Tomorrow is ‘girls night’.

The LTLP has invited Short Tony’s wife, Big A’s wife and Narcoleptic Dave’s wife round for ‘a pampering evening’.

(Memo – must think up names for the female characters that allow them each an identity in their own right).

Two beauticians are driving over from Norwich to administer pedicures, massages, eyebrow grooming and the like, whilst they all presumably drink white wine and pick at olives.

So it’s ‘lads night’ as well. I’ve been looking forward to this for ages. We do so little that isn’t couple-related. We go to the pub together. We visit the cinema together. If I see my mates, it’s in the context of a couples’ dinner party with pasta-based dishes and Norah Jones.

But tomorrow is ‘lads night’. It’s back to the wildness of my youth.

Ignoring the fact that I spent most of my wild youth friendless in my bedroom with Crash magazine and Jet Set Willy, I start making plans.

For a start, Narcoleptic Dave has a huge great TV system. In fact, it’s so impressive, it could be described as a ‘huge great fuck-off TV system’. So the immediate thought is that we get some beers and rent ‘Porky’s’. Yeaahh!! Lads night!!

(Memo – must think up a better name for Narcoleptic Dave)

Then there’s the field possibility. I reckon, given a few cans of Kestrel and some cheap sherry, we could have a great ‘revisit our youth’ evening huddled in the field behind the cottage trying to grab sad glimpses of the girls in their underwear.

Clearly, as we are blokes, we won’t organise anything until around half an hour before the event. As opposed to the girls night, which has been planned like a military campaign.

That analogy doesn’t really work these days, does it?

I shall let you know what happens on Monday. Yeaahh!!! Lads night!!!

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