Baby's First Blog

Well, here's my first blog.

Who the hell will read this I do not know, but partner-in-crime Nick Swift has had more than 1800 hits on his blog since march, which is more than I've had on my website in the last four years, and that seems reason enough to have a blog.

(Though who's reading his is a mystery in itself - I think it's the only way his Mum can keep tabs on him).

Well, a balmy bank holiday weekend, and perfect conditions for younger brother Michael's stag do. A fine bunch of supple-limbed gentlemen congregated at older brother Jon's house on friday night for poker.

A self-confessed poker virgin, I expected to be taken roughly from behind by the assembled die-hards, and indeed, twas so. My poker cherry popped, I watched forlornly, as the chips began to accumulate at opposite ends of the table; two plastic super-powers forming slowly (like watching the bad guy in terminator two reassemble himself in mercurial droplets).

The poker went on til about 2 in the morning, and the conversation, as is always the case when the Gold brothers are gathered together, started to veer towards girly things like gardening, vegetarian cooking, and West End musicals. Jon described it as akin to a supermarket trolley with a wayward wheel. However, the proper boys there present reined us in.

Wobbled home about 04.30.

Next event was Twickenham on Sat. A surprise for Michael, who was led there blindfold, and confronted by 8 stags wearing T-shirts bearing the likeness of his coyly smiling face aged 6 months and sporting a cowboy hat...

I know very little about rugby, but apparently someone scored some goals, and the final score was something like four hundred and twenty eight nil.

That evening found us in Ealing at closing time, rather soporific after a curry so large it would have sorted out Jesus' five thousand mates. As I was leaning on the bar, an Australian woman reeled up to me and informed us that we were having a rubbish time. Apparently she's a "Buck's night" veteran, and the yardstick of enjoyment in her country is directly connected to the number of strippers that the stag has "spewed" on. A zero score in our case, but at least we had our dignity (apart from Mike who was wearing a spangly gold cowboy hat and knocking back B52s).

A good time was had by all. Next stag night is Nick Swift's, at which someone definitely will puke on a stripper.