This one time, in Blackpool…

What do you get when you cross 30 chicks, 1 hen, 7 drag queens, copious amounts of wine and a British seaside town?

The answer: A flippin’ great weekend and, if you are me, the flu.


This is actually us – Hen Jen is on the table. I am hiding somewhere on the left.

Even as I am writing this I have to stop to sneeze. I have a temperature and a weird taste in my mouth that requires gallons of scorching hot tea to soothe. It’s Friday. I should feel better by now.

I suppose you could blame my current health on the unseasonably hot weather that the UK is having. Don’t worry, it’s still managing to rain, but the heat has meant that the dreaded air conditioner has been kicked in to full power mode. The lack of fresh air means that colds and flu seem to circulate faster than Lindsey Lohan at a free bar. Quite how people in hot countries cope is beyond me.

This is not much of an issue for most people but it is for me. Along with my ridiculously short legs and penchant for sandwiches, I have been blessed with the immune system of an anaemic fruit fly. If something is going round I guarantee I will get it.

I know this about myself and I try to combat it as best as I can. Berocca is my friend. I also love a hot Lemsip – although I think I may have overdosed on at least one occasion.  Do not do this. I was feeling particularly bad and had a big weekend planned so I downed two tablets with the hot drink.  I asked my friend Becky (who has medical qualifications btw) if this would constitute an overdose and she said it was fine. My nurse friend Lauren told me it definitely was not fine, by which point it was too late and I’d fallen asleep. Ok, so nothing actually happened, I don’t even think my cold went away, but in her heart of hearts I think Becky was a little bit worried for my safety, and it was fun to torture her for a while.

Weather complaints and “near death” experiences aside I know what it is that is making me feel like hell.


For those who aren’t aware Blackpool is a seaside town in the north west of England. It has a theme park, a tower not dissimilar to the Eiffel Tower, it has the illuminations and was the most popular holiday resort for Brits in its heyday.

I think it is very important at this juncture to say that my family are from Blackpool. It has a special place in my heart. I don’t want you to think that this is a Blackpool-bashing as that would be the opposite of the point I am trying to make. If I am totally honest I had the best weekend I have had in a very long time.

The purpose of the seaside jaunt was my friend Jenny’s hen do. If you aren’t a Brit you’ll probably call it a “bachelorette party” but that would mean you’ll miss out on a plethora of poultry related puns. Examples include the bride’s sister and organiser being called The Colonel, lots of references to “clucking” and a treasure hunt team called “Finger Lickin Good”. It was classy. You get the idea.


I want to tell you everything that we got up to at the weekend but I simply couldn’t fit it all into one blog and I am probably bound by some kind of Chicken Code of Conduct. I have therefore prepared a short summary so you can get a taste of the day:

  • 10.00 Pimms in a can (the Breakfast of Champions)
  • 11.30  Met some stags who were “On it Till I vomit” and became the Faces of Yates’ wine bar
  • 13.30 Treasure Hunt.
  • 15.00 Rode an old fashioned tram whilst chanting a chorus of Tina Turner (why Sophie why?!!!)
  • 17.00 Fish and Chips – Much needed sustenance
  • 19.00 Funny Girls (if you can ever go and see this please do – it was incredible!)
  • 21.00 Made tactical decision to put my flat shoes on, bragged about it to everyone struggling in heels, promptly fell over. #karma
  • 22.30 “Ooops upside Your Head”
  • 23.00 A nightclub called Chaos (and it was, it really was)
  • ??? Jaegerbombs
  • ??? vague memory of dancing like a fool but not caring in the slightest until someone put pictures on Facebook
  • ??? Chips and cheese
  • ??? to bed in the worst hotel known to man (also possible reason for current illness)
  • 10.00 Macdonald’s breakfast

My mum’s excuse whenever there is anything wrong with me is “too much alcohol not enough sleep”.  I know she said this when I broke my wrist but I actually think she may have a point on this one. I am not well.

It’s my own fault really.  If on a normal Saturday I saw a group of women in pink t-shirts clutching bottles of wine and singing the Spice Girls I would think they were ridiculous. To be honest, we were ridiculous. The best thing about it was that we didn’t care! We were on our holidays and we could truly relax, leave our very serious very important jobs back in Manchester and have a whale of a time.

It was brilliant.

This was me - although on a tram not a plane!

This was me – although on a tram not a plane!

I have since looked up where the hen-do originated from and turns out it dates back thousands of years to when women became as valuable as land (well done us!) and so marrying was finally seen as something to be celebrated. The night before the ceremony there would be an all-female feast to mark the transition of the bride from childhood to womanhood.  Throw in a willy-straw and you’ve got yourself a part-ay!

We all know hen-do’s can be tricky as two sides of the bride’s life come crashing together to the tune of “It’s Raining Men”.  It can either go very well or very badly.  There is a reason why the film Bridesmaids is so funny – it’s because it’s true.

I have had the privilege of being on some amazing hen-dos and I have yet to have a bad experience (touch wood).  In my book, as long as there is enough prosecco for everyone, the bride wears a silly sash and people make an effort to mingle then there’s not much that can go wrong.

Hats off to all the party organisers/cattle herders out there.  Unless you are a cowboy in your spare time it isn’t easy to manoeuvre 20+ drunken women towards the same destination with minimal injuries and  a smile on your face. Well done you – have a Sambuca on me for your troubles!

I couldn’t be further away from having a hen do of my own so for now I will happily throw on a feather boa, dust off my Candi Staton impression and  dance the night away with friends I’ve known for ages and the new ones I have only just met.

Do you want to know what the best bit is?

We get to do it all again at the wedding!!

…Now where did I put the paracetamol?

Speak soon

Soph x

p.s. Huge thanks to Jen, Alice, Lucy and all of the chickens – see you in August!

8 thoughts on “This one time, in Blackpool…

  1. Hi Sophie, first of all, thanks for the follow. Sounds like you girls had a great time. We get a lot of hen and stag parties down here in Brighton. We also get quite a few Staghen parties which us gay guys have, so a good mixture of guys and girls. No mention of any male strippers in your first line, but hope the drag queens were good 🙂
    Looking forward to reading about the wedding.


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