Autobiography

The final fight, more of a one-punch cameo,
came much later in life when I was driving to
work and cut into a line of traffic to make a
turn. This was in 1966 before road rage
officially existed, and I was quite surprised
when at the next set of traffic lights a guy got
out of the car I had overtaken. I wound down
my window to apologise, but this knight of the
road clearly wasn’t about to accept such an
easy conclusion.
He was taller but older than me; I was 30 and
still fit, and he was probably twice my age.
Today I would have locked the door and wound
the window up, especially as he was frothing at
the mouth, but he opened my door, pulled me
out and lifted me up off my feet. In those days
I wore a waistcoat, and I heard it rip.
Until then I was wondering what the hell he
was doing and how I should respond. The
chances were that he was going to hit me, so
after I heard my waistcoat rip I took a swing at
him. Surprisingly, he went down like a sack of
potatoes. Another man ran over claiming to be
an off-duty police officer, and I thought I was
going to be arrested. Instead, he said he had
seen everything and told me to get in my car
and be on my way.
I never found out what happened to the angry
driver, but I vowed it would be the last time I
was involved in any physical confrontation.
The most important result of the fight long ago
with Moony was its effect on the relationship
between Ralph and me. We walked home
81