Last weekend saw me visit Blackpool to celebrate the stag weekend of my cousin and close friend Neil ‘Chin’ Tomkins. On our trip were a few celebrity snooker players, a HGV driver, a large Ginger Welsh man, a car appearance technician (valeter) and the owner of a large car sales lot. This rowdy and yet diverse range of characters descended on Blackpool with the smell of a good weekend in their nostrils. And boy didnt we enjoy it! Nights out full of the traditional haunts of a stag party followed by beer fuelled brunches and rides on the rollercoasters: it was a great time.

Yet my favourite part was as ever the last day; the dread of a long train trip home being replaced by camaraderie, jokes and raucous laughter when stories of the previous weekends activities are told. I discovered I had new friends, we were bonded over beer and fun, the best way to make friends (as people who have experienced university fresher weeks will understand). Thus my disappointment as I shared a last beer with two of these new chums, one 61 one 47 when I realised that there was no way I would ever probably see them again.

They were my friends for the weekend, and I would willingly go away with them again. Yet when I got home and saw my real friends, I knew it was good to be back.