4th June 2007
Hi all,
One of the downsides of living in Scotland is that I'm such a long way from a lot of my best friends.
Take my friends Mark, Martin and Neil, three brothers who I'd say are some of the best friends I've ever been lucky enough to have. Until last weekend I hadn't seen them in nearly five years. However with Neil's wedding coming up I couldn't miss his Stag Day. Here's what transpired.
Friday.
7.45pm. After a busy day at work I arrive at the airport. Somewhat tired/harassed/flustered and without dinner I go to a bar to get food and start to order a 6oz classic Coke. That won't even work in America.
My flight is delayed, so I have the opportunity to watch some of the England-Brazil game. I realise that John Motson and Mark Lawrenson might be worse in silence with subtitles than they are when you can actually hear them.
9.15pm. Twenty minutes after we were meant to have taken off, I'm boarded and seated. I'm right by the engine/wing on the left-hand side, and as usual I'm thinking about what could go wrong on the plane.
9.20pm. There's a steward speaking in English who is clearly Spanish. "Maybe you are Dragonslayer?"
9.25pm. Airborne, finally.
9.45pm. Just saw a plane that was clearly white and clearly orange. I could read the word "Easyjet" on it pretty easily. I'm more than a bit spooked.
10.25pm. Terra Firma. Thank goodness. Turbulence, odd turns and a headrest that was attached by a poor man's Blue Peter presenter. Never mind how near that other plane was either.
World's favourite airline? They're not mine right now, and that's putting it mildly.
10.50pm. Finally have my bag and meet my old friend Mark just beyond arrivals, so it's onto his parents house.
Midnight. Having seen some of the things the best man has dug out (which I'm not mentioning here in case the groom reads this prior to the wedding) most of the group has assembled. However as we're up early there's only time for one mildly inappropriate Gladstone Small reference before we all head to bed.
Saturday.
7am. You remember that old Disney advert where the children were meant to be in bed, but argued, "We're too excited!" That was me last night. I didn't get to sleep until at least 2am, my mind just running over with things and smiling. I've got horrific bags under my eyes
(i.e. worse than usual) but I'm really excited about the day ahead.
Oh, and the queue for the bathroom that I expected to be there was nowhere to be seen at 6.35am.
9.30am. We've just had a bumper breakfast in a greasy spoon where our group of eight were just about the only customers, and yet we got served by about four different members of staff (we think they are locked up behind the counter and come out when required) and are now on the way to greet the bride-to-be at her work. First of all though we need to pay respect to her position in an opticians, with a whole lot of cheap sunglasses from Poundland. Looking at the various glasses led one person to ask, "How much are these?" (not joking). I opt to wear my sunglasses in the only way someone who grew up in the 1980s should - Dennis Taylor style!
One thing to add regarding Poundland - they've got massive posters up in the window saying, "Dads are great" prior to Father's Day. If are Dad's are so great shouldn't you go to somewhere other than Poundland?
10am. Well I'm glad that amused the bride. Now the sunglasses are all over the place, notably on a few sets of chained-up bikes. Meanwhile we're all heading towards the seafront. The sun is out, the temperature is soaring and everyone is talking about changing into shorts.
1.30pm. We've retreated to the Groom's parents' house for lunch, with a complimentary episode of Knight Rider. None of us can believe how camp Kitt was.
2.30pm. All set to tee off at a nearby Golf centre. We've already had two calamities. Firstly Martin managed to put his token for the driving range in the wrong slot, then Mark hit his first shot into a wooden panel by his bay, creating an almighty bang that scared the life out of most of us.
2.35pm. Lost my first ball off the tee - let's start as I mean to continue! It actually wasn't a bad shot, it just drifted to the right, like most of my drives do.
2.45pm. I've lost two balls already, but found one, so I'm down by a net total of one. Neil (the groom) just floated a shot that went about ten yards. Unfortunately between him and that ten yards was a fence. There are so many jokes I could put in here, but I can't think of one so make one up yourself.
3.00pm. Standing at the fourth tee and a green 280 yards ahead of us with water surrounding it I decide to make things interesting with Martin. "I'll give you ?1000 if you drive the green." Martin's eyes open wide, and he flies to his bag and grabs his driver.
Realising that it would be just my luck for him to do it I start backtracking. "Of course," I say, "It's just theoretical. I haven't got ?1000." I haven't even got ?7.99 for another pack of balls. Martin's drive ends up being about twenty yards short and slightly to the right. I'll just say that mine stayed dry.
3.45pm. I'm now limiting my ambitions to, a) Stay in single figures per hole, b) Only lose one ball per hole, c) Not completely embarrass myself.
4.30pm. Finished, thank goodness. Golf and Stag events are not a good combination.
5.45pm. Mmmmm, dinner.
6.30pm. We're playing Cricket for the evening. Living in Scotland I've probably not held a Cricket bat in anger for at least ten years. The aim again is to avoid being humiliated.
8.30pm. Mission accompli, except for one horrendous dropped catch. We're now joining in the groom's hunt for ice cream.
9.30pm. We've been to two places that were shut, and have now been to a Harvester where the ice cream machine was broken. There are eight of us wearing Stag Day t-shirts and we're getting lots of attention, probably from people who think we're not allowed in anywhere (which couldn't be further from the truth - it's very surreal). We think Martin could be going back to the Harvester by himself, just to speak to the waitress who told us the ice cream machine was broken. We expect the conversation would have gone like this:
Martin: "Do you come here often?"
Waitress: "I work here."
9.45pm. Found somewhere selling ice cream. Actually the perfect thing on a balmy evening on the South Coast.
11pm. Back at the Groom's parents house again. According to the groom's brothers we're going for a "midnight walk". I'll gladly say these guys are two of the most honest people I know, so a "midnight walk" looks ridiculously dubious. I don't think they're cut out for a career in espionage.
11.05pm. Neil makes it about ten yards outside the front door before being picked up. He actually offers to walk to wherever we're taking him. C'mon, at least put up a token fight!
11.10pm. This is part comedy, part tragedy. The clingfilm that Mark was going to tie Neil to a lamppost with is coming apart in his hands. What he has got unravelled isn't really keeping Neil in place.
It isn't quite the perfect end to a perfect day, but on the whole it has been the best Stag occasion I've been a part of (not including my own, which I can't judge objectively). Furthermore I've now been to four of these and still haven't seen a stripper. Mum, I hope you're proud of me.
Have a good week!
Tony
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