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.
I think you're very brave. I have never EVER been to a hen party and I'm never going to go to one, no matter how fond I might be of the person getting married. Nope, never!
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