I settled in as a student at Newcastle, living with five other undergraduates who were either first or second years. They were okay to hang around with, but not exactly mates-for-life material. We had a really drunken night out one evening at the Student Union bar and walked back to Summerhill House through shadows interspersed with street lights. Two students picked up a traffic cone each and put them on their heads. All jolly jape student stuff. Off they went down the middle of the road, drawing too much attention to themselves.
“Whhheeeeyyy. Come on!”
The rest of us held back and watched as they shouted their way back to our student digs. As the noise faded into the distance, lights flicked on amongst the first floor flats ahead and skinheads looked over the balconies to see what was going on. One jumped, followed by several others and…
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