The Grumpy Old Man

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....Stags and Hens, Aye, there's nowt sa queer as folk!....

...A view of stag and hen parties and how utterly stupid people can be about them....

Life is very peaceful here at the moment, being wintertime as I write, the hotel over the road is closed during the week but I must confess it seems to attract a most strange 'being' at the weekends.

Full loads of these 'beings' usually appear by minibus about the middle of Saturday afternoon. The group will be either all female or all male, certainly not mixed. Most of the female parties will invariably be dressed as Nuns or as Mrs Doyle from the television series "Father Ted". The male parties will all be dressed in their scruffs number one. When we first encountered the arrival of these stag and hen parties (because that's what they are) our hearts were filled with dread as we knew that we were in for a sleepless night. Nowadays I am pleased to say however, with our double glazing we usually hear very little.

But then the strangest of things now happens. They all get off their minibuses and disappear into the hotel. At this point it is important to note that the village itself is actually a holiday resort with all the attractions that one would normally expect in such a place. As part of this, it is also a honeypot for the surfing community. So on most weekends (even in winter) there are plenty of things to do around the village.

But to get back to these stag and hen parties, after alighting from their respective minibuses we invariably don't see sight nor sound of them until very late on Sunday morning. (I'm sure it would be later still if the hotel stayed open beyond midday). When they eventually do surface, they always seem very much the worse for wear and climb back into their minibuses nursing a hangover, a 'tinny' and disappear from whence they came. Probably saying to all their other friends, "what a fantastic weekend we've had".

It would appear that they must have spent the whole of their time in the village inside the hotel drinking heavily and generally getting pie eyed.

This happens so often that Mrs G and I have commented on what a waste of rations the exercise seems to have been. They have visited a village with lots to do and done none of it, but spent their time inside, drinking heavily, so why in all the world could they not have spent the weekend in their own, local pub and saved themselves the cost of the minibus and an overnight stay in the hotel? Or should I say, half a night in the hotel because I'm sure many of them don't get to their bedrooms till five o'clock in the morning.

Not only a waste of rations we say, but also a waste of money. And Grumpy has no doubt that these idiots will, at some time during the following week, complain they are short of money. I must observe that idiots like this have no idea what being short of money is about! Furthermore when they start to suffer from acute liver failure, I am sure they will expect the rest of us to chip in and pay for their treatment through the health service.

I sometimes despair of what people are like these days. But then, as my old Pappy used to say "by gum Grumpy, there's nowt sa queer as folk!"......and, by gum, he was right!