London hen

Sometimes you think you really know a song. You’ve danced to it a million times and sang along in a drunken stupor, after all.

But you don’t really know it.

That’s how I feel after my first proper Japanese-style Karaoke experience, anyway. Crazy In Love seemed like such a good idea at the time. But once we all got past the “uh oh uh oh uh oh uh oh” bit and the “your love’s got me acting so crazy right now” it was frankly, just a bit of a mess.

We fared much better with Ghostbusters and Bohemian Rhapsody.

And the great thing was, we were locked away in a room away from the general public – much different to any other Karaoke night I’ve ever been on. It definitely became trendy in London after I left.

The Karaoke was just one high point in the wonderful weekend that was my second hen. I am such a lucky bride to be.

And this one – which took place with only two weeks to go before W-day – couldn’t have come at a better time.

Just when there was the slight whiff of stress on the horizon, it was time to forget about it all – throw some clothes in a suitcase and do a runner to London. Perfect.

It felt like the best place to be saying goodbye to the single life – since I spent a good part of my Twenties in the city terrorising various bars and night clubs.

And it was a great chance to catch up with my London crowd – some of which I haven’t seen for years and are happily married off with children.

It was great to walk into the Japanese restaurant that my chief bridesmaid Phoebe had sorted out and see them all there waiting for me.

I was so happy and busy hugging them all to death and trying to talk to everyone at once that I failed to notice the surprise they’d prepared for me – a whole wall postered with various pictures of me over the years – looking terrible, not so terrible – but most of all, looking much younger. Where did the years go?

It was such a lovely touch, and after we left the restaurant they dismantled the wall so I could take it with me.

The hen definitely had a different feel to it this time round. There was no veil wearing, so there was no catcalling and chats with random strangers.

We did get chatting to a few people when we got to the final part of the evening – dancing at the club where Phoebe does some of her work as an artist manager.

They seemed puzzled when we said why we were all out together. Maybe girls don’t usually go to dance to garage on their hen dos. Or maybe we didn’t look ‘henny’ enough. Little did they know I had some after dinner chocolates in my bag in the shape of… well, you can probably imagine.

The one thing that the two hen parties did have in common though were the large amounts of alcohol consumed – and the rosy glow they left me with afterwards.

It was an amazing weekend, and I have amazing friends. I don’t get to see them all as much as I would like, but occasions like these are priceless. I will cherish every single second of the weekend. I haven’t laughed that much in a long time (well, maybe since the last hen weekend!)

So thanks to all my London hens – especially Phoebe for sorting it all out – you made it a night to remember.

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  1. Congratulations!
    I wish you all the best from Spain. I’ve always thought that couples formed by a Spaniard and a British are great.

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