Men in Tights

When I was a kid growing up in Britain in the late 70s/early 80s, we were never exposed to American wrestling. Instead we got the British equivalent via ITV's "World of Sport" on Saturday afternoons. Presented by the legendary Dickie Davies, some of the big names of the day were Big Daddy (the oddly named Shirley Crabtree who counted the Queen and Margaret Thatcher amongst his fans and starred in his own comic strip), the Mighty Quinn and Giant Haystacks (6'11" and 670lbs) - big fat guys who wandered around in tights, slamming and "splashing" each other with their huge bellies.

There wasn't much finesse to it, but I loved it all the same - what little boy wouldn't. And it seemed to bring out much of the quirkiness that gets to the root of what it means to be "British" - in particular the swarm of crazy old ladies who always got seats at ringside, nipped their gin, whirled their handbags around and were almost certainly barking mad.

Heck, watching them was often as much fun as the shows themselves.

So I wasn't surprised when Gavin became all enthused with wrestling recently - it's definitely a little boy thing. I think some of his friends at daycare were into it, and he was all excited when we let him watch a few episodes (though I have to say, I am somewhat less than impressed by some of the "storylines" they are pursuing these days - don't I sound like an old fuddy-duddy).

And when I heard on the radio that the WWE were doing a Monday Night Raw show in Austin at the end of May, I just knew we had to go.

So I booked us some tickets, and me and Gavin are going to have a boys night out at the wrestling. He's all excited - it's been "Triple H" this and "Seamus" that - and he's been busy practicing his best John Cena moves.

Heaven help me!!!