by Calvin Wade
“Dad, face it, you and Mum aren’t exactly ‘Love’s Young Dream’!”
Will was deliberately throwing the phrase I repeatedly used to describe him and Laura, back at me.
“No, but we still love and respect each other and if you can still say that about Laura in nearly twenty years time, then I promise you that I will give you an enormous pat on the back.”
Will smiled.
“Like Grandad Arthur does with you, you mean?” joked Will, who was well aware of his grandfather’s frosty attitude towards me.
“That’s a bit different.”
“Why? You’ve stuck with his daughter through thick and thin.”
“Your Grandad just thinks I could have done certain things better, that’s all.”
“Like what?”
Will was the questioning type. He always wanted to know who was up to what. He watched every soap opera religiously to ensure he didn’t miss out on any gossip, even if it was fictitious.
“Will, I don’t want to get into this now. It’s my Stag Do, I want to enjoy myself. I don’t want to be analysing why your grandfather doesn’t like me!”
Will accepted now was not the time.
“OK.”
We walked the rest of the way in silence not because Will took offence to my request, but because he was sending an e-mail back to Laura on his Blackberry. When I agreed to allow him to come away with us for the weekend, I should have built a clause into the contract that banned his i-phone and Blackberry. Will wasn’t the greatest mixer with his peers and if he spent his whole weekend with his nose in his gadgets, he would never learn to be.
The coach was already parked up at The Talbot when we arrived and bizarrely, it already seemed full. Joey Neill and the driver stood outside by the entry door, but there seemed to be a face at every seat, certainly on the passenger side anyway. I checked my watch, it was still only five to one. We weren’t supposed to be meeting until one o’clock.
“Will, what time do you make it?”
“12.55,” Will said without looking up from his Blackberry.
“Me too, weird that the coach is full already.”
“Yeh, weird.”
We walked over to Joey and the driver, who was extinguishing a cigarette under his boot.
“Come on Muscleman! Get a shift on!” Joey shouted over.
It was a glorious Spring day. Joey was wearing, what looked to me, like an expensive pair of designer sunglasses with his jeans and T-shirt. I shook his hand and then he shook Will’s hand too.
“How’s it going, Will, my boy? Are you going to be able to cope with a weekend away from that gorgeous babe that was in the Bay Horse with you, the other night?”
Will looked embarrassed.
“Laura. I am sure I’ll survive, it’s only one night, Joey.”
“Good for you, mate! Good for you. Punching above your weight like your Dad here!”
“You told me one o’clock, Joey!” I said, voicing my disapproval about seemingly arriving late.
“Half twelve mate!”
“Joey, you said one!”
“No matter, you’re here now! Get on board and let’s get this party started!”
Will jumped on, followed by the driver.
“Is the coach full?” I asked Joey as we climbed the steps.
“Every seat, mate! A few of the lads didn’t come up with their money, so I didn’t bother with the second coach.”
“Good!”
As I followed Joey up the steps, I saw the driver pass him the microphone. He took it with his right hand and grabbed my shoulder with his left, to stop me going to sit down straight away with Will, who was sat on the second row, behind my Dad and Arthur, who were also sitting at the front, looking as awkward as two heterosexuals on a night out in Canal Street, the gay area of Manchester.
“Lads! Lads! Finally, we have your stag! Please put your hands together for Mr. Simon Strong!”
Joey lifted my arm up like I had just won a heavyweight boxing bout. Everyone cheered other than one man halfway down the coach, who looked like he had a red rosed tattoo on his neck. He seemed to put his head down and shift uncomfortably in his seat. I hadn’t brought my glasses so couldn’t quite see who it was.
“Let’s get to Blackpool and get pissed!”
Joey announced once the cheers had subsided.
My eyes were still drawn to the figure who seemed to flinch and hide when my name was mentioned. He was bald and I knew I remembered him with hair, possibly ginger hair.
“Joey, who’s that bloke halfway down the coach on the left, by the window? The one next to Charlie Smethurst?”
