thought process of why I started fencing.
2: It outlines a deeper level of why I didn't immediately stop fencing.
3: It outlines that, when you are good (relatively speaking, of course) at something, it will find you more readily and you will discover yourself through the things you do, rather than the things you think.
So perhaps raising a question so simple and yet so powerful, and in doing so effectively reconstructing your own faith in yourself and your sport, you open up such a depth of thought that you end up losing control of your own streams of consciousness. Given that losing that puts you back to square one every time, perhaps it is never meant to be known why things happen, but to revel in the fact that they have...
First of all, it is a question that I have never posed before, but having seen it written down I can barely wonder why it has taken so long to crop up. At least I feel wise enough now to postulate towards an answer instead of simply going "Er..."
I started fencing in the Winter of 2001, having spent a summer holiday not sure what to do with myself sports-wise./neither a keen footballer or a competent rugby/hockey/cricket player, I was lost for things to do. Fencing, as proposed to me by my mum as a 'fun thing to do', seemed to be something kooky and different (and I must admit the whole 'swash-buckling cavalier' thing did flash in my mind briefly...). And so I went, completely lost as these funny foot positions and oddball names flew at me. Being persistent and ever-attendant, I stuck with it. Sometimes I think it stuck with me, but that is another story.
Shortly after I was hauled up to a club on saturdays, where the standards were awe-inspiring (at the time) and I remember being put into the D pool, with a budding young Abby among others. It was Dave (although he may not remember it) who claimed that she fenced 'like a terminator'. That much was true. I, however, fenced with a degree of timidity and a lack of confidence, landing somewhere in the middle and so not moving groups that fortnight. This eye-opening day proved that there was great room for improvement, although I was of the age where improvenment does not come easily and mistakes are there to be remade, not to be learned from.
This tale, in stark contrast to the last one, is based upon the fierce spiral of the learning curve, rather than that sense of achievement from thinking you have reached the top of it (at least momentarily). And it answers the question in three ways:
1: It answers the question because it outlines the thought process of why I started fencing.
2: It outlines a deeper level of why I didn't immediately stop fencing.
3: It outlines that, when you are good (relatively speaking, of course) at something, it will find you more readily and you will discover yourself through the things you do, rather than the things you think.
So perhaps raising a question so simple and yet so powerful, and in doing so effectively reconstructing your own faith in yourself and your sport, you open up such a depth of thought that you end up losing control of your own streams of consciousness. Given that losing that puts you back to square one every time, perhaps it is never meant to be known why things happen, but to revel in the fact that they have...
Friday 3 October 2008
The Great Dance
Having read my fellows' blogs regarding the power of the comfort zone, I have decided to pursue it from a third angle.
Bouncing during any sport (especially the high jump), can prove critical to the outcome.
Allow me to retell the legend of Rob's greatest victory to date- U18 2007 final...
The match had begun slowly, with myself and my opponent both fairly and evenly contesting. I believe that there were only a handful of points at the beginning where I lagged and found myslef playing catch up, but I had gained the first point and thus a psychological upper hand. At some point, roughly halfway through (there may have been a break and taking my mask off may have provided an influx of much-needed oxygen, thus clearing my foggy head for a blessed minute of calm). As the second time period began, I felt myself bouncing slightly, never ever staying in one place, like water down a hillside (which is reluctant to pool until it has run its course). And so, cascading through my own newfound state of mind, the bounce seemed to have sparked a higher state of being. I was not only physically nore energetic, but attuned to a sense of what was going on in a way that I have rarely even come close to replicating since. It is this galvanised sense of time and space that gave me point after point. My defence was sharper, my attacks were better timed and I had an overwhelming sense of dance throughout the second time period. Fifteen points to nine later I removed my mask and, upon the second inhalation of clean air, this wondrous extraordinary experience was over.
Was this really some higher state of mind? One can only be lucky a handful of times in one go- there was more than mere luck at work. Truly it felt incredible to be crowned the champion of the tournament, but even this sense of achievement was not quite the unstoppable dance which I had experienced only ten minutes before.
