Posted by: martinworster | August 8, 2003

3. STREET BRAWLING – MOI?

Smack in the mouth, bloody lip, purple bruised bum, absent Dutch friends what the hell is going on here?

 Perhaps the biggest recent news is that I got whacked a few weeks back. It wasn’t directly a blood duel over a senioritta. That would have been exciting. No, I was walking out of a club with three Dutch girls (more on that later, although not what I imagine you’re thinking) and I was slightly worst for wear. We were crossing the road and a car semi-tried to run us over so I whacked the windowscreen and thought nothing of it until the driver screeched to a halt and got out. ‘Oh dear, here we go’, I internally slurred to myself. ‘Tranquilo hombre’ I tried to implore to the senor. As I muttered the last words I felt a fist to my mouth and I was totally taken by surprise. As I recoiled the caballero got behind me and choked me. I couldn’t breathe and fell to the floor where I got a few kicks, even one from his girlfriend who intially had tried to stop her man from getting involved. I guess she could see that the sambucca soaked English man was no match for the armada of a man who rained a volley of blows on me. He basically took advantage of me as I could hardly walk straight. The guy was a pro. The Dutch girls were nowhere to be seen. Under normal circumstances I might have been able to clump him one. The whole thing was like a really bad movie in slow motion with me as the tragic hero lead role. I tried to replay it many times afterwards with me in a different role. I wanted to be Joe Pesci in ‘Good Fellas’ and bludgeon him with an ashtray as I adopted the Mafia tactic of taking your victim by surprise. In the next movie I was Tony Sopprano…well you catch my drift.

So yes, the Dutch girls. I was surprised by this. I wasn’t expecting them to take blows for me, but female intervention would have been appreciated. I said to them at what point – if any – would they have intervened. If my head started to resemble a water melon as it was repeatedly kicked leaving me utterly cabbaged? For me it was interesting as it led to a whole plethora of moral questions about when you intervene and what a difficult role the UN has. Wasn’t it a few years back that Dutch troops failed to intervene in an incident in Bosnia?

So me old mukka David Beckham’s decided to follow me out here. It’s quite interesting really as I feel strange parallels developing between our lives. In fact, I’ve even been to the local tattooist so I can be like David when I become a father and get my siblings name as place of conception scrawled all over my body. Unfortunately he didn’t think he could get ‘Underneath Southend Pier’ to fit across my back a la Brooklyn.

It looks like Spain’s taken to David though. I’m really looking forward to his first press conference in Spanish. I wonder how he’s progressing? I guess we started learning at the same time so we shall see. The press call Victoria ‘Pica Spice’, which you guessed it, is Spanish for Posh. He’s even been scoring goals so my immediate thoughts of his signing being just a strategy for Real Madrid to sell more shirts in the Far East may have been a mite premature.

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