Everybody was DJ fighting. Those cats were fast as lightning. And it really was a little bit frightening. I was scared, I don't mind telling you. The place was Bar Undersolo in London's salubrious and swingin' Camden Town. The bar staff looked on bemused. Records were being lobbed around like the hat that Odd Job out of the James Bond films used to have. And that was before Pricey and his friend arrived complete with luggage full of sweets that they'd swiped from a concept fancy dress party. But that's another story.

It was to be the DJ battle of the century, us beery heavyweights up against the deadly duo of Polly and Gillian, aka The Typical Girls. The prize? Uneneding respect from our peers, and the title of Drunk Music Champions of the world. Worth a scrap in anyone's book, we reckoned. Marquess of Technics rules; an indeterminate number of rounds, of 45rpm duration; winner to be decided by knockout. Who, we all wondered, would reign supreme?

The early rounds were cagey, the combatants sizing each other up, probing for signs of weakness. We led off with the first foray, landing some low blows, including an audacious debut Club Beer airing for 'They're Coming To Take Me Away' and Judas Priest's mighty 'Breaking The Law", which drew gasps from the growing throng. Then the girls pulled out a devastating combination of upper cuts, laying waste to our carefully prepared strategy with a hefty 'Tequila' slammer. But Terrorvision, we queried? Surely we had them on the run now! But we were sorely mistaken.

Into the endgame, and though we'd taken some hits to the head and upper body, we felt strong, confident, prepared and resolute. In we waded for our final round, stinging the Girls with an unprecedented volley of power hitting. 'Beaver Patrol'! 'Unbelievable'! 'Copacabana'! 'Deeply Dippy'! We had them on the ropes, and they knew it. High-fiving it all the way back to our corner, we could taste victory..

But we'd celebrated too soon. Polly and Gillian may have been bloodied, but they were unbowed, and we found out the hard way. They laid straight back into us with 'Hit Me Baby One More Time', a stunning strike that left us reeling. Soon we were ruing the earlier missed opportunities, as 'Better The Devil You Know' a copy of which was still languishing in the Club Beer record box brought us to our knees. That 'Groovejet' song by the Blue Peter woman's daughter with the conical head, not a record we would play at Club Beer, seemed like an illegal move, but we let it pass. We had no option. Our resistance had crumbled, our guard was down, each and every blow was hurting. And then the Typical Girls hit us with a real haymaker 'Pretty Vacant' losing none of its incendiary bile after 23 years. We rocked back, eyes glazed, and dropped to our metaphorical knees. We were being counted out and were powerless to do anything about it.

They nearly let us back in, fatigue and alcohol meaning that Gillian and Polly relinquished the decks for a final flurry from Club Beer. But a conciliatory
'Please Don't Touch' and closing 'It's A Knockout' theme were really just our way of holding up their collective gloved hand. They thought it was all over, and, in a very real sense, it was.

Typical Girls we salute you. We thought we'd piss it, but instead you whupped our sorry asses. And believe us, it's hard to take. But we will learn from our defeat, meaning that Clubs Beer from hereon in will be leaner, fitter, better, stronger, and, most of all, much more stupid.

Oh yes, we will return.

Click here for the pics

And step on over here for Chapter Eleven