The great debate
Okay, I admit it. I’ve been hiding away from the blog for a few weeks. To those who’ve missed me, i apologise. To those who haven’t . . . I hope you enjoyed my absence while it lasted.
Where have I been? Usually, when I disappear it’s because I’m wrapped up in the final stages of a book, or on the road promoting a new publication. That was the case throughout March and for much of April, but Skinner 26 went to my publisher four weeks ago and the ‘Last Resort’ events were pretty much over by April 19.
Since then I’ve been keeping out of the way, in a vain attempt to distance myself from the great debate. I’ve passed TV screens with my hands over my ears and my eyes screwed shut, doing my best to keep it all out, wishing only that the damn thing was over.
But I’ve failed. I can go on no longer without making a prediction, and expressing a hope. So here goes.
The prediction: Floyd Mayweather Jr, an unpleasant little arsehole who’s done time for domestic violence, will win by unanimous decision or possibly by a late stoppage.
The hope: that I’m wrong and that Manny Pacquiao knocks ten bells out of him.
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