Nigel Benn strolls into the room, fixes me with a mischievous grin and embraces me so hard I hear my spine go 'pop'. Not so much the Dark Destroyer nowadays as the Cuddly Chiropractor. Prior to Benn's prescription, my back had been giving me gip for weeks.
For the next 30 minutes, Benn takes me on a break-neck tour of his life - him at the wheel, me the passenger - so that events flash by in vivid detail: sex, drugs, soldiering and DJing, infidelity and depression, the true meaning of happiness and the recuperative word of God.
At one point, he apologises for veering off-road - "you only came down here to talk about boxing" - but I tell him not to worry. This chat is why people are still drawn to the fight game. It may have lost its way since Benn's 1990s heyday, but boxers still have all the best tales. And when a boxer has taken you to places you find almost impossible to imagine, a footballer's yarn about his passion for R&B and Xbox is rather lacking in zing.