**How I got my black eye.**
This weekend my girlfriend's dad wanted to take me fishing - doing that whole clichéd male bonding thing. All good, he's a nice guy so I was in.
We drove from just outside Inverness over to the Isle of Skye (Scotland) which I was pretty stoked about because I've never been that far West before.
It was a top day; good fishing, decent weather, funny chat - nothing to bother writing a story about on Reddit - until we hit this little pub afterwards.
So we go into this pub in Portree, grab a table near the bar and have a few beers.
Standard country pub for a Saturday - mix of old regulars, young kids trying to look 18,
the local lads in their shit Ben Shermans trying to chat up the local 'talent' who barely have a full set of teeth between them. But I couldn't shake this weird vibe.
Like I kept noticing people go quiet when someone else walked by, or people giving each other sideways glances. Nothing directed towards us so I wasn't too wary. Mistake number 1.
Anyway, I go up to the bar for another couple beers and the barman offers the usual small talk. 'Just visiting aye?' 'Over from the mainland aye?' 'See the Old Man did ye aye?'
Me: 'Yeah man, just over for a spot of fishing.' Mistake number 2.
The place goes deathly silent. The barman visibly winces. If it had been a film instead of real life you would have heard a needle scratch over a record.
This guy with horrible B.O. storms over to me and grabs my arm painfully. He looks at me like I just shat in his porridge and says through his teeth, 'Live bait right?'
Instantly another guy leaps from his chair, crosses the pub in a flash and he's leaning on my other side. He looks the B.O. guy right in his slightly too-far-apart eyes and says 'No.
He was fly fishing you prick, right?'
I am in complete WTF mode. What are these two on about?
Suddenly people all over the bar start chiming in. It was an instant split into two factions.
'Bait is for buffties!' 'Flies are for fags!' 'Bait is a wankers game' 'Shove yer flies up yer arse' Etc Etc
It's all kicking off.
B.O. boy grabs me, puts his beak right into mine. 'Well?! Bait or fly fishing?'
'F-f-f-ffly?' I stammer. Mistake number 3.
Bam - sucker punch right to the eye.
It's an instant fist salad in the pub. People shouting, punching, kicking, throwing. It's the freaking wild, wild west coast of Scotland.
I stand like a deer in headlights watching this country pub tear itself apart.
I stand there uselessly, doing my best lighthouse impression, when a hand grabs my shoulder and yanks me outside in one swift movement.
My heads spinning. I am three exits past confused. And can't see the square route of fuck all through one eye.
It's the barman who has dragged me out, managing to grab my g/f's dad on the way.
The three of us are stood there silent in the cold for what feels like ages, just looking at each other, a mexican stand off of staring. We can hear the mosh of the locals from inside.
'WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT ABOUT!?' I finally manage to articulate.
The bartender takes his time to catch his breath and stands up calmly.
He looks at his pub and shakes his head like he's seen this a million times before, then just calmly says...
'In a Skye full of people, only some want to fly. Isn't that crazy?'