Yesterday I smacked two women in the face. They are perfectly nice women who had not harmed me in the slightest. There were witnesses too, and yet no-one intervened. I could have smacked them many more times, and much harder and still no-one would have stopped me.
I was in a boxing ring and these girls - Mandy and Kath - were in there too.
We've all been going to boxing training for a couple of years and we're all mates. We used to train at a bowls club in the village, but we sort of out-grew it and now the instructor (also an actor and TV writer. You'd know his face, even if you didn't know his name) has his own boxing gym in town. (prob our town is one of the few where a boxing gym will be run by an actor/writer, and where the clientele will include several published novelists, poets, actors, dancers, film-writers, acupuncterists, aromatherapists, masseurs, hypnotists, puppeteers, TV producers, professional layabouts of all descriptions)
Friday is sparring night and we were separated into two groups. Me and the two girls. My wife and two lads. I wasn't trying to hurt anyone. I was even really trying to hit anyone. Touch and move away, touch and move away, that was my mantra. But I'm clearly not quick enough or experienced enough to judge things probably. I'm also 13 stone and my opponents were 9 and half each. It would have been fairer to fight them both at the same time.
They were very good about it, but I felt wretched. Wretched enough to refuse if put in with girls again. It's just wrong.
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