Coincidentally, it’s the same weekend, 7 years ago, that I vowed to never arrange another stag do ever again.
I remember the weeks and months leading up to Newquay started with me being a very gracious best man and ended with me giving stern words and ultimatums. (There’s always one who agrees to everything but doesn’t cough up the dough.)
It seems, whilst sitting back remembering, I don’t remember many details.
This is what I recall:
We arrived on the Friday and got drunk.
On the Saturday we went paintballing and it pissed down, which didn’t serve to my advantage. We then went go-karting, and this was in the days before I drove so I was an ambulance, a taxi, a bus… In the evening we got drunk fancy dress style. I went as Charlie Chaplin and everyone thought I was Hitler.
We went home on Sunday.
Shaun said he enjoyed it and that’s all that matters — he’s married now, been 7 years. He’s still an arsehole.
So to remember this anniversary, I helped Shaun at the allotment for 3 hours on Friday. On Saturday, I walked into town with the intention of going to Primark. I walked into Primark, it was heaving, and walked home. On Sunday, I walked into town and actually went to Primark.
If I could’ve chosen, another weekend in Newquay would’ve been good.