Wednesday 20th June – Travelling back by train to Leeds from London last Sunday I commenced penning a narrative from the comfort of my perch in coach H. A piece of work I didn’t finish, it was an unashamedly ridiculous tale of the strategy I employ when selecting crisp flavours.

With a packed coach on the train north providing a constant distracting chunter, concentration was an elusive mistress. Consequently, the degree of difficulty at attempting to articulate and build on my ideas raised significantly. The epiphanies popping into my neurological corridors having to contend with constant interruptions from a bawdy stag party.

Attempting to produce a top quality literary picture for your reader is never easy. However, when simultaneously exposed to exuberant drunken interactions between members of a stag weekend it’s a highly challenged task. For example:-

“Maccer (I assume the groom-to-be) is asleep. Let’s shave his eyebrows off!” a giddy reveller close to me, travelling under the moniker of Jukesy, suggested to anyone in his party who was prepared to listen.

“We can’t, Jukesy!” a guy, who I think they were calling Ginks, responded prior to taking an inelegant gulp from his can of Stella Artois.

“How come Ginksy?!” the gormless young man responded, his lager breath of such potency it risked intoxicating of anyone within a ten foot radius.

“Because you shaved them off yesterday evening when you were drunk in Flanagans.” Ginks reminded his seating partner.

“I can’t even remember us being in a pub called Flanagans.” an inebriated Jukesy slurred, seeking to recall the missing memory from the previous evening shenanigans.

“It wasn’t a pub. It was a butchers shop on Camden High Street!……. Can’t you remember removing Maccer’s eyebrows and Greeksy’s right earlobe with a cleaver”  questioned the Ginkmeister with a smirk emblazoned upon his alcohol wizened face – A comment he followed with a raucous belch, which resonated akin to a cave echo around the loaded locomotive coach.

“No, I’ve no recollection of that at all. Although it explains why I had an earlobe in my wallet this morning.” Jukesy countered

He then added, with his plan to show what a ‘character’ he was showing no sign of abating. “We’ll still have to play a trick on the stag, though, especially as he’s fallen asleep. It’s the law!”

“I don’t think the lads can be bothered, Jukesy. We’re all knackered after last night, settle down a bit. You’re f***ing hyper!” the lively reveller was told by his fatigued marra.

“I know what I’ll do for a laugh, I’ll hide Maccer’s toilet bag!…… That prank will go down in stag party legend!” Hyper-man exclaimed from behind his cape of delusion.

“Why would you possibly think that would be remembered by the lads as a fantastic stag do prank?!…… It’s absolutely f***ing lame!” Ginks patronised his young ‘friend’.

“Well for a start, his toilet bag contains the expensive aftershave he’s bought for his wedding day….. Seeing how p***ed off he gets when he realises it’s gone will be hilarious!” Jukesy woefully mused, attempting to justify his plan of whimsy.

“So what would you do with the toilet bag after you’d stolen it?” Ginks sought to clarify, while the other half dozen stag party members lolled close by in slumber.

“I’d hide it under my seat.” the younger reveller revealed with a sheepishness that hinted he was starting to realise his plan was flawed.

“Well, you can’t leave bags unattended on a train….. So what do you intend to do with the toilet bag when we get off at Wakefield Westgate?” the older party member sought to clarify.

“Erm…….. I don’t know really…… I’ll probably just give it back to Maccer to stop him getting too upset about his missing expensive aftershave.” Jukesy muttered back with mild embarrassment.

“So to clarify, you’re innovative stag do prank on the groom-to-be is to hide his toilet bag, making him think he’s lost the expensive aftershave he bought to wear during his wedding?…… A cologne you intend to give him back anyway as soon as we alight the train?” Ginks sought to clarify further.

“Yes…… Hilarious isn’t it!” young Mr Jukes opined unconvincingly.

Ginks shook his head in, what I assume was, despair at the young man’s woeful stag party prank. Mercifully leaving the conversation to peter out at that point.

This inane interaction kept me amused for the remainder of the journey back to West Yorkshire. Although as we drew into Leeds station the smile disappeared when I realised some b*st*rd had nicked my toilet bag!