Gone fishing?

When the Autumn rolls around again, spreading its wan light across the lawns of St Ann's Well Gardens, a tai chi man's thoughts turn to spear practice, something vigourous to warm his bones and get the blood pumping. The spear is a bulky object, and when carried in its case, people often mistake it for fishing gear: "Caught anything today?" they say, "Not today" I reply.

I like that people don't know, that in a small way, I lead a double life. Ninety percent of the population seem to find the idea of combatic martial arts mildly offensive, and I also like that.I like tai chi for its secrecy, for its aversion to showiness. When they wanted someone to teach a self-defence course at work, no-one thought to ask me, despite the fact I already teach there. It just didn't occur. Now, I'm no Geoff Thompson, but compared to most of the mortals that inhabit my workplace, I'm Conan the goddamned Barbarian. But they just don't know. The great thing is, even people that do tai chi don't know. They've convinced themselves (someof them anyway) that it's all just a fitness, wellbeing thing. "Those bits that look suspiciously like punches, they're not...?" "No, absolutely not. It's good for you. Now stop asking questions ands wave your arms about a bit." Not for us the showy pecs and abs of the gym-bunnies. Not for us the flash uniforms and spinny kicks that others favour. Just pure, unblemished anonymity, quiet dignity, and no glory-seeking whatsoever. Sigh.