Doreen triumphant.

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There was a fight last night down by the docks. It started in the bar I was drinking in. The music was loud and mad - jazz of course - and I didn't see what happened, but in no time glasses were shattering and bar stools were flying about. Everyone got out as soon as they could. I couldn't even see who was at the centre of all that was going on but when we all piled outside onto the pavement everyone stood clear of a small knot of people and watched as they shouted and lunged at each other. At the heart of it all were two women kept apart from each other by the men. Like dervishes they were, wildcats, with hair everywhere and clothes ripped. Three cars of policemen arrived and when they got the women into the back seats and the crowd moved back into the bar all that was left on the pavement as a testimony to what went down was a rather sad and tatty looking pink brassiere.