The Stag and Hen Weekend Read Online Free PDF

station enjoying what Deano claimed to be the best sight so far: six beautiful twentysomething girls, all wavy hair, summer tops and short shorts, making the most of the early afternoon sun.
    ‘Wherever they go tonight,’ drooled Deano, ‘is where I am going to be.’
    ‘Mate,’ said Simon, as the girls passed by oblivious of the boys’ appreciative gaze, ‘if they’ve got any sense they’ll be spending the weekend in a different country not hanging around bars here waiting for you to pester them.’
    Deano grinned. ‘This kind of bitterness really doesn’t become you, fella.’
    ‘Bitter? Why should I be bitter?’
    ‘Because you’re married, mate. So tonight while I’m giving it the chat with some young Dutch filly, you will have no choice but to look and bite your fist in – that’s right, I said it – bitterness .’
    ‘Mate.’ Simon put his arm around Deano and planted a patronising kiss on his friend’s head. ‘If I’m biting my fist while you’re talking to some young Dutch filly it’ll be for one reason only: to stop myself laughing as she kicks you to the kerb. Don’t forget, I’ve seen you in action. Watching you on the pull is like watching a car crash in slo-mo. You want to look away but you just can’t.’
    The boys burst into raucous belly laughter, momentarily drawing the attention of the girls. Phil looked up at the perfect blue sky, closed his eyes and soaked up the sensation of the sun on his face. It was going to be a good weekend, a really good weekend.
    ‘Fun though this is,’ he said, ‘we should get to the hotel, check in and start enjoying ourselves. This weather is too good to waste.’
    ‘Phil’s right,’ said Spencer, ‘the sooner we get to the hotel the sooner we can get the beers in.’
    ‘And what about the suits?’ asked Degsy tugging on the lapel of his jacket. He looked like an overgrown schoolboy on his way to a funeral. ‘I don’t know about you lot but I’m baking in this thing. Are we ditching them?’
    ‘It’s up to Phil,’ said Simon. ‘What do you reckon? Suits on or suits off?’
    Phil reflected. However corny Simon’s idea had been, as Spencer had put it when they had queued up to go through immigration, they ‘looked the business’.
    ‘Suits on,’ said Phil. ‘After all it’s not every day you get to look like you’re in a movie.’
    ‘What my boy wants, my boy gets,’ nodded Degsy. ‘But if we are going to look like a bunch of tarts for the rest of the day then at least let’s get a group shot while we still look half decent.’
    Rooting around in his bag Degsy pulled out a digital camera, and catching the eye of a young woman passing by called her over and asked her to take a couple of pictures of the boys. Embarrassed but game for a laugh the woman agreed and so the boys mugged for the camera while she snapped away.
    Leaning over Degsy’s shoulders the boys reviewed the woman’s handiwork and while comments ranged from ‘We look like bank managers,’ to ‘this picture’s so cool I’m going to get it blown up and hang it in my living room,’ Phil opted to keep his thoughts to himself because the only thing he could think of as he took in the boys’ grinning faces was how lucky he was to have such a great bunch of mates by his side.
     
    The Royal Standard, was, as Spencer put it, ‘a hotel with a two-star upstairs and four-star downstairs’. So while the lobby looked like London’s Bloomsbury the rooms were more like Blackpool’s Golden Mile. Disappointed though they were by the threadbare carpets and dated decor, this only served to reinforce their resolve to spend as much time out of the hotel as possible, so once they had dumped their bags they were back downstairs in the lobby ready to investigate all that Amsterdam had to offer.
    Much as Phil hoped that there might be the opportunity at some point of seeing Amsterdam’s more cultural sights, he knew they wouldn’t be going anywhere or doing anything before