It's a knock out

Hey,

How have you been?

This is another relatively recent one, as ever all persons involved have had their identities changed, family's moved and relatives relocated. 

Bit of a long one this, stick with it.

Every Wednesday I work in an area that can only be described as insane. The club is packed to the rafters with all sorts of presumably mentally ill folk with the sole intention of getting as wasted as possible, impregnating anything that moves (sometimes things that don't/can't or wont) and taking enough class A's to make Hunter S. Thomson shake his head and admire the recklessness of the human condition.

As you can imagine dear reader there's a lot of fights. Whenever the termally testosterone laden goons get together to swill great amounts and powder their entire faces it's bound to happen. At first you try and subvert it, pick out the trouble starters and remove them or curb the amount they drink but that would result in an empty room.

It's like a machine, a factory if you will of drink, drugs, fights and the fucked up. It's called HotMess and lives up to its name.

On the night in question it was all hands to the pumps. We had a fight or hard removal every five to ten minutes. Tensions were high and so were our customers.  Despite the fighting I was in good spirits and whistling whilst I worked. Not that I enjoy this kind of environment but I do enjoy chaos in all forms. Big smile.

I was moving round the two bars downstairs, the blinding strobes turning the thronging mass of bodies into a colidiscope of movement like a zeotrope. The deafening music repeatedly battering on the ears like a thousand undead hands. Wednesday at the office..

As I squeezed past the oblivious masses like an animal moving through thick jungle I hear the screamed request for help in the smoking area. In an instant I'm moving people out of the way, as a plow through snow. Out of the blinding hell and into the warm summer night air.

A minor scuffle was happening, other bouncers had various people in intricate positions and the matter seemed to be in various hands. That's when I saw him.

Sheepish,
Head down,
Agitated,
Won't make eye contact.

I walked over to him and spoke my mind..
"You are part of this ain't ya?"
To his credit he was honest, he knew he had been made. Small lad, about 5'6, Pakistani, white polo shirt and jeans.
Kind of looked like Mr Bean.

"Yeah fam, I did it bruv.." he replied.

"You know you gotta go mate, you ain't gonna fuck about are you?" Best friendly dad voice.

"Nah cuz, I ain't like that.." why don't I believe you?..

I'm rarely wrong.

As we were walking to the entrance of the downstairs part of the club, the fighting ferret decides to go.. Well.. Berserk.

Literally berserk, teeth nashing, fist swinging, table throwing nuts! He didn't get far and soon found himself in a full nelson being carried to the rear fire exit, nashing his teeth and trying to kick and bite all that got in his way. But as soon as we got to the fire exit at the top of the stairs he just stopped. Calm as a summer cat. Just stopped. I let him go and pushed off. Get distance between you, he doesn't seem right in the old swede.

With supplicatory hands in the air he turns..
"Am sorry bruv, am sorry.. I just.. I just don't like racists man.."

With that the metal doors are slammed and the warlike whippet goes forth unto the night.

About half an hour later I'm walking out a lad from downstairs, found him soundly asleep in one of the booths pissed as a fart. He was no trouble at all, in fact was quite happy to be going. Whilst pointing him out to the lads on the main door I see a small lad in a white polo shirt running down the board walk towards the entrance, a manic grin on his kip, eyes wide and wild.

Without hesitation or provocation he launches a spectacular right hook that connects to the jaw of an unsuspecting fella in the smoking area with a shout of "PTCHAAAAAAARRR!!"
The bloke whom has just been chinned hits the deck like a sack of spuds whilst the polo sporting loon attempts to sprint past us. My arm stops that quite rapidly, I think it's called a clothes line. No sooner has he hit the deck we are on him. He honestly cannot see what he has done wrong!
"What bruv? What?? Why ya hasslin me man? I just don't like racists man.."

What?.. what the hell are you talking about you crazy fucking goon?? The only fucking interaction that poor cunt had with you is you twunting him in the fucking gob like a drugged up power ranger whilst shouting PTCHAAAAARRR..!!!

When the poor lad whom had been chinned came round he was understandably miffed but didn't want to press charges so nutty mc whompem was marched down the bridge and told in no uncertain terms, to do one.

A little time later my oppo and myself had to remove an idiot from the bar, he put up a bit of a fight and was wrapped up before being dragged out. Because we didn't want him messing about at the door we took him to the end of the bridge and released him. He stood there and screamed like a fucking child. Nearly in tears with indignation and fury. He was mid flow into his obscene rhetoric when suddenly like a speeding cheetah out from behind one of the concrete posts that support the metro platform above us ran a small lad sporting a white polo and a Jack Nicholson grin.

PTCCCHHHHAAAAAAAARRRRR...!!!

The sound of his fist hitting our nugget in the face was epic, like two steaks being slapped together. Down he went, eyes blank, unconscious.

It took all my strength to grab the maniac and sling him to the floor, suddenly limp and apologetic, shouting about racists and how he does not care for them one bit, oh no!

What the fuck is your malfunction you utter fucking knob? Who do you think you are? A drugged up Asian Mr fucking T???

When resurrected from his untimely slumber our angry victem wasn't so angry any more, in fact he was quite placid and forgiving. Forgiving enough to not want to press charges.

Balls.

Mr Spooney McKnockout, title holder of the 2016 'twunt them from behind' championships was gripped firmly by the neck. It was explained that all patience had in fact run out. That if he was seen in any capacity again he would find himself in the canal whilst still in possession of any drugs he still hadn't crammed into his face or nose and his mobile phone.

He agreed. He agreed that it was time he left. Those mad wide dish plate eyes and crazy joker grim. He was on so many drugs his urinary sphincter must have been like a balloon knot. Bet he couldn't have taken a piss to save his own life.

The night went on, fight after fight. Silliness following silliness. Until things became really silly. A white car came into the street. It was full of lads with no sense of humour at all. We had kicked one of them out earlier on in the night and he had returned with his 'boyz'.

These lads meant business. There was no fucking about. No talking. They just charged the door. Big fight. All called to the front. Toe caps into teeth, fists into noses, thumbs into eyes. We managed to get them to the end of the bridge. There we stood. Screaming our war crys into the night whilst each group faced off.  The boss gave the green light. Do what you have to folks, no one falls tonight but them!

In the middle of their group was a large lad, 6'2 ish and very well built. He was screaming and shouting, tearing hair and clothes. Demanding blood. That was until out of no where.. A little lad.. In a white polo shirt.. sprinted into the middle of the group.. And knocked him clean out.. A single pent up screech as he flung his rock like clenched fist into the jaw of the unsuspecting pray

PPPPPPPPPPPPTTTTTTTTTTTCCCCCCCCCCHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR......!

