Every so often, like today, I like to unwind by going and sitting on a terrace, enjoy a beer and watch the world go by - well, more specifically, watch the people go by. Good thing about living in Spain, it's still 20-24 degrees on average so it's still feasible and pleasant, even in a T-shirt. Then I felt a shiver run up or down my spine - probably did a few yo-yo's actually. One of the few sights that truly terrify me now. A marauding pack of females on a hen "do" and not just the ordinary ones, the ones who have gone to the trouble of having tour T-shirts printed in either shocking yellow or bright pink with "Sharons Last Shag Tour - Alicante 2006". Christ, they terrify me. I'm quite safe really bearing more resemblance to a chipmunk than a chippendale, but it's still a long way from my comfort zone. As usual, I was thinking of a number of things at the same time and one was to do with a line from My Name is Earl (the programme where he has a list of bad things to undo) - trying to reunite some guy with his girl, the guy asks if his girl slept with anyone else. She replies that she "used her hand on one guy" - Earl stands there looking gobsmacked and then says "Shoot - I don't know how to un-ring that bell !".
So, still trying to not make a list like Earls of all the bad things I have done, I got thinking about stag parties I'd been on and what would make it to my list if I ever did do one. One in Chester came back to haunt me. I think there were about 10 of us and we were doing the pub crawl before the nightclub thing. Nice summer evenings so all the guys are in shirts, the girls in town, mini skirts etc. Walking up the street towards the Cross we spotted a group of very foxy ladies walking toward us on the other side of the road. Preening began on both sides, smiles exchanged and then there was a *clang*, not like a bell but more like what you would hear in a harbour. At which point the girls burst into laughter. A man's immediate reaction to laughter of that sort is to check if his flies are undone. Nope. Then we looked round. Lying prone on the ground was Mike, bloody nose and developing shiner. He'd been concentrating so hard on the girls.... *thwack* straight into a lamp post *lol* - I should have helped him up but I couldn't, I was laughing too bloody hard. Sorry Mike.
Then there was the weekend in Dublin. 14 of us over on the ferry, Friday afternoon for a weekend. At that time, in my defence, I was still in my Rock n Roll phase. I lost the 'lads' within 10 minutes of arriving in Ireland as I was somewhat more focused on the Irish girl I'd met on the ferry. So, 7am Saturday morning I eventually arrived in Dublin realising that a) don't know where the 'lads' are staying and b) don't have my ticket back. Nothing else for it, find a pub. Four hours later, and quite a few more pints of guiness than that I announce to my new friends and 4 new fiancees in the pub that I'm just off to find the lads. Great idea in a pub, bad idea in sunlight in a city you don't know. As luck would have it I bumped into them within 10 minutes. Eventually, I persuaded them to come to my new pub. As we walked in a number of people shouted "hey, S is back - a pint for yer man". So, I'm talking to Mr and Mrs Fat and persuade her to grab bridegroom-to-be and make him dance. Mr Fat and I get into a friendly argument about strength. I confidently announce "I could lift you up you fat bas*ard". The bet is made, the deed halfway done when I remember that laws of physics and alcohol don't mix. Flying backwards, Mr Fat still grasped in my arms, but decidedly on top of me now we crash through the nearest table laden with guiness. Needless to say, we went through the table, the guiness went everywhere - the 'lads' ran away but I just stood up, said sorry, replaced all the drinks and carried on drinking there all day. Sorry, if you got a guiness shower.
Finally, one where I was best man and thus supposed to protect the 'stag'. Easier said than done when said stag is one of the rugby team and I have the build of a stick insect. So, in the local pub one of the team sidles over to me and whispers in my ear "take him for a game of pool". I obliged and then, 5 minutes later an impending wave of doom crashed over my head. Standing in the doorway was a policewoman with far too much makeup backed up by a scrum of grinning rugby players. I tried to make a run for it (I figured only stag needed to attend) but 20 rugby players coming in one direction whilst I try to head the other through a single doorway - well I think you can figure out the result. I can't say I particularly enjoyed the 'show' although I was intrigued with the banana trick. I don't think his wife found out - well, they still got married. I threatened to bring it up in my speech but never did. Sorry Mr M.