Mike Tyson always fancied tucking into Lennox Lewis's children, perhaps with some fava beans and a nice Chianti, although he might have struggled to find either of those commodities on the Vegas Strip.

Ricky Hatton, mercifully, has a more conventional approach to childcare and was only too happy to play it cutesy with one of Floyd Mayweather's little cousins when they happened across each other in the MGM Grand ring.

Tuesday was all about charm offensives, with Hatton coming over all avuncular and Mayweather switching from bling-brandishing egomaniac to silver-tongued charmer in the time it took to say "honest folks, I'm a ruddy nice bloke…"

The last time I interviewed Mayweather he got rather irate, accused Hatton of being an alcoholic and threatened to punch him in his "beer belly".

But as he reclined on the ring apron ("relaxation is a great sensation"), flashing his megawatt smile and firing off the occasional bon mot, I half expected one of the assembled media to reach out and tickle him under the chin.

The fact that only 30 minutes earlier he was being heckled and roundly booed by a rowdy, but good-natured, group of Hatton fans made his demeanour that much more impressive.

"Oi, Floyd, you're going to have a cauliflower arse on Saturday," was my favourite barb as he entered the MGM Grand, and, as the hometown fighter, you would have expected such flagrant disrespect to grate.

Even some American fight fans joined in the raucous chorus of "who are ya! who are ya!", with one chap, who must have been knocking on 300lb, getting so involved I began to fear for the lives of anyone within a 10ft radius.

I felt like tapping him on the shoulder and pointing out that while Mayweather has won world titles at five different weights, he'll probably spend the evening shovelling his life savings into a one-armed bandit, but I sensed the truth might have hurt the both of us.

Mayweather, looking, as they say in these parts (well they did in about 1970) fly in crushed velvet sports jacket, brushed off the abuse, grabbed the mike and started crooning "there's only one Maaayweatheeeeer, there's only one Maaayweatheeeeer…" in a voice not dissimilar to that chap out of the Lighthouse Family, which I thought was rather sweet.

As Floyd melted into the background ("NO AUTOGRAPHS! HE DOESN'T SIGN!") 'our' Ricky grabbed the mike and warmed to his task like the northern club comedian he would obviously love to be.

"You watch me take that belt from this clown," roared Hatton, before launching into a rendition of the old Man City classic, Blue Moon.

The mood among Hatton's fans is, as is to be expected, ebullient, with Clint Green from Blackburn "100% sure he's got the tools to beat him".

Clint and his mates, 13 of them, are over from the North West for the week and were also in town for Hatton's victory over Jose Luis Castillo in June.

"Wherever he's abroad, we'll follow him," said Clint. "He's not just the pride of Manchester, he's the pride of England.

"He's got the hunger, the heart and he'll be all over Mayweather like a rash."

When I ask what Clint and the lads have got planned for the week, his answer is unequivocal: "No shows, no gambling - just drinking." And there's not much you can say to that.

I did manage to track down some Mayweather fans, including Stan, a Snoop Dogg look-alike who kept on breaking off from our chat to engage in complicated handshakes with other Snoop Dogg look-alikes.

For the record, Stan reckons Ricky "don't have the skills" and that "Mayweather will demolish him". With his two 7ft pals looking on, I wasn't about to argue.

PS. Clint and the lads wanted me to pass on a couple of pieces of advice – don't bother with Philadelphia in December - "it's freezing and there's nothing to do" - and avoid the Tropicana at all costs - "one up from a Travelodge".

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