My night of booze and pub brawls

It is the stout girl with the peroxide crop who initiates the incendiary chant. "Fight! Fight! Fight!" she roars drunkenly, to a percussion of outsize metal jewellery rattling at chunky wrists. Soon she is joined by a chorus of others jostling for a view of the imminent clash. The chant becomes a battle cry, its purpose to strengthen the resolve of the combatants - a resolve already fortified by drink.

"Come on then," the blonde howls again. "Hit the little s**t!" It is enough for the prime antagonist, a thick-necked 20-year-old, and he launches his assault. It takes only one punch, a surprisingly welltimed, taut-wristed "thwack" that strikes his opponent right between the eyes and lays him out, blood oozing from his cheek and nose. The crowd roar their approval.

Welcome to another Saturday night in Richmond.

Yes, you did read "Richmond". Erstwhile home to the Rolling Stones, centre of Bohemia turned pocket of well-cushioned affluence, Richmond is not the first place that springs to mind in association with Britain's growing problem of drunken violence. Yet the town that plays host to some of London's most expensive homes has joined the roster of suburban casualties of the binge-drinking culture.

My visit follows warnings by Sir Ian Blair, the Metropolitan Police deputy commissioner, that increasing numbers of town-centres are being turned into violent "no-go" areas. He has called for urgent measures to help police cope with the binge drinkers who colonise places like Richmond on Friday and Saturday nights.

At the forefront of the change are what Sir Ian calls "drinking factories" - pubs whose sole aim is to pack in as many young people as possible and get them to drink all they can before "last orders".

By day, Richmond is a pleasant place. On Saturday, parents stroll with their children, and teenage girls check out the shops. Couples share lunches in the bistros, bars and cafes. In nearby Kew Gardens, visitors enjoy the carpets of cream and plum-coloured crocuses.

Yet as night falls and the shops pull down their shutters, it is hard to resist an analogy with " battening down the hatches".

Samuel Johnson said: "Wine makes a man more pleased with himself. I do not say it makes him more pleasing to others." It seems many of Richmond's residents agree. For a waiting game begins at 6pm, when the town centre crowds vanish into the dusk, a hiatus that lasts for an hour or two until hordes of partygoers under the age of 30 arrive in taxis and buses and make a beeline for the bars.

Young men in shirts and trousers and women in miniskirts and heels queue to get into the warm. In the town centre up to 20 pubs and bars are concertinaed into one small area. But it is five of Sir Ian's socalled "drinking factories", which hold upwards of 600 revellers each and all disgorge their customers between midnight and 1am, that

attract the biggest crowds.

Along Richmond's once genteel Thames waterfront, the Slug and Lettuce, Henry's and All Bar One vie for the dedicated boozer's cash. Each offering cut price drinks, twoforone deals and extended drinking hours, they don't try to disguise the fact that they want their venue to be known as the best and cheapest place to get drunk.

Up in town, at O'Neill's pub and Edward's Bar sitting down for a quiet drink is not the aim of the game. In O'Neill's the crowd is five deep at the bar. Signs advertising four shooters for £6, doubling up your spirits for an extra £1 and

four-pint pitchers twist on strings above the bar. Broken glass crunches underfoot.

A band plays raucous Red Hot Chili Peppers covers and drinkers holler at each other above the din.

At 12.50am, both O'Neill's and Edward's call last orders. There is a sudden rush to the bar.

A young woman with bloodshot eyes orders four short cocktails - a sticky combination of Baileys and butterscotch schnapps. When the bouncers start to clear the venue 10 minutes later, drinks are rapidly poured down throats.

Outside, as teenagers and twentysomethings congregate on the streets, a night of heavy consumption begins to take its toll. I see two young women vomiting in the gutter and among the men, tempers start to fray.

It is outside Edward's that the crowd begins to chant for violence. A gang of 20 or so stocky, white lads has turned on a smaller group of Asians, intent on settling a row that clearly started inside the pub. Harsh words and shoves are exchanged.

The group ranges over the road outside, bringing buses and cars to a halt. Several scuffles break out and then, egged on by spectators, the deciding blow lays the young Asian out on the floor. Within minutes the sound of sirens dispels the potential for a full-scale brawl and the white youths scatter. By 2pm the streets are almost deserted.