As we were paying the lovely lady that ran the café, the heavens opened. It was cats and dogs and rats and frogs. Undeterred, but minus the emotionally and physically drained Ed and Nicky, we paced it up the street and hailed two taxis to carry us the diminutive distance over the bridge to the Happy King Kong Bar.
Making the short sharp sprint from the taxi into the bar, we were slightly disappointed that it was so empty, especially considering that the place was only about 20 square metres in size anyway. Strolling up to the bar, past the half dozen other customers that were there at the time, I asked if we were in time for our promised free drink. I did this only out of faux politeness, as I was safe in the knowledge that we were; it was 10.25, and the offer ran from ten until eleven.
'You got five minutes' snarled the squat, tattooed and Mohican-haired man behind the bar, who looked as though he was being run off a twelve-volt battery.
'Really?' I thought, glancing at my imaginary watch. Either way, we were here now and we weren't going to head out anywhere else just yet. Especially as the only other place on the isle was a good half-mile away and it was still wetter than an otter's slot outside.
I asked for one of their famous(ly free) rum and cokes, and received a small tumbler glass with an ice cube the size of my forearm in, a hamster's spit of rum and an eighth of a small bottle of warm coke.
‘Ah. Right.’ I thought.
Never mind. Helen had the same, as did the rest of the boys, and the two Swedish girls bought some toxic-looking and exceptionally overpriced cocktails. I believe they were called Mother Fuckers.
Standing around the pool table that took up 60% of the floor space in the establishment, and was seemingly only available to members of staff rather than customers as we got snarled at if we looked interested in playing, we met a further seven or eight people from all over the place. We began chatting about our various, and invariably identical, trips around south-east Asia.
After about 45 minutes or so, a couple more free drinks and a couple of expensive ones, we decided that, once everyone had finished up, we would all set off up to the only other bar, about 600 yards up the road.
The bar had not filled up. It was so deserted in fact, that when Jon and his mate Dan (who, ironically, wasn't drinking that evening as he was on antibiotics for a horrific septic blister that he had on his heel) rounded everyone up to go down the road to 'The Sleepy Gecko’, we at least halved the population of the bar.
Perhaps it was this that infuriated them. Perhaps it was that, as seemed to be the case, they thought Jon and Dan worked for the other bar and had poached us, perhaps it was because we'd had a free drink or two and only half of us had actually bought one and then left, but something had, to say the very least, got the staff of the Happy King Kong Bar's goat up that evening.
So, into the valley of death walked the fourteen of us. A narrow mud path that had been turned into sludge by the now utterly torrential storm. The tempest had taken out the electricity on the island and so we were trudging along in almost pitch noir-ness.
About 300 yards down the track, a motorbike had caught us up and we moved across to either side of the path to let it through. It slowly drove through the middle of us, and we realised, rather than just being loud, the man and girl on the bike were hurling volleys of abuse at us. It was the man with the Mohican and the girl that had been driving the English lad around on the moped.
They seemed to be picking solely on Jon and Dan, which was what led us to believe that they thought they had pilfered us from their bar to take us up to the Sleepy Gecko, the only other watering hole on this shithole island. After a lot of confused smiling and ‘OK, OK’-ing at them, asking what the problem was and trying to sort it out, we got fed up and started to carry on walking past them and up to the other bar.
The man drove the bike up, through and past us, and stopped about 20 metres up the road in front of our gaggle, turning his bike to block the narrow pathway. The girl crooked down and selected a large rock.
This was one place that I didn't want to be. But, in a moment of madness and/or curiosity I went into the bar, which was empty apart from four random people, whilst the others waited outside talking to an old man. I asked a couple of Scandinavian sounding people if the staff that were on now had been there the whole time that they had. These lads were pretty drunk and even more foreign and didn't really understand, or care about, what I was asking them.
Thus, walking out of the bar again, I was stopped by the head policeman, who pointed at the old man standing by the large table outside the bar. Turns out he was the owner of the bar.
'I see you I kill you.' He said.
'We've been atta- What?!' I blurted.
'I see you agai' I fucki' ki' you!' The older man said.
I almost laughed! I turned my head with a semi-smile of disbelief to the policemen in a 'has he just said that in front of you?!’ way. One of them was looking away, one was looking at the floor and the other was looking at me in a ‘What…?’ way.
'I see you again I fucki' KILL-YOU! I KILL YOU!' He continued to shout, drawing a neat line across his own throat.
I looked again at the policemen; one of whom was unbuttoning his baton holder, the other tapping his hitting stick against his thigh. I was surrounded by the old man, three policemen and a table and the only way I could go was back into the bar.
I looked down at the two German guys who were stood by the bikes in the rain.
