Our nephew Tom entered an amateur boxing competition for charity in honour of his grandmother – my mother – who died of cancer last year. And, of course, we had to be there for moral support and to eye up the sweaty men in silky shorts. The venue was the famous Troxy, a gorgeous art deco former cinema in London’s East End. First opened in 1933, it dodged the bombs during the Blitz when much around it was flattened by the Luftwaffe. Down the decades, the venue has been reincarnated several times and now provides a multipurpose home for an eclectic mix of weird and wonderful events.

It’s also pretty rainbow-friendly. As they say on their website…

In 2019 Troxy cemented its reputation as one of the flagship venues for LGBTQ+ led events. With a superb track record welcoming clients such as Sink The Pink, Ru Paul’s Drag Race and London Gay Men’s Chorus to name a few, Troxy worked hard to create a respectful and welcoming environment for everyone, ensuring that no one is subject to discrimination or harassment of any kind. All staff at the venue are highly trained to create a fully inclusive customer experience, from sensitive security searches to the use of gender neutral pronouns.

We met up with the family in a little hostelry called The Old Ship, a traditional East End boozer which also happens to be a local gay bar serving up drag with the real ales. The pub was full of pre-bout punters mingling with the afternoon regulars. Liam and I hadn’t supped there for twenty years or more, and it was wonderful to see it still thriving while so many others have fallen by the wayside.

Fight club was a suited and booted affair – no tie, no entry – and we were dressed up to the nines to match the rowdy crowd in their best wedding weaves. Chewing gum was banned. “Because it sticks to the carpet – worse than guns,” said the burly bouncer. Enough said.

The scene was set. It was a very butch do; you could almost taste the testosterone. Some bloke in a cheap suit was running a book from the men’s loo and we fully expected local gangster types to muscle in on the action. In fact, it was all good-humoured, despite the full-flowing booze and high spirits. Mind you, the debauchery going down in the orchestra pit looked like the last days of Rome.

The moment came for Tom to step into the ring. His opponent was huge. His mother looked worried. We all did.

Once the big fella threw a few punches, the ref stopped the fight. We were relieved but really proud of Tom. He gave it a go and raised a few farthings into the bargain. All’s well that ends quickly and with pretty-boy face still in one piece.