As lovely as summer in Brighton is, it brings with it train after train of hen & stag parties. They're everywhere, cluttering up our pubs and our restaurants, and bothering the likes of me who would rather they were hurded, like cattle, back onto the train they came from, as soon as they reach Brighton. They can keep their inappropriate clothing and their beer guts (and that's just the women!) or save it for Croydon Uncovered (Sky Channel 11). How any of these people ever found someone who would marry them in the first place is beyond me.
If I were to get married, I'd have a civilised affair beforehand. Perhaps a nice quiet meal somewhere or a bit of pottery painting (ok so that was a joke). If any one of my friends thought a night out dressed in penis-embellished t-shirts was "fun", they would be gone, quick as a flash.
Yesterday was generally a bad day for "people I don't want to associate with - EVER" in Brighton. Maybe it was the sun, maybe it was parents having one last night out before they are trapped indoors for the summer holidays with their kids, who knows? Either way, I felt positively upper class around them and, occasionally slim!!!
As much as I will miss Brighton when I move back to London, I won't be missing these hideous creatures. I don't think there's much call for hen & stag nights in Bar Italia etc. Here's hoping there's not anyway.
nicely put. Early mornings at Standstead airport are a good way of spotting these parties as well. Dish water blond, bunny-eared kittens with lumpy mascara on their dead eyes. Met by Gazza's Stag do T-shirt possy, reeking of lager and Lynx. Bliss!
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