“For fuck’s sake, Pete, I can’t believe you! I really can’t! As if a whole week in Majorca weren’t enough, you now have to put me through a second stag do, and not only that, but the night before the wedding too! It’s just madness!”

“But babe, I can’t let the lads down, they’re all up for it now and besides, Brian’s gone to a lot of trouble organising it all,” I pleaded, putting on my best little boy pout, Michelle fell for it every time.

“Brian? Jesus! I’ll never see you alive again if he’s got owt to do with it. Look what happened to Gordon when he got married. The poor sod ended up in Glasgow, pissed as a newt, dressed as a tart, no money, no fucking eyebrows - and three hundred miles from home for Christ’s sake. He was lucky the police were as understanding as they were really. At least he made it back in time for the wedding, but that’s only because he wasn’t daft enough to have his stag do the night before.”

“Honestly babe, you’re worrying over nowt. Brian knows the score and besides, he ain’t gonna do owt to jeopardise our happy day, he ain’t completely stupid you know.”

“No, you’re right, he ain’t completely stupid, but I sometimes wonder. If only he’d been given more oxygen at birth, he might engage his brain before he pulls his pranks. I just don’t trust him, Pete, I know he’s your best mate and all that, but let’s face it, the bloke’s an arse. But I’ll tell you this, I’ll be a nervous wreck worrying about what he’s got up his sleeve for you tonight.”

“Chelle, babe. Listen to me darlin'. Nothing's gonna to happen. All it'll be is a few drinks with the lads. I won’t get pissed, so no matter what Brian may or may not have up his sleeve, it ain’t gonna happen, babe. Nothing is gonna keep me from getting to the church on time tomorrow. Come on sweetheart, I love ya. Trust me, hey?”

I watched her eyes soften and instinctively knew I’d won her round as I always did. She was a real patsy was Chelle, I could twist her round my little finger and she’d fall for it every time. So sweet and gullible, although I’d had a job explaining why I’d come home from Majorca with the ‘Best Trout’ trophy.

“Oh we did a spot of fishing love.”

“I’ve never known you to fish before,” she’d said quizzically.

“Well we got a bit bored, pet, you know how it is. You get fed up with beers on the beach, we just swapped for beers on the banks instead.”

It was Brian’s idea, he’d bought a job lot of trophies off Ebay, wanted to make the stag week in Majorca a memorable one he’d said. Oh, it’d been that all right, a real shag fest for most of the gang with Steve picking up the trophy for bedding the most girls. He did three in one day once. Phil got loudest, smelliest fart of the week…no surprises there. He’s the Guiness drinker, so what can you expect? It’s bloody murder being around him sometimes though, I can tell you, but he’s a good laugh, so we have to put up with his rotten guts. They were likened to Satan’s breath one night, by some posh tart that was unfortunate enough to be stood down wind of him in the bar. We pissed our sides at that one; it'd become something a catchphrase by the end of the holiday. “Ooh that’s disgusting that is. One would imagine that could rival the breath of Satan!” we’d all chorus in our best girly voices every time he dropped one.

I got ‘The Trout’ for landing the ugliest bird of the week, although I have to say in my defence that I was totally wasted that night and if it wasn’t for the pics Bri had taken, I’d never have believed it. Jeez! I’m fucking stupid sometimes. Chelle is a real doll. I know that now. It’s taken me a while to realise it, but I won’t do better than her, and I’m gonna try and pack this shagging around lark in after we tie the knot. But hey! I got one more night of freedom yet. Bri has set us up with a strip club followed by a visit to a massage parlour. “It’ll calm the old wedding jitters,” he’d laughed, rubbing his hands together.

***

“Pete! Pete! Wake up”

“Wasamarra?”

“Come on mate, we’ve got half an hour to get you suited and booted and off to church.”

I slowly regained consciousness. Christ my head was throbbing and I ain’t talking about the one in me boxers!

“Giz some asprin or summink Bri, I can’t move me bastard neck, reckon I’ve broken the fucker. What did we get up to last night anyway? I can’t remember much.”

“Must have been that Swedish masseuse, mate, built like brick shit-house she was. She had a real bag on with you last night an' all. Slapped you about summink chronic. Well, how was I to know they didn’t do extras?”

Flashbacks of the previous night’s antics flickered through my throbbing brain. The drinks… oh jeez the drinks. The stripper that turned out to be bloke in drag, all be it a very convincing one. So much so that I’d let him handcuff me to a chair while he gave me a lap dance. Then I’d removed his g-string with me teeth. Got the shock of me life I did, gave a whole new meaning to the term 'pole dancing' I can tell you. Turns out Brian, the twat, had only gone and booked us into a gay club. Jesus! I wished I’d  listened to Chelle. That bloke really is an arse. It was then that I remembered what day it was.

“Fucking hell, Bri! You were supposed wake us up!”

“What do you think I’m doing! Come on shift your arse, we got a church to get you to.”

I struggled out of my pit, wincing with the pain that seared through my neck.

