When this post goes live I’ll be somewhere in the vague and misty reaches of northern England, on a train returning from a weekend of gross and improbable mischief. This is of course assuming that I am, in fact, still alive. This is not something I can at the present moment guarantee since I am intending upon approaching this weekend with reckless abandon, fully intending on giving the coroner no choice but to return a verdict of death by misadventure. The source of this noble quest of self-destruction? A stag-do in Edinburgh. I have to date only been on one other stag-do and it was not what most people would categorise as a stag-do. For most people the prenuptial send off is all about wild, unrestrained and highly irresponsible debauching. The stag-do I went to involved us all traipsing round to by friends house, getting roaringly drunk and playing boardgames. Not that this was necessarily a bad thing of course. The lucky gentlemen who is to be the focus of the festivities in my good friend JP.
JP is a good, dear friend. We’ve been partners in crime since 2004. In 2009, myself, JP and another of my friends moved into a cramped Victorian terrace. Together we were Jaypes, Shenanigans and Pinzy-Winzy. They were good days. Jaypes was a man dependable in his undependablility and Pinzy-Winzy made cakes. I was merely belligerent to all people about all things. But all such things must come to an end, people move on and the world keeps turning. This weekend we’ll put to bed a JP who could ensnare a woman’s heart with but a glance and wish him well on his journey into the realm of matrimony.
In coming weeks I may attempt to chronicle the things which have happened this weekend, but in the mean time if you heard reports of an unkempt, feral wildman roaming the streets of Edinburgh dressed only in a traffic cone and proclaiming himself to be the Kwisatz Haderach, know that it isn’t me. I have after all never read Frank Herbert’s Dune.