Fight for your right to party

Dear Diary,

Ah,

SATURDAY.

Saturday was highly bizarre. In both good and bad ways. Mainly because, whilst a good night was had, I somehow ended up getting caught up in a pub brawl. And I feel even more strangely about it because the first thing that popped into my head was "This should be on a list of Things to do before you're 30!" Yikes. But I digress....

So, Saturday, as well as being the 25th, was the day of Marie's party (her birthday was Thursday). She'd apparently hired the Trees out, and was demanding fancy dress be worn. So, I spent the day getting ready, hanging round in town buying presents/cards and rushing around like a scalded flea. Got to hers about 6, hung out and ate SuperNoodles for tea (never let it be said that I drink on an empty stomach!) as everyone arrived (mostly sickeningly good-looking happy couples), who, incidentally, all took about 46 years to get ready. Even the lads. Heart sank as a gorgeous, thin, stunning girl turned up with the exact same policewoman outfit I was wearing (*shakes fists at Ann Summers*). Luckily, I discovered that the more I drank, the less I cared.

Had a very enjoyable (*cough*) walk up to the pub, stared at by all, respected by none. I had a black cardie over my dress, which made me look more like a traffic warden, and Marie was dressed as a sexy pilot, legs going on forever in stripper shoes. Got caterwauled almost the SECOND we walked in by pissed-up chav knobheads - bad times.

The evening passed...... really quite nicely. Not as fun as some nights out I've had, but I guess not everyone is hardcore! Hehe. I was desperately trying to get everyone involved in drinking games (to the point of begging the DJ for "Roxanne") but no-one was having it. Fucking lightweights. Anne turned up, (surprisingly) in fancy dress (even more surprisingly)! As the night went on, we danced loads, several more people decided to change their built-in policies re: drinking games and shots, and "Roxanne" was eventually played - albeit with poor results. I was the only one who seemed interested in playing the game. Pussies.

Oh, and bad news - Marie fell off the wagon. The Wagon of Exes. She'd spent all afternoon coyly smiling, telling us how she and PrickTard Ex had become friends and were getting on really well, how he's been really nice to her lately (of course he frigging has, he's got no-one to shag anymore!!) and had been looking rather "fit" recently. Bear in mind this guy looks like a sleepy-eyed cockatoo-haired twat. And also bear in mind she'd been crying over him and calling him a cunt less than a fortnight ago. This is why you should NEVER be friends with exes, but hate them from a distance and spend weeks viciously stabbing pins through the groin of a voodoo doll (was that just me??)

PrickTard turned up, 2 hours late, and left after an hour. But did that stop Captain Marie? Hell no. The second he arrived she was all over him, talking, giggling, getting photos taken with him, oblivious to us glaring, muttering, and flicking the V's at him behind his back whist dancing (again, that might have just been me).

They soon moved outside where we kept our beady eyes fixed on them. All the signs were there - heads unnecessarily close, pointless touching, eye-gazing, little pecks on the lips. I didn't know what to do anymore, frankly, she's a goddamn fucking fool. I've lost ALL patience. This is a guy who LEFT HER IN THE HOSPITAL AFTER AN ASTHMA ATTACK, TO RETURN TO THE PUB, for fuck's sake. Still, she had clearly forgotten all this, and seemed blissfully oblivious to the crowd of friends who materialised outside (as if by telepathy). She was oblivious to the dark mutters of "What the FUCK is she doing?!" and me pretending to be an owl, hooting something that sounded like: "Don't dooooooooooo it!!" She was even oblivious to my panicked shouts of: "We have a situation here! This girl is ridiculous, we've got to do something! Code Red!! CODE RED!!!!!" Just as someone was about to walk over to "casually" trip and spill a drink over him (be fair, we were all crazy-drunk and thought it a fine idea), PrickTard got up and left. For good.

In a fit of high annoyance and disbelief at Marie's utter stupidity, we handcuffed her to a nearby lampost and force-fed her shots of tequila. She did her usual thing - begging and giggling in a childish voice, promising never to do it again. Luckily, everyone seemed as pissed off as I was - we told her she couldn't worm her way out of this by being cute and laughing it off anymore. Not ENTIRELY sure it sank in - but fuck it, we left her there for a good 15 minutes. Not alone, obviously, as Chave knobheads were still lurking (and leering). But we gave her a pretty harsh ear-bashing, to say the least.

A chav knobhead tried it on with me on the way in. But even I know when not to be chatted up by someone, so I chatted politely - attempting to sidle past. He said several things about my dress and boobs - I asked him what right he had to talk to me like that after a mere 30 seconds of conversation. He shrugged, said "Fair point" and turned away.

