From Fitzroy's Private Diary (Extract 53)

There is little quite as satisfying as landing a cad a facer. A punch in the face is a manly response. Pride may be harmed, as may lips and noses, but with the correct degree of restraint, no lasting injury occurs. Instead one is filled with a warm glow that only comes from seeing one’s antagonist landing on his arse with blood streaming from his nose. An unfortunately side effect is the damage said adversary may do to one’s fist with his face. Highly inconsiderate and all of a piece with their general behaviour. Undercover in upper society circles, one does not display bruised or bloodied knuckles. Hence it may occasion one wearing gloves, or keeping ones hands out of sight for a few days. Of course, some ladies prefer it if men display evidence that they have a wilder, more feral side, but most people consider themselves operating at a higher level and pretend to be appalled at the signs of conflict. These, ironically, are often the ones who make a great deal of money on the sales of arms.

But, sadly, it is rarely appropriate for me to punch someone in the face. Alice, as she grew to know me better, once asked me if there was ever day that went by when I did not want to punch some individual or other in the face. I remember protesting strongly. She then obliterated my contention by reminding me that I admitted to having a lousy temper and listing the people we had met over the past couple of days she was sure I wanted to punch out. She offered to go further back in the mission to list others. I’m fairly sure I made the sort of gruffling, snorting noise that men do when they are caught out. But then she said something that hit me hard. She said that, surely, I was putting myself under unnecessary stress in our encounters and that one day I would meet someone who could read me as well as she does.  Naturally, she had the right of it. And even more naturally, it was to be some weeks before I admitted it to myself.

However, if it were possible, and I believed it so, that my moods could affect our missions, I needed to counter this. Travelling in India years before this, I had learnt the art of meditation. I doubted that Alice was aware that without my regular use of this ancient technique, I would be even more difficult to deal with. I decided to see if I could modify my meditations to better suit my needs. I had been taught by a gentle scholar, who had impressed on me the importance of breathing correctly, centring myself, and setting myself at peace with the universe.  The latter being something that eludes me even to this day.

Instead I put myself into a meditative state, focussed my mind on the face of an antagonist, and then imagined myself soundly punching him. It was far more satisfying than I could have possibly imagined. With practice, I was able to bring more and more of the physical sensations into my meditation. My guru would have strongly disapproved, but within a couple of weeks I was able to punch out around five adversaries before breakfast. It made me much calmer. An unlooked for benefit was when I encountered someone who had featured in my morning meditation and instead of being annoyed, I felt the calm satisfaction of knowing exactly how they would look, and I how I would feel, when I really did punch them in the face.

I recommend this form of mediation to all. Especially those who, like myself, are of a choleric disposition.