A Curry, an Insult and a Fight

The others turn round and Jeremy shouts back, "Okay!"

I walk up Union Street and notice that it has become quite chilly - I can see the vapour of my breath. And smell the alcohol upon it too.

I let myself into my basement flat in Lind Street and then head straight for my bathroom where I wash out my mouth with Listerine, lather my face with soap, run a brush through my hair and then splash my cheeks with more Aramis.

Back outside, I walk swiftly along Lind Street then turning into Union Street - effectively retracing my steps. I pass Wetherspoons and clock a sexy, pretty, young blonde in the window - skimpy black dress with shapely golden tanned legs and arms. I really must get a woman. Soon.

I pass outside The Ryde Tandoori again then down to the Esplanade and along to the Balcony Bar night club. The time is ten thirty.

The entrance to the club is 'guarded' by two beefy bouncers: black suits, black bow ties and white shirts. They swing open the toughened glass doors for me. I idly wonder how Arnie would fare in a tussle with them - probably get flattened I conclude - and then hand over the four quid entrance fee to the girl on the desk. I enter the dimly lit, noisy and smoky atmosphere of the club.

The Balcony Bar consists of a largish dance floor with two semi-circular bars located to the north, sea facing end of the club. The DJ's box is raised slightly and faces the western end of the dance floor. I espy my friends propping up one of the bars, and I'm surprised to see Carol with them. But also secretly pleased.

Jeremy asks me what I fancy to drink.

"Pint of Fosters please, Jeremy."

Everybody else's glasses are full, so it looks like Jeremy has already bought a round. Jeremy attempts to attract the attention of the barman.

"Jeremy, I hope I haven't got you into trouble with Lena."

"No worries. Matt, to be honest, things haven't been going that well between us recently. I can see us splitting up."

"I'm sorry to hear that, Jeremy." I'm not sorry in the least but strangely feel the need to make sympathetic sounds.

Jeremy finally gets hold of the barman and orders my lager. Carol wanders over whilst Arnie appears to be in deep conversation with Auto Pilot. Auto Pilot looks quite pissed and unsteady on his feet. I can just make out Arnie talking about adding on an extension to his house and what the work would entail.

Carol suddenly presses close to my body and whispers seductively: "Glad you could make it. I like a man with something to say."

I certainly would be a man with something to say if Arnie was to glance across at this exact moment - the word would be: Help.

Despite the increasing effects of intoxication, I feel my penis begin to swell. It's just at this moment that I notice Auto Pilot, with an inane grin upon his face, reach for Arnie's groin area before closing his fingers around his genitals.

Fucking hell, I think.

There is a kind of silence and then Arnie smashes his right fist in Auto Pilot's face. The Terminator' versus Auto Pilot - no contest really. Auto Pilot reels back knocking into a girl who screams shrilly when she realises what is happening. The Terminator follows up with a left hook to the cheek and then rapidly with a right hand to Auto Pilot's ample belly - I half expect him to pop and whiz erratically around the place before dropping deflated to the ground like a balloon.

Okay, it's not funny.

Auto Pilot, completely stunned, drops to one knee then keels over. Two doormen appear, as if from nowhere, and attempt to grab Arnie who manages to head butt one. Number two bouncer grapples Arnie and puts him into some sort of judo lock - and it's all over.

We rush over and try to assist Auto Pilot to his feet. He still doesn't know what has happened to him. He's got blood running down his chubby face from a cut beneath his eye and a large swelling already on his cheek. He's also wheezing heavily from the last blow which knocked the wind out of him.

It's funny what you think at a time like this. Only a few minutes ago Auto Pilot was a pretty smug fellow with his attractive wife and pretentious lifestyle, and now he's just a pathetic twat on the floor. I wonder how along it'll be, after the public humiliation he's just undergone before he feels like making love to his wife. But perhaps Jeremy has already done the job for him?

I'm a wicked bastard at times. Still, I don't reckon he'll ever grab anybody by the bollocks again.

Carol has gone over to the doormen who have Arnie well and truly pinned down. The bouncer he nutted is holding up a handkerchief soaked with blood to his face. Over by the main doors I see the police arriving. The main lights flick on.

In this moment I realize that all our lives are changing - some undoubtedly for the worse but some for the best - after tonight. It looks like Arnie is going to be indisposed for a while, and that is good news - I look across at Carol. I also reckon that Jeremy has seen the light with Lena, so I get my friend back, and he gets his life back.

All in all, a rather interesting evening don't you think.

Oh, yeah, nearly forgot, I was going to tell you a little tale. About three weeks ago I was off to visit my uncle and auntie and just freshening up in readiness to go. I had just visited the lavatory and had gone into my bedroom to lace up my shoes when I had this sudden urge to lie back on the bed. It was lucky I did because I felt something press into my lower back. When I examined what was pushing into me, I discovered a toilet block hooked to my belt. It must have attached itself when I had pulled my trousers up. Can you imagine me strolling down the street with that hanging onto the back of my trousers? People would have remarked: "He must have a fucking bad B.O. problem if he's got to wear one of them!

Fucking hell.