This pic is via a friend on Facebook. It’s appropriate that I should get it today as Ronnie is only just a friend but I met her at my real friend’s hen party weekend. I think we all came away from the weekend looking a lot better than this.
I am not hugely comfortable in social gatherings where I don’t know many people. At this weekend I knew one person (the bride-to-be) well and one (a solicitor who works at a firm where I used to temp sometimes) vaguely.
Overall it felt like a big undertaking for me to go to the hen weekend. It was at a hotel near Cardiff.
I don’t live near Cardiff. I broke my journey there at ExMyMan’s house. It’s not the first time I’ve stayed there since we split up. Fortunately, we are still on friendly terms but it is a bit odd being there and sleeping in a separate bed from him. Then on the Saturday night, of the hen party group, I was the only one to be sleeping in a room on my own. Originally I would have been sharing with another good friend who was supposed to be coming too but logistics of travel and young children meant she had to cry off. Another reason for me staying at ExMyMan’s the night before. I sometimes get really tired driving long distances.
Overall I was being very sensible. I knew in advance that I would almost certainly take part in the daytime activities and evening meal then retire to my bed whilst the others could go out clubbing in Cardiff. I had a lovely day. A reasonable drive to the hotel, arriving in time for lunch and then spa activities for the afternoon. I had a massage and was told to take things easy afterwards. No exercise. A great excuse not even to go for a swim in the pool. Because of the effect on my MS, I’m not supposed to swim on my own now and by that point the other members of the group had done all the swimming they wanted to.
There was a wedding party at the hotel. Lots of beautifully dressed people quaffing champagne and eating canapes. Several of us hen party women walked past their function room in our swimming costumes with white toweling gowns on top – I suggested we could have gone in and said hello at least but somehow that didn’t seem to be a popular idea. In general, we were not too outrageously raucous at our evening meal. The penis shaped drinking straws seemed a bit out of place for our vaguely mature group. We had plenty of giggles over the How-well-do-you-know-the-bride-to-be quiz and donned our Hen party sashes and badges over our Royal Blue dress code outfits, The bride-to-be had been instructed the colour for the evening was red or green and she looked fab in her red dress – a great contrast to our blues. Here is me in mine:
This morning, having let the rest of our hen party group go drinking and dancing in town, I was up bright eyed and fresh faced with no hangover. It was a lovely morning and beautiful gardens.
I was able to witness some wedding party guests doing the walk of shame. I didn’t take photos of them.
However, there was considerable other evidence of it having been a good night for the wedding guests. Plenty of abandoned glasses and bottles, some incongruously containing soft drinks:
I’m pretty sure the TV had not been turned round by guests but you can’t be absolutely certain what a wedding party will have got up to especially when you see what some people had left behind.
A pair of shoes, a top hat, a tails coat, a cravat, a wheelchair…. What? A wheelchair! Who forgets their wheelchair at the end of the night?
By comparison, our hen party group were all pretty chirpy but, at breakfast, I was able to hear plenty of tales about what had happened the night before. I can’t tell you them because what happens on hen party weekend, stays on hen party weekend. I’m sure Ronnie will post photos on Facebook soon. Meanwhile my aftermath is a complacent smile at having been well behaved and perhaps a glass of wine to toast staying sober at and after the party.