I'm standing in an Irish-themed pub in West London surrounded by sad football fans, talking to a man called Nathan about why he's holding a dead fish in a plastic bag. The long and elaborate story begins at the markets 12 hours ago, which is how long Nathan's fish has been away from refrigeration. It  stinks.

The pub punters don't mind because most are uproariously drowing their sorrows. Earlier in the day the local football team - the Queen's Park Rangers - suffered a loss.  Some of the fans seem ready to burst into tears, others are taking a more proactive approach and breaking into sporadic, ridiculous dancing whenever a 'good' song comes on.  We're treated to some of the best renditions of the running man, Saturday Night Fever and mock stripper acts known to man. There's even an elderly man drinking on his disability scooter and flashing the vehicle's lights in tune with the Tom Jones classic 'Sexbomb'.

It has the makings of a great night. My friends and I are enthusiastically drinking Snakebites* with the three funniest people in the pub. There's Nathan, the fish man, who fell in love with my friend Kelly as soon as he laid his sodden eyes on her. He doesn't care that she's standing next to her boyfriend and spends the night slobbering in my ear about her beauty. He has a plan to woo her with his secret fish recipe, which of course he details immediately as he's so drunk, nothing's a secret. He even tells us that he drinks in this particular pub because he's been kicked out of every other pub in Shepherd's Bush, which says a lot about the pub really.

The other two men talking to us are Tom and Mike, two football fans who have been drinking here for a good five hours. They were on their way home from the game, feeling rather proud because for once they were going straight home to their wives. Tom needed to use the loo so they nipped into the pub and that was that. Mike has been trying to get Tom to leave ever since but now that there's a group of Kiwis to drink with, chances are even slimmer. Tom travelled to New Zealand for the Lions Tour so he's enthusiastically relaying his whole trip to us. He swears every pint will be his last but if Mike turns his back for a moment, Tom has ordered another beer and is busy giggling about it.

At about Snakebite number four some friends turn up because we have been texting them, saying we're in the 'coolest pub ever'.  A bit of a stretch. Their faces say it all as they walk in. They look at us as if we're crazy. We move to the garden bar in the hope that they will like the place after a few drinks, just as we do.

No chance.  The night has gotten to the point where a handful of locals are teetering on the edge of having a fight, just for the hell of it. This is a phenomenon which is new to me and I'm fascinated.  I watch as seemingly normal men do Incredible Hulk-like transformations, rising up to clobber the bejesus out of a brand new enemy. There's always an attached girlfriend or wife there to calm Mr Angry down and afterwards - this is the part I'll never get used to - he hugs the 'bastard' as if he's his best mate and takes off rapidly to buy the 'geez' a pint.

When this happens for the third time our friends have truely had enough of all the tension and it's time to move on to classier climes. On the way down the street we meet up with a guy who looks a lot like Harry Potter and we spend half an hour quizzing him about this resemblence. He disagrees with our claims but starts to tell us some truely filthy things he would to Hermione if given half the chace. Once again, it's time to move on.

*A Snakebite is a favourite drink of Aussies and Kiwis in London and is made up of beer mixed with cider and blackcurrant cordial. Surprisingly delicious.

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