Boxer rebllious contender almighty!

A blooming disgrace to the world of tailoring is what I would say about it if I were talking and not blogging it all over your screen.

It's not easy to come by a specially-tailored boxing robe, and even more so when one has special requirements logo-wise.

So it's a right miffing of me when it turns up without the emblazoning on the back of my nom-d'amour 'The Anglo-Irish Love-Garden Moisturiser'.

You can surely imagine the scene if I had been properly attired. Look at how I even managed to prance and dance in the inadequately-be-logo'd garment that was so shoddily issued to me. All the grace and beauty of a granite butterfly, I think you'd agree.

Having worn it, I am now relinquishing it - in all it's sweat-soaked glory - to a Martin, as an act of charity, of which I am always silent about completely.