And that's when the unbelievable happened. We went back inside, chilling out at the tables. Marie had been bought about 6 cider and blacks, 2 of which she gave to me (she was too pissed to notice I'd already surrepticiously downed one). We were chatting away and having fun, when all of a sudden, the unmistakeable sounds of a fight were heard around the corner. Scuffling, testosterone-fuelled shouting, stumbling, the horrible sound of punches being thrown...... We poked our heads round the corner, horrified to see a fight taking place, so big it almost didn't seem to fit in the room. Marie's mum immediately started sending people out the back door, as Marie dived towards the fray to check if her friends were involved. Luckily they weren't, it was the chav dickheads - they'd been in since the football and were CLEARLY hoping for a fight at some point.

As the fight raged on, going WAY past the point when it shoud've ended, I ran for the door, having COMPLETELY mis-heard Marie's mum and not thinking to use the back door like the others. As I stood there, two brawling chavs (someone trying to drag his mate away) came hurtling towards me. In a sheer panic, I wrenched the door open for them to get out. They stood still and looked at me - whilst I desperately tried to look like I wasn't going to fight them. Decided to reason with them, very calmly asking if they wanted to go outside. Just as it looked like they were about to leave, someone came flying towards them - causing them to angrily re-join the fight. I stood by the door in a sort of drunken haze, peering desperately around for Marie so we could just go.

And then, out of nowhere, I got glassed. Seriously, out of nowhere, a glass just came flying at me. And I don't even mean a shotglass (although, on reflection, that would be an odd thing to throw in a pub brawl) - it was one of those big, bitter-holding, handlepot fuckers. By some miracle, it didn't hit me in the face, or indeed smash and cut me - it simply hit my thigh, bounced off, and smashed against the wall. I fell over - well, it was thrown pretty fucking forcefully - and stayed on the floor, staring at the fight. Glasses were exploding like mini-bombs every 8 seconds, STOOLS were being thrown, Julie was hysterically yelling that the police were on their way. I half-sat half-lay in the doorway, crying slightly (more out of shock than anything), before a guy helped me to my feet, brushing glass off my hands. I ran into Marie, who was fuming and sobbing, and next thing we know, the police were there, and the chav dickheads were nowhere to be seen.

The police did their best, but no-one knew the names, or indeed who even STARTED the fight. Two police officers were joking with me about me "not wearing the regulation uniform" and asking me "if I was with them" - presumably just to lighten the mood. We must've looked pretty traumatised. Anyhow, we soon left, making our way back to Marie's where we sat in the kitchen, drinking Raspberry Daiquiris (which appeared out of NOWHERE) and roundly abusing the chav dickheads - before deciding a fuck-load of takeaway pizzas was an excellent form of therapy.

Soon, after all the happy couples had gone to bed, 2 of Marie's friends (one of which was the guy with the small penis..... from December, remember?) decided to walk up the road to collect some cans and carry on the party. So Marie went to get into her PJ's whilst I (already in my PJs) sat chatting to Dan, a ridiculously good looking regular at the pub, who shares with me an insane love of "Family Guy," "Peep Show" and Russell Brand. We sat and discussed the calls to Andrew Sachs (completely blown out of proportion and hilarious, in my opinion), occasionally pausing to break off into choruses of "Surfin Bird." I defy ANYONE who has seen that episode to EVER get the song out of their head again. At least for a good few months or so. It was my understanding that EVERYONE had heard...... THAT THE BIRD IS THE WORD!!!

Aaaaaaaaaaaaanyway..... after they left, Dan and I decided we needed a "power nap" to revitalise us for more beer drinking - so we ended up top and tailing on the sofa, not for a SECOND imagining that said power nap would not really do us any good. Next thing we knew, Marie's mum was sending them home (clearly very aware that we were in no fit state to drink anymore) and I had the sofa to myself.

SUNDAY

Woke up stupidly early the next morning with a bruise on my thigh, the size of a HAND. Lay there for ages, feeling incredibly uncomfortable, but completely unable to move. Eventually staggered to the kitchen for water, pausing only to fish the first thing that came to hand (a bag of steak and kidney puddings) out of the freezer. Collapsed on the sofa and fell asleep - for what I can ASSURE you was the first time in my life - with a bag of steak and kidneys on my head.

Marie soon woke up after everyone had left. She didn't seem remotely hungover (grrr....) so we all hung out a little while watching Hollyoaks (double grrrr...), her mum and I roundly criticising her, re: PrickTard Ex. Soon decided to go home, as I desperately needed my old hangover curing friend, the Subway, and my own bed. Made an educated decision to get a taxi, as I only had my heels with me and couldn't contemplate walking to the bus stop in heels (and indeed, my current state).
Anyway, settled in at home, muching Subway, watching zombie films and enjoying having the house to myself all day (parents and Damien had gone for walk and pub lunch)

So yeah. I've been in a pub brawl. Strange, when you say it like that...... I feel all hardcore and mental inside. The bruise looks more disgusting with every day, all black, green, brown and blue. Eurgh. Frigging chavs. Fuck "Hug a hoodie" - they should be deported.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Current Mood: aching
Current Music: "Single Ladies (put a ring on it) - Beyonce'