Wu Shu Kwan & British Yobs

Well, I haven't written for a really long time. Trying to find a new apartment (and finally free myself from the torment of living beneath a chronic George Michael fan) has been draining to say the least. Finally, after much disappointment, stress and a broken computer, my love and I have found a nifty place in Tooting. Tooting...mmm....that's an interesting name now that I think about it. When I was a little girl my dad used to sing a really silly song to make me laugh 'beans, beans the musical fruit...the more you eat the more you toot'. So I always associated the word 'tooting' with farting...which is crude - but true.

Anyway, Tooting seems nice enough to me and the wide variety of sari vendors and curry shops means that I'll be pretty happy. I also have a weird passion for Diwali sweets - which I saw plenty of while walking to the station after seeing the apartment. Diwali is my favourite Hindu festival, apart from Holi. Growing up in Durban (which has a very large Hindi and Tamil population) I remember the streets being decorated with lights, lanterns and colourful candles during Diwali. I used to listen avidly to my friends telling me about the love betweem Ram & Sita from the famous Ramayana and that Diwali celebrates their return from the forest as well as being a festival of light (read the poem if you want to know more, it's like a mythical soap-opera).

I've also decided to take up the martial art Wu Shu Kwan - which is apparently the ultimate form of self-defense without carrying around a loaded shotgun, which being a rather passionate Resident Evil fan, would be the only item to make me feel completely safe...since Yobs and the undead have a surprisingly lot in common. I've officially cancelled my gym membership and should start classes at the end of May. My reasoning is simple. My train ride to work every morning and the fact that I sometimes come home pretty late in the evenings, means that I have encountered some of the most unsavory characters that London has to offer. I shall try to remain positive and not digress into a complete rant...but let's just say I've had some rather horrid experiences with these young British yobs and the next time a young, pimpled seventeen year old in a tracksuit, bedecked in cheap bling decides to slap my arse or lick my face...I imagine kickboxing his empty head straight off his bloody shoulders. Yes, this will take years to perfect and I anticipate a lot of pain and bruises in the process...but the superheroine in me must be satiated...so beware all you 'happy-slappers' out there. I'm quite small...but apparently in this martial art...size doesn't matter...and until I can send burning balls of flaming chi out of my palms...this martial art will have to do.