With Christmas party season in full swing, a mixture of alcohol and high emotion can often lead to trouble on the county’s streets.

Reporter Max Chesson spent the early hours outside an all-day McDonald’s once branded “Kent’s rowdiest” to see if late-night revellers were full of festive joy…

It’s 1am, about minus two degrees and we’re nearing the end of one of the busiest nights of the year for Canterbury’s pubs and clubs.

England have not long been knocked out of the World Cup, and a toxic combination of alcohol and football despair has the potential to manifest itself into trouble on the city’s streets.

As a non-drinker, I’ve enjoyed a sober affair at my works’ Christmas party before heading to St George’s Street, at the top of town.

The area was branded a "no-go zone” earlier this year following an increase in crime and anti-social behaviour.

It’s also home to a 24-hour McDonald’s which previously recorded more police call-outs than any other in Kent.

It’s at the restaurant - where security officers man the doors - that I find myself in the early hours, but the queue’s so long I decide instead to stand beneath the booming teal facade of Poundland opposite and watch the world go by.

Next to me is a man; we’ll call him Rob. He sways to the music blaring out of his speaker, chatting to anyone who will listen.

He’s average build and wears a hat that hides his dreads, a coat that covers a few more layers, and shoes with scruffy laces barely tied together.

In one hand is a phone connected to the speaker, and in the other a Gatorade bottle used to conceal the drinking of alcohol.

The music, while not to everyone’s taste, is lively and draws people in.

Some mock, some are indifferent. Some even request songs and dance along to the beat of the reggae.

The quality of these interactions, and the sincerity of some, is lost on Rob, who believes himself to be one step away from danger at all times.

“This is where someone punched me last week for playing my music. Nobody likes my music. It drives them away..."

“See this here?” he says, pointing to a deep cut on his eyebrow about an inch long.

“This is where someone punched me last week for playing my music. Nobody likes my music. It drives them away.”

I ask him why he stands here all night, playing the music that apparently causes people to turn violent.

Before he has the chance to answer, a man moves past us, his body moving to the beat of the song, and nods to Rob.

“You sweet, mate?” asks the dancing man.

“No, he’s sweet, I’m sour,” Rob replies, tilting his head towards me.

The man looks slightly bewildered, and I clock Rob is staring him down. Time to make myself scarce.

I look back over at the McDonald’s line. It hasn’t got any shorter in the past half-an-hour, but I’m thirsty, and slightly peckish, so it’s time to bite the bullet.

Just ahead of me in the queue, three girls don cheap looking Santa hats. With them stands a slightly older guy. He wears a burgundy Under Armour top, and adjusts his blonde, curtain-style hair every few seconds.

They introduce themselves to me in order. Amy, Holly, James and Emily. They’ve been to Venue - a local university nightclub. Tickets were free, apparently. As were the hats.

“You should’ve gone, it was sick,” says James, who seems to be in good spirits. He grabs the hat from Emily’s head and chucks it to me.

I try it on. It’s not all that comfortable. James tells me I’m looking good. I appreciate the sentiment, even if the judgement is seriously clouded.

It’s about 1.45am now, and I ask Emily if they plan to go back out as I return the hat.

“Not sure, see how we feel after food. Not sure we can be bothered” she says, as she nods towards James, whose attention is on a new group of people ahead of us.

Amy and Holly have been together for three years. Both first-year students, they dream of living a long and happy life together.

“We’re really excited to get a place of our own next year,” Amy says. “Hopefully, we can get a studio. Our halls are nice, but it’s a bit crowded, and we don’t live together.”

As they finish talking, Holly hugs Amy from behind, but their embrace is interrupted by James and his friend.

I don’t quite catch the friend's name, since the first thing he says to me is: “Do I look like Jamiroquai?”

For context, he’s wearing ski glasses and a furry, black hat. It’s not quite as outrageous as some of Jay Kay’s collection but it certainly stands out.

James and I reassure the supposed lookalike that Jamiroquai are “sick” and that the hat suits him.

Satisfied, he smiles and joins in as I take a photo of the group. All very friendly and polite, not at all like the rowdy crowds that can often dominate the high street at this time of night.

I eventually manage to place my order - for a hot chocolate and some fries - before joining the congregation of hungry customers waiting for their number to be called.

Next to me are two women in their mid-20s, discussing their work Christmas party.

I ask them if they had a good time, where they went and if they’re going back out.

“No chance, we’re dead dull,” says one, whose green trousers illuminate the building.

“Cosy Club - it was all right, but I’m tired and I’m cold and I want to go home” adds the other.

“Can’t be bothered to stay out and get stabbed.”

Certainly a decisive verdict, but I wonder if it’s a fair judgement.

Between January and October of this year, there were 102 reports of violent or sexual offences in the St George’s Street area.

The level of crime has sparked calls for a greater police presence, so I'd guess it's reassuring to some to see two officers bobbing along near McDonald’s every half-hour.

This strategy of high-visibility patrols appears to have helped bring offences down since 17 were reported in February alone, with the monthly total not topping seven since July. It's certainly a sign things are moving in the right direction.

When I leave McDonald’s I’m pleased to see Rob still standing as he was before.

Between us, holding her heels, is a woman trying to readjust one of her hair extensions. She’s swaying like a tree in the wind.

She swears in frustration, throws her shoes to the floor and rips the troublesome extension from her head.

“Oi, love…your shoes!” cries Rob, the unlikely knight in shining armour.

Back she comes, picking them up before wandering off into the distance without so much as a thank you.

“Everyone’s behaving themselves tonight, then?” I say to Rob.

“Just you wait” he replies. He nods towards someone he knows, and they get chatting. Rob’s friend takes a swig from the Gatorade bottle.

Next to us, outside Superdrug, is a couple having a heated discussion. The boyfriend is upset because the girlfriend’s ex turned up at Cuban.

“That fat, f******g troll sat there, grinning at us, I’m going to do him in” says the boyfriend with such venom that I decide to stop eavesdropping in case they feel my presence.

Back to Rob, who decides to share his opinion on sugar. His verdict is that it’s the biggest killer of them all. So we stand, and watch the world go by.

The closest thing we come to a fight is two men in their late-30s channelling their inner Hulk Hogan.

Unlike WWE though, it’s not all that impressive, as two drunk people grapple each other in the street, before their mates come out of McDonald’s and shepherd them away.

We stand a bit longer, and Rob finally tells me why he stays here all night, playing music.

“One day I’ll be housebound, and I’ll be sat by my window wishing I could be out here.”

It’s now 3.30am. I’ve been here for two-and-a-half hours and it’s beginning to really die down. Time to call it a night.

I’ve heard many drunken conversations - some more interesting than others - but haven’t seen the booze-fuelled brawls I was told were commonplace in this part of the high street.

In fact, the most violent thing I’ve seen is the force with which our shoeless friend ripped the extension from her head.

Perhaps Rob’s music really is driving people away.

Or, more realistically, the added police presence is having the desired effect.

Whatever the reason, it's nice to see people enjoying themselves and mostly behaving. Alcohol can bring out the worst in people, but it also chinks away at their armour.

With it comes honesty and vulnerability, and anyone who offers their attention to a drunk person may well be greeted by the only true reflection of their character.

As I walk back to my car, I see the same dancing man who had approached Rob earlier. He's sat smoking. I ask him how his night has been.

"Ah, I've had the best night. Got drunk, saw my mates, sitting here having a burn and it's nearly Christmas. What's not to love?"