Hen Parties, Races and the Cheese Factor

No sash, no badges, no inflatable penises, no strippers, no tutus, no tiaras and no hen party traditional tat.  That was my explicit instructions to my hens, but did these chicks listen? Did they shite!

My Maid of Honour spent many frustrating weeks trying to get some sort of idea from me as to what kind of hen party I would like and I, as usual, didn’t have a clue.  I was happy to go with the flow, provided I wasn’t made to look a pillock, or if I was going to look a pillock, then I needed to be the best version of a pillock possible!  For example, if I was going to be presented with an inflatable penis then it had better be a massive inflatable costume one with balls for shoes!  Go hard, or go home I always say..

My Lovely Races Hens

“Right woman, we are going to have a boat party in Chester and it will be Abba themed” Fantastic I thought.  I am up for that.  My Maid set up a WhatsApp group and the hens got busy with the arrangements.  My lovely daughter treated her ol’ Mum to an Abba’esque sparkly jumpsuit and a massive faux sheep jacket with her hard earned wages.  Then, my hens, one by one, started to drop out, but offered to arrange a local do instead.  I guess Abba, boats and booze aren’t a popular combination.

And then there were four.

So, with Abba up the spout, me and my girls decided on Chester races instead.  Hubby to be offered to play chauffeur and at 11am, dolled up in our finest, we hit the prosecco as we were whizzed off to the races.  As my darling daughter had bought me an outfit especially, I was determined to wear it, Abba night or not. The weather was a bit dodgy looking so I figured my big hairy jacket would be a blessing!

As we walked through Chester town, I noticed there were lots of ladies with Bride To Be sashes on.  I commented on how many fellow brides seemed to like the sash, to which my chicks replied “You can be one too” and opened a handbag, sneaking a look at the contents, as shifty looking as a drug dealer.  Nestled inside was a white sash with gold lettering.  The hens all looked sheepish as they explained that they bought it just in case I changed my mind.  My inner competitive bride made me reach my arms up to the sky “Sash me up” I laughed.

Would mention my super sash, but am too distracted by my front bum wedgie – WTF??

At the races, it was like a fashion parade of ladies and gents dressed to impress, and I must say, so many of them impressed me!  Even though so many of them were looking annoyed the majority of the time, as they stood in endless queues for the bar, as they handed over their dosh for cripplingly priced drinks, as they queued at the betting booths, queued for food, picked mud off their high heels, dug mud out of their peep toes, nursed bruises on their boobs from rude people’s elbows, queued for the toilets, queued for photos at the selfie stand, queued to get in, queued to get out…. other than that though, people seemed to be having a whale of a time and I thoroughly enjoyed myself too.  I love the vibe of the place, and the excitement as the horses thunder past.  I love seeing blokes jumping around like a group of Tiggers each time their horse won a race.  Highly recommend for a great day out!

I won bum all on the horses, but it didn’t matter; I enjoyed the whole experience.  As we left, there was a Bride to Be a few paces ahead.  She was brandishing an inflatable penis like a marching band leader, whilst her group of friends marched behind her singing “Follow the penis, penis, follow the penis”  At the end of the road was another glamorous lady, who put a traffic cone on her head, pretending to be the magic hat from Harry Potter. As each person passed by , she would shout “Gryffindor” or “Slytherin” “HufflePuff”  I thought they were all an absolute scream – but then I had drank a fair amount of prosecco by this point!

My Hen Gang

My Hen Do number two took place the following week.  We were to meet at The Departure Lounge in Abergele.  If you don’t know the area, its a small town, with lots of hairdressers, pubs and eateries but it also has fabulous character.  The people are warm, fun and have a ‘live and let live’ attitude, at least in my experience.  The town has also seen more than its fair share of cheesy hen party paraphernalia  and I just knew that my 12 hens were going to be cluck happy!

My hubby pushed me out of the car and I hovered around the entrance dreading the idea of getting whacked with willy straws for the next few hours.    I poked my head through the door and saw all my ladies looking excited. The table had been dressed up with full on hen party props, and as I walked in, I was presented with my personalised sash, inflatable willy and bride to be badge, and do you know what?  It was bloody brilliant!  Seeing all the effort that had been put into my party and all my favourite ladies showing up to celebrate with me, felt amazing.  They were there to have fun and to ensure I had a great time, and they succeeded – I had a fab time.

We ate lovely food, did the floss, drank cocktails, sang and danced along to a singer (who did amazing considering it was his first gig and was confronted with a gang of drunken  hens) we laughed and laughed all night long and I couldn’t have asked for a more cheesy, fun hen night.

Both my races and hen night were precious times for me and I am so lucky that I had friends and family who love me enough to go to so much effort.  Despite appearances, I actually suffer from social anxiety when in the company of women.  I get overwhelmed quite easily, shake terribly and get so nervous that I feel physically sick.  At 40 years old, you would think that I would have grown out of this by now, since I know its come purely as a result of being a social outcast in school. My teeth had chattered violently all the way to both hen parties, even though I knew I was with family and friends.  These beautiful women made me feel special, no matter how much of a pillock I looked.  I am a lucky, lucky lady indeed!


For past post on The Proposal click here

For more info on Chester Races, click here (not an ad)

For more info on Departure Lounge, Abergele, click here (again, not an ad)


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