Down went the monolith. Eyes wide open and a look on his face that truly displayed the utter shock that he felt before being switched off by someone who looked like an Asian Mr Bean.

Our mighty morphing screaming nutbag kept on running, arms and legs going in circles like scooby doo fleeing a ghost. His voice resplendent in the warm night air, the last of his war cry still being screamed as he fled down the center of the main road whilst being closely followed  by the remaining members of those who would have caused us harm.

I could have kissed the mad little fucker.

No idea where he went. No idea if the lads who chased him ever caught him. No idea if his heart gave up and leapt out of his throat to book itself into the Betty Ford Clinic. I'd like to think he's still out there. Somewhere..

Stay safe. Speak soon.

 

Hello beastie..

Hi again.

This one comes from Liverpool and is quite old but funny none the less.

Hope you enjoy.

Again it was mid week (why? Why does this stuff always happen mid week?) And nothing was much doing. I was on the door with my oppo, a sturdy biker looking pal of mine with a mighty beard and shaved head. Between us we looked like half of a 90's metal band. As ever I'm going to change the name and not mention the club.

Myself and Timber (see what I did there mate ;P) were nattering about what ever bouncers natter about when bored ridged (everything from the sciences to politics, philosophy to religion as it happens) when we noticed two lads huddling in a door way at the end of the ally.

As it was not raining we thought this to be kind of weird. The snorting and sniffing said it all. Cocaine. Silly boys. Not our business though. Thats for the police to deal with. Not that we saw many cops around that end of town.

The cop car slowly pulled into the wide ally way. It almost instantly stopped and two of Liverpool's finest jumped out. After a little bit of the normal "and what's that you have there my lad" followed by the instant reply of "what's what officer?" the two lads were put into the police car.

Now its at this point that all is normal with the world. Some durps have been caught in the act and the cops have an easy collar. We go back to nattering about whatever we were nattering about. Thats when we hear the shouting. Oooh hello, whats this then. We pop our heads out like the nosey lads we are and see the cops getting hands on with yet another braindoner. With some effort this lad is splayed across the back of the car and held there.

The male officer shouts that the other one is still in the bar (meaning the Irish bar that makes up one side of the end of the allyway) and dives back into the thronging pub, leaving his female colleague trying to restrain said scrote across the panda car. With civic duty in mind and not because we were bored as hell we both decide to have a wander down. Not wanting to get in the way of things we take up positions either side of the cop car.

Thats when we hear the doors open.

Looking down I see one of the lads in the back sitting there with cuffs on and has tried the door. The car didn't have the prisoner lock put on. I look into this cheeky cocaine fueled grin, fingers still on the door release. I shake my head.
He nods.
I shake my head and pull a stern face.
He nods really quickly, massive grin.
I turn my head to the side and scowl.
He winks.

Shit.

As if on one cue they both try to get out of the car. Hampered by the handcuffs and myself and Timber they don't get far. I get mine back in upside down. Literally head in the foot well and very pissed off. Timbers is also back in and possibly unconscious. Well now that was fun.

The female copper slides sideways. The scrote she has in an arm lock is fighting her. He has realised that what awaits him is a cold cell and terribly made tea. Time for some more fun. We both lay hands on and take the lad to the floor. What follows can only be described and a twist-athon. An honest to goodness, fingers up nose, feet the wrong way, testicle popping twist up.

Red faced and panting the cop shouts into her radio and dives into the bar. You're welcome lady. Leaving me and Timber to play with our new friend.

Thats when all of Liverpools police descend onto us. All of them..

Three police vans, four police cars, eight foot units and the dog van.

In the scuffle onto the floor she had pressed her panic button by accident.

Code 111, run.. Family is hurtin..

So there's me and Timber on the floor with an irate Dawinite, screaming at the top of his voice in squeaky scouse about cocaine, an unlocked panda car with an unconscious male on one side and on the other some feet sticking into the air with none of the cars owners in sight whilst myself and Timber just grin.

"Er.. Hi.."

Thats when the dog unit decide that what we really need now is some dog action.

I like dogs. They're great. This wasn't a goggy though. Nope. This one wanted to play. It wanted to play in the same way that Timber and I had played with the lads in the panda bar. What big teeth you have, hello beastie.. 

Thats when the two police officers burst through the doors dragging the 4th member of the cocaine adventurers. Poor lad. The look on his face was that of abject terror. Dogs, more cops than derby day and his mates were being molested by two members of a 90's metal band.

As they dragged him away to a van we could hear him screaming

"IT WAS ONLY A BIT OF BEAK..!"

Just as quick as they had arrived they left. One moment I was starring down the business end of woofy-McFacechew and the next we are standing in the allyway watching an army of cops melt back into the night.

Poor lads. Not fun to be them.

Time for a brew me thinks.

Stay safe. Speak soon.
       

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.

Rumination's

Hey.

Sorry it's been so long since I posted anything. The silly season was upon us and all attention had to be put towards helping idiots of many creeds not kill themselves.

Been a bit of a let down really. If I'm honest. Had the 'normal' fun and games but with bery few in number. A mini new year and Yule if you will. At the height of new years night there was but 40 folks in my place. 40. This is in marked contrast to years hence where it wasn't unusual to have over 3000 go through the door (most vertical, a few horizontal). It's led me to have quite a lot of thinking time. Thoughts as ever drift to the ever decreasing standards of both our society and the industry which I frequent. 

Are people becoming more stupid? Is the IQ of the nation in freefall? I see all manner of idiot things on a normal night, but is it really normal? Do I have a biased  view of the world due to alcohol? I don't go out much in the day you see. Sure I venture out and am forced to interact but not on a regular basis. 

In short, am I selling the human race for a lower amount than it's due? Is the weight found wanting? Am I just a grumpy old git. 

On new years night I saw a man (we shall use this word for lack of a better description, casting my own views on what makes a 'man' aside). He seemed to have had a good night but it had taken a turn for the worse. He was brought to my attention buy the loud cry of (I LOVE this, each and every time it's screamed) of "I'll fucking knock him out", I looked up and he was being pulled away from the door next to mine by what I presume was his partner/girlfriend/shag for the night. He was raging at the doorlads for what ever reason, maybe he had been blocked, thrown out or just insulted. Either wayhe was admiment that justice would only be served if violence were to happen.

