The Stag and Hen Weekend Read Online Free PDF Page B

sinking the first pint of the weekend. With this in mind they headed to Leidesplein.
    When Phil had told the guys at work where he was going for his stag weekend, Leidesplein had been the place they had all agreed that he should visit and as the boys finally reached their destination, having passed all manner of interesting bars and cafés on the way, Phil could see exactly why: it was a stag weekend paradise. A large square, surrounded on all sides by bars, cafés, restaurants and pubs and with more of the same on every street that radiated out from each corner, it was as if a team of Dutch town planners had consulted with a broad range of young British men in order to come up with their perfect weekend destination. Ticking all the boxes from all-you-can-eat curry houses within staggering distance of Irish theme pubs right through to industrial sized coffee houses with menus featuring twenty-two different kinds of hash, it was a veritable cornucopia of manly distractions and as such, pretty much the perfect location for the boys to have their first pint of the weekend.
    Choosing a pub with outdoor seating overlooking the busy square, the boys sat down at an empty table, rearranged the chairs to accommodate their group and donned their sunglasses, certain, if only for this particular moment, that this was indeed the life.
    A waitress approached. She was young and pretty and it was a forgone conclusion that Deano would try and chat her up.
    ‘Good afternoon, gentlemen,’ she began with a smile. ‘You look very hot in those suits.’
    ‘We’re working a look,’ explained Deano, before anyone else could respond, ‘you know, Reservoir Dogs . Quentin Tarantino. You must have seen it.’
    She nodded and smiled knowingly. ‘So you and your friends are on a British stag party? No?’
    ‘We are as it happens,’ he replied, ‘but I have been here on business before now.’
    ‘Which business is that, mate?’ teased Phil. ‘Banking? Finance? Novelty rubber chickens?’
    ‘I’ll have you know I have business dealings that might surprise you, thank you very much,’ retorted Deano in a bid to save face. ‘It’s not just Si and Reuben who know a thing or two about the Footsie one hundred.’
    ‘Mate,’ laughed Simon. ‘You know nothing about the Footsie one hundred. Don’t forget I do your accounts. I’ve seen your way with a calculator and it’s not nice.’
    Confused, the waitress continued with her patter. ‘So, are you liking Amsterdam so far?’
    ‘We’re liking it a lot more now you’re here,’ leered Deano,
    As embarrassed for Deano as he was for the waitress, Phil stepped in. ‘Any chance we could order a couple of lagers?’
    ‘Yes, yes of course.’ She took their orders and returned inside the bar.
    Reuben groaned at Deano. ‘Could you have been any more obvious about trying to get into her knickers?’
    ‘I was doing no such thing!’ protested Deano. ‘I was merely making conversation. That’s what human beings do.’
    ‘She was barely eighteen! You dirty old perv!’ chuckled Degsy. ‘You’re old enough to be her geography teacher!’
    ‘Are you lot going to be like this the whole weekend?’ sulked Deano. ‘You’re seriously cramping my style.’
    ‘If this is you in action I can safely say that you won’t need us to cramp your style, you’re killing it as it is.’
    Deano and Reuben’s bickering seemed to set the tone for the rest of the afternoon, and as the ice-cold lagers arrived and the light-hearted banter continued, Phil thought their afternoon together was one of the best they had enjoyed for months. Everybody seemed on good form, the conversation as always veered between vaguely intelligent political debate and downright silliness, and the heat of the sun made everything perfect.
    Some hours later as the afternoon gave way to early evening Phil made his way back to the table from what felt like his hundredth trip to the loo when it occurred to him that if he hadn’t handed