I pity the fool who criticizes my beard.
June 2004. God, it sounds like ages ago. Back then I still had fresh memories of my great American experience (the first time in Las Vegas is always unforgettable), my left ankle was free on any metallic enhancement and Lindsey lived in London.
I was young(er) and I remember the day the music died (actually that was a year earlier, when S Club 7 split).
Back then I finally got my green belt in kickboxing, the culmination of a year of hard training.
For a guy with a football player-body (short and strong legs, a big ass ... and still sexy!) kicking above the head or moving inside a ring throwing quick punches and ever quicker kicks it was going to be difficult, but thanks to my superior genes I made it.
In June I thought that by 2006 I would have been a kick-ass machine with a black belt ready to be soaked with the blood of all the criminals I would have fought around the dark alleys of London Town.
Instead, I broke my leg. And criminals were free to do whatever they wanted, without having to fight the Olafmeister.
And in the meanwhile football results improved (my team is one win away from a possible promotion...), Lindsey came back to visit me (no more beard then) and suddenly my schedule for the next 2 months got incredible busy.
Ahhh... the sweet tast of glory...