Short night, long shift.

Hi,

Not seen you in a while. You ok?

This one comes fresh from the nights end. Happened last night..

The deafening cacophony of sensory assault starts from the moment I step into the club. Lights, music (if you can call it that) and people. Lots of people. The club can hold about 800 but am sure more are in. Going to be one of those nights.

Firstly I get myself ready, down the winding passages of the club and through the back stage areas to the cubicle that is laughably called the staff room. The smell is awful, old shoes and dirty uniforms litter the place.

Bag off.

Earpiece out, badge and clip on tie.

I unbutton my shirt and tighten the velcro straps on my body armour. Nice and tight, so tight I won't feel it when I'm hit.

After adorning myself with the all of the above I turn my radio on. Channel 13. Great. My lucky number.

"radio check, radio check.."

The response comes back loud and clear.

Time to party...

I step out into the sub level of the club. It's rammed so full that no one can actually move. Hundreds of people moving as one to the blasting noise coming from the speakers towering at each corner.

Find somewhere safe, somewhere you can see all.. Yeah. Good luck with that.

With my back to the mirrored wall I stand and try to get comfy. Sweat running down my back. Radio chatter endlessly passing back and fourth.

Green man bar 2.

Doorstaff to bar 4.

Clean up hallway 7.

A million little dangers all encapsulated in a small sentence.

I'm not here for that. I'm here for one sentence. One little sentence and number.

I don't have to wait long. When the shout comes its a frenzy. Shouted in the heat of a moment. The message distorted by music and screams and violence.

Red man bar 6. Showtime..

As fast as I can I sprint into the throng of the crowd, some move, over hinder. I can feel someone behind me. They have their hand on my belt, not pulling back but pushing forward. Ivan.

Good lad, solid lad. May have the upper hand in this one. Yeah, good luck with that pall.

As we turn the corner into bar 6 I see the whirlpool of fighting. Middle of the dance floor, about 20 fighters maybe another 15 part timers. Each face contorted into a mask of hatred, bottles and belts, fists and feet. Blood.

From every direction bouncers are piling in. No time to see who's to blame (grab them, stop them) no time to distinguish who's right and who's wrong (don't stop moving, duck, move, fight)..

I'm hit from several angles at the same time, blows bounce off my head, face and body. In the middle of the melee are 4 lads, each one repeatedly punching. The sound of the fists hitting faces again and again. Blood everywhere. Bingo, them's my boys..

I don't know what happens next, one second I'm running into a fight. The next second I'm pushing through a crowded club. Darkness intermittently permeated my strobe light. In my arms is a man. He's about my height, my weight and is trying to punch me in the head. I have one arm up is back, my arm around his neck and am using him as a people plough. Beepbeep folks, dickhead express coming through. 

Like a shuttle leaving the atmosphere we are propelled out of the front door. Artificial night is turned into artificial day, the gasp of people held to one side by the lads who hold the door and the shouts of either encouragement or hatred ring out. Is it just me? Am I alone? Where is everybody?..

As I push off from my nugget-plough and move backwards (keep some distance, chin down, hands up) more fly past me, ten at least. All around me are bouncers, some bleeding and some with ripped clothing.

With all malice to each other forgotten the mob turn as one to us and charge. Chin down, hands up, plant your feet. Here it comes. Snarling faces, fists and shouting. The dull sound of meaty thuds as I'm punched again and again. Little time to look, little time for style. My fists fly out (keep it tight, nice and crisp) the feeling of my knuckles connecting against something. Kinda meaty yet kinda hard. He goes down. Face down. Next.

Like a blur it's all over. Lads are on the floor (any in white shirts and waist coats???) and people are screaming. Why scream hun? Is no one paying attention to you? Seriously, I'm the one who's just been walloped.. People are running or staggering away. Shouts of threats, promises of returning.

And just like that it's done. I'm bleeding from my nose. My knuckles are raw and my head has lumps. Everyone is grinning. 2305hrs. 5 minutes into the night.

"Oi you, I saw you twat them lads, that's well out of order.."

The dulcet crys of the common spotted manc gibbon. Always the bad guy huh..

Gonna be one of those nights. Time for a brew me thinks.

Stay safe, speak soon.