Admist the shouting, screaming and general threats he was a whirlwind of arms and legs, each time he span round to 'storm' back to the door and lay waste to all his partner was there to get in his way, being of the belief that he wouldnt't stand a chance against five large bouncers. Try as he mite she was there to defy his wish for the old ultra violence. This wasn't the normal 'hold me back! Hold me back!' dance that's played out but an actual attempt to lamp someone.

 It soon became obvious that she wouldn't let him get smushed by the droogs and we flounced away round the corner to the taxi rank (my door is on a corner so I can see both streets) before starting what can only be described as 'a hum-dinger' of a barny with said maiden whom had help spare his face. As my oppo and myself watched it soon became a possibility that he was going to punch her.

Nope.

Unless you're being attacked there's no excuse. Said this before. There's no such thing as one rule for men and another for women but if there's no threat for either then violence is not an option. Me ladso here didn't agree. Three times he raised his hand. Three times we were on our toes waiting to intercept. And three times he stopped at her flinch.

Not playing this game.

I know the law. The law clearly states that if anything happens that is not life threatening anymore than 10 feet from you're door then it's nothing to do with you. But am I going to stand there and watch some dickhead chin his girlfriend?  

No..

Just to make a point of being passive I walked over slowly. Our friends in the thin blue call it 'proceeding'. Without the silly "ello ello ello, what's all this then" I approached and held both hands up in supplication.

"Allrite folks" if it was alrite I wouldn't fucking be here would I?

"Fuck of dick head" replys Rocky.

"I know you ain't having the best of times but you may want to stop threatening the gi..."

"FUCKOFFORYOU'LLGETSMASHED" 

Who do you think you are you little woman threatening pigeon chested prick?..  

"No need for that mate, just calm down"

See, ain't I nice.

"If you don't fuck off you'll..."

No idea what he would have done. He never finished his sentence. He was lost for words. Cat had his tongue. Mind must have gone blank..

I squeezed a little tighter on his throat, my large hand gripping so his eyes bulged. I didn't shout. Didn't scream. Just calmly spoke.

"Listen to me you fucking scum. If you ever go to hit her again I will put you in the hossy, yeah? You understand? You twat her and I will mash the shit out of you.."

Point made? I like to think so.

I let go. The look on his face was that of a little child whom has been chastised by the 'favourite' parent and doesn't know what to do. For a second I thought maybe he was going to take a swing but no. His eyes welled up and away he went into the crowd. 

I turn to the woman and ask her if she's ok? 

"What you being a prick for?.."

Say what now?

"There was no need for that ya' dick head"

Um.. Say what now??  

"He should have knocked you out!"

Err.. Have I been slipped a mickey? Is this really happening???

And with that she runs into the crowd, screams 'knob head' at me whilst trying to catch up with her knight in pri-marni.

Now is it me or is that not normal? More to the point IS that normal? Is that amount of delusion how most folks roam the world in? With the idea that they are both a one punch maniac and always in the right? 

Or am I just a grumpy old git?

My summery after the silly season is now boiled down to this:

 Snow should be shipped in, folks should wear coats, never agree to work extra hours on another venue for a dubstep after party and fifa is shit.

That is all.

Stay safe. Speak soon.

Stay safe, speak soon, happy Yule.

Twas the night before christmas

And all was quiet on the streets

Nothing was moving

Cept cops on their beats.

All shop lights were on but tellers had fled home, the rush of the season had cut them to the bone.

Weary and tired service had been cut, time for a rest, some sleep and some food.

In the street twas a door with a man standing lone, hat pulled on tight, coat done up all. Cup in hand he did sip black delight, nothing was getting in, not this xmas night. 

Not that our figure did lack xmas cheers, he stood each night fighting men over beer. He saw the world walk by on every noon, 

from bulky young men and women that swoon. Not much of a difference did these bawdy folk make, 

Twas just another night to our figure out late.

Cup all drank up and keys in his hand

The portal to close upon the hours demand.

But before the wood could touch socket true 

A gruff voice did call from the side near the door,

'Hey pal a favour, one for the poor..'

Twas a lone underprivileged, all shabby no chic,

A pennie, a meal a kind face he did seak,

'Whats up there pal, what can be done?'

The big bouncer man said quick as a shot, 'no money have I but how about something hot?' 

A cup was produced and coffee so black was poured from a flask from bouncers day sack.

Twas not a million in diamonds and gold,

Nor was it comfort nor hand to hold,

Was simple and kind and just what was needed,

Twas a just an ear and a voice that was heeded.  

Hot town, summer in the city.

Hi,

Another little one from way back when, was funny at the time.

Sometime in mid summer in Liverpool quite a while ago all was normal and chugging along as per. Thing with night clubs is that they mostly run themselves, people know the routine (queuing up, pay at the front, go to the bar, get the drinks, squash yourself into a seething sweaty mass) you just have to nudge it along and jump when you have to.

 There's always going to be idiots. There always has and always will be, no matter how hard we try to educate or show people that, say, having no pants on, or peeing onto people from a high balcony just isn't very smart; They always will.

There are repercussions that may not be very nice like, say, the one you peed on marching up to you and punching your lights out. Obviously the only recourse for the now smited foe is to rush to the bouncers and state loudly and angrily that someone has just punched you for absolutely no reason at all and you want them dragged in front of the highest law in the land and have their eyeballs pulled through their bum hole. No matter what they have actually done and may deserve, people believe they are unique little snowflakes, wondrous and fantastic in every way, unquestionable and righteous.

People are largely dicks.

Yes there are exceptions to the rule but through my experiences with the human race they can be selfish, rude, violent children. Stupidity runs rampant, Darwin's rule is broken and those who would, in times gone past, have fled this world of ours with the last words of 'good kitty, my what big teeth you have' are now the pampered masses of a new and indulgent generation. 

 I know every generation believes that the next are brainless but it seems to be infectious. The arguments I've had with octogenarians and infants are the one and the same. Disheartening. 

And then something comes along that makes you smile. That one little incident that turns up the corners of your mouth and makes the heart flutter with humour. It can be by design. But most times by accident. The universe sometimes throws you a bone.

As we sorted through the gaggle of folks, chopping the queue, looking for the things that need to be seen. Are they drunk, on drugs, looking for a fight, going to get themselves into a state.. All the little things that leap out at me and scream to be noticed. I saw a lad. Shorts, t-shirt with a pair of tits on it (apt) and one green and one yellow flip flops. Don't know why he struck me. Sometimes I don't have a clue why these people stick out to me. They just do and I know they are going to be.. Silly.

