I've woken with a hangover that George Best would have been proud of. However, there's a niggling anxiety about me that I just can't shake off. On Thursday, while driving, I gave a female motorist a bit of mouth (I know, I shouldn't have). The dozy bint was parked on a junction leading to a busy main road, and her presence was causing rush hour chaos. If she'd only have parked 20 metres further down the road, she would have avoided the ensuing chaos and burned a few calories with her walk to the shop. Now, I didn't shout anything offensive. I wound the window down and shouted, 'you're in the way!'. Then I recognised her as a woman who lives down my street. Oh well, I thought. Cue, Friday night. I was walking back from the pub in a nicely inebriated state, just minding my own business. I approached the shop on the corner of the same junction, and popped in to buy a couple of nightcaps. I spotted the woman motorist's son and his mate loitering by the door. They gave me the eyes; I gave the eyes back, and thought nothing of it. As I left the shop her son squared up to me, with fists clenched and mad eyes. Then his (bigger) mate stood to my blind side with the stance and breathing rate of a boxer about to go into the ring. "Did you call my mum a c4nt?" Eh, I thought. "No, I didn't call her a c4nt. I merely shouted that she was in the way", said I. "No you didn't, I saw you call her a c4nt", said he. Then a bit of fear crept into me. I had nowhere to run since my back was against the door of the shop, and I had a wall to my left. To my front and right, no more than a few inches away, I had the chav mongs becoming more and more threatening. I felt it obvious that the bigger one wanted a brawl. So, whilst looking at the son, I struck his mate around the head with three palm heel strikes and gave him a shin grinding with a Vibram sole. This had the desired effect of getting him a few feet back, allowing me to get into open space. Next thing I know, my fists are up and I'm walking backwards away from the scene. I must have looked a complete tit. The son then threatened me with his older brother and (ex-copper) father: "They're gonna mash you up!" said he. I said, "Your dad's name is *****, isn't it? I know him, I'll go and have a word about this". After getting about 10 metres down the road, the chavs rode past me on their bikes. Fearing a mini-swarm I gave them a bit of verbal aggression in an attempt to dissuade them from attacking. Next thing I know, the bigger one shouted, "I'm 15, that's assault that is! You're thirty-odd, that's assault that is! I've had better beatings off a year 7!" I assumed they were 17, since I've seen the son racing his mother's car about. About ten minutes later I arrived home and they are outside my house. Now it's getting serious, I think. So, I say "Let's square this up now, shall we", fists raised. The bigger one said, "Well, as long as this doesn't get back to his parents, we can forget about it." He had a nice red mark on his cheekbone. Cue a positive ten minute discussion with apologies from all sides and with me explaining that I didn't call his mum a c4nt, and that I only meted out the slapping because 'I didn't know if he was going to stab me'. We shook hands and left it at that. I got in and drank my ales and went to sleep. Now I'm awake, and I'm wondering what next. They know where I live. They could call the police. Or a dispute could arise with their family members. Surely I was right to do what I did. I was defending myself. The saving grace is that no-one got really hurt. But the fcuking bastwards have ruined my weekend.