Joey had become as short sighted as me. I normally wore bifocals at home as I was both long and short sighted which I wouldn’t have even thought possible, before I was given the glasses. Nicky told me not to take them with me in case they got lost or broken.
“I can’t see from here.”
“Neither can I.”
We both took a few steps down the bus. I recognised the squirming figure first, but didn’t acknowledge the fact. I just clenched my fists and moved towards him. Joey then recognised him too, as he gave out an “Oh shit!”
Joey tried to make a grab for me, but I had managed to get a couple of paces ahead of him.
Luke ‘Boffin’ Booth, that’s who it was. If I could have chosen one man on the planet not to be at my Stag Do, that’s who it would have been, Luke ‘Boffin’ Booth. I wanted to say something to him, but my anger had rendered me mute. I had heard people talk about a ‘red mist’, but until then, I had never experienced the sensation myself. Booth saw me coming and stood up, not to land the first punch, but he knew I wasn’t coming over for a bit of male bonding and a firm handshake, he stood up to protect himself.
“Muscleman,” he said almost apologetically, “they didn’t tell me it was your Stag-Do. They just said some lad from Euxton…”
I didn’t let him finish his excuses. I’d had twenty five years of excuses from that bastard and I wasn’t about to hear any more. Excuses and lies. What a load of crap! Luke Booth was full of crap and I wanted to beat it out of him. I lunged at him. I was like that boxing champ again, but this time mid-bout and I now had a startled opponent against the ropes. I threw a weak left and then a couple of right-handers towards his face but he managed to cover it. I only managed to catch the side of his head, by his left ear. A combination of Joey and Charlie Smethurst pulled me off him.
“What the hell’s going on?” Charlie asked as Luke dabbed his face to check whether I’d drawn blood and I just snarled like an angry bull.
“They’ve got history…” Joey began to explain.
“He’s a bloody nutcase!” Luke said, trying as usual to pin the blame on someone else.
“Which fool invited that killer on my Stag Do?” I demanded.
“You never told me it was his bloody Stag-Do! I wouldn’t have come if I’d have known it was his do,” Boffin protested.
“Well sod off home then!” I said, as I struggled to free myself and throw another punch. Joey tightened his grip on me.
“Calm down, Simon!”
“Get him off the coach then, Joey!”
Luke Booth was a cheeky bastard.
“I’m not going anywhere other than to Blackpool, mate! I’ve paid my money for this, just like everyone else.”
I couldn’t believe he had the audacity to say that!
“After everything that’s happened, you’d spend the weekend with me, my father and my son rather than forsake a few measly quid, Boffin. Well do you know what, that just about sums you up! Joey, take the money out of my pocket and give this dickhead his cash.”
Joey was sceptical.
“If I let go of you, Simon, you’ll hit him again.”
Joey was probably right.
“Well, let Charlie get it then!”
Charlie Smethurst went through my pockets, extracted my wallet and withdrew a wad of notes.
“How much was it agai
n?” Charlie asked.
“Fifty quid.” Joey answered.
“And the other twenty we had to chip in!” Luke added.
I didn’t understand this at the time.
“What other twenty?”
“Never you mind, Simon!” Joey said, “Charlie, give him seventy quid.”
Charlie handed over seventy quid of my money to Luke Booth. A half-decent bloke would have just taken the hit, but Luke Booth was not and had never been a half-decent bloke.
“Right Luke,” Joey said, “I’ll keep hold of Marvin Hagler whilst you get yourself off the coach.”
“I’ll make you pay one day, Boffin!” I threatened.
Luke Booth made a hasty exit. I was half-expecting my Dad to get up and throw a punch at him, but Dad had never been as convinced as I had been about Boffin’s guilt. As soon as Luke Booth stepped off the coach, the driver shut the doors behind him and we began our journey to Blackpool.
“I’ve never been on a Stag-Do that’s started quite like that!” I heard someone say.
“I know, the fighting doesn’t normally start until closing time!”
A bewildered Will headed towards me, as Joey released his grasp.
