This time it was for Ben (some bloke he works with) who has already had his "real" stag do in Vegas but was set up for a "work" stag do.
In many ways prudence was the watchword of the stag. The evening started off in Totos, passim ad nauseam, where, conveniently, their employers had laid on some free drinks to make the first friday of the month.
Having laid down a free base level of beer they had to move on and, time being short, persuaded Ben to save some by swimming across the Floating Harbour rather than walk round it. None of our correspondents has ever heard of anyone being stupid enough to go for a swim in the fetid, and stagnant, waters of the Floating Harbout but Ben was duly persuaded to dive on in there. We say persuaded but being honest the glowering menace of Dropper (not a sentence we ever expected to write) really militated against a consensual approach.
Having recovered his cloths and dried off somewhat they ended up in a restaurant for some grub and to save clothes poor Ben was "persuaded" again to don a Mankini and strut his stuff.
To save time, and to save them being thrown out, he simply pulled his jeans back over himself and the mankini...a decision he was to regret later.
The meal over they ended up queuing outside a bar to get in when our subject, genius that he is, decided to help Ben out of his mankini and to save time to tear it off him. Picking him up by the front and back and simply letting gravity (and his testicles) rip through them was perhaps a cruel option and the squealing (vaguely reminiscent of a piglet being castrated) will haunt your correspondent for years to come. We understand the damage is not permenant.
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