I am writing from a wee cafe by Brodick pier waiting for the boat to take me back across to the mainland. I'm alone because we cleared up the youth hostel in better than expected time and I managed to drive the big yellow bus to the jetty just in time for hungover men, soggy rucksacks and boxes of leftovers to race up the gangplank on the 11.05. I had to park up the bus and was happy to potter on Arran a bit longer and come to my senses.
Undoubtedly I feel not my brightest just right now, but pleased I pulled off an acceptable attempt at a stag do, even if it was probably the first and last that had those involved writing thank you notes with a pink pen, eating scones, drinking peppermint tea and oversupplied with beer. My own grogginess is not really due to drink. As driver I had very little, but I have had 8 hours sleep in the last 48. So what say all those with children under 5.
Friday night went the way of many of these weekends away (I'm told): everyone glad to be free of the working week, some fathers of toddlers ready to cut lose a bit and the expectant air of alcohol indulgence ahead led to all 3 bottles of whisky plus a good lot of the bottled beer being guzzled between 10pm and 5.30am, when I finally ordered the stag to bed as he had proven himself as last man standing.
Probably it is the fact of being a female 'best person' that had me feeling compelled to get up 3 hours later with the first signs of movement and get breakfast cooked: black pudding, sausage, egg, bacon, toast, pots and pots of tea (peppermint, earl grey or black). While I was planning the whole thing, my boyfriend helpfully said, "the trouble is you are still a woman thinking like a woman". Not much I can do about that, but I don't think the guys felt they missed out. In fact they were suggesting I put myself out to hire! Flattery flattery will get their breakfast cooked for them.
The major difference between me and any other best man, apart from gender, seemed to be organisation. That is, there was a place to stay, food, beer on tap, whisky on the table and a minibus provided, as well as a distillery tour so all they needed to do was turn up, switch their heads off and make sure a good time was had by all. Like the M&S adverts, I didn't just provide food, it was the best that Arran could provide. I knew the wedding had a theme of shared favourite recipes and the groom is a bit of a foodie, and I didn't want to let Scotland down to its Australian visitors by laying on bacon butties and fish suppers (not that anyone would have cared if I had) so I co-ordinated with the local co-op to bring in Arran cheeses, ice-cream and milk from the creamery; mackerel pate, fish soup, smoked salmon pate and salmon steaks from the fish monger; pork sausages, steak, pepper beef, bacon, black pudding, gammon and venison burgers from a farm about 5 miles from where we were staying. The island bakery provided as much of the bread; scones, sausage rolls, croissants, loaves as possible. Preserves too were made on the island, jam, honey, mustard, mustard honey! And lest not forget the centrepiece of any stag party - the beer, which was delivered from Arran brewery. I had catered generously for 15 and in the end we were 11 so there was roughly 48 eggs left over as well as many other boxes. Everyone got a goody bag to take home.
I can't help but think however there were twangs of wishing the (apparent) usual chaos was there. One of the lads told us his stag do was equally wet and windy and they found themselves sleeping in a tent they had pulled out of a bin, trying to roast a whole chicken speared with driftwood over a reluctant fire. Makes for good storytelling though I think given the weather, they were all glad not to have to deal with leaving a warm pub and crawl inside an inadequate tent.
Here's what I had not expected. Long conversation about room temperatures, being taught a new way to cook broccoli, running out of oatcakes and not getting through all the beer.
Around 2am on Sunday morning, the guys obviously decided that things were perhaps just a wee bit too civilised and James was getting off far too comfortably, despite earlier humiliation. I had bought James a dress in the charity shop next to where I write now, by the ferry terminal. It was size 18, with staggeringly garish blue and turquoise strips, absolutely no shaping from the armpits to its bottom hem which cut across his calves, dynasty style starch white (removable) collar and big gold buttons. It fitted James alarmingly well, even if he said it looked like something Winnie Mandela would have worn, especially when we topped it off with a fluffy pink beret.
After I parked up at the distillery, rain and wind still slashing across the windows, James stepped off the minibus, arms firmly crossed to protect him against public mortification, acute travel sickness and weather. I began to panic the visit would be a flop as we watched the cheesy intro video, but when we got onto touring the facilities, most importantly the warehouses and tasting room, everyone cheered up. 5 whiskies, some of which were 65% proof, settled stomachs and set the evening up.
James stayed in his dress right through the evening's worthy attempt to get through the keg which contained over 7 pints each. At 2am, it was time to challenge him. Outside was a children's play park. That just begs trouble. He was plonked onto the roundabout, in his dress, with a pint of beer and was not allowed off until it was all drunk. His 'mates' then pushed him around at high speed for what must have been at least 20 minutes. How he was not sick is beyond me. He should be up for cosmonaut training. All I got were glimpses of his grin, and flashes of those horrendous colours, in what seemed a very bizarre cinematic scene. He scooted by again and again and again and again like some kind of deranged circus ringmaster and it was only made more bizarre when someone shone their novelty head torch which blinked between white, green and red onto him. James earned his stag do wings but beware all those unmarried who attended because I'm certain there will be recriminations!
Overall, for me the organising aspect made life all worthwhile as I too could sit back and enjoy the unique experience, which started with having a group of 10 men all walk off the ferry toward me so I didn't know who to hug first! God knows what the other passengers were thinking.
The only real hitch in my plans - beside the weather, was the beer. As I got off the ferry on Friday, a few hours ahead of everyone else, my phone started ringing. The local brewery was in a panic because their printer ink hadn't come on the boat and would I mind if the labels were in mauve blue instead of gun metal grey. Had it been a corporate do I would have minded greatly, but she offered to throw in another crate of beer as compensation so I figured the guys can live with mauve. In the end they matched James' dress.
Post script
Took some time to finally post this so the wedding has been and gone, along with the best man speech. It was a fantastic day. It is also great to report that the youth hostel, having been reluctant to allow a stag groom, now are thinking of working with the Co-op again to offer a package deal to groups and attract in extra business. I think that's a fantastic result!