“What the hell was all that about?”
“Will,” I explained, “that was Luke Booth.”
I’ve never seen Will look so stunned.
“Luke Booth. The lad who was with Uncle Colin when he died?”
“The bloke who killed Uncle Colin,” I corrected him, “that was the bloke who killed him.”
JOEY – May 2012
I was half cut by the time the coach left the car park at The Talbot. We’d met there at eleven and I was keen to get as many pints down me as I could before we left Euxton. Me and a few of the lads had been to a cash and carry place and bought a dozen packs of twenty four cans of lager. Most of them had been stored safely in the luggage racks on the coach too, but there’s nothing beats drinking in a pub with your mates, especially when you are about to go away for a weekend with them.
I wanted Simon there late, because the surprise that had cost me and the lads a grand between us, was coming on the coach too. I know some people probably think that if we’d have arranged a stripper to turn up in Blackpool, dressed as a policewoman, that would have been funny, but we’re all getting on a bit and most of us have been on plenty of stag do’s that have involved an hour or two of big tits and shaven front bottoms, so I just thought this was much better. Anyway, how do I benefit from some stripper dripping water into Simon’s mouth from the ice cubes she’s stuffed into her bits and getting him to lick whipped cream off her kahunas? I don’t. What had I planned, benefitted us all, with the possible exception of Simon, anyway!
I arranged for Terry, the coach driver, to get there for twelve fifteen and my little surprise to get there for half past. I told the surprise that he needed to sit on the back seat in the corner, next to a few big, beer bellied blokes. Simon was never going to sit near the back, it’d be too raucous for him and given nearly every guest, with the exception of the odd cricketer and Simon’s family, had been arranged by me, Simon was not going to spot a stranger anyway.
By ten past one, we were on our way. Nothing ever works out perfectly and there was a minor incident when Simon spotted Luke Booth was coming along. They have history going way back, well over twenty years, so I can understand why Simon kicked off. It was probably a blessing anyway, as it distracted from our surprise visitor on the back row. Anyway, once we set off, we ducked the visitor down between big Steven Matterson’s legs and the singing began. There were a couple of crates being passed around, so I grabbed one, took a can and then passed it around the boys at the back. They must have been shaken around a bit on their journey there, as their frothy heads spilled out all over the place. I took a big lug from mine, I just knew this was going to be the dog’s bollocks The trick on Simon was hilarious, all the lads were well up for getting smashed and if I could use the legendary Neill charms to pull a couple of dolly birds out on ‘Hen Do’s’ then that would just be my crowning glory.
Before we even hit the M6, I managed to kick off an epic singlalong from the lads at the back,
“There once was a Mrs. Morgan,
With tits like a barrel organ,
And the hairs on her dicky-dai-dar,
Came down to her knees!
And the hairs.....on her dicky-dai-dar,
And the hairs.......on her dicky-dai-dar
And the hairs........on her dicky-dai-dar
Came down to her knees!”
It was going to be mental, I couldn’t wait.
SIMON – May 2012
Our Bed & Breakfast was on a one way street that was just full of Bed & Breakfasts. There were probably over one hundred large, four storey, terraced houses on either side of the road and every single one was a B&B. Joey had sorted the accommodation out and had booked us into six different B&Bs, all on this road. Joey gave us instructions to say to the landlord or landlady that we were on a golfing trip, as apparently hoteliers frowned upon Stag parties. As none of us had a set of golf clubs with us, we were to say that we had left them in the boot of the car.
Our B&B was called ‘The Cheshire’ which seemed a strange name for a B&B in Lancashire, but it transpired the owners were Bill and Glynnis Cheshire, a friendly couple from Exeter, who had swopped Devon for Blackpool thirty years earlier. They both now looked well into their sixties, but buzzed around their Guest House with a speed and enthusiasm that put me to shame. I was unsure whether they would be quite as friendly when we stumbled in at four o’clock in the morning, but after thirty years of owning the place, I’m sure they had witnessed just about everything it was possible to witness.
