I wanted to be a musketeer.
It was a time when those with old films with Michael York and Oliver Reed played on TV frequently on Saturday mornings. They made life look great. A non stop circus of almost playful swordfights, confrontation with evil men from the church, easy heroism, large jugs of red wine and plenty of buxom women with few morals. Obviously, I would need to train to achieve my goal and earn my frilly shirt and sword.

Picture a nine year old with very little co-ordination skills practising all the things I thought was important to be a musketeer.

Swordskills: Me with a bamboo cane against the trees. They never fell, but by gosh, did they get some feeble, whippy punishment.

Swinging from things: In all the films, it appeard any fight would be in a stalemate until at least one of the good guys had dramatically swung from something across the area of combat, knocking over a good number of baddies. One peice of frayed, discarded tow-rope, tied to a nearby tree/fencing opponent later and I was swinging (obviously in the orginal sense of the word)like a bamboo carrying Tarzan.

The wine drinking was practised with Ribena, and I would have to wait a painful amount of years before my first experience with a willing big boobed woman.

I didn't realise at the time, due to the English accents in the film, that I wasn't really French enough to be a musketeer, a thin sword was no real opposition to a modern gun in a combat situation, a camp frilly shirt and boots that borderd transvestism wouldn't act as effective body armour and I was about 400 years too late.

Oh well, fun while it lasted.

Click 'I Like This' if you still think that bastard Cardinal Richilieu needs to be taught a lesson.
( sir_spicious2000 Crap I've watched: www.filmplop.blogspot.com/, Fri 30 Mar 2007, 14:20, Reply)