Jenny goes Boxing

I’ve never been what you might call an aggressive person, yes, I can lose my temper from time to time and I’ve been told it’s quite frightening to be on the other side of me when I do, but Sunday, Sunday I just ripped such a hole in this woman it was like watching a scene from Inception as the World folded in on itself and then everything changed. I was livid but that is another story for another time.

I blame Mark as always, he has to be blamed, after all if you can’t blame your nearest and dearest then who else do you have to shoulder everything with you. Actually, indirectly it was his fault. We went to a Boxing Match. He took me there so it’s his fault.

I was warned to be on my best behaviour by everyone, I mean can you imagine everyone you know telling you that you have to be good when you tell them you are going somewhere. It’s true, it’s as though I have this sign printed on a T-shirt I wear every day, that says, “I’m going to cause trouble.” I won’t honestly, I promise. Not all the time.

Our Friends daughter was boxing and so we all went together in the same car, Mark drove, as usual, he always does when we go out. He’s too big to fit in my car and I won’t drive his car, it’s an idiot’s car. It has no gears and it has to scream at him when he is driving too close to something and then it has automatic seat and mirror adjusters. Any idiot without a brain cell can drive it. I have a brain cell, I like to drive a car and feel in control, not allow it to cruise on its own. What if the control gets out of hand. You haven’t washed the car for a month and the electronic brain decides to get you back, there you are cruising at what you believe to be 69.6578 miles per hour when really you doing 75 and bang, speeding ticket. Bloody car has the last laugh. Funny that, our friend wants one just like it. Must be a man thing.

Chris is a gentle soul, he is a quiet speaking, kind hearted man. He tries bless him to be the mean and moody biker kind, but somehow, he just doesn’t pull it off. He looks pretty cool in his white leather all in one Power Ranger bike suit, but there just seems to be something missing, and I don’t just mean his hair. He a kitten in disguise, as is his daughter. She is beautiful young lady with the World at her feet and she is a boxer. A Champion Boxer now no less and I was there to witness her ascension to the title. Chris only has one problem in life and that is ME!

I’m not a Wigan gal by any means, I’m pure Lincolnshire through and through, you give me the choice between a day at a shopping mall and a day at a tractor rally and the tractor rally in November would win hands down every time. Whilst recently talking to a neighbour I was saying that I was getting a Goose for Christmas.

“Not a live one I hope!!!”

What does she take me for? I put her mind at rest.

“No, I think slitting the throat of a Goose in Suburbia would be looked upon in a dim light.” I told her, and just smiled politely.

Going to a boxing tournament was the perfect way to spend the last weekend in October. But there was the rub, I was warned. Warned by Mark, warned by Chris, warned by his daughter and warned by everyone I told, my brother especially, to behave myself. As Mandy has always told everyone, she can always predict that I will do something unpredictable.

I don’t know about you but being told to behave can mean sooo many different things. If I was going to a disco (yes, it’s still a disco to us oldies) I would be behaving myself and be allowed to dance, so behaving myself at the Supermarket shouldn’t be any different, I should be allowed to dance. I play with knives and poles when I practice my martial arts so where’s the difference at a boxing tournament. I felt like the Ronon Dex from Stargate when he has to hand over his weapons as he enters a new city.

“You’re not taking your walking stick.” Stated Mark,

“Might do, never know when I might need it.”

“No, you’re not, and you’re not taking an umbrella, butterfly knives, nor poles, broad swords, machine guns nor any other sharp instrument.”

“What do you take me for?” I scoffed. “You take away all the fun.”

The reason for Marks concern was an old rivalry, which at our age shouldn’t really affect us anymore. But it does. You see Michelle’s opponent was “Army” we are RAF, when I say we, I mean Mark is, well was. As where many of my friends. Couldn’t have the Army winning, in or out of the ring. So, I was sworn to best behaviour and checked for weapons as we left.

The boxing was brilliant, youngsters up to adults, boys and girls and I loved it. Michelle worried that I might get bored, but secretly there was nothing I wanted to do more than don a pair silky shorts. Not to box in, just to feel the silky shorts.

Bout after bout past and I got more excited by the minute, I was working my way through the weights just as they were, noting the names of the kids that I would love to see go further in the future. Then it happened our girl was getting into the ring.

Strange thing that, I have no connection to Michelle what so ever apart from the bromance my husband is having with her father and the friendship we have cultivated. But she is mine, all mine, she belongs to no one else. Rather like Princess Diana belonged to everyone and their cat. Should have seen the state I was in when Scotland voted for devolution, my God the thought of losing Andy Murray was frightening. But there she was, my girl, ready to fight and what did I do? Yep you guessed it, I fluffed it, I did the predictable and did something unpredictable and I don’t know why. Suddenly Michelle was no longer a friend she was like one of my own, for all the concern she could well have been my flesh and blood, my daughter. I went over and kissed her on the cheek. Well that set her off didn’t it. I didn’t mean to upset her, I really didn’t. The thing is, I was so wrapped up in my own thoughts I didn’t notice. I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to upset anyone.

Well that buggered it. Man, did she tear me an arse hole. She won first though, really battered the poor girl in the other corner, and I came away with a sore throat which I still have, and a scolding from Michelle, at least she waited until after the fight to do that.

I was so angry with myself I could have buried my head in sand and not come up for air. I carried it, gone was the acceptance and responsibility I practice in life. I was warned, “behave yourself,” and I didn’t. On Sunday I was slighted and I let rip, not angry at the woman that had upset me, although she needs to be raked over the coals, but angry at myself. Control Jenny, control, have to learn control, no wonder I was banned from taking my walking stick.

Oh and then there was the case of three traumatised young Squadies, I only offer to comfort them when their girl lost, in a motherly way, of course, what do you take me for?

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