He went through the front. ID'd, questioned about who else he was with and away he went, past the large swinging double doors and the fray of the heaving masses. Something stuck with me about him. No idea what it was but We would find out soon enough.

 Standard method of dealing with these things is to get eyes on. Simply put just stay in the club and watch them. It's not too nice. Hot, sweaty, noisy and you get pestered a lot by idiots who demand you smile and join them in being buffoons. 

"Why ain't you smilling, go on give us a smile.." 

"Am just busy hun.."

"If you like me you'd smile.."

"There we go then, that's your answer"

"Wha..?"

Sigh.

Whilst fending off the attentions of various vacuous gibbons I saw our friend being, well, being a prat. Pouring drinks over his head, pushing people in the throng, screaming at other idiots and then the big no no. Touching. A little contact is to be expected. Not trying to put your hand up their skirts.

Time to go.

I move slowly through the crowd. Don't rush, don't give the game away. Took a slanting angle to the man. Never from the front, always from the side. Stopped in the middle of the club. Watch the target, will he fight, does he have anything close that can be used as a weapon. Observe. 

Admist the unsuspecting conglomerate I saw him face to face with another man, arguing. He'd gone too far it seems and is about to reap his rewards. Lets stop that shall we. I made my way over and wedged myself between the two.

"Right pal, time to get off."

"You what dickhead.." Well thats a good start..

"It's time you got off mate, your not welcome" bet he doesn't take the easy way..

"Am gonna smash you dickhead"

Why do they never play nice..?

Hand moves to his arm, he shrugs off, my head moves to the left, the punch sails past, using his momentum his back is now to my front, lunges backwards with his head, ow..

 The back of his head it my forehead, as soon as I felt him bring his momentum forward I knew what he was planning and dipped my head down. Still hurt.

He was same height as me, smaller build but had a lot of strength. Drugs. Was hard to keep him under control, he was slipping from my grip. The movement of us struggling with each other had alerted my friend Owain. With slick ease he joined the grapple and took an arm, two's easier than one, and with that we began dragging him to the door. When people know the games up they become vocal. He was no different. The same old  threats, same old obscene demands, the same death to you and your family.. What a potty mouth. 

He's going to get us killed

He's going to rape our mums

He's going to burn down my house

Owains going to get cut up

We are both going to be shot.

Horrible stuff from a horrible cunt.

We get him to the door and fling him into the night. He screams, shouts and tells us to go fuck ourselves. Then he does something that is  probably one of the most abhorrent things anyone could do. He clears his sinuses and gobs a massive globbet of spit at us. 

Disgusting.

With his primeval rebuke complete he walks off, all swagger and roll. That's when we notice a flip flop on the floor in front  of us. What else can we do? He's away from the door, he's out of the place? As much as we would want to grab him and teach the little shit a lesson it would be illegal. That would be assault.

Almost as an act of frustration Owain picks up the flip flop and ninja star's it towards him. It was a wonderfull shot. A perfect shot. Don't know if it was the humidity that gave it lift or a particularly aerodynamic flip flop but it literally flew thirty feet just as the little tit turned around to give us yet more abuse and slapped him straight in his face! The sound was beautiful. It echoed across the ally like the parting strike of a scorned women. Lovely. His walk away was applauded by the sound of laughter. 

Sometimes the universe just throws you a bone.

Hope you enjoyed.

Stay safe. Speak soon.       

 

Those wonderful men with their texting machines.

Hi,

 This one, as with the last, has had the names and places witheld due to request.

 In the world I frequent there are lines. They are a strange mix of cheques and balances. In normal society certain people would be viewed with distaste or even hatred (myself normally falling in the latter catagory). People are taken on who they are, not what they do. For example when I'm on the street I work in or the surrounding streets I say hi to all the tramps, they are a great source of information, you learn who's new on the scene and what they are up to. Also they are human-fucking-beings who deserve the same respect as anyone who walks this hallowed ground we all home. 

 Now I don't judge people on what they do for money. When it is all boiled down I could be accused of performing violence for cash, the moral ambiguety of it all is not as black and white as that, as you are no doubt learning dear reader. I know prostitutes, both those who charge £20 for services and those who charge £200 per hour (from what I've learnt it all falls down to class of hotel, a better dress and laughing at the John's jokes or even pretending to be genuinely interested in the conversation), I know Romanian pick pockets and of course that scourge of society.

Drug dealers.

 The thing with drugs is they are easy to sell, there is no such thing as a drugs 'pusher'. You don't have to push drugs. Drugs fly of the shelves by themselves, everyone wants them. True drug dealers don't walk around in obvious clothing, music screaming out of the Audi's speakers whilst shouting 'get em whilst their hot'. They are mostly subtle, quiet people who are desperately trying not to get caught.

 They are also smart, I refer you to the previous comment about thugs. They are intelligent on a survival level. They really don't want to have their collar felt by the lads in funny hats. No, for the most drug dealers are intelligent, subtle and quiet.

Except for Johnny.

Johnny was an utter tool. A complete tit of the highest nature. I'm amazed he had not been nicked before tonights little tale. His mouth knew no bounds, he's the only person goonish enough to actually walk up to cops and ask where the best streets for 'selling' are. Absolute ham fisted, no brained smeg monkey. 

 Because we all live in each others pockets and interact with each other on a daily basis we have a respectful agreement. They (the life ruining scum) don't piss about in our clubs and we (in the absence of those lads and lasses in blue) don't smash their teeth in and dump them in a back ally despite what they may deserve. Simple equation, don't sell in our clubs and we wont hurt you. The reason we don't involve the law is because they can't be there 24/7 to help out. As much as we all would love to have a cop on the corner every hour of every day it just isn't possible. The thin blue line has been hacked at again and again to the exstent that even after a massive brawl we sometimes won't get a cop. Another reason is that these people are not exactly law abiding folk to begin with, nail one of their's to the wall and they will reciprocate in kind. Hence the truce. A truce that Johnny broke.

 One sunny Saturday evening things were going great, we had started at around 1 in the afternoon and were still rolling at 1 in the morning, only three more hours to go. There had been the usual problems that summer brings out, all the midday sunshine drinkers were either at home in an alcoholic stupor or staggering down the street in a crab like fashion, all wobberly limbs and besmirched facades.  The queue stretched down the side of the canal and the going was good, that was until Johnny turned up. 

"Sniffy coming to the front mate" said the head lad at the end of the main queue over the radio. 

Great. Just when things were going so well.

