Stags and Hens
I had been invited on my sons stag do and Anna, my wife, the hen do. How times have changed. I love my father dearly, but the thought of him sitting next to me in Spearmint Rhino on my pre wedding bash fills me with dread. I said I wouldn't feel bad if I was left out, but Murray, my son, was adamant I partake, as Emma's (Murray's bride-to-be) father was participating. So it was, we bombed it up to Coquelles, where we stay in a Formula 1 'hotel' before crossing. We hadn't stayed there since Covid and the place had had a make over. You still have to traipse down the corridor for a pee, memorise a five digit pin number to get back into your room post pee, the one pillow I had was the size of a T-bag and breakfast is bread and jam. But it is cheap. The gals were off to Bath for three days of activities including a life drawing session of a tattooed man and an It's a Knockout sort of games afternoon. The boys were off to Cambridge for one night only. The after...