Around two this morning I was sitting on a windowsill in Sidney Sussex surrounded by partying anthropologists and watching as six police, backed up by two wagons and a cruiser, sorted out a brawl.
One fellow holding an ice bag to his bloody head walked to an ambulance with several girls trailing along behind. A group of men stood in front of the pub gesturing angrily at the police until another young man sauntered out and attempted to walk down the street. Much yelling commenced and the new fellow was held back by a uniformed officer.
The scene was amazing to me for one reason: the people confronting each other and yelling appeared to have absolutely no fear of authority. I’ve never seen anything like it, and I have in fact had lots of direct experience with such things.
The man who appeared to be the suspect was told to sit down on a ledge and he complied while everyone else shouted and rushed about. A girl in a tube dress appeared with a roll of paper towels, which she then licked before swabbing blood and ooze off her friends. The crowd of perhaps two dozen surged back and forth, everyone shouting at the cops, despite the fact that they were probably just giving evidence.
Nobody was paying much attention to the presumed culprit, as his mate was alternately blowing smoke in the face of a female officer and making rude gestures at other witnesses. Eventually the pub manager came out with her walkie-talkie and intervened, taking the rude bloke to an alley and gesturing for him to leave the scene.
Then without warning the suspect jumped up and dashed down the street, onlookers screaming and attempting to tackle him, and the police in what appeared to be slow motion joining pursuit. He disappeared around a corner and after a delay one of the police vehicles followed. Slowly.
The other people watching with me at the window all laughed and hollered encouragement before going back to their festivities.
Academic parties are quite entertaining, though in my experience not as flamboyant as you might think after reading a bio of Sylvia Plath or Ted Hughes; allegedly they met at one of these shindigs and were sufficiently excited that she bit him and drew blood. Personally I think that blood is a bit excessive (doubt that she asked permission and there is an etiquette about these things after all). But it would be nice to know more poets; they’re the only people who pet me. Lots of people do not even dare shake my hand.
Happy New Year!