Resumo de There Was Something Funny About My Uncle

Alexei Sayle seemed to be a natural at karate - but there was something funny about his teacher
read it in his own words
After i became a successful comedian and the money started rollin in, the gluton in me was unleashed and i seemed to be eating all the time. I remember my wife and i would have a three-course tea,including a pudding, then i'd go to the pub for beer and have a chinese takeaway afterwards. So it was no surprise that at the age of 35 became very fat. This fatness of mine coincided with the first fitness boom when Jane Fonda was helping women accross the world discover muscles they'd never known they had - and in Britain local gyms were surprisingly up on very street.

To loose weight i began to attend such a place in my local shopping precint.I discovered that though ihad satirized the fitness craze. I loved to work ot and before long I was attending the gym three or four times a week.Apart from the improvement in my physical condition, it also gave me a new way of having relationships with other men.

Despite the hardcase image of my stage character, I've always been a bit of a girl, with most of my freinds being women. Yet here at the gym i was at last able to be a bloke. As Flaubert said: "Inside eery revoloutionary is a policemen." I deduced that inside every ex-revolutionary there is a frustrated fitness instructor, since it was mainly these authority figures towards whom i directly my news blokeish persona.

It was one particular instructor, a short, muscular, dark-haired man, to whom I became closest. He'd had an exciting life, serving in the British Army and the French Foreign Legion and working in the Belgian Film Industry. Most excitingly, he was a karate sensei, an accredited fourth-dan professional of a particular type of shotokan karate.

One glorious day, this man asked if I'd like to become his pupil and learn karate. My mind flooded with a vision of people doing the things i wanted not as in the past because they felt sorry for me, but because they were frightened, which would be much better.

Over the following months, in the basement room of the gym, my sensei instructed me in the ways of the warrior. I progressed with astonishing rapidity; almost every week i would kneel at his feet and receive a new and better belt, indicating my swift rise towards the ranks of the ninja. And , of course, my behaviour began to change otside the gym. With my new karate skills i was no longer afraid of dark streets and rough neighbourhoods. Indeed, I'd seek out dangerous looking pubs, where i'd outstare the hard men at the bar, secure in the knowledge that i' d be able to take them out with no trouble at all. I wasnt tobe messed with.
Then, one day i was practising my killer moves at home, listening to the radio, Back then, there was a fat man called Roger Cook who regularly got beaten up by dodgy builders and sleazy con men as he exposed their duping of what i always dismissed as the gullible public. "Today we expose the con men who 's selling teaching certificates to his martial art where the teachers qualify in half an hour" intoned cook.
I learned with horror that my sensei had bought his qualifications and that what i had bought his qualifications and what i had thought deadly blows, kicks and strikes were in fact a random sequence of flappy hand gestures and come Dancing leg movements that in no way would render an opponent helpless (except, perhaps, sweat when i thought of all the tough guys I'd barged out of my path on the way to the bar.

Of course, when i went around to the gym my sensei had vanished. All the left behind were some nice, colourful meaningless belts and rumours about just what it was that we'd been doing and making sissy hand motions at each other.

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