“When I’m not fighting, I make cakes.”

So there I am gaily dancing around the floor of my nearest, (and possibly shittiest nightclub). Drunk on booze, I head to the bar to order another round of cheap tequila and even cheaper white wine and the dude behind the counter starts chatting me up…

“So what do you do?“
“I travel around the world fighting men.”
“So what are you doing now? You out of a job?“
“No, when I’m not fighting I make cakes.”

It was then it suddenly dawned on me that rather than being a great quip, what I’d said was in fact true. This is my life. I necked the tequila and wine, then gagged and crunked a little longer.

Quite how I had time for a job I don’t know. Even though I’ve only been back in London moments I seem to have packed in an awful lot - quite literally. In addition to making seven of the eight tiers of wedding cakes for two sets of upcoming nuptials, attending one of West London’s least leading Drum and Bass nights, picking up and avoiding Italian bar men, an eleven hour lunch, a laughably failed mission on a hen night, meeting various blokes to talk about fighting, I’ve also finalised my departure from Ealing Green. There is now officially no longer a chez Channon and all my worldy belongings have been crated up and entrusted to some very nice men from Pickfords.

It’s official I’m now NFA. I am homeless in addition to jobless and manless. And in all honesty I can’t imagine feeling any better about being the epitome of a failure at all the things I should have achieved at least one of at 31 years of age.

Next up is the road trip that will lead me to Florence and my first non-fighting related endeavour. I’m going to attempt to learn Italian and study fine art. Contrived as it might sound it’s one of those things on the list of stuff I meant to do one day. And, rather than leave it any longer, next Monday will be the day. Donal and I are driving down there, (I still have use of the company convertible for a few more months). Donal is an Irish carpenter made good. He looks like Robinson Crusoe but with a slightly smaller beard and an Aston Martin, who leads a far more interesting life than Robo did on innumerable tax free islands. He’s a man that I lived with in Amsterdam for a while and somehow, unbeknownst to him or I, he perpetually attracts adventure making him a shed load of fun and the perfect ’road trip’ companion.

While I’m there I shall attempt to write up some of the fantastic interviews I conducted in Brazil with various fighters, (there’s been complaints from the boys about the absence of fighting news on the blog - sorry about that). Highlights include a common theme of fearing Muay Thai boxers, the history of Capoeira, the evolution of animal styles and a run in with some dodgy chaps in jim jams.

Prior to that I’ve got to finish the cakes so expect recipes in addition to a step by step, picture by picture, sponge/butter cream/marzipan and fondant run through.