Glynnis went through the standard greeting and House rules. Full breakfast was seven to nine, which I ruled out as an impossibility and everyone would be given a key to the front door. Prior to 11.00.pm, the door could be pushed open, but after the key would be needed. Joey had allocated ten people to each B&B, other than ‘The Cheshire’ where there was only four of us. My Dad and Arthur were sharing one twin, whilst I was in another with Will.
The trip over to Blackpool had taken us less than an hour, but it was an old coach with no air conditioning, so the time dragged. Joey and some of his drinking mates had kickstarted a singalong, but it was purely made up of foul mouthed rugby songs and having never played rugby, I was not able to join in. I think they sang the Mrs.Morgan song enough times for me to learn the words and potentially join in on the way home, but as I was likely to be sitting near Dad and Arthur again, I assumed they would frown upon me singing about tits and pubic hair. At thirty eight, I still felt the need to behave in front of my Dad and my future father-in-law.
“It’s a bloody dump this,” Arthur moaned as Glynnis disappeared to get our keys.
“Not to worry,” Dad said in a much more positive tone, “it’s only for a night.”
Arthur was wrong to call it a dump. It was actually a clean, well maintained Guest House. The decor was old fashioned, but Arthur was old fashioned, so that should not have been a gripe for him. I think, unless he was with Nicky or at his allotment, Arthur just moaned every time he opened his mouth.
Once Glynnis gave us our keys, Will and I went through to our room. It was tidy and cosy, with the bonus of having an ensuite. We slumped on our beds for a quick doze. After about fifteen minutes, I decided I best drag myself up.
“When are we meeting on the pub at the corner, Will?”
“Half past three, Dad,” Will said as he sat up on his bed, “do you have the remote control Dad? I want to put the TV on.”
“There is no remote control, Will, you just have to press the buttons on the front.”
“Bloody hell,” Will moaned, “how Victorian! I guess there’s not much chance they’ll have Sky Sports News then.”
I looked at the TV. It was a small, portable 1980s Hitachi.
“I’m guessing not, Will. They should have BBC1 though. If not, ju
st get the footy scores up on your Blackberry.”
“They won’t have started yet. I just wanted to check out the Everton team. They mentioned this morning that James McFadden may be playing.”
One of the things I was proud of, was that I had managed to pass on my passion for Everton Football Club on to my son. He may not have been from my bloodline, but at least Everton was in his blood as well as mine.
One of the many disadvantages of being overweight is that you sweat more than a skinny person. I could smell the body odour rising up from my armpits, caused by the lack of air conditioning on the coach.
“I’m sweating buckets, Will. I might jump in the shower for five minutes.”
“Did you not have a shower this morning, Dad?” Will asked this with a hint of disdain.
“No, Chloe went in, then you, then your Mum. I stepped in, turned it on and it was stone cold, surprise, suprise.”
“Why didn’t you just put the hot water on?” Will asked as he stood up and moved towards the television.
“Because I pay the bill, son. I’m presuming hot water comes as part of the package here, so I’m going to jump in.”
I headed through to the ensuite. I could hear Will flicking through the TV channels. It was only quarter to three, too early for the football, so I could hear that he had settled for Channel4 horse racing.
The shower was just fitted to the taps in the bath. I stripped off, looking with disgust, as I always did, at my gut, telling myself I must do something about it after this weekend. It was a familiar pep talk. I also questioned in my head how I could be losing more and more hair on my head, whilst gaining more and more on my stomach. I had a feel of my man boobs too, which were still far too big. Shaking me head, I ran the water, stepped into the shower, then pulled the shower curtain over. Thankfully I hit the bullseye on water temperature straight away, so did not have to go through a procedure of tinkering with the taps.
I was shampooing what was left of my hair, when I heard someone talking to Will. At first, I presumed it was just the horse racing commentary, but could then hear Will raising his voice a little. I assumed he could be cheering on a certain horse, but seconds later, the bathroom door opened. I still had shampoo in my hair, so I left the shower running.