Going troppo in a season out of schedule

No one's quite sure why, but this year, the wet season is weird - really weird. It's way over schedule, and the dry is nowhere to be seen. Instead, the days are long, hot and humid, with intense electrical storms and torrential showers arriving almost on cue at 6pm; an unseasonal repeat to the Territory's infamous build-up to the monsoon, and the reason behind the term 'going troppo'.
And nowhere is it more apparent than where I am right now.
Since Monday, every night has been another chapter in the real-life 'Dummies Guide to Going Troppo', complete with true surround sound, including men shouting, women screaming, kids crying and dogs barking.
Without exaggeration, it's a war zone from the comfort of your air-conditioning; listen closely and you'll hear the words turn into fists, then fists into faces, all the while punctuated by breaking bottles and the shrill ring of steel piping being hurled through the night.
It's a challenging, confronting and confusing environment for insiders and outsiders alike, including the police, who are sitting at the entrance to the community when I get home this evening. This is the fourth time in five days they've been called out this week, but tonight, even they're scared by what they see.
Fuelled by green cans, red cans and cheap casks, around 25 blokes swing fists, feet, sticks and whatever else they can find at each other. One fella gets hit again, again and again; each time he gets up, his anger grows even stronger. It's terrifying stuff, and makes even the most ferocious small-town Saturday night punch-up seem like nothing at all.
In the background, lightning arcs across the sky, reflecting the rage and intensity below as the police discuss how best to handle the situation. One officer suggests firing several rounds into the air; another says they should turn around and go home.
If only I had the option. Instead, I wish them good luck, roll up the window and hope the wet season gets back on schedule.