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The Last Night is Fight Night


By Paul S Huggins


Copyright © 2011 Paul S Huggins


Published at Smashwords



It was our last night in Town. We were leaving the next day for a new life in Scotland, the West Highlands to be precise. The monotony of day to day life in East Anglia had become a bore. Same old faces every weekend (the weekend being Thursday through to Sunday), same old pint glasses, the same old polystyrene burger boxes, same old embassy number one packets, the same assortment of enemies and ex-girlfriends. In my case one ex in particular, the biggest of bitch-cows spawned by Satan herself.

Two years we were together, the good times could be counted on the fingers of one hand. She left me an emotional wreck, what better way to forget about her than moving Three Hundred odd miles away. Redundancy arrived in a golden four figured handshake, my best mate, Dave, whose idea it was to go, was ready to roll North with his own redundancy pay out. It was our great escape. We post the keys to our shared house in the landlord’s door, along with the last of the rent. Say our goodbyes to our dearest of friends, load up the car with our worldly goods of which there wasn’t many, leave nice and early for a 12 hour drive to Kyle of Lochalsh, and then, well, that’s about it really. We both had money, and Dave had one contact up there, a family friend, life was to begin again for us. But before we started our new lives up north, the last night on the drinking circuit in town awaited.

First stop, the River hotel. What a dive no-one there but us chickens. About ten of us altogether, the staff were glad of the company. I think we were pretty inebriated before we got there, why else would we leave the place with arms full of bar furniture ready to dispose of over the bridge parapet into the flowing waters of the river (I wonder if they’re still there?). These things seem so much like a good idea at the time.

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