Should I have watched The Hangover 2 just before I left these shores last weekend for my stag do? With thoughts of tigers and Mike Tyson in my mind, we all boarded the ferry Bretagne for the overnight crossing to St Malo.
Why are men so cruel to each other? Why do we get pleasure from seeing another’s discomfort? Which one of my group of seven best friends was likely to stitch me up – and how would they do it?
Who would dump me on a train to Montpellier? Or make me wear a Tour de France cyclist’s kit, then have a Viagra slipped into my drink.
Or shave off one of my eyebrows after a night on the sauce. Surely none of my closest friends would do that to me? Would they?
My bride-to-be also had her first hen do on Saturday. We’re both having two, one away and one at home for people that can’t make the trip.
Sarah and her hens went for a wonderful evening out locally. Donning a veil and some balloons was as far as her group went.
For us, the trip to La Boule was torture. Hung over, the 30C heat sapped our remaining energy and, upon arrival, we sat in a beach restaurant drinking ‘eau mineral’ all afternoon.
In fact, both the Friday and Saturday nights were very civilised affairs. Two cracking restaurants and meals of steak tartare and red wine before a refreshing walk back to our hotel along the coast.
The bay at La Boule is absolutely stunning and I’d thoroughly recommend it. There’s a long stretch of golden sandy beach in the shape of a half-moon.
Our afternoons were spent recovering, wih a combination of more water and crazy golf.
Then early Sunday morning, surely this was where something would happen to me?
It was 3am and into the hotel reception staggered a Frenchman. As we all sat nursing a nightcap, he discovered we were English and then proceeded to stand in the middle of the group and drop his trousers. With all on display, I asked ‘how much did he cost?’
He was free, courtesy of our special relationship with the French! Entente cordiale indeed.