Sunday, September 04, 2005
Sloppy Stevie's Stag
The temperature peaked during the Palma daytime at 38 degrees, higher than expected for the time of year, but it made for some interesting methods of keeping cool and chaff-prevention. Air-conditioned bars with ice-cold glasses seemed to solve both of these problems, as we pondered the futility of wearing kilts with woolly socks and boots, in temperatures akin to a Six Burner Range Oven.
Our hotel overlooked the main marina in Palma, which is a beautiful place, but being a Stag, this wasn't a tour of local culture or art. This was about drinking - a lot of drinking - and humiliating the Groom-to-be, Sloppy Stevie. Which we did. In healthy doses.
Each days started at around 9am with breakfast in the hotel. By 11am the first beers were being consumed. By midnight anything could happen. By 6am anything was happening. Sleep was not something most had brought on the trip, which is just as well because there was little time for it.
The weekend was lengthy and by the end of it I was glad to get home. By 3am Sunday morning I would have killed for a really good cup of tea (actually, anything except alcohol) and a decent bed - my bed - not the hard, neck-wrenching one we had in the hotel rooms. The flight home was so much different to the flight out, like the difference between black and white. Going out was raucous, hilarious, boozy and hilarious. Coming home was like a funeral march for the un-dead.
I woke from my much-needed slumber like a zombie, just as Gail and Laura got back from their own weekend down in Blackpool. With Laura in bed, Gail and me ordered a Chinese meal and sat down to watch Jaws on the TV. I drank copious amounts of Irn-Bru and fought against my drooping eyelids.
The world can wait until tomorrow, when I have the energy and the will to do anything.