Getting back to the hotel where everyone was waiting, I thanked everyone for their help and told them I had to go and get Helen - FUCK! HELEN!
Making the short sharp sprint from the taxi into the bar, we were slightly disappointed that it was so empty, especially considering that the place was only about 20 square metres in size anyway. Strolling up to the bar, past the half dozen other customers that were there at the time, I asked if we were in time for our promised free drink. I did this only out of faux politeness, as I was safe in the knowledge that we were; it was 10.25, and the offer ran from ten until eleven.
'You got five minutes' snarled the squat, tattooed and Mohican-haired man behind the bar, who looked as though he was being run off a twelve-volt battery.
'Really?' I thought, glancing at my imaginary watch. Either way, we were here now and we weren't going to head out anywhere else just yet. Especially as the only other place on the isle was a good half-mile away and it was still wetter than an otter's slot outside.
I asked for one of their famous(ly free) rum and cokes, and received a small tumbler glass with an ice cube the size of my forearm in, a hamster's spit of rum and an eighth of a small bottle of warm coke.
‘Ah. Right.’ I thought.
Never mind. Helen had the same, as did the rest of the boys, and the two Swedish girls bought some toxic-looking and exceptionally overpriced cocktails. I believe they were called Mother Fuckers.
Standing around the pool table that took up 60% of the floor space in the establishment, and was seemingly only available to members of staff rather than customers as we got snarled at if we looked interested in playing, we met a further seven or eight people from all over the place. We began chatting about our various, and invariably identical, trips around south-east Asia.
After about 45 minutes or so, a couple more free drinks and a couple of expensive ones, we decided that, once everyone had finished up, we would all set off up to the only other bar, about 600 yards up the road.
The bar had not filled up. It was so deserted in fact, that when Jon and his mate Dan (who, ironically, wasn't drinking that evening as he was on antibiotics for a horrific septic blister that he had on his heel) rounded everyone up to go down the road to 'The Sleepy Gecko’, we at least halved the population of the bar.
Perhaps it was this that infuriated them. Perhaps it was that, as seemed to be the case, they thought Jon and Dan worked for the other bar and had poached us, perhaps it was because we'd had a free drink or two and only half of us had actually bought one and then left, but something had, to say the very least, got the staff of the Happy King Kong Bar's goat up that evening.
So, into the valley of death walked the fourteen of us. A narrow mud path that had been turned into sludge by the now utterly torrential storm. The tempest had taken out the electricity on the island and so we were trudging along in almost pitch noir-ness.
About 300 yards down the track, a motorbike had caught us up and we moved across to either side of the path to let it through. It slowly drove through the middle of us, and we realised, rather than just being loud, the man and girl on the bike were hurling volleys of abuse at us. It was the man with the Mohican and the girl that had been driving the English lad around on the moped.
They seemed to be picking solely on Jon and Dan, which was what led us to believe that they thought they had pilfered us from their bar to take us up to the Sleepy Gecko, the only other watering hole on this shithole island. After a lot of confused smiling and ‘OK, OK’-ing at them, asking what the problem was and trying to sort it out, we got fed up and started to carry on walking past them and up to the other bar.
The man drove the bike up, through and past us, and stopped about 20 metres up the road in front of our gaggle, turning his bike to block the narrow pathway. The girl crooked down and selected a large rock.
'Ah. Right.' I thought.
We were intimidated enough not to make any silly aggressive moves to get past them, but not so much as to turn on our heels and run. (Which, as you will see dear reader, would have been a very bad idea anyway.)
So, walking slowly down the mire path in an attempt to get past, the Vietnamese girl turns her attention to Helen, who, in good Coventry style (and luckily not parlance), held her ground. The girl took offence to this and, quick as a flash, hit Helen just above her left eye.
So, walking slowly down the mire path in an attempt to get past, the Vietnamese girl turns her attention to Helen, who, in good Coventry style (and luckily not parlance), held her ground. The girl took offence to this and, quick as a flash, hit Helen just above her left eye.
Well, the whole scene erupted, with the girl jumping off the bike and pushing Helen away onto a wire fence. I was trying to get to her from the other side of the path but almost couldn't see her through the other load of boys that were trying to do the same.
We just about managed to pull the girl off and separate them. Helen had blood streaming down her face and the little Vietnamese lady had blood on her fists and rings, and huge clumps of Helen’s hair in her hands. Whilst this was happening, we only just noticed that another four motorbikes were speeding their way towards us from both directions, each carrying two men clutching either a bamboo staff or a snooker cue.
We just about managed to pull the girl off and separate them. Helen had blood streaming down her face and the little Vietnamese lady had blood on her fists and rings, and huge clumps of Helen’s hair in her hands. Whilst this was happening, we only just noticed that another four motorbikes were speeding their way towards us from both directions, each carrying two men clutching either a bamboo staff or a snooker cue.
