So You Wanna Be A Boxer

26th December

So You Wanna Be A Boxer

Having almost killed myself on Christmas Day, trying to out twerk a mechanical llama, I decided the sensible thing to do was retire early.

9:30pm, fast asleep, and, other than the usual nocturnal shuttles to the bathroom for a man of my age, a fairly restful if painful night.

My legs have become pretty unreliable in recent times, hence the occasional stumble and even rarer incidents of falling over. It’s all a little annoying to say the least and the main reason why I won’t actually be able to do any boxing today…and I was so looking forward to boxing.

I’ll be honest, I know Boxing Day isn’t really about standing in a ring in your baggiest shorts, punching someone. But does anyone actually know what ‘boxing’ you’re supposed to do on Boxing Day?

A few suggestions:

Getting the boxes out of the loft to pack Christmas away?

Opening another box of Quality Street or Elizabeth Shaw Mint Crisps?

Trying to think of ways of getting the guest stopping over in your box room, to leave?

Maybe having a punch up in the queue for the sales?

Maybe it’s deciding to order in pizza?

Whatever Boxing Day is for you then that’s OK - enjoy it.

In our house, Boxing Day was traditionally the day for bubble and squeak, cold meat and pickles. And sherry.

Some people like to go for a walk, to blow the cobwebs away. Personally I love it when everyone goes for a walk, it means I have the house to myself for an hour and can find a proper Boxing Day film to watch.

Zulu was always a favourite or A Bridge Too Far: something epic with lots of my favourite actors in and of course a film you’ve seen that often you can say the lines along with he the actors.  Maybe that’s another definition of Boxing Day? Just sitting in front of the box?

Boxing Day aside, it’s the next few days that really bother me. The days between Christmas and New Year…it’s like a black hole into which all normal rules of time and space seem to vanish.

I already don’t know what day of the week it is, and until January 1st, (which I know is always a Monday), I will be lost in the vortex of the unknown, scrabbling to maintain my sanity. Surviving on left over pigs in blankets and some olives flavoured with myrrh, I will be recalling all those public information films we were shown as kids in school, how to survive a nuclear winter.

My memory isn’t that good though and all I can actually recall is someone called Petunia eating an ice cream and sending her husband, Joe,  to call the coast guard.  They were Brexit voters I think.

(I added a link for those who thought  I was going mad)

https://youtu.be/K3-Jqltwon4


Anyway, time to rise and shine, to kick these old legs into action, and scramble some eggs for Mrs B.

Have a good day everyone and remember, the only box that really matters is the one you keep all your wonderful memories in.