Oh God, help me in your infinite wisdom. It's upon us. Wedding season. And how, o Lord, am I supposed to afford to attend the many stags, weddings and presents lying in wait?
Actually, there's nothing like a good wedding, but am I right in saying that if you organise a stag weekend that insists upon flying away to a remote spot then paying for endless expensive experiences, you're effectively saying to your mates 'pay up, or you don't like me'. So we have a choice. Swallow our pride, put our hands in our pockets, and go and enjoy, or stick two fingers up to our conjugally-excited buddies. The choice is yours.
When I get married, I'll do a london stag, probably all in Balham so I can crash in my own bed and get a kebab from the marmaris. I'll let you know.
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