IS Macclesfield really the scene of brawls and bloodshed every weekend? Reporter Virginia Bridgewater finds out...

First I went to Wilmslow police station - where Macclesfield are based at night - for a sneaky peek at the town's goings-on through the Big Brother-esque CCTV cameras.

I was greeted by Inspector Martin Forshaw, community safety officer, who clocked on at 10pm.

He told me that the ways and whims of Macclesfield nightlife could depend on anything, from the weather, to a full moon, to whether Manchester United had won that day.

"Sometimes we will have a dead quiet Friday night and then suddenly it will all kick off out of the blue on Sunday night," he said. "You just can't predict it."

Because I was well-behaved he let me operate the camera controller which revealed the kind of activity which I was told formed part and parcel of a weekend night in one of the most prosperous areas in the north of England.

On a Friday night in Wilmslow we witnessed gangs of girls dancing away in the street, groups of lads drunkenly staggering around, two couples kissing and a girl having an epileptic fit.

"That's pretty typical of Friday night out in Wilmslow," said Martin after I had gawped, fascinated as the night unfolded in front of me from various camera angles.

And just as I started to feel a bit voyeuristic, as if we were intruding on the innocent nights out of people who work hard all week, two lads painstakingly trying to negotiate boarding a taxi paused in their efforts and, clinging onto the bonnet, turned to the camera and gave us a cheery wave.

I felt as if I'd been caught spying through a hole in the fence and they had suddenly popped their heads over the top.

By contrast, when we switched to Macclesfield town centre to have a peep at the 10.30pm street scene, you may as well have called it the Macclesfield Celeste.

All that was missing from the eerie scene was a ball of tumbleweed blowing across the street.

The only sign of life was the occasional person trudging along looking like they had just been dumped by their partner - what other reason would you have for leaving the pub half an hour before last orders on a Friday night?

Everyone else was safely tucked up in the bars and clubs because of Macclesfield's 10.30pm entry curfew.

It was odd flicking from Wilmslow to the deserted Macc streets, bereft of revellers, at what should have been one the busiest times of the week.

It was like switching between channel four and the old BBC test card - the one with the girl and her Teddy playing noughts and crosses...anyway, dull.

You would expect to see people to-ing and fro-ing between venues, perhaps sobering up slightly, or letting the fresh air make them realise how drunk they are.

Bored of fly-on-the-wall telly, I scooted over to Macclesfield to hook up with the officers on duty ready for some real action.

Sergeant Sue Mills and PC Helen Potter had drawn the short straw and agreed to cart me about with them for the night.

But they took it well and by 1.30am we were off, almost immediately bumping into an exposed bottom belonging to one of a group of merry-looking chaps.

"Keep your trousers on lads," called PC Potter, engendering a series of comments which could have been flattering to a wart-covered witch with a stump and a beard, but probably not.

Next stop a suspected ramraid and more fascinating CCTV watching on the building's own security camera.

"You don't know how many hours we've spent watching this," groaned the owner and victim of five ramraids.

Just after 2am we were all impressed to see a girl riding a unicycle as we were on our way to Park Green. Either she could ride it while she was drunk or - equally impressive - she was on the streets and sober at 2am.

Just after we cruised up to a smooching couple so engrossed they didn't spot the huge shiny police car until they were standing right in the headlights (big aaaaaaah from all three of us), we got the first brawl call of the night.

With flashy lights but no nee-naw (a bit disappointing) we raced to the scene where I excitedly tried to leap out of the car with them but, finding it child-locked, bumped my head on the window instead.

I had to be content with watching from inside as, sure enough, there was Mr Moony - looking less cheerful than before and certainly less likely to pull his pants down while in handcuffs.

There was a quick cheer from me but professionally no cheer from the two officers (but I know they wanted to)).

He and his mate were bundled, drunk and disorderly, into a meat wagon on their way to spend a night at Hotel Nick in swanky Wilmslow.

"Can't you just drop me off at home?" one of them pleaded. Bless.

At 2.43am Sue spotted two lads she recognised, revealing at the same time her previous identity.

"You're never Mrs Mills from Upton Priory Junior?" gasped one of them before they were sent on their way.

"I was a teacher for five years," admitted Sue. "It was much more stressful than this. You get kids throwing stuff at you, threatening to kill people with scissors, running out of the room saying, 'You can't touch me'.

"And I got bored of writing the date on the board every day. I missed this job."

Helen, 27, simply said: "This was always what I wanted to do. I love it, I love the diversity - I just can't imagine doing anything else."

By 4am, head nodding, I was taken back to the station and given a cup of tea before being put in my car and sent home to bed.

Perhaps the strangest part of the night was driving home at 4.30am with just milk floats keeping me company on the road.

Being up and about at that time, sober, was a new experience for me.

To round off the night I was almost stopped by police as, lone car racing the sunrise, I forgot my speed and merrily zoomed past them the last half mile home.