You Load 16 Pints And What Do You Get?

Pissed, obviously, but Hellen seems to turn into some overly tactile, ranting lunatic from hell, to boot.
I've always admired her for that but have, however, found myself taking her into pubs that I don't normally use, as she seems to be usurping my 'bad girl' image, somewhat.
Last night found us imbibing in The Falstaff, Addington Street, where I was pleasantly surprised to discover that the new management consisted of, none other than, my old mucker, Scary Angie.
Now she IS a piece of work. 5'2" and 100lbs of raging fury (when you cheese her off) and just mildly alarming when you don't!
I tried to warn Hellen of this, and the fact that the punters aren't exactly 'run-of-the-mill' either, being largely bred from the same, under-varied gene pool but would she take heed?
She's been chucked out of almost as many pubs as she's been in but last night brought her a whole new experience, that of being forced to stay when she really, really wanted to leave.
Good old Angie, I believe, at one point, that Hellen actually feared for her life.
I'm sure we can laugh about it today.
Well, I certainly will, anyhow!