Carlisle was becoming scary and it wasn’t even sundown yet. There must have been a Saturday Special on boozy hen nights where they start at lunch and are screaming by supper, and even then it’s only the beginning of a night I don’t want to see. Or hear.

There were three or four packs like hungry hyenas that clomped past me on their absurd platform shoes, shrieking and trying to rip each other’s clothes off – what little clothing there was – in lurid make-up like psychotic clowns.

They were far scarier than a pack of drunken boys. They were letting off the steam and pent-up pissed-offedness of a lifetime. They were drunk with a vengeance. Really, I ran to the car.

more weirdness and chat about it, here