"Roger that, why don't we just fuck him off?" Why do we entertain him, little twattock.. He's the same size as my next door neighbours dog!

"Cos the little pleb has a cousin we don't want mither with" spoil sport.

"Sound. If I catch him though he's fair game" let me play, let me play..

"Absolutely" bingo!

Music to my ears. Don't rock the boat but if we can catch him breaking the agreement then it's toodlepip and don't come back. There are ways around having to deal with these lot. 

 The obnoxious little toe rag swaggers up, all hand shakes and smiles. See who he shakes hands with in the queue, go on twat, show me who your customers are. Without a hint of shame he slimes up to me and with a big smile shakes me by the hand.

"Good to see you friend" 

"Yes mate, you too, staying long?" I reeeally want to fuck you off..

"Haha as long as it takes" wink.

What a nugget. I cannot wait for this prat to fuck up. Be seeing you soon pal.

And with that he oozes into the thrumming club and starts to look around. So, as far as myself and a good friend of mine (for this tale we shall change his name to Simon) are concerned we have been given the all clear to hunt this lad like any other. Catch him in the act and toss his out into the humid night. Here's how you hunt someone in a nightclub. First problem is that as soon as any bouncer walks in, most of the club becomes alert to them. We stick out like a sore thumb. Folks don't want us near them incase we suddenly go stark raving frothing at the chops mad, bone their girl friend and turn their face into a Picasso for no other reason apart from asda being out of tuna.

 The way we used to work it was like this, get a large or noticeable lad (Simon) to be obvious and just walk round whilst myself and another actually make an attempt to blend in. This way the lad your hunting will be concerned with the big lummox and not the see the two coming from his left and right. Problem was we kind of fucked it up. Happens. You go in with the intention of being Mr Smooth and end up looking like Mr Bean. I knocked the table over, that I'm sure of. My oppo fell down the stairs (yup. Not kidding) and Simon just kind of disappeared. Shall we prepare the spare room for Mr Cockup?

 Whilst I was disentangling myself from the table and my oppo (with obvious concussion) attempted to take his shoes off we got a radio call from Simon. 

Amber man. Goody goody gumdrops.

When we finally got to the male toilets we found Simon and Johnny. Simon had three bags of charlie in his hand and Johnny had a face like a smacked arse. Well well well, what do we have here?

 Johnny was making all sorts of demands, he wanted his drugs back, he wanted to be able to sell in the club and most of all he wanted us to fuck off.

Not very likely pal.

Simon wasn't impressed. He had searched him and was only able to find three suicide bags, he was pretty sure that he had more on him but without the aid of a torch, some latex gloves and a crowbar we were not likely to find them.

"Where's the rest of it?.." Says Simon.

"Fuck off.." 

"Look, stop fucking about you spunk trumpet..." Says myself.

"Fuck off" 

"No one wants this to get out of hand pal, lets have the rest.."

"Fuck off"

Man of many words this lad.

And with that shakespearean dialogue complete it's decided that the best course of action would be to remove El Gobshite and feed it up the chain of command that he wasn't welcome anymore. As we are getting to the door of the toilets Johnny starts complaining

"Are you lot gonna fuck off then or what?"

"Eh? Why would we fuck of mate?" Says our oppo.

"I don't want to be seen being walked out by you lot, it makes me look dodgy"

.....?

"YOUR A FUCKING DRUG DEALER JOHNNY!?!" You really are not all there are you pal?

With that I take one arm and my oppo takes the other, scoop up Johnny and begin to walk out, this is when Simon decides to make the walk of shame a moment to remember and pulls down Johnnys pants, puts his hand in the air to show alll around the drugs and shouts COCAINE at the top of his voice. Not quite as smooth as I'd like but gets the job done. At the door things take a turn for the surreal. Johnny demands his bags back. He gets angry, real angry. I honestly found myself wishing he would have an embolism. I imagined him going cross eyed, letting out a long and high pitched fart before shouting about volvo's and falling to ground dead as a dodo. No such luck. The grave subject of impending mortis was on the cards though. Johnny said something very silly indeed. He said he was going to have us killed.

"Say that again.." Asks Simon.

"You heard you prick, your're dead! Am gonna call the lads and have you fucking shot..!" Replies Johnny the Kid.

"Really?.." Enquires us as one mind.

"Your're . All. Dead" 

I could see something turning over in Simons mind. Could see the cogs moving behinds those keen eyes of his.

"So you've got your phone on you then yeah?" He enquires.

"Course I fucking have dickhead"

"And at least another five baggies" all innocent and smiles.

"Fuck off" will take that as a yes then.

It's at this point Simon picks up Johnny and throws him into the canal. It truely was a monumental 'flying argh' he hung in air a'la 1980's action show stunt, man and water slowly drifting towards each other in a sublime and aquatic embrace.  I have not laughed so hard in such a long time. The noise he made alone was priceless, it was a high pitched squeal. Almost like an angry guinea pig. As if sound alone would stop in inevitable rendering of man and drugs. We later found out that he had three phones, eight bags of coke and some 35 pills on him.

Maybe he should'nt have been rude?

 

Hope you enjoyed.

Stay safe, speak soon. 

    

The Brown Note.

Hi,

 In marked contrast to the seriousness of the last post I thought I'd write down a few stories about the funnier (all be it morbidly so) side of my life. Hope you enjoy. 

Due to the embarrassing nature of this post I will not disclose the who's where's and when's of this particular tale. Is bad enough as it is without the poor lad dying of shame. 

As with all work environments there is always the possibility of working with folks that either aren't as professional or good as you. I saw him slumping down the street towards the club, all shoulder rolls and tight shirt. The snow was crisp and yet this lad was only wearing a shirt, no coat. And what a shirt, wow, it was tight. You could see the lot, bits bulging where they should (and in some cases shouldn't) the sleeves straining under the duress and tension, poor guys just wanted to break free and be oiled. This was the kind of chap who insists on showing you pictures of themselves in the buff, oiled up and plastered in fake tan. You desperately try not to look at the skin tight yellow budgie smugglers but the eye is ever drawn to the package.

Grim.

 This was our eleven o'clock lad. The later the time that a bouncer starts either means that they are the new guy or a tool, not always the case. Just most if the time. With sinking hearts we stare at captain roid n' quiff, lets have a natter first before we make any judgement. Only fair.

"Calm down girls, there's plenty of me to go round". Big smile. Wink.

Fuck. He's a nugget. A whopper. A proper meat pie. In fact the gargantuan level of dick-headness cannot be adequately commited to script. I don't actually have enough words for how idiotic he was. Spoon fed fuck knuckle? Spunk sculpting monkey trumpet? Roided up quim gibbon? Nope. Can't. No words.

