I have just been kicked with a kung fu level of sadness after discovering that David Carradine has died suddenly.
As a boy growing up in Maidstone, Kent, in the 1970s, I was a big fan of his alternative crime fighting TV show. I loved his coolness and understated ability to kick seven bells out of all the baddies in one go with his bare feet and hands. I remember him breaking legs by kicking cowboys in the knee.
I would often go to sleep at night fantasising about having the ability to dish out his kind of brutal summary jurisdiction against the bullies in my little world. There was no end to the skill of my fast fists and high swinging kicks inside my imagination. I was the hardest nut in Ditton and saved all the girls from no end of distress.
In fact, now I think of it, not a lot has changed. I'm pretty sure I have gone through a few fantasy kicking moves as recently as last night - while I manifested revenge over Monday night's burglar.
If there was ever a guardian angel to have, it would be Carradine. Book him now.
Rest in peace, Grasshopper.
