Martel Maxwell's Stag Do For Girls

Stags are more fun than Hens. Fact.
Men go to Iceland or the Algarve, say things like "what goes on tour stays on tour" and wake up in jail.
The last Hen I was on, someone brought their baby.
In fairness it turned out to be a hoot, but that's not the point.
Men see a get-away with the boys as an extravagance, but one to which they are entitled. A rite of passage.

They decide to go, wherever it is, spend the same as their pals and worry about the bill afterwards.
If he's under the thumb, he will:
a) refer to her covertly as 'The War Office' or;
b)  keep a secret bank account, so as not to be nagged ad nauseam upon return.
Studies show women worry up to twice as much about money as men.
When it comes to Hens, this translates to fretting about cost from the off.
So sympathetic brides-to-be are more likely to opt for a spa day or weekend in the UK.
Each to their own, but I want a trip to remember.
And in part, hopefully not.
As you know, I'm way behind on planning. Anything.
So my friend Zoe kindly offered to take the reigns, ably assisted by my sister Holly and pal Sal.
"So Max (the first half of my surname) what do you want to do?"
"Go to Vegas."
I knew it was never going to happen. The cost, a couple have newborns, others can't get time off work.
But she did ask.
"Ok," I conceded, "but I don't want the highlight of the weekend to be a manicure and glass of champagne."

Hen do hell

Our first destination idea for 'Martel Maxwell's Stag Do For Girls' was Marrakesh.
The group emails (there will be ten to fifteen of us) were flying, excitement mounting at our Moroccan adventure with kaftans and couscous; fezzes and fine wines.
Until, that is, Venetia pointed out drunk women are arrested and put in prison.
While this is one way of making it Stag-like, it's not ideal.
Females entering a bar are considered prostitutes.
My initial response - that this is a good thing as it will increase the single girls' pulling power, was not shared by The Team.
We are now thinking Ireland and specifically Kinsale, where the Guinness is great and food delicious, the town known as the country's culinary capital.

Martel Maxwell's stag weekend for girls

The flights are reasonable and we should be able to hire a couple of cottages with ocean views.
I envisage a rustic bar with fiddles and giggles, seafood that melts in the mouth and clubs that throw us out when the lights come up.
Perfection.

The Guest List

His list. Number 104:
"Irish Si."
"What do you mean 'Irish Si'? What's his surname?"
A frowning Him: "Dunno actually."
"You can't bloody have someone on the list if you don't know their surname."
We are three drinks in to the Dutch courage it has taken to start our Guest List.
My homage to starting this blog yesterday is finding a nice beer garden in Greenwich and ordering halves of Guinness to Jamie's pints. Because that stone is not going to lose itself.
That and the fact we brim with Celtic genes.
Jamie, who may possibly have a medical phobia about being told what to do, is affronted.
"Of course he's coming. I've had at least ten of the best nights out I've ever had with Irish Si."
To settle the matter, he calls a friend who furnished him with Simon's surname. With a flourish, he adds this to his list, along with a 'plus one' for his wife.

We have set an upper limit of 200.

When I tell former brides this they pucker their lips and say things like "Oh that's...ambitious,""Really?" or "We had 120. That was more than enough."

It's not a boast of popularity; simply a reflection on the amount of friends you collect by the time you hit your early thirties.
School, university, work, kindred spirits picked up along the way. They mount up.
And I think Scottish weddings often are a bit bigger.
I have enforced a rules to keep things getting silly. I say enforced..it works for me and Jamie may come round.
1. If I didn't go to their wedding, they won't be at mine.
My intended says this is a silly rule. If you like them and want them there, what difference does it make? Your friendship may have changed since they wed.
2. Other than family, no children.
This is  a political minefield in itself and one best saved for a future post.
The real fear is of leaving someone loved and downright obvious off the wedding list.
Like the time mum forgot to pick a Great Aunt up for my seventh birthday party.
It wasn't until we were headed back from the church hall, where the little boys in kilts had stabbed each other with pencils and cried, that mum screeched the car to a halt.
She later apologised for the strange words that came out of her mouth.
Auntie had sat on her sofa for two hours waiting for us to arrive, before sighing and taking off her new dress.
When I think of her, I smile.
And that makes me think perhaps Jamie has it right after all.
What better 'rule' for inclusion than: I think of them and remember the good times. They're coming because they make me smile.