In my time I’ve met some terrible men. Men who’ve killed, burgled, arsoned, the lot. Having met such people I consider myself to be a geezer who’s prepared for any kind of bloke. I’m used to aggressive and intimidating behaviour, I expect it from blokes, but the one thing I wasn’t ready for was seeing this kind of behaviour from birds.

Big Shelly is from Liverpool, she’s engaged to Mark, a bare knuckle boxer, and she’s already pissed when I meet her in the dining room of a Blackpool B & B. Shelly’s invited me along to her hen night on the condition that she gets given some cash for allowing me the privilege. With her are a group of female friends and relatives. There are nine of them in total, all wearing plastic bunny ears and revealing clothes that leave no bulges to the imagination. It is a right old state. These are the sort of girls who spike their own drinks on a night out. Unusually, there’s also a heavily stacked, tattooed geezer present.

“This is Mark,” Shelly slurs by way of an introduction to her fiancé. I thought that blokes weren’t traditionally allowed on hen nights and I say as much. “That’s normally the case yeah but Mark doesn’t trust us, do ya babe?” she answers. “No,” says Mark, staring directly into me eyes.

The girls start off in a Wetherspoons. I’m a bit embarrassed because they’ve made me wear me own set of bunny ears and a sash proclaiming me to be the best shag. I’ve tried to take them off but Mark’s made it expressly clear that I’m to keep them on as this is Shelly’s day. The booze immediately starts to flow. We begin with flaming sambucas and Shelly insists on setting fire to every other drink we have.

“I love him Danny,” says Shelly. “Me mum don’t understand why, do you Mum?” Shelly’s mother, Karen, tells me that she doesn’t understand why Shelly will settle for one bloke when she can have loads. Before long she wobbles over to a table where a solitary old man is sat on a stool trying to read his paper. Karen dares someone to dare her to snog him. The girls start screeching: “Snog him! Snog him! Snog him!” The old man looks terrified, he doesn’t want it, but he’s getting it. Karen rams her tongue down his throat and staggers forward. A cheer erupts as the old man topples off of his stool and she falls on top of him. Hen night doesn’t seem like an appropriate name for what I’m going through. What I’m being subjected to is a slag do.

Mark tells me it’s my round, as it has been quite a few times. I’m not one to argue and I get the drinks in. I’m quite drunk now. I want a vodka and coke and a packet of cheese and onion crisps but I end up ordering a packet of cheese and vodka crisps and a coke with an onion in it. The barman asks me if I’m joking and I genuinely don’t know. I’ll be honest with you; I don’t hold my drink that well. I only have to see a Guinness advert and I’m pissed.

I’ve ordered a burger to soak up some of the booze but as soon as it hits the table Karen’s got it down her bra. She then seems offended when I say I’ve lost me appetite and she demands I have a shot if I’m not hungry anymore. I’m being made to swig from a bottle of After Shock while they shout: “Down it! Down it! Down it!” I’m gagging because it tastes like Bertie Bassett’s piss when Shelly starts screaming. Apparently someone’s looking at her funny. She wades in with fists, elbows, tits, everything. The bouncers try to control her but Mark pulls an ash tray out of his pocket and starts hitting them with it. It’s all gone off. I make to run but a wall of female flesh stops me. Shelly’s girls remind me that we have a contract, that money is involved and that leaving would be a mistake. I just want to go home.

We’re all permanently banned from every Wetherspoons in the country and our next stop is a strip club. To be honest after what I’ve seen this sounds all right to me. Don’t get me wrong, I’m committed to my Mrs but I can think of worse places I could end up in after what I’ve seen today.

Even the walk there is a nightmare. Shelly’s mate Becky is deliberately sick on a homeless man then tries to get off with his dog and I’m being forced to down vodka from a hip flask that an alcoholic elephant would consider to be oversized. I’m so far out of my manor it ain’t even true.

We get to the club and I get a nasty shock. I’m so out of me box I haven’t realised that the girls obviously want to see male strippers. They go mental, screaming and jiggling all over the place. They’re all lurching about but I’m pretty sure a few of them ain’t actually conscious. Before I know it they’re all over me and they’re dragging me to a booth. This big, muscular bloke comes over and starts grinding at me while the girls hold me down, the white noise of their screaming is doing me nut in but I’m too battered to work out how to escape. It’s horrible, most of his clothes come off and he’s oiling himself up. They force me to stuff a fiver into his thong then he whips it off and he’s wobbling his bits about all over the shop. He grinds over to Shelly and what seems like a microsecond later Mark bottles his cock. There’s claret everywhere. The poor bloke’s screaming his head off, Mark’s screaming at Shelly about how he knew he couldn’t trust her, Shelly’s screaming at Mark about always ruining her fun. I’m dizzy, I can’t handle this, I’m sick. It all goes black.

 

I wake up and I’m naked. I tell a lie, I’m still wearing me sash and me bunny ears. I’m tied to a lamp post. I’m almost literally freezing me bollocks off. Somehow I’m relieved. They’ve gone. They’ve gone and I can go home. Fuck me.