Off we go...

Today I travel to Newcastle-u-Tyne for a weekend of merriment in celebration of the forthcoming nuptuals of an old friend.

When I say old friend I mean that at one year in front of us he is old, we remind him of it every year and as his birthday is at the end of the year for a few days we can remind him that he is actually two years older then us - sounds petty but its important.

When I say old friend I also mean long time friend, long time as in we used to all play football together when we were 8 years old, we've all grown up now, got married at around the same time, had kids at around the same time, shared trials, tribulations and our wallets for these last 50 years together - but Andy slipped through the net, went to live in Grimsby (someone has to) and never married.

To our delight, for it is written that a man cannot be happy all of his life its not fair on the rest of us, he has been forced into an arranged marriage next month (its the only reasonable explanation I can think of) and so this weekend is his stag weekend - and he has arranged it.

Now normally that wouldn't be an item of concern, I mean how hard can it be to book hotel rooms for a group of lads and arrange a visit to a karting arena and a day at the horse racing ?

Not very hard you all cry.

This is the lad who booked this when we left him to the arrangements last time.

And here is the hotel he's booked us into.

Comments like "there was a cig burn on 1 of the pillowcases & the bathroom ceiling was mouldy & the plaster looked like it could fall down, the grouting was mildewed & not very nice. The railway track previously mentioned was a little noisy, but the worst was the pub/club below that we could hear music from until 1.30am" don't exactly instill a great deal of confidence in the booking, and that is one of the complimentary ones.

Not to worry you all shout, it will be fun - yes I'm sure it will be fun, I hate horse racing more than any other way to waste an afternoon, I can't drink more than a couple of pints of alcoholic beverage and I've stayed in enough grotty guest houses in the early part of my working life to last me a whole lifetime and then some more - I can't decide whether to be Mr Grump for the whole weekend or just stick a ridiculous grin on my face and reply "I'm loving it" between gritted teeth every time the stag of the party asks me if I'm enjoying myself.

I'm leaving now, toodle pip, back Sunday evening, avec bed bugs (read the reviews again) and hangover.