“Jeez you’re in a bad way, Petey boy. Can’t you straighten up a bit? You look like fucking Quazzimodo with your head on the tilt like that. Get yourself into the bathroom lad and I’ll make you a brew. You look as if you need more than that though.”

“What the fuck have you done to me!” I scream from the bathroom, horrified at my reflection in the cabinet mirror.

“Oh the eyebrows, that was Phil being a bit handy with my razor while you were crashed out last night. Don’t worry, I’m ahead of you there, mate, the best man is prepared for all eventualities.” Brian laughs, appearing at the door with an eyebrow pencil.

“Fuck! I hadn’t even noticed them, I’m talking about this!” I answer, frantically rubbing at my forehead, on which somebody had scrawled across ‘reknaw’ in big black marker pen. “It ain’t coming off, Bri, it ain’t coming off!” I begin to panic. “What the fuck’s reknaw anyway?”

“Wanker! You wanker. And it ain’t wrong is it, mate?” Brian chokes.

“So which arse did that? I fucking knew I couldn’t trust you lot, Chelle will do her nut!”

“Oh nowt to do with us that one. That was some old dear you tried to get frisky with outside the bingo hall, she got a bit pissed off and set about you with her lucky bingo marker. Not so lucky for you, hey? Here, give us a go,” Brian says, bleach in hand.

“Ow! Ow! Fuck’s sake watch me eyes, they’re red enough already!”

“There, sorted. Don’t worry about the redness that should detract the attention from the eyebrows.” Brian says, struggling to keep a straight face.

“I look like fucking Brooke Shields! What the hell have you done to me Bri! I can’t go out with two great caterpillars drawn on me head,” I says, rubbing at them with a piece of bog roll.

“OK, stop, stop, that’s better. Now come on, Pete! Honest man they are fine…from a distance.”

“How do I look?” I asks anxiously.

“Fuck sake! You look gorgeous, and your arse doesn’t look too big in that before you ask either. Just try and straighten your neck a bit, mate, people might think you’re retarded.”

We speed off in Bri’s car. He drives like James Hunt…did I say Hunt? I meant James Blunt. It's eleven twenty-six and we're set to roll at eleven-thirty.

“Here whack some of this on,” Bri says, slinging me a bottle of Paco Rabanne. “You stink like a fucking lavvy attendant after a twelve hour shift. Must be the bleach, eh?”

I’m just slapping it all over when old Blunty here takes a corner at sixty miles an hour. The whole bottle tips into me lap. Word of warning - do not ever put aftershave on your nob. It stings like fuck!

“Here we are mate, piece of piss. Bang on time,” Brian says, as he screeches to a halt outside St. Mary’s. I can see all the gang fagging it in the graveyard. They look rough as fuck after last night’s skin full too.

By now, I not only look as if I’ve pissed myself but my bollocks are on fire. I’m leaping about like a demented kangaroo. All I can of think is getting some cooling relief to my stinging wedding tackle.

“Come on!” I say, making a dash for the church, hoping I would find the gents, and quickly.

We charge through main entrance, my eyes desperately scanning for a toilet sign.

“Where is everyone? Are we too early do you think? Brian says, “and what you jigging about at? Jeez mate, have the wedding nerves got to you?”

“Toilets!” I scream.

All I can see are pews, wooden panels and statues. Not a fucking toilet sign in sight. Then, like a miracle from heaven, the sun shines through the huge stain glass window and a single shaft of light illuminates the baptism font. It gleams before us, like some sort of vision.

“It’s a sign from God!” I call out, almost falling to my knees. Brian just stands there looking mesmerised.

Unzipping and unleashing, I stagger towards the font. “The Lord doth provide!” I say, dangling my knackers in the font and pouring on the holy water. Jeez the relief! It's like a religious experience, my first ever. I gaze up to heaven, offering thanks to the Lord, who I now think of as my best buddy. It's then that I notice all the choirboys staring wide-eyed back at me in shocked silence from the gallery above.

***

“I’m arresting you for indecently exposing yourself in a public place and for defiling church property. You do not have to say anything but anything you do say will….” is all I hear as the handcuffs snap around my wrists.

“You’re allowed one phone call,” the officer at the station informs me.

“Chelle’s not here,” her Mum says. “She flew out this morning to take up her new job in Australia.”

“Australia? But… but we're getting married!” I say in disbelief.

“You’ve been set up, wanker. Do you really think she’d marry you? After what you’ve been up to, playing her for a fool all these years? You and your mates enjoy the reception won’t you and enjoy the ten grand wedding bill too, cos you ain‘t getting a penny out of us,” she says, before slamming the phone down.

***

I guess I finally grew up that day. I’m a changed man now - since I met Kat that is. I don’t go out very much these days, well I can’t afford to. Costs me a fortune in designer gear she does... and leather sofas... and state-of-the-art fitted ktchens. I still think about Chelle sometimes, last I heard she’d married some Aussie and had five kids. Talking of kids, I can hear mine upstairs now. Sounds like they're killing eachother. Kat's late again, they always play up when she's out clubbing. 3am! Now she's really taking the piss!