Do It Mother [The new face of child apathy.]

[The following is some stream of consciousness brain scraping to try and make sense of some idiot hole last night. Bear with me.]

So I went out and had a quite unexpected but really enjoyable night out with a few friends last night, only marred by less than 20 minutes after arriving someone threatening to kick my head in because I’d said I was going to grab their testicles. To be fair, I did, but in a very clearly jokey manner assuming it would be seen as such after the guy came over the hug my friend and practically shoved me into the wall getting to her. So I said “I’m alright cheers, feller. I wont have a hug.” Said bloke did not respond bar a glare. There was an uncomfortable silence which I foolishly decided to break as I nervously stammered out “Ill just have a go on your balls instead”.

It would be fair to say this did not go down well and despite apologising was bawled out by this admittedly well-refreshed dick-end for three minutes even with everyone around him obviously knowing it was a dumb gag and saying as such to him. “Oh no, its proper funny isn’t it to go round saying you’re going to grab a bloke’s balls”, he spat at me. “Well, as long as you don’t actually do it. Yeah, it is to be honest.”

Said gobshite then fucked off and my friends (and friends of friends who didn’t know me but now assumed me to be some sort of fat speccy sociopath, which lets be honest isn’t wide of the mark…) all turned to me with a “What the fuck?” expression. Or just saying it. That worked too. Nonetheless, it was soon forgotten about and times was had. This was in the beer garden (read: a yard) which I’d never really spent much time in before and from my decade of using the Red Pig was probably only the second time I’ve had any bother. Strange days but all behind me now.

And then this bloke came back. With a mate.

They proceeded to stand behind where we were all congregating and have another beer. I did the only natural thing and ignored the gorm who I’m not even sure would’ve remembered who he’d had a ‘to do’ with an hour earlier. After ten minutes, he walked over to another part of the yard and disappeared some time after, although I didn’t clock it myself. Whether he’d come back for a scrap or whatever, I don’t know. I hope I never do.

Its a shame I have to live in such a violent town because I couldn’t be less in that nature if I tried and that whole event has put me off going out and standing in the beer garden more often - not through fear - obviously there is some reasonableness in not wanting to be smashed in the face by a pissed up lunatic in a Fred Perry shirt. I just really don’t need to invite that shit into my life but at the same time, I refuse to be the quiet wallflower who never really pipes up - ironically because I am unspeakably shy and its my coping mechanism in that sort of situation.

Its clearly bothered me enough to write this although I suspect few of you have bothered beyond the opening paragraph, which is understandable. I’m supposed to go out again tonight. Same place. Same garden.

Would you?