Slip and rip, Fred had said. Slip and rip, Fred had drilled into me until it was second nature, no need for my brain to tell my body what to do, all of it done from muscle memory after repeating it a thousand times, and as I took half a step away from Warboys I dug a left hook into the bottom of his ribcage, and as he let me go with a squeal of pain I brought a right upper cut on to the tip of his chin, snapping his head back. There was a right cross ready to drive into his heart, but it was not needed. He was already going down. And as I caught him by his lapels and I held him up, I thought of the photograph that I had seen in the Black Museum of a small boy in a gym long ago, surrounded by all those leering, laughing hard men, the look of dread on his face, a son sick with fear in the presence of his father.

But I didn’t feel sorry for him any more.

‘You should have stuck with the boxing,’ I said.

On Valentine’s Day there was a party at the Finchley branch of Golden Years. Staff from all the other branches of the chain of retirement communities were invited. Mini-buses were provided to bring them from all over the country to North London.

The canteen was decked out in heart-shaped balloons in pink and red, and tables and chairs were pushed to the walls to create a dance floor.

A beat box was provided for music – pop favourites from the last twenty years – and a small selection of food and drink was on offer. It was not our show at West End Central, but I saw the budget drawn up by the UK Border Agency and they certainly made it stretch to a lot of cheese sandwiches, crisps and cheap wine.

Even as the dancing got started, large coaches were pulling up in the car park. Two vans of uniformed officers were already parked in the corner but they were relaxed and chatty, coppers who were not anticipating any trouble on this shift.

The nursing staff of Golden Years were all expected to go quietly.

But still, there was no harm at all in letting them work off a little steam on the dance floor before they were collared.

I saw Maria, the Filipina nurse who had changed Lil’s bedding, dancing to ABC’s ‘The Look of Love’ with a group of other Filipinas.