The last hurrah? A collective show to the world of anarchic solidarity? A time to take stock, to be joyful, to be maudlin – perhaps all three? What is it about the stag do? They are mainly awful. More often than not, it’s a random group of men, “off the leash” from their families, who act like incapable children and – as soon as booze is on the menu – neanderthals. And things get worse when the dos are held abroad, usually somewhere sunny or a European city – any European city. Before long, you’re not exactly sure what country you’re in anyway.
This means the drinking can start at the airport. Then the sun, cheap beer, language barrier and the sense of invulnerability can kick in, fuelling our terrible reputation as Brits abroad.
