The Gatts Stag Do

A long time coming, but time has been in short supply of late.

Mike's Stag started off sedately enough, as 25 likely lads (and some more senior lads) congregated at 7 Cuba Street for a nourishing breakfast of beer and bacon sarnies. Everyone look respledent in their whites, and Mike especially in the special outfit acquired for him - grandpa pants, walk socks, and sandal; topped off by his pink 'drinking-gumboot' he was to drink from during the day.

Prior to hopping on the bus at 11am, Mike had one last task - one last bacon sarnie and beer. The twist was that this bacon sarnie and beer was combined in the food processor. Looking like a 'delicious' brown sludge, Mike took his medicine like a true man...in small sips. In a show of support, Steve and I tried to help him out, and I can report - it wasn't good (JT had gone overboard with the BBQ sauce and the bread was still lumpy).

Rounded up on the bus along with a good supply of liquid refreshments, we took this party over the hill to the Wairarapa. Destination...Greytown Bowling Club. Suprisingly for the Wairarapa the weather was overcast and drizzly, but this didn't deter us all from getting out on the green. The old boys from the Club were pretty excited to have us there and did their best to get us into some kind of order. Hastily organising into teams - with the brief embaressment of fortgetting to include the man-of-honour - we set about a mini tournament for the afternoon. It bowls itself was of mixed quality, with a few wrong biases thrown in for good measure. I can't remember who the winning team was, which is as much to say it wasn't mine.
There was a breif intermission as the weather turned a bit nastier. Perfect timing though to stop for the BBQ that the bowling club boys put on for us - complete with potatoes, salad, the works. They really did go out of the way for us. It was at this stage that Mike also finally got the chance to relieve himself - he wasn't allowed to go until all 24 for us gone at least once - Joe being his nemesis for some time. The bowling wrapped up around 4.30pm and we bid the old boys from the bowling club farewell.












Next stop was the 'Top Pub' in Greytown, where they had said they would put on some snacks in return for our patronage. With the sun finally coming out and a few beers already under the belt, it looked as if things were going to slow down. But sitting along a long bench table, someone had the bright idea to have a boat race. One boast race turned out to be a best of three, as male pride took over. Different styles were clearly evident - from the Ian Poss pour it down my top, the Daygs sip it like it is a hot cup of coffee, to the John Albertson now you see it now you don't single gulp. There's nothing like a bit of competition to lift male spirits, and soon enough the Stag was in full swing again.
After a final stop off at the Tin Hut - which is a lot more upmarket than it once was and probably not the best destination for a Stag Do already 9 hours into it - we finally made our way back with a very grumpy bus driver behind the wheel. Making a fee drop-offs on the way, we finally reached Courtenay Place with about half of the original contingent, who wisely or unwisely were continuing on. By this stage I was amazed the Stag was still standing, let alone able to carry on. He had taken a bit of a hammering earlier in the afternoon, and by my count must have been made to have 10 shots by then. I'm sure the rest of the night must get pretty fuzy for Mike from then on...









Probably just as well, as the story goes something along the lines of visiting an establishment of the sort that is predominantly of male partonage and having his chest stripped and lit on fire by a modestly dressed young lady. But if you can't remember Mike, did it really happen?

The Stag finally clocked out around midnight, a damn fine showing. I think he even started feeling human again by the Tuesday...