In a twist events, that shook the night to it's very core, a standard Friday evening with friends, where we enjoyed a meal and drinks at a quiet pub on the edge of town, we were thrust into what can only be described as anarchy.
The stage was set. A group of 12 of us had booked a table at a local pub, with the full party (barring one) tucking into a 'tex mex', a monumental dish made up of ribs, chicken legs, chips, corn and the cob, and other delicious sides. You didn't know whether to eat it or climb it. The meal was a marathon, not a sprint, members of the party clipped their ankles and fell, but I crossed the finishing line and held the mantle of finishing such a monster of a meal. A feat that only a few of us managed.
After the meal, we congregated outside and sat about mulling over pots of lager, discussing the feat of a meal that we had just been laid in front of us. It soon became dark, and the night was presumably coming to an end. Friends fell, just like they did in the race to finish the 'tex mex' and a healthy group of 12 soon became condensed to 8. Of the remaining unit, one brought up that her younger sister was having a house party. We laughed and joked about turning up, reliving our past shenanigans in the process. The laugh and the joke soon turned into a more serious idea, and it was decided we would embark to the house party, more to keep things in check, than to enjoy ourselves. Alcohol was still bought.
Before we'd even arrived, we'd been pre-warned that it was already out of hand, but we'd seen it all. We'd all had our younger days, and been to our fair share of house parties. We arrived just shy of 10 o'clock, and the night was still young, the party having only started at 8. Had it been us in this situation, it would have still been pretty mellow, however, a combination of alcohol and young adolescents unable to handle the drink, meant that the pre-warnings were right. It was already out of the hand, so far out of the hand, that you were doing kick-ups with it.
Entering the war-zone, we headed straight for the kitchen, the safe haven of any house party. Anything put down, was pounced on immediately like a care package, so those in the group who were drinking, hid their alcohol in the washing machine. A necessary precaution to keep it out of the grasp of inebriated juveniles.
We eventually ventured out of the kitchen cautiously, setting up camp in the conservatory, declaring it the 19+ room. This didn't last for long, and we were soon invaded by 15 year olds. We soon caught the eye of some of the more aware party-goers and we were questioned as to who we were, and what we were doing here, with a side-order of attitude from the sprouts. Obviously, never heard of treating their elders with respect. We explained that we were friends of the hosts sister, and were just keeping on eye of things. The cockiness continued throughout the night. In all honesty, some of them were nice enough, and were quite polite in talking to us, but most of the house was full of drunken idiotic morons who were acting more drunk than they actually were. I felt like Bill Oddie, I felt old and I felt like I was watching wildlife. 'Fascinating'.
Seen as the kitchen was the 'safe haven', and the conservatory was the recently invaded 19+ room, the living room was clearly base camp for the fledglings. Quite an army had regrouped in there, and stood their ground for the most of the night. This was war. We tried to keep at bay the barrage of grenades that they had to throw at us. We pushed people outside who were throwing up, cleaned up smashed glass and tried to keep everyone downstairs. The biggest guy in our group set about the task of sending people home, I accompanied him around briefly, being the Robin to his Batman. Fighting crime against rowdy 15 year olds who didn't know where they were, but knew quite clearly they couldn't handle their drink. Not many put up an argument, accepting that it would be better if they went home, all we needed was leather jackets with the inscription of 'party poopers' on the back, and we could have formed quite the sensible gang.
The night soon turned sour, more-so for the younger ones. After a few throwing ups, plenty of smashed glass, a semi-trashed house, and the house party getting too much, even for us patrollers, the Mum and Dad arrived home at around 11:30. Screams of 'calm it down now' soon echoed around the house, but it wasn't enough and the head of the house scared them enough that they scampered out of the house, their shadows not able to keep up with them. Of course, not before one young treasure attempted to throw up out of the window, and missed quite miserably. The living room had quite the stench for the rest of the night.
We set about cleaning up the mess, picking up flung cans and strewn bottles that had been cast aside in a fit of hurry at the parents arriving home, and cleared out the rest of the kids who had been too dazed and confused to even know what had happened. We were then invited to gather on the sofa, and watch television and await for our taxi to arrive. A quiet end to an evening of such manic. We were all young at one age, but you can quite easily enjoy a house party without trashing the house. The parents didn't deserve to come back to a trashed house. It's a wonder that we were there, to put up a battle, otherwise who knows what bomb-site the parents could have returned to.
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