Going Too Far

I expect most of us can remember at least one spectacular party from our 'formative years'. The one I recall was held at my posh friend's house (see earlier stories) when his parents obligingly spent a weekend away with relatives. Somebody (me) mentioned this opportunity to the bikers and...

Bingo.

It started off sedately enough with everyone getting drunk on Newcastle Brown and cheap lager, but after a while the atmosphere began to change. The host was pretty much bypassed as his kitchen was raided for food and his collection of South Seas artifacts seized by a braying mob. Arrows and spears started whizzing about the house, a canoe was launched in the swimming pool and innocent parties were being cast into the deep end, fully clothed.

A non-swimmer was pulled out green and dead-eyed. The locked toilet door was broken down only to discover an empty room and open window. Small coteries of whispering conspirators were observed planning their next trick. Copulation was indiscriminate and rife.

The scene was like a particularly ugly Hieronymus Bosch painting, coming to life.

I spent the night sleeping under a bed, just in case I was destined to be the next victim. A number of us discovered later that our petrol tanks had been pissed in. My friend's parents returned to a broken window and lager cans still floating in the pool.

Just another small example, perhaps, of what lies beneath the thin skim of civilisation.

Hey ho.