Inside, it relates how Britain is losing its major heavyweight attractions, Anthony Joshua, Tyson Fury and Dillian Whyte, to American rings. They are lured by the mighty dollar now being splashed around by competing TV networks to help boost their ratings of the back-in-favour sport, while many British undercard fighters are now being employed to supplement the bills being beamed back to UK audiences.

Yes, it is a worry. The old buzz phrase used to be "The Yanks Are Coming" but over there it is now "The Brits Have Arrived".

Matchroom boss Eddie Hearn, who has a vested interest as he has moved a significant part of his boxing operation to New York, seems happy enough with the situation as he now has a foot in both camps.

However, his principal promotional rival Frank Warren argues: "It does and it doesn't hurt the British game.

"It hurts because you are not getting Joshua and Fury in prime time fights over here and so you are not getting a big British audience. They have to travel or they have to watch in the middle of the night.

"On the other hand all British boxers have to expand their horizons and if you are to make it big and make life-changing money you will probably have to travel.

"And you can be sure that when Joshua and Fury do meet it will be on a blockbuster stadium show in this country."

Meantime, back on home soil, if anyone thought British boxing was genuinely in crisis they should have been at the jam-packed Albert Hall last Friday (March 8) night.

When the doors swung open for fisticuffs for only the second time in 20 years it was not the Sound of Music that wafted through the baroque corridors and stairways leading to the hallowed domed auditorium but of thudding punches and throaty exhortations of "C'mon my son, be first" and "Mind 'is 'ead, ref" as boxing took over from Beethoven and made its long-awaited ring reprise.

The noblest of arts was back where it belongs and where it was sweet music to our ears for so many decades.

A fire-cracker of a bill, topped by literally knock-out performances from Warren's unbeaten, and currently unbeatable, rising stars, heavyweight Daniel Dubois and light-heavyweight Anthony Yarde. 

There was some pulsating punch-ups on the undercard and it was a night to remember in a cockpit-like atmosphere that was reminiscent of the truly good old days.

My own most rheumy-eyed recollections of the Albert Hall are highlighted by three terrific scraps: a savage blood and thunder set-to between two fierce-hitting American heavyweights, Leotis Martin and Thad Spencer, both then world title prospects in May 1968, which Martin, who eventually ended Sonny Liston's career, won on a ninth round stoppage; and the peerless Howard Winstone's ninth round acquisition of the world featherweight title against Japan's Mitsunori Seki a couple of months earlier.

Then, back in April 1963, the one I remember most vividly for sentimental reasons, Frankie "Tiger" Taylor's sixth round knock-out of Lenny "The Lion" Williams, a featherweight punch-up so pulsating that some fans almost toppled from their balcony boxes with excitement.

Among them was my girlfriend Jean, who was to become my wonderful but sadly late wife. It was the only time she ever attended a boxing match.

She had gone along with her friend Lauri, a dancer who was the wife of Taylor's manager and coach Bobby Neill, the former British featherweight champion. Alas, she too has passed away.

I remember how heads turned and wolf whistles shrilled as these two gorgeous young ladies walked into the arena and took their seats. I have rarely felt so proud in my life.

It was truly nostalgic to return there, a tear in my eye as I sat at ringside directly opposite the loggia box where my lovely lady sat and waved excitedly to me all those years ago.

I had even more personal reasons to be biased. Taylor could not only fight, but write. He was a local newspaper-trained journalist from Lancaster with whom I then worked in Fleet Street and shared a flat in south London.

All-action Frankie had been Britain's first European amateur champion and was tipped for the top.

No title was at stake but because of the unbeaten records and volatile nature of these two young 20-somethings it was a complete sell-out.

The publicity build-up to the skillfully-promoted clash was off the wall. It was the talk of the town.

The well-matched pair went at it liked the uncaged animals their respective soubriquets represented. The Tiger snarled, the Lion roared and the feathers flew. It was jungle warfare in the ring. Relentless punch-filled passion flowed to and fro until the Tiger unleashed a straight right hand flush on the Lion's jaw and knocked him out cold.

Frankie went on to have a dozen more contests, including another inside the-distance four rounds win over Williams - a distant relative of Lenny by way - at Wembley before retiring with an eye injury to become boxing correspondent of The People. He is back living in Morecambe at 76.

Williams also fought on before losing a British featherweight title challenge to fellow Welshman Howard Winstone in eight rounds. He died two years ago in home-town Maesteg at 72.

Now it is the turn of some of Warren's warriors to re-trace the ring walks of the history men. They will be trying to emulate their fighting forebears on other memorable Royal Albert Hall evenings.

Expect more lively exchanges, subtle skills and power-hitting from the Queensberry men. Just as long as no-one gets hit in the orchestra stalls.

By an odd coincidence another two fighters with whom I became friendly have retired almost simultaneously.

Not that west London rivals James "Chunky" DeGale and "Saint" George Groves were exactly pals themselves. Their feud dates back to their club boxing and amateur days, when after defeating DeGale, Groves was overlooked by the selectors for the Beijing Olympics in favour of his rival, and has festered throughout their pro careers. Now both have quit the ring within days of each other. Wise men. 

They may have lost their last fights but health-wise they sensibly quit while they were ahead.

They have barely spoken before or since their one and only professional ring confrontation at the O2 in May 2011 when Groves again won on a bitterly disputed points decision.

It is disappointing that their paths did not cross again but both can be proud of winning world super middleweight titles. Indeed, Chunky will always be remembered as the first Brit to acquire Olympic gold and pro world titles.

Both too have entertained us royally, deservedly earning sackfuls of dosh in the process and can rest comfortably on their laurels and bank balances. They have taken their lumps manfully and handed out many more. They have been an absolute credit to the game.

So happy retirement, fellas. Maybe it is time to shake hands and share another round or two - down the pub, of course.