Madrid is a beautiful city, blessed with dramatic architecture, a breathtaking football stadium and housing some of the world’s finest works of art. Of course I only found this out by reading Sainty’s guide book whilst having a last beer on the way home to the airport. I spent my entire weekend within 200 meters of our hotel in the Plaza del Sol. But I have a sound excuse. It was Martin Cassidy’s stag weekend and when you bring together thirty assorted Irish and Geordie blokes, many of whom have been confined to barracks for some time looking after young bairns, cultural tourism is the first thing to slip from the agenda.
Resolutely refusing to adapt to the continental way of drinking we were all out en mas in the bar on Friday by 9pm, tearing into the deceptively strong lagers. Most of us managed a very respectable 7am finish though. Shamefully we lost the stag at around 11pm (I was later told he was refused entry to a nightclub for looking like a football hooligan and drifted off to a nearby bar while we all danced on oblivious). We managed to get through Saturday with Cas in tow for most of the night. At least two of the lads were relieved of their wallets and mobiles by some Spanish scallies though. An attempt was also made to rob Big T, but you don’t get a nickname like that by being easy to mug.
A top Stag that one- it won’t be forgotten in a good while. All the best Marty.