Stag-Do confession (part 2)
Stag Test Dummy continues his shocking, tell-all, stag-do mishap exposé - catch up on part 1 here.
So, at the end of my last post I had tickets to Thorpe Park and a renewed sense of optimism for the experience; schoolboy error – of course I had more cock-ups to come. Of course, in the week before my stag do we had the obscene and disgusting riots that plagued cities across Britain. Unfortunately, this meant our evening drinking venue then had to be changed from Clapham to Richmond, as Clapham Junction had been particularly affected by the riots. Worse still, as my Usher is a police officer, his leave was cancelled in order to help out.
I was down one Usher, with a ticket pre-paid. As luck would have it one of the other friends* that I had invited to Thorpe Park was still in contact with another one of my previously close friends that I had fallen out of contact with. After briefly catching up he was on board and we were set to go.
(*A girl! Not originally invited as we tried to keep it a boys-only affair, but after my little sister stepped in, I realised it should be fair game, and I should have my closest friends there regardless.)
Early on the Saturday, we were off. Getting there was easy, getting in was easy, and before I knew it was waiting in line for the SAW rollercoaster – the only one that our Fast Track tickets didn’t cover. Even waiting in line was great, as my sister and fiancée had spent the previous day running around like blue-arse flies sorting me out with a new Stag outfit, since my Usher couldn’t bring what he had prepared. They were complete legends – they kept me out of it and sorted everything behind the scenes; determined for me to have a great day out.
The morning. It was not so pretty later!
SAW was traumatic. I forgot to take my glasses off, so ended up spending most of the ride with my hands firmly clasped to my head in fear that my spectacles would be wrenched from my face with the extreme G-force! In retrospect I can totally appreciate that the ride was fantastic, but at the time I was a little traumatised – much to the amusement of the rest of the group – but I suppose that’s the Stag’s job, after all!
The Fast Track tickets were a godsend and made the experience that much more enjoyable. We went on all the major rides and a good few of the smaller ones, too. I won’t go into detail, but after learning my lesson on SAW, I thoroughly enjoyed them. I also managed to get myself drenched by a water ride.
Without actually going on it.
It was awesome.
Leaving half the group to try some of the smaller rides, my brother and sister and I hit the bar early, stopping only to enjoy a round of golf in the middle of the bar. The staff were not impressed, but that’s only because we beat them.
The gang got me going early, and by the time we left the park I was merrily on my way to drunken-ville. We got to Richmond and we drank more – and ate, a little. It all got a little vague after this point and our intended Drinking Golf kinda fell apart, but I don’t think I really noticed. By the time we started changing locations I really started feeling worse for wear – the start of my downfall. Now, I can drink a lot – but having lost all that bloody weight, my body was very much WTF.
Somehow we managed to get the train back to Sutton. I remember waiting for it and getting on, then passing out. In my drunken stupor I half-heard the banter that continued to go on between my sis and brother (everyone else having apparently parted ways at the station). Something very wrong started to fester in my psyche, and I very quickly turned into an angry drunk. You see, we Woodwards are very proud of our family, and sometimes that can lead to a certain amount of bravado. The thing is, I’ve never really bought into it – while I am proud of my family and myself, I have never seen the need to make a big deal of it. I think it’s meant that I have developed a number of very particular chips on my shoulder.
When we got off of the train all these deep-seated issues, neuroses and fatigues got twisted and churned up, turning me into a person who, in hindsight, I cannot recognise. In fact, I can’t even remember a lot of the things that made me so incredibly angry at the time. I stormed out of the station and down into the high street, determined to live up to this reputation, this (illusory) expectation. I collapsed shortly after on a bench. When my sister caught up with me, less than impressed, I took it out on her. The next section is a huge blur, a mixture of arguments, tears and me almost getting arrested. Twice.
The one thing I can say at this point is that I have never been prouder of my big brother. He took me aside, and set me straight. He got me home, and kept my sister and I from falling out on a permanent basis. I was distraught, and more so from the realisation that I was inflicting this hurt on the very people who had enabled me to have one of the best days of my life.
The next morning was better and I was able to apologise more succinctly – and sincerely. However, I knew the damage had been done. The wedding will give me an opportunity to make up for things properly, to share my happiest day with my family in a way that I can show really matters, but I am writing these posts anyway. I am writing them because I promised to be honest with you, because there is a certain amount of catharsis in writing this, but most importantly as a public apology to my sister and brother, as I should have not behaved like an arse, and they certainly did not deserve it. I had one of the best days, I am sorry that I spoiled the end.
And, to you all dear readers – what can you learn from my mistakes:
- Have a best man that you trust
- Don’t be afraid to step in and help organise if you think you can help
- Know your limits – whether that be physically or psychologically!
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