'Ah. Right.' I thought.
This was when snap decisions started to be made by members of our assemblage. After an assortment of threats from the mob that now surrounded us - all in English, which was nice of them - ranging from the timid: 'You're barred!' (weren't really planning on going back there now) to the more significant: 'I'll kill you!’, it all kicked off again.
The girl evidently thought she had unfinished business with Helen and rushed at her again whilst I was trying to calm down the situation with Jimmy White, Hurricane Higgins and the Bamboo Boys. I was closer this time though, and grabbed hold of the girl by the shoulder but received about three or four blows to the side and back of my head for my troubles, as I twisted to try and get them off me, I got a stick across my hip bone. Ouchy.
Helen was getting the beating of her life, as this girl could fight. This was palpably not the first time that she'd had a scrap. Knees and elbows were flying, and Helen was incredibly lucky not to get her nose smashed, with blows raining on either side of it.
This was when snap decisions started to be made by members of our assemblage. After an assortment of threats from the mob that now surrounded us - all in English, which was nice of them - ranging from the timid: 'You're barred!' (weren't really planning on going back there now) to the more significant: 'I'll kill you!’, it all kicked off again.
The girl evidently thought she had unfinished business with Helen and rushed at her again whilst I was trying to calm down the situation with Jimmy White, Hurricane Higgins and the Bamboo Boys. I was closer this time though, and grabbed hold of the girl by the shoulder but received about three or four blows to the side and back of my head for my troubles, as I twisted to try and get them off me, I got a stick across my hip bone. Ouchy.
Helen was getting the beating of her life, as this girl could fight. This was palpably not the first time that she'd had a scrap. Knees and elbows were flying, and Helen was incredibly lucky not to get her nose smashed, with blows raining on either side of it.
One of the other boys managed to pull the girl off her, and the men on bikes took a few pot shots at us with their sticks. It was at this point that I realised that everybody else had made the bright resolution to fucking peg it. The quandary was, however, that Jon and four or five other bodies had disappeared one way, and everyone else had vanished in the other, including Helen.
I was now in the middle of an alley, my bleeding girlfriend heading one way - back in the direction of the fucking bar we'd come from - and my bloody mate going the other way - into the black void of the night. The gang had dispersed that way too, and I was worried for Jon's safety - but I obviously couldn't leave Helen, either.
I was now in the middle of an alley, my bleeding girlfriend heading one way - back in the direction of the fucking bar we'd come from - and my bloody mate going the other way - into the black void of the night. The gang had dispersed that way too, and I was worried for Jon's safety - but I obviously couldn't leave Helen, either.
I was pretty shaken up and my stomach was tender from an expert teep kick that I'd received from the only man that I had managed to thump back. (I was just about to write 'I hope I got the right one' but I think that I could probably have justified twatting any bit-part actor in their gang of ten pool-master maniacs.)
This didn’t do much other than shatter the illusion that I held that if I punched someone as hard as I could in the face their head would explode in a mess of brains, gum and bone.
So, sprinting - as much as you can sprint in flip flops in a flood - after Helen and her motley crew of folk we didn't really know, I was also shouting in a Hollywood style: 'I've got to go back for Jon'. Daggers, understandably, wasn't having any of it.
We turned away from the direction of the bar and, still in the electrical blackout and hammering downpour, made our way up to what appeared to be a hotel and started banging on the door.
After about two minutes a man answered and we implored him to call the police. He didn't want to. So we begged him to let us use his phone. He didn't want us to do that either. After five minutes, and me gnashing my teeth like a demented Andrex dog, he rang someone. But it wasn't the police. For all we know it was probably the King Kong Bar.
By this time, I was losing my mind with a cocktail of worry about Jon and anger about Helen. Her face was in a mess and I felt revolted with myself that I couldn't have stopped it from happening and now couldn't help her again. Almost in tears I waved down a man on a moped (which, on reflection, probably wasn't a good idea considering what had just occurred).
So, sprinting - as much as you can sprint in flip flops in a flood - after Helen and her motley crew of folk we didn't really know, I was also shouting in a Hollywood style: 'I've got to go back for Jon'. Daggers, understandably, wasn't having any of it.
We turned away from the direction of the bar and, still in the electrical blackout and hammering downpour, made our way up to what appeared to be a hotel and started banging on the door.
After about two minutes a man answered and we implored him to call the police. He didn't want to. So we begged him to let us use his phone. He didn't want us to do that either. After five minutes, and me gnashing my teeth like a demented Andrex dog, he rang someone. But it wasn't the police. For all we know it was probably the King Kong Bar.
