Daniel Cann

Getting married is a ‘big’ step to take and when my friend Andy R invited me and a crowd of others to celebrate his upcoming Stag in Prague I jumped at the chance. Providence had other ideas for us as the day before we were due to fly out from Gatwick a volcanic eruption in Iceland sent volcanic ash into the jet stream and the air around Europe forcing airports in the UK to ground all flights. For the first time since the 19th century the skies around the UK were clear and aircraft free. What was an environmentalist’s wet dream became our worst nightmare.

I watched reporters on the television sombrely explaining that it was unclear when the all clear to fly again was given. All airports were eerily deserted. Everything about our proposed trip hung in the balance as I retired for that evening.

I awoke on Friday feeling unsure and uncertain but still packing my suitcase that included Czech Coronas and my passport. I had a rendezvous in Exeter with Andy G who would be driving us up to Gatwick airport. While I tried to enjoy my breakfast the news was not goo. No wind had blown the ash away and Europe was still a no fly zone. Flights were delayed or cancelled.

Not knowing what was going to happen (I did not relish the prospect of spending the weekend in a sterile near deserted airport departure lounge waiting on a decision) my mobile phone announced that I had a text message. It was Andy R the Stag:

The trip to Prague was regrettably off. We could not afford to gamble on something as fickle as nature, the grounding and flying ban could conceivably drag on for days, maybe even a week. My heart sank but I understood. How did Andy R feel?

As I read on it was not all bad news. Jon, Andy’s stand-in best man (don’t ask! The whole thing was unpredictable) came up with a stroke of ingenuity and saved the show at the eleventh hour. The Stag Weekend would proceed. The location had changed to Brighton, just an hour or so’s journey from London where the main group of lads were from and about four hours for Andy G and I. That was just what I needed to hear, the show was back on and it was more about the company you shared than the location. We were there to support Andy R and to have a good time, so why not Brighton. Our other option was out of the question. Onward and upward.

So just over and hour later I met Andy G who like me was hugely disappointed about Prague being cancelled but consoled by the fact that the celebrations would continue. It was great seeing Andy G again and the journey passed quickly with shared banter and much laughter. At one point Andy G had me crying with laughter which was great until he observed ‘Jesus I can’t see!’ (Not something you want to hear from a driver!) The weather was glorious which helped to lift our spirits. The temperature was in the high teens, there was not a cloud in the blue sky and the sun was shining brightly. No hellfire or brimstone or ash, but nevermind, I did not want to argue with the experts.

We arrived in sunny bustling Brighton at around tea time. There were signs everywhere that advertised the Marathon for that Sunday further stating that the roads would be closed until 4pm. ‘Wonderful.’ Andy G said drily.

‘We must be jinxed!’ I laughed perhaps a little too maniacally.

We found our hotel the very posh, modern and grand ‘Jury’s Inn.’ They had gone with the Spanish hotel motif as it had a wasteland right next to it! We were just glad to park the car and enter the impressive lobby. We met the others at the bar, drowning their sorrows perhaps? Andy R, Jon, Danny (who the others now referred to as ‘Big’ Dan as I shared the same name with him), Joe ‘Scholesy’, Chris ‘Tin Tin’ and Jez.

‘The gangs all in.’ someone said as introductions were made. We all looked a little weary but relieved that we were now all together and ready to hit the town. After a shower and a change of clothes we were all outside in double quick time eager to have a good time. Andy R showed a lot of character, it must have been devastating for him, but he was soon his effusive and witty self.

Everyone mixed well and Joe had helped to break the ice earlier by pointing out a man at the bar who ‘is the spit of Al Pacino, I swear!’ We all took turns at trying and failing miserably to look at the poor gentleman surreptitiously but we could not help laughing. I thought he looked more like Robert de Niro and some of the others said he looked like Ken Barlow off ‘Coronation Street.’ It did not matter; it was the episode that made us all laugh together.

Walking down West Street we found a Chinese ‘Have all you can eat buffet’ called ‘Gekko’ (why? It had no connection to ‘Wall Street’ or China, but not to worry). As time was passing quickly we settled for this, a decision that some of us would later regret. In hindsight it was not the best of culinary delights before consuming large amounts of alcohol.

Joseph P joined us and we headed to a sports bar where Danny insisted we watched his team Millwall play a key match against Huddersfield. We played the ‘Queens rules’ which I won’t go into here again but the reader can find out about them in my ‘Invasion of the Morrismen’ account. Let’s just say that these rules like nuclear warfare ensure swift and mutually ensured inebriation!

