I definitely think I’m getting old.
One of the things that my job exposes me to nowadays, is the life of Huddersfield town centre in an evening. And holy crap that’s interesting. But not necessarily in a good way.
On New Year’s Eve, for example, I was running the Dungeon for a lovely family who had come out for a bit of fun before heading back to their house to celebrate the start of 2018. While I was waiting for them I had a conversation with a girl who was wearing little more than a bra.
But that’s quite tame, really compared to the huge amount of fighting which seems to take place round and about work.
When I say fighting I don’t mean a mass brawl. I mean that exceptional sort of fighting that happens between a man and a woman when they are both drunk and one of them things the other is up to something. Last week a guy shouted at his girlfriend because apparently, she’d been texting someone else and he’d caught her. The argument went on for close to twenty minutes, during which time he smashed her phone into the ground which was quite exciting in a “please let the bus hurry up and come” sort of way. But my favourite part of the fight – a fight in which he was accusing her of cheating on him, remember – was when he uttered the immortal line “I can’t believe I left my wife for you, and you treat me like this….”
It was somewhere around that point that any sympathy for either part went out of the window.
There was a similar one today, outside the office as I was packing up for the night. A loved up couple, high on the alcohol rollercoaster, were having a heated debate during which they argued their way apart, got back together and then one told the other to get lost (albeit not that nicely). And that was in the space of, maybe, 100 yards of pavement.
It’s funny, because it’s always the mentality that you should avoid groups of lads because they’ll be looking for trouble. But screw that. If you get caught in the middle of a loved up, drunk couple having a tiff you could lose an arm.
But for all the complaining about the evening denizens, it’s a great job and I wouldn’t give it up for anything at the moment.
And it does allow me to see the sort of evening dweller that I enjoy the most.
The lads – because it’s always lads – in the souped-up cars, driving slowly round town centres trying to impress people with their amazing vehicles despite the roads not being designed to show off said vehicles. The desperate revving of a tuned engine at traffic lights, or as they try to get round a taxi rank, will forever bring a smile to face.