Loveridge, a former Black Cap cricketer, chuckles. "I saw the painting the other day and was actually going to bring you down here," he tells Jones.
The knight leaves Loveridge to tidy up the transaction and steps back into Vulcan Lane, playfully shadow boxing a TVNZ cameraman, who's among the small group returning with Jones from a late lunch.
Jones' feet and hand work defy his 73 years as he dances around the bemused media man. Nearby diners wonder about the commotion as Jones gives a running commentary of his pokes and jabs.
It's all good fun - a lot more lighthearted than the last time Jones confronted a crew from TVNZ. On that occasion, in July 1985, Jones famously smacked reporter Rod Vaughan between the eyes, leaving him bloodied and bruised, after Vaughan and a cameraman dropped in unannounced in a helicopter as Jones was fishing near Turangi.
He was fined $1000. Jones asked the judge if he could pay $2000 to hit Vaughan again.
Bob Jones adores boxing - a "fight guy to the core", as US author and boxing writer Katherine Dunn describes him in the introduction of his new book, Fighting Talk. "When Jones snorts, it's with fistic credibility."
Jones, who boxed and then managed boxers, is in a particular snorting mood today, holding court on everything from Jonah Lomu's health, his brother Lloyd's upcoming new book - Bob no doubt derives great pleasure at being on the shelves a week earlier than his sibling - politics, Gareth Morgan, his ex-partners and his children. "All have been produced by diverse women without my consent, my participation having been fleeting," he once joked.
After a break of several years, Jones returned to print for the NZ Herald last year. His weekly column riles the establishment and pokes fun at the absurd.
Take this week's, in which he chided Prime Minister John Key for having no doubt Prince George would grow into a fine young man. "Really!" wrote Jones. "Gareth [Morgan] was probably once a nice little boy, whose mother was also doubtless about his future, but today suffers from obsessive attention-seeking syndrome."
I'm here to talk to Jones about the new book, but the interview has to wait. First there is the business of lunch and wine - and more wine. We eventually return to his 21st-floor offices in Queen St at 4.30pm, to be met by a table of alcohol for the official book launch. The interview is officially off.
Fighting Talk is a combination of Jones' two great passions: boxing and the written word. It's an etymological tome, which studies the media's obsession with boxing metaphors and phrases. Jones has uncovered a staggering 330-plus examples - from the obvious like "knockout" and "the gloves are off" to "toddler" and "start from scratch".
"It's been a labour of love - but it's not a boxing book," says Jones, over the phone the day after the launch. "It's a whole lot of things. It's a social history, a commentary on life, a book on language."
He's uncovered lively anecdotes for many of the phrases, each delivered in typical Jones style. Take the phrase "fighting his corner".
"While an obvious reference to a boxer's cornermen and the guidance they offer, this is an odd expression given that the cornermen do no actual fighting," writes Jones. "That has never deterred some trainers and managers from talking about their charges in the first person. Jack Kearns, the elderly manager of Archie Moore, the world heavyweight champion, croaked to bemused journalists in 1951, 'I'll fight anyone in the world. I'll fight Marciano or failing that, I'll take on Walcott'. At the time, Marciano was the world heavyweight champion, Walcott was the predecessor and Kearns was 76 years of age."
The idea for the book stems from a political article Jones read in the paper in 2004. He noticed the prevalence of boxing metaphors and aphorisms. Supporters were "in the corner" of one candidate; another was "on the ropes" after a string of gaffes; and the article's headline told of the "gloves being off" in the political battle.
Jones is a prolific reader and started clipping examples. It became a game, almost as much fun as the morning crossword. He's collected passages from the likes of the Economist, the Spectator, the NZ Herald and Dominion Post for years - and backed it up with his own research of international mastheads. "I became fascinated by it ... I do a lot of travel and would collect them as I go."
The language of the media has changed dramatically in the past 30 years, he says, coinciding with the rise in professional sport. Newspaper language is punchier, more direct as it tries to attract and keep readers in a digital age. Whereas once the Economist wouldn't dare venture into pugilistic language, it's now common.
Jones has no problem with the boxing parlance, provided it's used properly. Many terms are simply misused. "If you look at 'the gloves are off' ... it's all contradictory."
He says a possible origin for that phrase comes from the bare-knuckle era of the late 18th and early 19th centuries. "A pugilist would arrive at the fight venue with his patron, often dressed in the dandified and gentlemanly attire of the time, which included white silk gloves. Before commencing hostilities, he would strip to the waist and finally take off his gloves, thereby indicating his readiness to commence battle."
Jones recalls an academic paper written by then Foreign Affairs and Trade head John Allen in late 2010 in which Allen castigated New Zealanders' common use of the term "punching above our weight".
"I know that we have got a few people with a good right hook as individuals, but this triumphalist message is hugely dangerous," wrote Allen. "I hear too often the claim that we punch above our weight in world trade, especially when I see the complacency of New Zealand business, the complacency of the New Zealand bureaucracy, the complacency of New Zealand society faced with the challenges that exist in the world. It is dangerous when we start believing the PR promoted about this country that I know is wrong."
Jones has dedicated the book to his good friend Greg King, the high-profile lawyer who died late last year. King read an early manuscript of the book. "He loved it, he was so excited by it ... he loved boxing," says Jones, whose own library features 3500 books on boxing alone.
Fighting Talk is beautifully illustrated but one small image stands out. It's a photograph of Muhammad Ali's mouthguard from the 1975 Ali-Joe Frazier Thrilla in Manila fight.
Among all his buildings, books, and art, this must be one of Jones' prized possessions. He was at the fight, and knew Ali's trainer Angelo Dundee. Dundee handed the mouthguard to Jones as the victorious Ali camp left the ring. "He was always giving me stuff ... He just didn't want things."
From the book
HAM-FISTED
The first reported use of "ham-fisted" was in 1888 in an English boxing account, the inference being that the pugilist was inept and, instead of fists, might as well have been holding hams. "Ham-fisted" led to "ham-handed", both terms implying awkwardness and ineptitude. Some etymological sources say "ham-fisted" is responsible for "ham", as in an incompetent actor and also "ham radio", implying amateurishness.
START FROM SCRATCH
The term "start from scratch" stems from the bare-knuckle days and the scratching of a line in the ground across which the protagonists faced each other before proceedings began. It is now used metaphorically to mean starting anew, and might be applied to someone who has lost everything and has to begin all over again from the bottom.
TODDLER
As bare-knuckle fights in the late 18th century were illegal, once a match had been made a site in the countryside was selected and the news was spread by word of mouth to potential spectators. Since the location would be chosen to be some distance from the authorities, the lower orders attending, who by all accounts were largely rogues, pickpockets and villains, were obliged to set out on foot several days beforehand. Being carriage-less, they were described as foot-toddlers in the popular press, subsequently shortened to "toddlers". Previously, small children had sometimes been referred to as "toddlers" in parts of Scotland, but use of the word to describe the seedier element of the fight crowd eventually resulted in it gaining wider currency. With improvements in public transport, notably the advent of rail in the mid-19th century, the need to "foot-toddle" to a fight disappeared.
Edited extracts from Fighting Talk, by Sir Bob Jones (Random House, RRP$29.99). On sale now.
