I’ve got to admit, I’m feeling a little nervous about this weekend.
By the time you read this I will either be heading to or arrived in Edinburgh. If that was all there was to it I could cope. It’s a great place and at this time of year I don’t have to justify my visit by watching 101 different festival shows. That’s the good news.
The trouble is – and I shouldn’t really use the word “trouble” – is that I will be in that fair city on a stag weekend. And I have to confess that even at my ripe age it will be the first one I have ever been on. Anywhere.
Obviously, therefore, you will gather it’s a rather special occasion. It’s the Only One’s stag weekend so I clearly have to be there. In fact I insisted. I even sulked a bit when he teased that I was way too long in the tooth to be there and anyway it was something to be celebrated with his mates not his dad. And that upset his uncle too because at the very mention of a weekend away he’d booked his train ticket.
Anyway at the time it seemed like ages away. Since then as each weekend has passed I’ve grown steadily more nervous about the entire thing. It hasn’t helped that The Manager and the Lovely Helen are looking at my brother and I to be the Sensible Ones.
Knowing our track record this will be difficult.
Then I started receiving Facebook messages from the weekend’s organiser – first the hotel had changed, next there was a problem getting the t-shirts (thank goodness), then the plans for how to spend our waking hours morphed from the reasonably sensible to the potentially insensible (I’ve a distinct feeling the comedy club visit has been changed to a lap dancing one).
And finally the pictures of previous stag parties started dropping in. Shaved eyebrows are bad enough but these had victims stapled to the floor or gaffer taped to the ceiling, tattooed whilst unconscious and heads bereft of hair except for tufts left in obscene shapes.
And don’t forget the drinking games. I’ve tried to explain that drinking isn’t a game it’s a profession, it’s something you build up steadily over the years not catch up on in one or two nights. I’m sounding dull, dreary and anal aren’t I? Well, after all it is the same week that Blackpool Council closed down a hotel specialising in stag and hen parties whilst adding they’d no real objections to that kind of single sex celebration in theory.
Would that this was a theory. What if our hotel gets closed? What if I lose the rest of the group or consciousness or both? What if I fail to protect the Only One from all the pitfalls of two nights and days which I fear may make the two Hangover films look like a documentary on the Temperance Society? Oh dear, oh dear.