It was a thrilling weekend, which was unfortunately trumped by my thrilling lunchtime, so Saturday night gets its belated blog today. At three in the morning, pootling by bicycle home in the freezing drizzle from Nik’s birthday party (excellent as all Nik’s gatherings are), I heard a commotion round the next corner, a man’s voice shouting passionately. When I look I see a mess of blonde hair, legs, and denim miniskirt lying curled on the wet pavement and a small but stocky looking guy in sportswear standing over her. It looks for all the world like he’s just punched her to the floor. She’s crying and huddling and he’s absolutely enraged and looks like he’s going to kick the living crap out of her. The last time I saw a scene like this was the harrowing 11-minute rape scene of Irreversible . I figure I’m not going to pass by.

He saw me as I pulled over with my bike and I called to him. He’s absolutely livid, drunk, and running on a cocktail of one part alcohol to one part adrenaline with a dash of having been wound up by an annoying woman. At that point a friend of the girl’s appears from nowhere and goes to help her out which makes life a lot less complicated. My job now is just to keep him away from her while the situation diffuses. He’s pissed and confused but doesn’t seem hellbent on violence. “This ALWAYS HAPPENS! STUPID BITCH! looks she’s bloody DROPPED ME PIZZA ON THE FLOOR NOW!” etc. I can’t get off my bike because that will look confrontational so I call him “mate” a lot and tell him it won’t help him any if he goes over there again, she’ll just f@ck with his head some more. Women. Ha ha.

It turns out they are all going the same way as me, the grizzling girl ahead with her consoling mate, followed by the raging boyfriend - this is not a rape, it’s a domestic, and it’s looking more and more like she grabbed him, he shoved, she took a dive in a footballer-style way, to add drama. I’m off the bike by now, semi-consoling, semi controlling the guy and trying to stop him from charging in with his size 11s to try and finish the, uh, disagreement. I still think he could well bop her one.

If I can just keep them apart till he calms down, I think… as she turns around and starts giving him an earful of shit.

There’s compassionate, and there’s stupid.

I quietly get on my bike and ride away as the mixture boils over once again.

20 seconds later he’s legging it past me shouting “you were talking to me earlier! come here, help me!”. But I don’t hear him.