Chris's experience of this was unnnerving and unfathomable (and this time it proved unmatchable, but he will inevitably find a counter should it happen again); in Dave's sense it was merely a device designed to distract and decieve (which is, at one leve, one of the main concepts of good footwork). For me, it was something that cannot, in its purest form, be put on. It can only be accidently stumbled across when the sky is aligned and the winds are cast in the right directions. I have tried tirelessly to regain this sense of dancing, but fear that I have put too much concetration into the pursuit of it and lost points as a result.
So there we have it- a dance of great potency is out there, if you get the bounce right.
Bouncing during any sport (especially the high jump), can prove critical to the outcome.
Allow me to retell the legend of Rob's greatest victory to date- U18 2007 final...
The match had begun slowly, with myself and my opponent both fairly and evenly contesting. I believe that there were only a handful of points at the beginning where I lagged and found myslef playing catch up, but I had gained the first point and thus a psychological upper hand. At some point, roughly halfway through (there may have been a break and taking my mask off may have provided an influx of much-needed oxygen, thus clearing my foggy head for a blessed minute of calm). As the second time period began, I felt myself bouncing slightly, never ever staying in one place, like water down a hillside (which is reluctant to pool until it has run its course). And so, cascading through my own newfound state of mind, the bounce seemed to have sparked a higher state of being. I was not only physically nore energetic, but attuned to a sense of what was going on in a way that I have rarely even come close to replicating since. It is this galvanised sense of time and space that gave me point after point. My defence was sharper, my attacks were better timed and I had an overwhelming sense of dance throughout the second time period. Fifteen points to nine later I removed my mask and, upon the second inhalation of clean air, this wondrous extraordinary experience was over.
Was this really some higher state of mind? One can only be lucky a handful of times in one go- there was more than mere luck at work. Truly it felt incredible to be crowned the champion of the tournament, but even this sense of achievement was not quite the unstoppable dance which I had experienced only ten minutes before.
Chris's experience of this was unnnerving and unfathomable (and this time it proved unmatchable, but he will inevitably find a counter should it happen again); in Dave's sense it was merely a device designed to distract and decieve (which is, at one leve, one of the main concepts of good footwork). For me, it was something that cannot, in its purest form, be put on. It can only be accidently stumbled across when the sky is aligned and the winds are cast in the right directions. I have tried tirelessly to regain this sense of dancing, but fear that I have put too much concetration into the pursuit of it and lost points as a result.
So there we have it- a dance of great potency is out there, if you get the bounce right.
Thursday 2 October 2008
Pastures New
It has been some time since my former entry.
This is because I have spent the last two weeks bedding in at University. In two weeks so much can occur- friendships are able to be torn down and rebuilt, only to crumble as best they might. Also, a man is able to wander into a fencing club and wander out on their A team, having proven very little about his ability. My self-confidence as a fencer is sufficient that I accepted such an offer, and welcome the challenges posed by any adverse university.
Also, having had a fortnight to myself, I have contemplated the similarities between being in your first year of university and being a hobbit in Lord of the Rings. The two coincide much more than would at first seem obvious, since I know very little about the wider goings on of the uni, and spend a good thirty percent of my time lost and/or confused. Everyone, it seems, knows a handful of facts that, when put together with other people's facts, can make up maps and timetables enough that if you are in a group of five or more, getting around becomes much easier.
So, in conclusion, there is safety in numbers, and I am mentally preparing to fight for Nottingham, Ancy (my hall of residence), and all else that I hold dear.
En guarde...
This is because I have spent the last two weeks bedding in at University. In two weeks so much can occur- friendships are able to be torn down and rebuilt, only to crumble as best they might. Also, a man is able to wander into a fencing club and wander out on their A team, having proven very little about his ability. My self-confidence as a fencer is sufficient that I accepted such an offer, and welcome the challenges posed by any adverse university.
Also, having had a fortnight to myself, I have contemplated the similarities between being in your first year of university and being a hobbit in Lord of the Rings. The two coincide much more than would at first seem obvious, since I know very little about the wider goings on of the uni, and spend a good thirty percent of my time lost and/or confused. Everyone, it seems, knows a handful of facts that, when put together with other people's facts, can make up maps and timetables enough that if you are in a group of five or more, getting around becomes much easier.
So, in conclusion, there is safety in numbers, and I am mentally preparing to fight for Nottingham, Ancy (my hall of residence), and all else that I hold dear.
En guarde...
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