Last weekend was my stag do. Obviously the ancient and mystical law of the stag prevents me from revealing too many details. But suffice to say, it was a weekend of records: from the first recorded instance of a member of the opposite sex eagerly grabbing me in a club, to the largest amount of toast ever served during breakfast.
Amongst other things, I sported a fetching moustache, 611 didn’t buy a sword, the brewery weren’t brewing, I got barred from a pub for not immediately buying pork scratchings, Nat seemed to confuse inches and miles, the hotel owner had very shiny trousers, someone bought a kebab yet ate the salad and left the ‘meat’, several people rediscovered the words to Rick Astley, I was murdered, Mark blocked my SIM card and we met some really lovely people, much like ourselves.
Oh, and while Guzzler and Centurion Ghost are magnificent, the Terrier is quite hoppy.
York is a magnificent place to toast myself. My love and thanks to my friends for arranging and sharing the weekend with me. I was genuinely touched*.
* by each of them in turn
0 responses so far ↓
There are no comments yet...Kick things off by filling out the form below.
You must be logged in to post a comment.