Beserker Fuel
I was 15 - my mate Ted's sister was having a party at the parents house for her 21st and I got invited.

It turned out that everyone was much older than Ted and I - and with him being surrounded by his family, couldn't drink. That didn't stop me though and in an act of 6 years younger bravado started ordering pints of red witch from the sister's fiance. Red Witch is SnakeBite's sociopathic sibling - it's snakebite and black with a double pernod in it - actually it's an almost certain motherfuckin' trip to A&E for one reason or another.

I had my second pint, third, was midway through my fifth when I apparently stormed out of the house saying that my girlfriend was coming but was late (I didn't have a girlfriend). What I didn't know whas that the fiance was also putting vodka into my drinks.

I woke up looking at my parents living room upside down, something cold pressing against my neck - my Dad (also upside down) looked at me from off the sofa and said "good morning Son - how are you feeling?". I felt absolutely fine - no hangover, just very cold from obviously sleeping on the cold tiles of the fireplace and confused because I didn't know how I got there after I walked out of the front door of the party?

(The following is an account of what happened during my blackout - made up from conversations with my Dad and Ted's family - to this day I still have no re-collection of any of the events)

My Dad received a phone call from Ted's parents at 10pm saying that they didn't know if they should call an ambulance or not - this of course got him straight in the car and he arrived at their house in 10 mins to find me encircled by Ted's brother's on the front lawn - my trousers ripped, wearing one show, covered in vomit, splattered all over in blood. During my Dad's opening gambit of "WHAT THE FUCK HAVE YOU DONE TO MY SON?!" and him squaring off with Ted's very large brothers.

They went very defensive and said that they hadn't done anything to me, other than try to stop me hurting myself further and defend themselves. I came to, bezerk, screaming incoherent violence, grabbed one of the brothers legs, brought him down with force and then started pummeling. Until my Dad's fist connected, I went limp - he apologised to the family. They had found me like this - laying on the pavement at the end of their garden path, surrounded by skinheads laughing at me punching passing vehicles - taking great gouges out of my hands and occationally spinning me to the gutter, vomit, repeat. I was dragged kicking and screaming back to the garden spewing my guts up - lashing out at anything - crawling through bushes, being knocked down by the brothers when I came close to hurting them - which was when my dad arrived - just after I had thrown up on one of them then tried clawing and biting him - I got knocked out.

Dad decided to drive me home rather than take me to the hospital - I apparently came to in the car - shouted some slurred foreign crap at him, spewed over the dashboard, tried to grab the wheel, tried to get out whilst moving - then passed out again. I was like a ragdoll when he got me out of the car - Mum opened the front door - I came to again, thew up all over the hall wall - went for Dad again making Bruce Lee howling noises - got knocked to my arse - spat out all the black coffee they tried pouring into my mouth whilst my (very strong) Father restrained me and held my mouth open.

Then I passed out and turned grey for 8 hours - and what did my parents do? They stuck me on the tiled hearth which is about as cold as a mortuary slab.

I still have the scars and mis-shapen right hand as proof of that night, and also found out that it was the Pernod that caused the rumpus - Pernod is my beserker fuel having proved it by getting smashed on the stuff a few years later and bringing a chav's party in Crewe to a knife weilding and door smashing end..... oh the shame!
(Catchag "You know!....For Kids!", Wed 19 Apr 2006, 14:04, Reply)