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Apr 24

Getting too old for this lark

Posted on Tuesday, April 24, 2007 in Uncategorized

Yours truly was at a hen party last weekend.  Hen and Stag parties seem to work especially well here in Ireland, because most of us are so immature.  I learned many things during my adventures with this particular gaggle of women. 

Firstly, Kilkenny city seems to be the Hen/Stag capital of the world.  Even the police will flirt with you there.  The streets are paved with party paraphernalia such as fake willies, wedding veils, ‘L’ signs and devil’s forks.  Everything is tacky and comes with a free shot of Bacardi.

It struck me over the course of the weekend that the reason our government is having such trouble with its 15-40 year olds is that Ireland’s social scene is very much in its pubescent stage.  It refuses to listen to authority, it’s belligerent, and it is constantly trying to keep up with its ‘cooler’ big brother, the US of A.  Our own culture is being quickly forgotten, and is replaced by the Pussy Cat Dolls and Justin Trousersnake.  Women are a commodity, to be picked and chosen for the amusement of smelly blokes with dodgy moustaches like farmers at a cattle market.  The less a girl wears, the more confident she feels.  Violence is king.  No wonder we feel the need to be constantly twisted.

I also learned how to cure a hangover.

Friday night found me happily buying rounds with my friends.  I was drinking pints of Carlsberg.  This went swimmingly, until a few kind anonymous souls decided to buy me a drink, all at the same time.  I came back from the loo to find 3 pints waiting for me.  I’m not a wasteful girl, so I did my best.  Having finished my 11th pint, I was happy to see the bar close, though common sense evaded me in the resident’s bar of the hotel later on as I accepted my 12th beer.  By 4am I was having a deep and meaningful conversation with God on the big white telephone, and by 1pm the following day, I was praying for death. 


My lesson was learnt.  I spent Saturday lying in bed flicking channels and painting my nails while the rest of the gaggle went shopping.  It was heaven.
By 7pm that evening, the drinking had started again.  Beverage of choice: Vodka and lime. I made a pact with myself to drink a pint of iced water for every four drinks consumed.  Although I lost track of the amount of vodkas I’d had, I know I had 4 pints of water.  I was drunk enough to dance uninhibited, but had the good sense not to stay on the dancefloor for such classics as ‘YMCA’ or ‘Daydream Believer’.  The only purpose of this overplayed so-called ‘music’ is so that the DJ can have a good laugh at our expense.  I might add that I was berated several times for drinking water.  To be out of your tree is cool, to drink so much that you don’t care if your knickers are showing makes you a good person. Right!  That makes sense.  I woke the next morning fresh as a daisy, and with a very vivid memory of my peer’s drunken antics.  I made sure to remind them in great detail and then took photographs of their pallid faces.

The binge is now out of my system, at least for another few months.  We bonded and we parted.  We made new friends, bitched about them behind their backs, and in turn were bitched about behind our own.  It was more fun than a barrel of monkeys.  I still say I’ll never understand women.

Which reminds me.. the last things I learned were: don’t put ice down the back of a girl’s knickers until she’s had at least 7 pints, and the best way to get rid of a smelly man is to tell him you’re a proctologist named Fanny.  Works every time.

Bring on the comments

  1. Grannymar says:

    Boy am I glad I don’t get asked to hen parties any more!

  2. Granny says:

    As a reformed ‘life and soul’ of the Hen-Party Brigade, I’m here to tell you K8 that you too will have lost the plot by the time you hit fifty.

    Think of all those lovely brain cells going pop.

    Mend your ways!

    There’s only room for one bewildered in the family, and I have cornered the market.

  3. Grandad says:

    I don’t know whether to disown you or be proud of you.

    14 pints in one sitting? That’s disgraceful. That’s my girl!!

    I just hope you didn’t get any smelly blokes with dodgy moustaches into trouble!!

  4. Brianf says:

    I have to agree with Grandad. 14 pints!!! Are you CRAZY?!?!?! You GO girl!!!
    Bachelor parties are common here but Hen parties are not. I find the whole idea pretty funny and scary at the same time.

  5. Grannymar says:

    “There’s only room for one bewildered in the family”

    Granny I thought you lived with the bewildered in your house!

  6. K8 says:

    Hey, I’m not PROUD of all the drinkage. I have great intentions setting out of a night, plans just get… waylaid. Brian, you haven’t seen scary ’till you’ve seen a policeman aiming a loaded dildo at you.

    I have great photos of smelly men with dodgy moustaches getting into trouble if you’d like to see them… I also have a picture of a lady with ice in her knickers. (Her expression, that is… before you start getting excited)

    And mammy, don’t worry- I put my brain in a jar of saline before I went out, so whatever braincells I have left should be okay.

  7. baino says:

    Why K8, I have some stiff competition in the boozing stakes

    ! Irish clubs must be cheap – once you’ve paid the cover charge, there’s only cents left for bevvy’s in our nightclubs so we have to rely on the moustached smelly men to buy the drinks. Some sacrifices have to be made in the interest of ‘getting messy.’

  8. Brianf says:

    I hope and pray that I live my life to it’s inevitable end and never get to see a policeman pointing a loaded dildo at anyone much less me!

  9. Please don’t assume all country men all smelly.

    In Cavan Town we have heard of showers.

  10. Cheryl says:

    I’m impressed. Could you email me? I’d like to compare notes offline.

  11. Brianf says:

    They may have HEARD of showers but do they know how to use them is the question.

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