With a sigh and a hand shake the head doorman introduces us to Mr Bolas de Burro. What a shocker, he trys to crush my hand. Prat. He's 19, 6'1, on so many steroids, has a shock of brown hair curled into a quiff and clothes so tight that a gentleman from the village actually walked past and said "come on honey, thats just too far" 

"Right, I've got a really special job for you mate, proper high end" says the head lad.

"Well thats what I'm here for boss, to take all the top jobs.." Replys the half man, half cow.

"I need you to guard the rear fire exit pal, can't let anyone out son, no one. Got it?"

Serious face.

"Absolutely chief, I'm ya' man". Tit.

And with that our skin tight warrior shoulder rolls his way into the club, as the double doors close on him cutting short a few bars of repetitive music that drift away into the smorgasbord of the nights cacophony, a fellow doorman known for not being so verbose merely mutters "wanker". Our thoughts exactly.

 Throughout the night the normal trials and tribulations of a busy Saturday come and go. A few fights, some drama's, lots of shouting and of course my favourite. Tea. We talk as we work. Communication is key, we tell each other everything we see or hear. Movements, ours and theirs. Every movement is spoken. If your oppo doesn't know where you are, someone could get hurt, tell your lads where you are going! It's quite common when not working that I will turn to a friend or family member and quite abruptly inform them that I'm going for a shit. Habit.

 Whilst we work and whistle we get talking about the muppet on the rear fire exit. One of the lads pipes up from doing the clickers at the 'out' side of the door that he has worked with him before. We ask if he was a plank at the other venue as well, affirmative is the reply. But it gets better. He goes on to inform us that big man likes colonic irrigation. Big time.   Apparently he ducked out of a scrap last time with the excuse that he didn't want to 'volcano'. 

Um... Okay.

 The words had little time to settle into our ears when all hell breaks loose. We hear the glasses smash and the scream. Kick off. Here we go lads. We rush in, doors slammed to the wall, men bark orders into radios, replys hence forth and we go in the direction of main dance floor three. We are greeted by a swirling mass of folks bashing the hell out of each other. Simple process. Grab one, twist him up and drag him to the door where three of our lads are standing by. By the time we each get there the quarry is quite.. Sleepy shall we say and are not normally a problem for the front door boys. That just leaves the other side of the disturbance. At first we thought it was another group of lads but we soon find out it's just one bloke. Bloke, ha! He was more like a sofa wearing a suit. He had more jowls than I have tea cups. Even his ear lobes were fat. And what a frame to invest all this money on, he had to be a good 6'6. Funny thing was he didn't want to leave. Two of our chaps had managed to get him to the fire exit and in true sofa form he was stuck, not only was he wedged but he was side ways up and angry. Never seen a chesterfield enraged before. 

 After a quick con-flab it was decided to get all hands on deck and push the bugger out. Simple?

Nope.

Try as we might we could not budge him, we were pushing so hard that his shirt had rolled up to his neck and his belt had snapped letting his pants fall down. Everytime we pushed it sounded like squeeking rubber. Now enter captain tight pants, God's knows where he had been till now but here he was to save the day. With a grin and a swagger he walks up (not really much else he could do in those testicle squashers) and informs us that he is here to "get the job done".

Just to be nice to the lad we all step back allowing him the whole of the coal face. He puts his shoulder to the task at hand and pushes. His feet scrabble for purchase on the floor like a cartoon character at the start of a run away from a spooky ghost. He grunts. He roars. His face goes a shocking shade of purple. Veins stand out all over his body.. The music dulls.. That's when we heard it.

It started as a little fart.

But it went on. And on. And on. It varied in tone and pitch. High and squeeky followed by low and ominous. By this stage the poor lad had managed to get our obstacle half in and half out so that he was slowly being squashed by him.

The sound got worse. Deeper. Much deeper. The roar of energy had turned into a roar of shame.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOO....!"

And that's when he shit himself. It was the longest crap I have ever heard, with tears running down his face and sobs emitting from a down turned mouth it went on and on and on. As the pants were so tight the bulge was easly visable. And the smell! Oh the smell! With tears of laughter running down our faces we dragged him out and took him to the toilets. The large man was eager to leave and helped us remove him from the pooh like situation he had put himself in and went into the night.

 As for the subject of our tale he got the ok from the head lad to leave site and slipped out if the very same fire exit that had been the scene of his most unfortunate expulsion, never saw him again. 

Hope it made you laugh like it did for us.

Speak soon. Stay safe.

Ready For Anything.

Hi.

 Sorry that it's been a while since I posted. Had the chance to have a few days off, trying to fit a week into a few days is hard work. Not as hard as some have it but troublesome enough.

 Again this one is from about five or so weeks ago. It highlights issues that are effecting so many people and those who work the doors are finding themselves confronted with this time and time again.

 Wednesday. Nights are drawing in, getting colder. Time to start wrapping up, starting to feel the chill now. Many cups of tea and a thermos of soup. The little freedoms that make working on the door bearable in the cold weather. It was busy, midweek footfall was booming, streets bustling with many new faces in town. Time again to have to teach a few what no means, that they are not beautiful and unique snowflakes. The students are back in town. Joy. These days your average student is not the gangly armed little critter that they used to be. Everyone seems to be into body building in various forms, this combined with their lack of, well, brain makes them all the more fun. 

 Whilst wiping the noses and checking the nappys of a small group who wanted to come (yes you need ID, no I don't care if your daddys a lawyer, no we don't take facebook as ID, no you can't come in just to have a poo, mate I don't care if you poo in the street, yes I am horrible) a lone figure attatches himself to the rear of the group. Drunk. Tall. Stocky. Yeah, lets get rid of this one shall we..

Hang on. Wait. Alarm bells. Why?.. Watch worn on the left arm, a good watch, wouldn't reflect the glare of the sun. Boots, well worn and expensive. The kind of boots you could yomp all day in. Nothing that can be grabbed hold of in a fight, short hair and no rings. Tan on the forehead and wrists.

Squaddie.

I've a lot of respect for those who have been there, as I've stated before, my life has been violent. Been shot at, stabbed, had cars driven at me, attacked with an axe (seriously) all in the name of cash. But these lads and lasses have gone that extra and done far worse for country.   

 Still, drunk is drunk. 

"Not tonight mate, no disrespect but you've had enough.."

"You what?.."

"Said not tonight mate. Try somewhere else."

