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to use no more than a half-a-dozen different moves, knowing that they would represent the majority of techniques I would come up against at the British championships. We spent the next two hours going to and fro and analyzing the effectiveness of particular tactics. My chest hardly hurt at all but the pace of training in Mick’s garage could not compare with that which was customary in the
dojo
. When we had finished in his garage we had something to eat while watching a kung fu video and debating if any of what we were watching would work in real life.
    â€œMaybe after the championships you might ask Eddie if it’s all right if I did some training at your club,” Mick said, as I was leaving. I had lost count of how many times he had said something similar to me and I was running out of excuses. “Maybe,” I replied, “some time after the championships.” His face brightened, but while walking away I said to myself that for his sake, it would be a very long time yet.
    *
    Clinton called on me and I asked him outright if he had ‘grassed’ on me. He vehemently denied doing any such thing. “Don’t think you can take Cox for a fool,” he said. “It wouldn’t take a genius to work out there’s something up with you. And I hope you’re not training with your mate at work, Ralph. You’ve got to ease up and in some ways that’s going to take more strength than you carrying on training. Rest and you’ve got some chance of fighting at the championships, carry on with what you’re doing and you’re letting everyone down, because there’s no way you’ll be fit.”
    He had played the loyalty card very well. To be British all-styles clubs’ champions would mean a great deal to the YMCA because all the best teams from other styles and governing bodies would be competing, and it would settle any remaining arguments about which was the top club in thewhole of Britain. In its travels the YMCA had triumphed over most of them already but this was an event in which the opponents would be consistently of the highest calibre; there would be no easy matches and every one of us had to be at our best. “Yeah,” I finally conceded, “you’re right. I guess I’m being a bit selfish.”
    â€œStupid was the word I was thinking of,” he said.
    â€œHey,” I said, “try and be a bit more graceful in victory.”
    Before he left, I confirmed the arrangements for our Friday visit to the nightclub. As usual, I would be picking up Clinton and Leslie on the way to the Rising Star but this time there would be another two, more attractive, passengers also hitching a ride.
    *
    It had taken half a can of WD-40 to get my old car to start. The Hillman Avenger, never reliable in the cold or damp, had once again caused me to let out a string of curses which only ceased when the engine finally roared into life. Grim-faced, Clinton was sitting on his doorstep waiting for me. “You’re late,” he said.
    I was still annoyed about the car’s starting problems. “I know, I can tell the time,” I replied, irritated that he would grumble, considering I was the one who had decided to bring him along, despite Leslie’s protests. Three minutes later I turned the car into a quiet residential area and Leslie was out at the first beep of the horn. He slid onto the front seat of my car, wearing his trademark sly smile and exchanged greetings with me, but he ignored Clinton. After a short distance I drove into the car park of a tower block, not unlike the one in which I now lived. Leslie seemed more energized than usual and ran to the intercom at the flats’ entrance. After the briefest of discussions he returned to us with a wide grin that made me feel uneasy. “The two of them will be down in a minute,” he said, as he retook his seat.
    â€œOnly two? What am I going to do?” asked Clinton.
    â€œNot