I recently went to a mate’s bachelor’s party. Well it was more a bachelor’s weekend. It wasn’t the “traditional” rubbish either. So it didn’t end up with someone on the brink of an alcohol induced coma being handcuffed naked and dragged behind a taxi around the town centre with a garden gnome sticking out of his bottom and a pint glass plastered onto his drinking arm. Instead twelve of us who’ve known each other for far too long headed off to a campsite next to the Tugela River with more beer than is sensible. I arrived on the Saturday morning having been on a launch the night before and was confronted by a still drunk Andy (the bachelor) who promptly wrestled me into the river wearing what can only be described as a “Mantard”.