"Fair enough pal, gotta try though ain't ya?"

Should have seen it coming, should have been on the ball more, saw the threat, didn't expect the punch. The sound a well placed experienced hit makes in your skull is a doozy. It echos, itthrums through you. The sound was like steak being hit with a hammer and I'm the steak. Blocked the left hook, come on mate, give me credit. The sound his nose made on my forehead more than made up for the cheeky love tap he gave me, lets play then dickhead..

 Now this isn't the first time I've had a tangle with members of the armed forces. Myself and Owain used to deal with different regiments in Liverpool. He took the Commando's and I took the Para's. Is not a boast, we were always battered, bruised and bloody after each and every fight, these folks are made of something else, something more than the averege punter. It hurts to fight heros.   

He's blind, the next three punches miss or glance off the top of my head. He goes for a grapple, we are locked up now, he's going to go for my knee's. Bingo. There's the forward kick. Missed. He's going to try and get me to the floor, time to turn this one around. In one motion I turn my hip into him and as a lumbering mass akin to a whale and a pot of petunias he sails over, legs in the air. I follow through the door and land in the lobby. Nice shot.

 Grappling on the ground is often a messy affair. In the ring both fighters are not wearing much and are, to a certain extent free to maneuver their opponent to the desired hold. Not so much when you are fully clothed. It's frenzied, hard work. Gasping for air and clawing for purchase. I find that the most direct methods are the ones to win. Bite, claw, eye gouge and always egrediaris ad balls. Not nice but to loose is to get, in short, fucked up.

 I manage to get him on his back. End game. He's going to try and flip me. Plant knees to stop it. He's going to try and push me off. Come in close to defy his reach. I wrap his right arm under us, pin his left under my knee and insert my thumb into his eye whilst I push my thumb under his jaw at the top of his carotid artery. Soon he will slip into unconsciousness. Night night mate.

He starts to cry.

 These are not tears of any loss that I have experienced. These are tears of hatred, rage, crushing destruction, uncontrollable as they are plenty. A broken man. I remove my thumbs and release his arms.

I hold him.

Both of us on the floor enbraced. I hug him hard. As if I can squeeze the pain from his fractured mind. Held like a babe.

"It's ok. Your safe. Your ok. Breathe, it's all going to be alright.."

Six foot tall, 18 stone, well build, broken. What have they done to you boy. What have they done? His tears spent, he wipes the snot from his face. I ask him if he's ok, he mumbles affirmative. I get up and give him my hand. We stand in the lobby of a nightclub in the middle of Manchester. And for the first time in a long time he's safe.

 He takes two sugers and pours them into the swirling darkness of the cup, slowly the grains fade away. He explains that he came back from Ganny three months ago and just can't cope. I've heard this song before and the tune I like it not, but dance we must to the morbid jig of the war machine. His heads gone, nothing makes sense anymore. He apologizes for everything. For the fight, for breaking down. Not needed mate. Not at all. I give him a number that I've given a few folks. They will help. Until then time for a brew. 

As I watch him disappear into the thronging masses of the night, I thank him. All of them.

There's always a way out. Always someone who will listen while you talk. Don't let it build up until you feel like your head is going to explode. Talk to someone. Together you can try to rebuild. There's always a way. 0800 138 1619.   

Speak soon, stay safe.

Face Book Page.

Hi,

To make things a little easier Lady Bear has made a face book group. I shall be posting new entrys on there.

Bunny's List.

1. Hi,
2. 
   
3. Here is a copy of the list. It was a take on 'Skippy's List' and a few folks found it slightly funny so I thought I'd post it to give a small insight to my eclectic personality. The list was comprised between many friends that I worked the doors with and written down by my Lady Bear ❤️ All the below are rules made up after actual events. Hope you enjoy.
4. 
   
5.    The standard SIA licence is NOT the only requirement of clothing on shift
6. Bunny will never again turn up for work in power risers
7. Swords and axes are NOT essential doorstaff equipment
8. No, Bunny, a daneaxe is not a 'cultural accessory'
9. Bunny will not attempt to get the bar staff attention by jumping up and down headbutting the air conditioning 
10. Bunny will not check whether or not he is wearing a protective cup by punching himself in the crotch
11. Especially not while in the kitchen of the premises in the presnece of the head of security
12. On discovering you are not wearing one, punching your crotch again while giggling is not normal
13. Doorstaff are not permitted to take a sneaky snooze on THE STEP, and bite anyone who tries to step over them
14. Customers do not have to answer 3 riddles in order to enter the premises
15. Skinny women are not 'snake food'
16. Bunny is not allowed to ask skinny flat chested women if they have left their boobs somewhere
17. Bunny is not to deny entrance to skinny girls until they have eaten 'a decent chippy tea' 
18. Bunny will not refer to customers in door reports as meatsacks, fucktards or gene pool rejects
19. Bunny is not allowed to shout at people to get off THE STEP if he has just laid them out on it
20. The metal shutters opposite the premises are not a 'safety net'
21. Students are fragile and not to be used as frisbees
22. Lighting a cigarette on THE STEP is not a declaration of war
23. Bunny will not adopt a gollem voice in order to call the head of security a 'stupid fat hobbit' 
24. Bunny will not put a curse on the head of security
25. Even if he is from Yorkshire
26. No part of any human is to be worn as an jewellry, regardless of how it was aquired
27. Ears are not people handles
28. Bunny is to escort confrontational customers from the premises, not 'ride them like seabiscuit' 
29. There is no basket ball court in the carpark, and no plans to build one
30. The fire exit, despite its name, is not meant to be on fire
31. Bunny is not to challenge women to a contest of best dressed lady garden, and present his mohawk as a brazillian
32. Bunny is not to scent mark the head doormans property by rubbing it with his face 
33. Bunny is definately not to scent mark the head doormans property by rubbing it with his crotch
34. Infact Bunny is to assume anything involving rubbing is right out
35. In no conflict situation is Bunny to call for mayonaise
36. Bunny is not to come to the aid of his collegues in a confrontational situation by screaming 'I WANT HIS TEEEEEETH!' 
37. Bunny will not sacrifice annoying customers in order to 'appease the thunder god' 
38. Bunny is not to consume Relentless, skittles or blue jelly on shift
39. No one is to feed Bunny Relentless, skittles or blue jelly for their own amusement
40. On no account is Bunny to be fed after midnight
41. Bunny will not call 2 emergency vehicles to the same location in order to 'race' them
42. Bunny will not address law enforcement officers as 'flower'
43. Bunny will not dance provocativly at law enforcement officers
44. Bunny IS allowed to tap dance up THE STEP
45. Bunny IS NOT allowed to tap dance up students
46. Bunny will not attempt to post mouthy bar backs into the ice-maker
47. Running into the bar screaming is not apocalypse training
48. Customers attempting to fight in the bar are not 'bowling balls', groups of smoking students are not skittles. Anyone caught playing this game again will be excommunicated
49. Water-boarding is not a legal form of restraint
50. Customers' santa hats are not a snack alternative to fried chicken
51. When asking questions to ascertain sobriety, 'are you a terrorist' is NOT an acceptable question
52. Pointing and laughing does not constitute 'medical assistance'
53. Pouring wax on THE STEP is neither funny nor 'training', it is infact a safety hazard
54. We will not be overrun with 'spider-babies' if you do not have the green fruit pastel

Go where life pulls you.

