My opponent's in The Lounge next door. I can hear his crew getting louder , laughing nastier, and they're banging on the tables for it to start.

I’m in the Tap Room with my crowd, and they’re giving me last minute advice. Like if they hadn’t had six pints ,these feckers would even have a Scoob what they are talking about?

"He's a Pro., turned street fighter."

"He mixes styles, does bit of old school."

"Yeah, kept him at long range, then he went in close, Japanese style."

"Finished him wi' a cutter."

"Lightening he were."

I'm thinking maybe the guy's coming at me with a Kat. That's a Katana, C18th Samurai for 'blade' . No one said nothing about tools . That's just the nerves chattering, don't listen to 'em.

The pub bell rings . My legs really don’t want to work . Somehow I make it to the Function Room. It's all smoke and spotlights and they’ve cleared the tables back.

My opponent's in the middle of the floor loosening his neck and rolling his shoulders . He’s clocked me and it’s eyeball time . It all goes dead quiet .

I walk up to him till I’m nearly in his face, keeping my hands behind my back . He doesn’t blink. I don’t blink. There’s just one bead of sweat breaking on his forehead and it's about to trickle down the inside of his glasses.

The microphone drops from the ceiling on a piece of string, Our wrists are ceremonially bound behind our backs with silk cord, then we're strutting and circling 'round each other like fighting cocks, reaching, testing, stepping in and out, word jabbing , rolling out long lines of iambics ,finding our range.

I switch stance , tighten the metre:

"The evening sky is pale blue, already hardening to the blue of ice,
And the early stars are settling their delicate crown on this mountain's peak..."


The Professor smiles and casually rolls right under my guard,

" a minnow's flash
and the mountains tremble
on the lake "

I should have seen the upper-cut coming.