Walking back from the races to the station. Photo by Best Man, Matt
The stag do was brilliant! 17 of us travelled to Beverley for a day at the races, followed by a fantastic meal in the Cross Keys in Leeds. We were really lucky with the weather which remained warm throughout.
After a couple of pints in the Green Dragon (a Good Beer Guide listed pub which seems to do a good line of sausages as well as ale!), we walked the mile and a half to the racecourse.
No decent beer in the racecourse (Fosters! P’yugh) meant that I stopped drinking for a few hours. I won’t make it as a professional gambler - I left the racecourse sixty quid lighter than I entered it. Some of us however, left with a tidy profit in our pockets.
The last race featured a horse called Scotty’s Future. It was a sign. An outside bet at 25/1, but a sign no less. I’m now hoping it’s not a sign, as the knackered donkey limped over the line at least five lengths behind the rest of the pack. Sarah says not to worry as it can sometimes be a good thing to come dead last. I have yet to work out when that could be, but we’ve decided not to call off the wedding on the back of the horse’s performance.
The long walk back to the station had to be done at quite a rate to catch the train, and a few of us only just made it in time.
We sampled a few pints of Leeds Brewery’s Leeds Best in the Midnight Bell’s beer terrace. (One of Mike’s favourite pubs, and favourite beers, although Allan thought the beer mediocre at best).
The Cross Keys, always a good place for ale, was serving two Saltaire beers: the excellent Hazelnut Coffee Porter and Blackberry Cascade. I offered to buy Andrew Flanagan a pint of the HCP, but he declined on account of his fatal allergy to nuts and the fact that he despises coffee. He finds nut and coffee jokes so hilarious.
The food was amazing, and the staff put up with 17 drunken blokes really well, despite Tom’s complaint that his four potatoes were far too small for a growing lad like himself. (I wonder who’s fault it was that he didn’t order any side dishes?)
After the food, some people began to drift away, but some of us stayed in the Cross Keys till well past midnight. At one point, Stephen bought me a drink of dubious origin. It was creamy and layered and very strange. After that, I drank a brandy as well, which pretty much sealed my fate.
Sarah gave me a “Stag do spinner” of dares, but none of my friends would believe me that Sarah had instructed everyone to have a go. In the end, I was half-heartedly made to sing a sexy song, and drink some more beer.
A brilliant night and one to remember faded out at about half past one when the last of us made our way home, me half asleep in the taxi with Simon and Greg, and with a serious case of hiccoughs. Hic.
The best man, Matt, did a fantastic job all day, going well beyond the call of duty. He ordered every round of 17 drinks in each pub; he herded us all successfully between train stations, pubs, race courses, bars, and restaurants; he remembered what food everyone had ordered; he dished out tickets and organised money; and most of all, he looked after me - thank you Matt, you’re a real good egg!
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