Hi,

Bit of an old one really, not major in any way. Was just a fight that had amusing side lines really. Hope you find it as funny as I did (side note, this is the time when Bunny's List was invented, hope to post that soon). 

 Many moons ago I worked in Liverpool, it was an ok town to ply my trade, some ups and some downs. Met many brothers and sisters there, for the most good folk. Oh, and a hell of a lot laughs. Thing I found about being a wool in Liverpool is that you are quickly taken into the fold if you prove yourself. It was, for the most, a good time.

 I remember the lad coming in, he was about six four, stocky and off his chops on beak (slang for cocaine). If it was down to me I would have turned him away but the incompetent head doorman at the time was either intimidated by him or just didn't want the hassle. He saw me though. 

"Wha yoooou lookin at lah?"

"You mate" who else is there to look at you chong faced gurning gibbon?!

"An why's tha lid"

"What can I say, you stand out, big lad like you" for fucks sake, your'e so scarred it looks like Edward Scissor Hands fucked up whilst playing patty cake with you.

"You jus keep you'z eye'z to you'z self mate.."

I will bet my best pair of boxer shorts and a brew that I'll be seeing you real soon

And with that he swaggers inside. I shoot an accusatory glance at the head lad. Unsurprisingly he is chatting up a girl. Sigh. Now for the first time I introduce to you a very very good friend of mine, a true brother you could say, a man who has been back to back with me whilst fighting for our lives, someone who has spent hours in laughter at the silliest of things on wet cold nights and everything in between.

The Spartan.

Owain was right behind the banger (slang; street fighter) in question throughout the entire, well I would like to say conversation, but honestly it was more a guttural exchange with a no brained monkey who has mastered the ability to wipe his own bum. I hope. And was ready to act if things became silly.            He has a perception of situations like me, he thinks as fast as me and by the God's if there's anyone who I'd like to be next to at Ragnarok, he is definately part of my dream team (the others will be mentioned as I go through these weird and wonderful tales). 

 He looks at me and I look at him, we nod and go to each side of the door. About a minute later we look at each other and say "the nod was cool but what are we actually going to do about idiot boy?" After a brief discussion it's decided that we will see what happens and deal with it accordingly (bad idea boys, bad idea). Owain goes inside to get eyes on and we wait for the inevitable call inside.

Whilst we are dealing with the everyday workings of a nightclub, the que, ID's, separating the drunks from the soon to be drunks and generally taking abuse from people who have more self importance than an indignant smug git who is due a one pence refund on his gas bill. The normal things we do when people don't think we are doing very much, an ex-doorman aptly named 'Gay' Nathen slouches up to the door and after   hugs kisses and hello's we natter about what's happening in the world (bouncers are terrible gossips). 

The alarm goes off. Fight. 

As one body we pile into the club, no hesitation, no thoughts. Run! When you see a fight in the middle of a crowded club it's something to behold. It's like a whirlpool of people, literally going round and round. It's a marked contrast to it's static surroundings, people don't know what to do. It's a fight, flight or freeze. Most freeze. They just stare slack jawed and either mumble nonsense or scream. Never understood the screaming.

In the middle of the vortex are two people. Owain and our good friend franken-nuts, the scarred anti-thesaurus. Both are grappling, tearing at each other, blows bouncing off each others head again and again and again. Without thinking I'm through the crowd in a heart beat, grabbing and grappling. Arms entangle, joints are locked and suddenly the goon has all arms and legs grabbed and we are running towards the door, MOVE! MOVE! OUT OF THE FUCKING WAY!

 As a tangled mass of arms and legs we burst forth through the double doors into the eternal embrace of faux light, the neon night. A symphony of screams and shouts, exclamations of encouragement for and against ring across the allyway which is the stage of tonights drama.

 As one group we lurch to the opposite wall and slam to a stop against the shutters. This lad is strong. Strong, drunk, on the fighting powder and pissed off. No one likes to have their toys taken away and when Owain stopped him punching a guy at the bar he certainly saw his arse. Owain has one arm up his back, the head doorman has the other, I have his left leg up in the air and soon the floor shall be his cradle. 

Nope.

Try as we might we could not sweep that last leg away. kicked it, swept it, jiggled him till me made funny noises and still no cry of timberrrr could be heard. That's when Nathan sprints over, once a bouncer always a bouncer. As I see him I shout "get his leg mate, get his fucking leg..!"

Got you now you bastard! Give me the old big man speech will you? Er, someone has got my leg! Smack someone in my club will you? Um, why am I going backwards? It'll be the nick for you mate. Yep, wall's getting further away, definitely going backwards here!

Fighting against the kicks and struggling of a now enraged monster whilst having someone grab your leg and pull is interesting for sure, I look behind and Nathan has hold of the monsters leg and mine! STOP!STOP!STOP!NATHAN STOP! 

Nathan was gurning with the strain of pulling two legs in seperate directions! Purple in the face, snot bubble protruding and veins sticking out of his neck!

STOP PULLING MY FUCKING LEG YOU SPOON FED FUCK KNUCKLE SPUNK TRUMPET...!!

And with that I lurch forward and face plant right into the wall. Ow. Thanks Nathan. Prat.. 

 The cops arrive and do what they do best. The very angry man is led away chuckling at the famous flying bouncer with the flat face and I decide to have a word with Nathan. 

"What was that all about mate?"

"Um, yeah. Sorry about that"

"Seriously dude? Didn't you notice the difference between legs?.."

"To be honest I did wonder why he was wearing one white trainer and one doc martin boot..."  

Sigh.

Time for a brew.

Speak soon. Stay safe. 

Stuff that caught my eye.