The curse of the birthday bash

Sunday was an eventful night in my humble home-town, to say the very least. One of my good friends was turning 24, and had arranged to have a few drinks in a couple of pubs here in Coleshill. Nothing big, just a nice, cheerful evening out to celebrate his birthday. Well, that was the plan any way, and couldn't have been further from what we actually experienced that night!

I caught up with the Birthday Boy and our other friends about 9pm, by which time he was already on the Sambuca's and any chance of a quiet drink had long flown out the window! Although little did we realise that our slightly-too-merry with the drink mate was going to be the least of our worries, as less than five minutes later there was screams, shouts, shots and a whole heap of smashed glasses.

What started as a silly scrap between a teenage Blues fan and a teenage Arsenal fan, turned into a whole pub brawl, with men hitting women and women throwing glasses. It was like the mosh pit at a Slipknot gig all of a sudden, and people who didn't even know what was happening were just getting involved for the hell of it apparently! Your's truly was excluded from that of course, as I'd grabbed my bag and my drink and taken cover in the corner. Getting a smack in the face was certainly not on my list of to-do's for the night. Tables full of drinks were knocked over, there was smashed glass every where and more black eyes than I could count. The police were called in the end, and it all diffused, but not before the Birthday Boy's cousin was given a nice shiner for his troubles!

And so, when the dust had finally settled, myself and the other sensible fellows in the group hijacked the Birthday Boy and moved him on to another pub. It was a much nicer atmosphere over the road and I'd just settled down with an ice-cold beer to enjoy the rest of the night, when the next big drama occurred. Whilst outside smoking, one of the lads from our group had spotted a rather drunk regular from the pub trying to walk home. He had stopped him and asked if he was alright, but he insisted he was fine and headed off into a dark alleyway between two buildings. Seconds later, our friend watched opened mouthed as the drunk regular tripped and fell face-first into the pavement - before lying there, unconscious in a muddy puddle.

Naturally our friend went to check on him, and when he couldn't rouse him, he rushed back inside the pub to call for help. And so it was that myself and the Birthday Boy had to help carry our poor drunk regular back inside the pub, and up into the B&B to lie down. It was only then I noticed he had split his eye open and was bleeding quite badly. Obviously this meant one thing only: Nurse Louise to the rescue. So there I sat, on a night out, mopping up the forehead of one highly inebriated fellow, whilst he muttered drunken apologies for being an inconvenience. Shameful as this is to admit, although I was very worried for his safety, I couldn't help but think: "Don't you dare get blood on my nice top!". I mean, how would I have explained that to my parents?

After that the night finally calmed down a bit, with nothing more than a few tears and drunken ramblings on the behalf of the Birthday Boy, but it got me thinking about a few things. Firstly, to those who started the fight, I would just like to make one thing clear - football is only a game, and is certainly not a reason to start kicking seven shades out of each other. Secondly, for all those who joined in with the ridiculous fight, have you no shame? You were throwing punches at people you didn't even know, for a reason you didn't even understand. Are you cavemen and women, because I thought the rest of us had evolved beyond the need for senseless violence? Thirdly, for all those who like a bit too much of a drink, learn your limits. Our drunk regular could have woken up face down in a puddle, having been mugged or beaten or worse. He could've ended up in a hospital bed, being treated for concussion and alcohol poisoning. Sort it out!

It also got me thinking about the curse of the birthday bash, as Sunday - like many others I can remember - was the result of another overly-dramatic birthday night. It seems that every party I've been to in years has ended in tears for one reason or another. Either there's been an argument, or a fight, or a falling out. Or someone's been sick, or gone missing. My 20th was a nightmare, and my 21st nearly ended up heading down the same road. A fair few of the Women Folk's birthday's have fallen foul of the birthday bash curse, and I'm sure Ray would agree some of her's have been far from perfect. It just seems that any night out where you label it a Birthday Party is doomed to end in disaster - and it's all drama, drama, drama. And so, with a month of solid birthday parties heading my way this April, I'm asking for a little gift of my own - just one, great drama-free night. Fingers-crossed for me on that one ay!