MARC WATSON is a company director in his early thirties. Debonair, trim and successful, he appears every inch the man who has everything. But he hasn’t got a decent left hook, and he needs to acquire one soon. Watson’s first white-collar fight is only two months away.

The man charged with getting him in shape is Umar Taitt, a formidable 35-year-old who has spent a lifetime in boxing. Taitt had a troubled early life but straightened himself out when he realised in his twenties that all his friends were “dead, mad or in prison”.

If Watson and Taitt are an unlikely couple, they are typical of the way white-collar boxing is mixing the sport’s traditional practitioners with a new, more affluent breed.

White-collar boxing started in New York a decade ago, and in the past 18 months has grown in popularity in London. Under the auspices of the Real Fight Club, set up by Alan Lacey, a former British boxing manager, black-tie events are held throughout the year, with funds raised for noble causes. Fighters are evenly matched and fight for either three two-minute rounds or, in title bouts, for four two-minute rounds.

But it’s not quite boxing as we know it. The emphasis is focused on the taking part, and City professionals and lawyers who sign up to the Real Fight Club subscribe to its mantra, that white-collar boxing isn’t about hurting people. As Lacey says, “the overriding principle is that nobody gets hurt or humiliated, we all need to go to the office the next day”.

And back in the office, white-collar boxers cut a leaner figure than many of their colleagues. Taitt enthuses about a survey he read saying that women find boxers’ physiques more appealing than those of any other sportsmen. True or not, working out with Taitt is a tough, demanding business, guaranteed to see a few pounds shed. Taitt fought with Julius Francis, the former British heavyweight champion, and sparred with other decent British heavyweights.

A devoted Sunni Muslim and family man, Taitt’s two gold teeth hint at his more edgy past. He now runs a company that brings boxing to the punter — literally.

Taitt will arrive at your house, complete with pads, gloves, timers and bags, to put you through your paces. He says that Watson is “boxing really well, he’ll be ready soon”.

Watson’s first fight is at the end of March, and he confesses to having nerves. “If I break my nose, that’ll be it,” he says, adding that he has no intention of “doing a Mickey”. Mickey Rourke, the American actor, famously turned professional about 20 years too late and, as Taitt puts it, “got his head kicked in”.

One man who knows all about first-fight nerves is Alex Mehta, 32, a doctor of law from Oxford and qualified barrister. Mehta boxed for Oxford and spent some years on the UK amateur circuit. He is believed to have been good enough to turn pro, but though offers came in he felt that professional fighting was a step too far. A luminary of the white-collar scene, Mehta remembers his first fight as if it were yesterday: “I was nervous, but the emotion I felt was so raw and intense I could taste it.”

Mehta trains at the Kronk gym in Kentish Town, the centre for white-collar boxing in London. A high level of fitness is required before membership is granted and, once in, fighters train with current and former professionals. Spencer Fearon and Andrew Wallace, both highly regarded pros, are trainers at the Kronk.

Mehta is passionate about the virtues of white-collar boxing. He contrasts the safe (if stressful) life of the City with the visceral world of boxing. “Boxing is a great leveller, and very humbling,” he says. In a world largely denuded of risk, it is clear that for Mehta white-collar boxing provides an essential outlet; something, he says, that keeps him “grounded”.

Time will tell whether Marc Watson comes to share Mehta’s evangelical belief in the power of boxing. For now, he’s just thinking of his debut, working on that left hook. But as Taitt says: “Whatever happens, you never forget your first fight. Somehow I don’t think it’ll be his last.”

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