By this time, I was losing my mind with a cocktail of worry about Jon and anger about Helen. Her face was in a mess and I felt revolted with myself that I couldn't have stopped it from happening and now couldn't help her again. Almost in tears I waved down a man on a moped (which, on reflection, probably wasn't a good idea considering what had just occurred).
This Vietnamese Good Samaritan volunteered to take Helen and I to the police station, which, we hadn't realised, was only about 400 yards over the bridge. We hopped onto the back of his bike and sped off after telling the rest of the group to stay at the hotel and that we'd be back very shortly.
We arrived at the station and had to wake up the three policemen that were there. The friendly man on the moped translated - perhaps very badly, who knows? - what had happened to us. The police seemed pretty nonplussed about the whole affair, but I was determined to take them out to help find Jon at least, as I was convinced that there would be a gang of ten people on bikes versus four boys with suspect nipple rings.
Leaving Helen at the police station (what was I thinking?) I went on the back of the nice man's moped again, and we went back to hotel and picked up two other boys who, I think, were both German, who rode on the back of the policemen's bikes. As we approached the alleyway, I signalled to the policemen to go down it as that was where my friends were. They ignored me and, lo and behold, drove on to the King Kong Bar.
'Ah. Right.' I thought.
We arrived at the station and had to wake up the three policemen that were there. The friendly man on the moped translated - perhaps very badly, who knows? - what had happened to us. The police seemed pretty nonplussed about the whole affair, but I was determined to take them out to help find Jon at least, as I was convinced that there would be a gang of ten people on bikes versus four boys with suspect nipple rings.
Leaving Helen at the police station (what was I thinking?) I went on the back of the nice man's moped again, and we went back to hotel and picked up two other boys who, I think, were both German, who rode on the back of the policemen's bikes. As we approached the alleyway, I signalled to the policemen to go down it as that was where my friends were. They ignored me and, lo and behold, drove on to the King Kong Bar.
'Ah. Right.' I thought.
This was one place that I didn't want to be. But, in a moment of madness and/or curiosity I went into the bar, which was empty apart from four random people, whilst the others waited outside talking to an old man. I asked a couple of Scandinavian sounding people if the staff that were on now had been there the whole time that they had. These lads were pretty drunk and even more foreign and didn't really understand, or care about, what I was asking them.
Thus, walking out of the bar again, I was stopped by the head policeman, who pointed at the old man standing by the large table outside the bar. Turns out he was the owner of the bar.
'I see you I kill you.' He said.
'We've been atta- What?!' I blurted.
'I see you agai' I fucki' ki' you!' The older man said.
I almost laughed! I turned my head with a semi-smile of disbelief to the policemen in a 'has he just said that in front of you?!’ way. One of them was looking away, one was looking at the floor and the other was looking at me in a ‘What…?’ way.
'I see you again I fucki' KILL-YOU! I KILL YOU!' He continued to shout, drawing a neat line across his own throat.
I looked again at the policemen; one of whom was unbuttoning his baton holder, the other tapping his hitting stick against his thigh. I was surrounded by the old man, three policemen and a table and the only way I could go was back into the bar.
I looked down at the two German guys who were stood by the bikes in the rain.
'I want to go now.' I said in my calmest possible voice to the head policeman. He looked away and ignored me.
'I want to go - NOW.' I repeated as sternly as possible. He pulled up his trousers by his belt and sat down. The other two looked at me and one of them smiled. I looked at the old man who was still bowling beamers of abuse at me.
'Ah. Right.' I thought. 'I'm going to get killed by the fucking police.'
I barged through the two standing policemen and shouted to the two Germans to get on the back of the bike - the Samaritan knew what was going on as he had already started his bike and turned around.
Thank glorious fuck he hadn't just driven off. Luckily - as the water was about four inches deep on the floor now - one of the German lads was wearing trainers, so he ran alongside the moped as we sped off into the rain, leaving the policemen with the smiling old man.
'I want to go - NOW.' I repeated as sternly as possible. He pulled up his trousers by his belt and sat down. The other two looked at me and one of them smiled. I looked at the old man who was still bowling beamers of abuse at me.
'Ah. Right.' I thought. 'I'm going to get killed by the fucking police.'
I barged through the two standing policemen and shouted to the two Germans to get on the back of the bike - the Samaritan knew what was going on as he had already started his bike and turned around.
Thank glorious fuck he hadn't just driven off. Luckily - as the water was about four inches deep on the floor now - one of the German lads was wearing trainers, so he ran alongside the moped as we sped off into the rain, leaving the policemen with the smiling old man.
Getting back to the hotel where everyone was waiting, I thanked everyone for their help and told them I had to go and get Helen - FUCK! HELEN!
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