Sometimes

...I think that if I devoted as much time to cooking, or learning a musical instrument, or becoming a successful public speaker as I do to fighting, I would be brilliant at all of those things. Or at least, a more well rounded human being.

But then I remember that I don't care - don't really, actually care - about those things.

There's probably a whole nest of pathologies and rationalisations related to my affection for fighting, but that almost doesn't matter. Because like all good determinists know, seeing the strings doesn't make a difference.

Tonight, watching a dreadful display of windmilling between two D-rate kickboxers, a friend of mine, standing next to me but hypnotised by the action, whispered:

'I fucking love fighting, Joel.'

And all I could say was, 'Me too.'