Stags

Today's rant: why are stag dos so over the top these days? Time was (admittedly not in my time) when a few beers down the pub, followed by something suitably embarrassing involving dressing up / stripping / dodgy nightclubs would suffice. Now people want a whole weekend, usually abroad, with water sports, karting, shooting and all manner of expensive shenaniganery on top. I've been invited on one today and I really I want to go to see the ol' blighter off in style, but I just can't afford it (Berlin, flights, hotel, nightclubs etc). Ho hum.

If I ever get married, my stag do would look something like this:
(all times subject to change)
12.00 pm: meet at the Swan for initial round of Guinness, whisky and singing
2.00: epic game of football with the Street and mates on Sandy Lane
4.00: epic rendition of Hail Hail in the Lane showers
4.30: retire to the Swan to see how the Town got on
5.00: pub snacks (cheese, bits of lukewarm pie) provided by Dick
6.00: more Guinness, whisky and maybe even some Limoncello
7.00: pizza and tiramisu
8.00: get the badger costumes, banjos, guitars, harmonicas, triangles, maracas and child drum kits out
9.00: sing, shout, dance, boogie
10.00: amusing round of drunken speeches
11.00: maybe get that rough stripper from Martin's 50th to do her, err, bit
12.00 am: run down Cowley Road in badger costumers, jumping on nearest available post box
2.00: epic group-performance of Golden Slumbers involving aforementioned instruments
3.00: stumble down the high street, frightening students with ferocious singing and badger impersonations
3.30: arrange traffic cones in amusing shape on Carfax
4.00: pass out in neighbour's garden, cheesy chips on lap, very drunk and very happy.

What more could you possibly want? Eh?