Stag Dos: The Dark Side

Here I am lying in a hotel bed in Holywood (Belfast, not Los Angeles) with an hour to spare before a friend's wedding.
In that time, I feel it's only right to set the record straight on my last blog which hailed Stags as far superior to Hens.
There is a caveat.
You know the "what goes on tour stays on tour" bit about Stags?
It 'aint pretty.
When you've finished reading this, you may confront your other half and demand to know if the details are correct.
And he will, quite rightly, point out I am but an excitable girl who has in all probability never been on a Stag.
You'll just have to trust me on this one. I know.

So, let's say a group of male friends go to Barcelona for a long weekend.
They will start off as one, drinking, telling tales and slagging each other off.
Even with new dads, there is no chat of children teething or nappy training.
This does not make them bad fathers; simply aware that it's not the time or place.
At some point in the night - perhaps after dinner and more drinks, this number will split into two distinct camps.
Those who do want to go to a lapdance joint and those who do not.
Sometimes a couple of members of the latter will tag along just for the sport of it.
If they are in a relationship, they know the she would be furious but when in Rome..
The men who were always intent on seeing breasts will sometimes go further. They will pay for sex.
Those who are attached may never cheat at any other time but see a Stag as a golden opportunity, a guilt-free 'time out' that doesn't really count.
You can only hope they are not so drunk they forget about protection. I know of no one directly who has discovered cheating through getting an STD. But it happens.
I believe it's the vast minority who view Stags as a rite of passage to being sexually unfaithful. Most want to drink, laugh and be able - albeit with bleary eyes - to look at themselves in the mirror come morning.
But the bottom line is that, come a point in the night, some men will forget the camaraderie of the Stag and act on their own impulses.
Like a (married) friend of a friend who last year went on a stag in the South of France.
Come midnight, after a solid twelve hours of drinking, his comrades were falling fast.
So he toddled of by himself to the most expensive strip joint in town which charged hundreds of Euros just to enter and hire a booth.

When he woke three hours later it was with two near-naked girls gyrating inches away and a very expensive bottle of champagne.
The only card he could find to pay the two grand bill was the one to the joint account he shared with his wife.
Needless to say, he wasn't feeling 'too grand' the next morning when she checked their online statements.
Let's switch to the Hen.
If a stripper is hired, it's for the shared experience. This is more comical than a man's 'ooh, look at the **** on that.'
This might extend to a slap on his bottom.
But the sight of some baby-oil-smeared guy trying to be sexy is more likely to have us feeling a little bit embarrassed for him, than magnetise us to his genitals with a one-track mind.
Even the single girls who can do what they like, don't view a weekend away as a mission to pull.
It's about the bride-to-be herself and having fun with the girls.
Of course there are women who have cheated on a Hen; some of them Brides-to-be. But these women are a rarity.
It's not the 'done thing', joked about when they come down sheepishly for breakfast the next day.
It's flaunting a betrayal of the man back home and that's not tolerated.
I stick by the sentiment of my last blog - Stags are more fun than Hens.
But then, I guess that depends on your idea of fun.

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.