A few yeager shots and lagers later and it was safe to say that all thoughts of Prague were consigned to the dustbin of memory. We were in Brighton, England and very happy! Even the bouncers had earlier lifted our spirits by asking a group of thirtysomethings for ID!?!?!? We weren’t that well preserved were we? The drinking game meant no swearing, pointing, first names or nicknames or it meant a two finger or four finger forfeit depending on whether the guilty party was drinking from a glass or a bottle. Danny, bless him came up with the cunning idea of asking all of the slim attractive females in close proximity to help as adjudicators. Very shrewd! He managed to chat them up and drink smaller measures (for now).

Moving on to ‘The Deep Bar’ (which had an aquatic rather than intellectual theme) we drank cocktails from fish bowls using straws and racing against each other. That Chinese food was mixing nicely with all of the shots, cocktails and beer. It was unanimously agreed that it was nightclub time and we entered the ‘Club Oceana’ in high spirits.

Danny again distinguished himself in a stroke of genius or madness by using the ‘Whip’ (whip around money) to buy a round of fifty bottles of beer! After a few seconds of chastisement, derision and disbelief at the sight of a beaming Danny and fifty assorted bottles of Becks, Stella and Budweiser he hastily explained that within minutes the price of a bottle of beer would go from £1.50 to £4.50! From pariah to saviour in thirty seconds! ‘The boy done good’ I believe is the correct parlance.

It must have been amusing for the other revellers to witness a group of lads carrying about six bottles each around with them. Maybe they thought we were alcoholics in severe denial, or shameless hedonists? We no longer cared. We were soon surrounded by cowgirls (no I had not started to hallucinate, it was a hen party) and everyone alternated between the impressive beer haul and the dance floor.

I looked around and saw a few superheroes as well and thought that I still preferred the Morris Man look! The next several hours passed in a welter of booze and dancing. Danny decided for us when it was time to leave by being violently (and quite impressively) sick all over the club’s carpet (not that the vomit made much of a difference to the pattern). It was the best Linda Blair in ‘The Exorcist’ impersonation I had ever witnessed. It was projectile stuff and I could not believe that one human being could produce so much!

Outside we began to congregate slightly groggily, like a platoon that has regrouped after a tough engagement. Who was that staggering through the door? Ah, yes, it was Chris who had changed from being an intelligent and articulate city worker into a rubber man. He now moved like he was on the floor of a ‘Funhouse’ his inner homing beacon led him unsteadily to the rest of us. We were not faring much better, at the time I probably believed that I was engaged in normal conversation when the reality was that we had all transformed into drooling, blithering buffoons! Still at least we were having fun.

The prospect of walking back up West Street in the freezing cold now dawned on us. I cursed myself at choosing to wear a short sleeved shirt in April in a coastal town. Not one of my better ideas and I was paying for it now. My conversation was becoming more and more fragmented as I gritted my teeth against the cold. A seagull flew mockingly overhead. I’m sure it squawked ‘Wankers!’ as it flew past us.

As we staggered up the hill someone suggested going to the ‘Pussycat’ lap dance club. Joe, Jez and I showed our ages by preferring a nice warm hotel bed to watching pretty women gyrate in front of us. I have always found those places to be un-erotic anyway, not that I am trying to claim the moral high ground, its just the women cannot hide their hatred of the punters in their cold dead eyes. I don’t believe I have ever heard the following story ‘And I went to the Lap dance club and that is where I met your mother.’

Later we learnt that poor Danny was thrown out for being ‘too drunk’ it did not take the deductive powers of Sherlock Holmes to see that. Andy R and Andy G were treated to a ‘lesbian show’ which was so unconvincing and so terrible that they could not look at each other for fear of laughing and thus upsetting the performers. Jon kept muttering ‘fifty bloody quid!’ when he returned from the club. So there you go gents, enter these clubs at your own risk, prepare to be separated from your cash and your dignity faster than Usain Bolt can run the 100 metres!

The following morning I took a couple of nurofen and met everyone else in the downstairs lobby. It was like witnessing the wounded from that scene in ‘Gone with the Wind’ when all the Confederate casualties are lying on the ground. Everyone admitted that they had ‘hit it a little too hard last night.’ We walked down West Street and onto Kings Road and the Seafront. We found a greasy spoon called ‘Buddies’ and we all needed a ‘buddy’ that morning.

