The Stag Do. A great institution. If you’re one of those people who think that single-sex team sports are just a big excuse for heterosexual men to get away from their wives and drink beer, then you probably think that the Stag Do is something that happens to get the same men away from the pretence of an excuse to get away from their wives and drink beer. And with no pretence, the Stag Do lends a special air of freedom. I like them very much, and have passed several months of my life living each weekend as if it was a Stag Do. Without even the pretence of being on a Stag Do, I saw myself as supremely liberated.
On Stag Dos, anything can happen. This one saw an assorted list of activities:
- A fist fight between two very good friends
- Taking very bad photos with a telephone
- drink induced coma
- The groom waking from his late afternoon coma to Goldilocks-like screams. He awoke in someone else’s hotel room. He was woken up by the room’s rightful guest screaming that a strange man had broken into her room and taken residence in her bed
- Hijacking some bread crates and a small trolley and forcing the groom to attempt head first street-luging on Tottenham Court Road
- Walking a fair distance to a strip club that was very shut
- Waking slumbering security staff in stairways of oversized nightclubs
- Demanding to be taken somewhere in a taxi, and quibbling about the price for some time with a patient driver without specifying any particular destination
- Demanding of minicab drivers to be taken to the best kebab shop in London. Then haggling down to any kebab shop in London. Then haggling back up to any kebab shop in London that was still open after being driven around for quite some time.
- Two broken ribs