I went to the Prizefighter boxing event at the Excel Centre last night and watched eight fighters battle it out to win the knock-out tournament.
However, the more interesting players were outside the ring. The place was a haven for old-school gangsters. Everywhere you looked, there were these middle-aged stereotypes who you just knew would drive away in a Jaguar to a chintzy home with Roman pillars either side of the front door.
But the women, and there were many, cut an even nuttier picture. Because they were all uber-feminine and had turned up in slinky evening wear looking absolutely stunning.
It made for a strangely antiquated microcosm. Men were men and women were most definitely women. There was no blurring of the lines here, and there's clearly something about the sport that evokes a reversion to a more primal time.
But I think I can exploit that. At the next event I've decided to set up a food stall selling various meats. Only, without the meats. Just spears.
'You... go... hunt.'