With the exception of Andy G who was feeling a little delicate we all had a ‘Buddy Buster’ which was a huge ‘fry up.’ Afterwards and feeling a little more human again we found a sports bar and watched Manchester United and Manchester City play in an uninspiring match that was quagmired in midfield until Paul Scholes did a typical United trick by scoring with a header in the ninety fourth minute!

We were back on the beer (after a few lemonades and cokes) and walked along the sea front before venturing onto the pier. Brighton was enjoying a carnival like atmosphere that weekend with the sun blazing and the sky blue. Suddenly it felt much better being here than in a cold East European country or worse still stuck in an airport. With families, Stag and hen parties it was a nice atmosphere, almost Mediterranean.

Inside the amusements on the Pier the two Andy’s seemed to perk up going on the ‘dancemaster’ arcade game and dancing to Gloria Gaynor’s’ ‘I will Survive’ an image that will haunt and stay in my consciousness for a long time to come. Joe let off some steam by playing on ‘guitar hero’ and Danny played on ‘Terminator Salvation’ where he seemed disturbingly at peace as he obliterated adversaries on the screen.

Time was against us again and it was deemed too late to play crazy golf at Roedean. We decided to go back to the hotel, change and go to the comedy club which Jon had booked for all of us earlier.

The ‘Komedia Club’ had a nice, relaxed, almost studenty vibe about it. We were all sat at tables where we ordered food and pitchers of beer. It was apparent that the show had sold out. As the lights dimmed the anticipation was palpable. Fortunately the comedy not only lived up to expectation but surpassed it.

The MC and compere for the evening was the wild haired and confident Maff Brown. With his energy and mischievous nature he soon won everyone over. The first act was Stuart Goldsmith who had easy banter and appeared upper middle class and well-groomed. He explored sex and sexuality and relationships with great wit, nothing was taboo and he made us all at turns uncomfortable and helpless with laughter. It later emerged that he was the ‘warm up act’ for the lunchtime television show ‘Loose Women’ which seemed unlikely!

Next was Rudi Lickwood a charismatic and observational black comedian with a loose relaxed manner and style. He was very funny. One of his observations was: ‘there are three kinds of ring: an engagement ring, a wedding ring and suffering!’

The show closed with Canadian comedian Craig Campbell who now lives in my home county of Devon. I had seen him perform before on ‘Russell Howards Good News’ show. He managed to deliver the goods again with his observations on the English-Canadian cultural differences. It is a well explored theme but he did it so well that he brought the house down.

By the time we left we were buzzing. Poor Jez must have been so overwhelmed that he had to retire to the hotel early (and not to watch ‘Match of the Day’ honest!) We were determined to have a storming final night for our Stag Mr Roscoe. So we soon found ourselves back at ‘Club Oceana’ this time it was totally packed, everyone in Brighton seemed to be there which was great as it made for an excellent atmosphere.

The alcohol flowed freely once again and we moved around exploring the clubs split levels and different dance floors. We all partied well into the early hours once more and the weekend festivities ended on a high. Walking into town we found the ‘Infinity Foods Café’ where a pretty petite blonde waitress took us to our table before forgetting that we were there. When she reappeared several minutes later she giggled ‘Sorry, you guys all looked hung over (what a customer friendly observation to make) and my friends arrived and I spent ages chatting to them! Tee hee!’ We all smiled and through gritted teeth made our orders.

When the food did arrive it was just what the Doctor ordered. Well, a Doctor who is a fatalist and likes fried food! With the coffees and teas and all the stodge we were starting to feel better. We all reflected on what had at first seemed an unmitigated disaster but thanks to the ‘Dunkirk Spirit’ had become a fantastic triumphant weekend in great company. The banter was present and correct and we had yet another chat/debate on the merits of the Italian-American actor Al Pacino. We seemed so enthused by him that I would not be surprised if we set up an ‘Al Pacino Appreciation Club.’ Er, perhaps not eh? As we said our goodbyes back at the car park we had all agreed it had been a great weekend and we all looked forward to the wedding.

Fortunately our Stag weekend did not involve brushes with Bengalese tigers, Mike Tyson or psychotic Asian gangsters! It was just a lot of fun.

And the moral of this story is: never give in to despair (especially when you have an inventive (substitute) best man!)