|Oh, well they're far too good looking. Though they do seem dickish enough.|
You hear them before you see them. Be they shouting, chanting, clapping or belching they make their presence known. Loudly. The locals wince when they pass. The continent is not well-versed in their virile ways. They're crude, obnoxious and at times slightly racist. They are the stag parties on tour in Krakow.
On Friday morning they are first spotted. They seem a bit lost, a tad confused by their new surroundings.They're a long way from the cobbled streets of Manchester or the high-rise flats of Peckham. You would almost mistake them for ordinary tourists; if it weren't for the ghastly, novelty stag-themed t-shirts they seem to insist on wearing. Then, you can see their pupils dilate and their knees buckle as they spot the first watering hole. "8 zloty fur a pint? That's 1 pound fookin' 50 that. We'll fookin' have that", they exclaim as they inspect the menu. And they finally look like they're home.
They are the bane of my fucking Erasmus life. I live in Krakow. Krakow is a beautiful, cultured city for 4 days of the week. On Friday, Saturday and Sunday it is overridden by herds of macho-dickheads on Stag Parties, mainly from Britain. No, scratch that, entirely from Britain. Krakow has become very popular among revelers on stag nights due to low cost Ryanair flights, cheap alcohol and an abundance of strip clubs. And as I watch them march down alleys and streets, shouting and screaming, I can't help but feel the locals crave for the days of Nazism and Communism. At least back then they didn't have to suffer these drunk, buff dickheads.
I bear no ill-will towards social drinking or English people or partying. It just seems a prerequisite that to attend a stag do you must be A) A complete obnoxious knobhead B) Have an extensive knowledge of imperialistic British chants (Rule Britannia simply will not do, something more vitriolic is required) C) Have a complete disregard for any sense of human decency. Sounds harsh but I have concrete (anecdotal) evidence to back it up.
Irrefutable Evidence 1: An Irish bar. Ireland vs England in the Six Nations. The first few notes of the Irish national anthem bellow out. Irish people in the bar sing along tentatively. Two English men. One (The groom) dressed in a hilarious horse costume. The other, short fat and bald with a complexion and face that only someone of Anglo-Saxon/Hiberno heritage possesses. They both start chanting "UP THE UVF, UP THE UVF" and "TAIGS OUT, TAIGS OUT". The thoroughly decent English chap (Who's not on a stag) next to me with whom I am watching the match shakes his head ruefully and expresses his disdain for the ignorance of his fellow countrymen and apologises on their behalf. No need sir. It's the Stag dickheads that are to blame.
Irrefutable Evidence 2: Another Irish bar. Manchester United vs Liverpool in the Premier League. The bar is silent except for a large group of English men enjoying a stag do and wearing hilarious novelty t-shirts who are chanting, shouting and exclaiming "Aw, she's well fit" and "Ooh, she'd get it" every time the (admittedly attractive) barmaid passes by. Their insolence and latent misogyny is not what annoys me most however. For the whole game one member of their group punctuates the chanting with very, very loud belches. Literally every 2 minutes a burp is audible from that side of the room. After the first 3 burps I crane my neck towards him and leer disdainfully in his direction. He is laughing though. And after every burp he laughs again. He laughs as if he's just told the funniest joke in the world. The game doesn't cheer me up either.
I've mentioned the novelty t-shirts which almost every Stag Party group insist on wearing and, in a trivial way, they are the most fucking infuriating thing about them. Christ, when you've seen one you've really seen them all. "Dave's Stag Do - Insert nickname related to sexual innuendo here" is standard. It's basically The Inbetweeners just 10 years older and much fatter. In many, though not all, Stag Parties the groom is obliged to wear a novelty outfit as I have mentioned in Irrefutable Evidence 1. That sap chose to dress as a horse though he was an exception. Most commonly it is a dress which the groom dons and, as you'd expect, the lads find it fookin' hilarious.
Ah, I realise I sound like a right dour eejit. You're probably thinking, "Well, I bet he's great craic at parties." But you must understand. Once you've spent 8 weekends surrounded by these noisy, nauseating pillocks you would understand. Because Krakow, especially the centre, is such a peaceful, cultured place during the week that it's like watching the cast of Geordie Shore stomp around Ancient Rome. But at least in that scenario there's a chance they might be enslaved and killed by lions. Such a fate has not befallen any Stag Party in Krakow yet unfortunately. We can but dream.