On a scattered evening of confused locations and lost shoes, Heidelberg got weirdly violent. Out we had gone to celebrate the coming of age for the glorious Nik. We learned never to drink an Embryo but to always let Chuck Norris tickle the back of our throats. However, because there wasn’t enough drama on this fun-filled festivity, it came time for me to get chucked out of the club, for doing the terrible act of touching a disco ball.
And by that I literally mean a sparkly ball used in discos.
Grabbed by the back of the neck I waved ceremoniously goodbye to everyone else as I was carted out the building, where after being pushed out into the street, I had to calm down the furious German I’d been thrown into causing his drink to spill. Still fairly sober and waiting the alcohol to hit, I kept up a text rapport with those inside and grabbed a drink in the Brass Monkey, where I was overcome with glee thrown at me from the two French fancies, Manon and Anais, the latter of whom was visiting after having finished her Heidelberg semester in February.
After many a banterous laughter, I got a text saying everyone else was going home, but not wanting to waste a night, I joined a group into The Cave, meeting more Monkey staff on a night out, joining the groups together we set out for a late night of fun, that is until we left the club to find ourselves in the middle of a “brawl” between two young fellas. Angry at one another for something, they tore at each other’s throats, ripping their shirts, revealing their chests and more ripped shirts… With more… Manly chests… And… Chests…
Sorry got distracted.
When the fight pushed into our group causing a ruckus, a few of us got involved, after initially pushing them apart I ended up grabbing one into a full nelson whilst the wonderfully multilingual barmaid, Lucy told him off auf deutsch. Relenting, the fight diffused until the drunken guy I’d held struck me across the face randomly and went charging after another fight. Fairly sozzled ourselves, we gave chase until I caught up, grabbing him into another arm lock, and getting him to the ground until everyone was able to actually calm him down, speaking words I could never hope to pronounce.
By this point it was nearing 6am so we all went home, the sun peeking over the mountains as I felt my fingers rising into a bruise. Clumsy goose. A bizarre night of great varieties, Saturday certainly gave enough things to laugh about the next day over a recovery brunch, though not sure how much I’d like to repeat them.