The Stag Weekend

Thoroughly enjoyable - if exhausting! - for yours truly. Thankfully I skipped the excessive drinking of Saturday night and escaped with just a lack of sleep rather than any hangover. Some of our party fared much, much worse...

Clay pigeon shooting was fun, if it a little unnerving (I'm not a fan of guns, except in computer games where I can clearly distinguish between fact and fiction). The stag party was split in three and I came last in our small group, but as three of the shooters - including the groom - were the only ones to hit the clay in the final, difficult round, my score wasn't too bad in the overall scheme of things.

VW and Audi racing at Castle Combe was a fun few hours too. Some superb driving coupled with what can only be described as some comedic entries - one driver even had a for-sale sign on the side of his car (I'm guessing he's trying to sell to a wannabe racing driver; otherwise I would not be impressed to know that the car I was buying had been hurtling round a race track AFTER the owner had put it on sale!).

We were in Wales for 6.30pm and the assault on Pen Y Fan. It was a little surreal being so close to my parents' home, but not being able to visit them (I didn't have the car sadly). We made the top as the cloud rolled in, but as always it was the descent that was hardest on my feet!

After reaching our bunkhouse at Glasbury, we went to the local pub where we were served food at a late hour and copious amounts of booze. Thankfully I drank just under three pints of stout, which appear to have been gentler on me than both lager and bitter. Looks like this lightweight may have found a drink he can handle.

Back to the bunkhouse by 1am where - mindful of the fact we were supposed to be going gorge walking at 9.15am - I quietly slipped away and escaped the tequila slammers and whiskey. Those that didn't were very much the worse for wear the next morning!

We eventually arrived for gorge walking at 10.15am! Our party was missing four members, and the rain was pelting down. A 45-minute drive away, the stream or small river was a raging torrent, but we were able to get thoroughly wet and do lots of climbing and wading without any harm coming to the party. I finally got back home at around 9.30pm, tired but very happy. I relived a bit of my childhood wandering the wilds of Wales - some of the smells (bracken, I hasten to add - I've not lost so much of my country ways as to go sticking my boot into every bit of sheep's muck going!) took me back 20 years in an instant. The groom was exhausted, but happy too, which is obviously the most important thing.

Bloody expensive mind. And to think I used to do all those daring stunts as a child without safety equipment or price tag to match...