My stag night.

Was exactly 20 years ago. And it was far from traditional. No paintballing, no pub crawl, no weekend in Estonia, enjoying cheap vodka and even cheaper prostitutes. Nothing. Within a year of meeting my then girlfriend, we’d had a baby. Six months later we bought a wreck of a house and a year after that, decided to get married. Our honeymoon was one night in the very rock ‘n’ roll Portobello Hotel in Notting Hill but the night before the wedding, tradition dictated that I leave the house while all her friends came round. So before moving into the big suite the following night, I spent my stag night in a small double at the Portobello Hotel, reading a book and watching TV before nodding off to sleep. After two and a half tumultuous years, never was I so relieved to be on my own.