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Paul Weedon

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Stag celebrations are a weird one to get right.

I’ve been on so many over the years, which means that every ‘activity’ has been ticked off the list. I’ve also been on a lot of stag weekends away where the second day ends up becoming an all day endurance test of who can drink through the hangover, ready to go again that night in predominantly the same East European bars from the night before.

So no, for my stag, no weekend jaunts. No paint balling or bubble football. Just a single day in my home city of Liverpool celebrating an old-fashioned stag day with the full eclectic range of my family and friends from all over the country. This meant a true mixed bag of backgrounds and personalities and a spread of ages from 28 to 72. No age prejudice on my stag.

We started with lunch. Fairly sedate.
Then a booze fuelled Beatles tour on a 40 seat coach with an exasperated tour guide and girls serving drinks. Mildly raucous and educational for those from out of town who were interested.
Followed by a couple of hours drinking in the world famous Cavern. Starting to get messy. I seem to recall some dancing to the band.
Next up a private room in a nearby Italian restaurant. For some reason we played a game organised by my best man that required sticking pegs on people’s faces. Weird, and resulted in bruises, but wonderful.
We then hit up a bar on Matthew Street. I’m hazy here but I know there were headbands for all and we lost a few of the group to alcohol fatigue.
Then a 30 minute walk up to the cooler end of town and Concert Square. This walk sobered me up considerably as we hit the wee early hours. The group had now slipped from 30 to 15 but that was okay as it was DANCING TIME.

After displaying some wonderful dance moves I eventually made it home at around 3.30am. Slightly bedraggled, but fully intact and with a relatively clear head. Some were out until 7am I’m told which means they managed a marathon 18 hours. Sterling work stags.

I strangely remember just about everything throughout the whole day, but almost none of the specifics. I somehow managed to float through the whole process without actually digesting it all. It’s a really peculiar haze.

One thing I do know is that my best man gave me a disposable camera at the beginning of the day. I know I took some photos with it. But when did I last see it? Where is it now? What the hell is actually on it??

If you find a well worn looking disposable camera in some slightly shabby corner of a bar in Liverpool, do me a favour, process it and send the pictures to me. It will be contain moments that are messy, maybe even slightly bizarre, but I’d like to see it. In private. On my own. You know, just in case….

 

Stag 2

Stag 3