On the horns of a stag

The regular readers among you will have noticed my conspicuous absence from the blog-sphere last week. It was not my intention to miss a week and was, in fact, the first week I have missed since I started writing here, however large amounts of alcohol, some giant inflatable balls and not a small amount of cross-dressing conspired against me. 

That's right, I fell victim to the Stag Do. My Stag Do.

I had always known that it would hurt and that I would suffer humiliation, but no matter how one prepares one is never truly ready.

It began on the Friday night in a bowling alley (not a back alley, a bowling alley, get your mind out of the gutter). For some reason I had thought I might enjoy a game and a few drinks with my mates. This wasn't wrong, but I hadn't envisaged doing it while dressed as a wench, complete with high-heeled boots. Silly boy.

When in Rome...

To be fair, the locals took it rather well; I believe there were only two faintings and one telephone call to the police to ask if this really was the done thing.

I came dead last in the game and am told not to use the excuse of the high heels, the dress, the extremely small, bright pink ball I had to use or the shot I had to drink with every beer. I will accept defeat graciously, knowing that I was only two shots behind someone without those handicaps and only then because my very last bowl was sabotaged (you know who you are).

Time moved on and we headed for dinner. I had to be reminded of this later as I had no recollection of food at all that night. The patrons already eating found the whole scenario highly amusing, which was a shock to us - it's amazing how quickly a group of lads can become normalised to one of their number being in drag. Not sure if that indicates all-embracing acceptance on our part, or simply too many beers for the human brain to handle.

The evening was rounded out with a poker tournament and smoking some of the biggest cigars available. Seemed like a great idea at the time. I'm pretty sure I can still taste mine now.

Now, I have a routine after a heavy session that involves rehydration salts and ibuprofen. It has a high success rate in at least stopping the pain monster from jumping on my head the next day. I didn't do that. Oops.

The following morning saw a lack of appetite, bright bursts of pain and the instruction that I'd be wearing the dress again for our first event of the day. When booking Zorb football it looked like an amazing idea (look it up on YouTube). Confronting it with a hangover (not the only one, thankfully) was a whole different kettle of fish. Squeezing into a rubber tube with only your own sweat and morning-after breath for company, while having to run around and trying not to hurl when you get sent somersaulting down the astroturf pitch, is not the best start to a morning after.

Saying that, it was quite simply hilarious fun. Every person there has stated how much they enjoyed it, despite the whiplash and full-body aches of the following days.

Alas, the dress did not survive. Much to everybody's disappointment I was given permission to wear my own clothes for the next event - it was felt that showing my (pert) rear-end through the gaping hole in the back of the dress would only lead to jail time and the irreversible scarring of many an innocent.

Lunch was consumed and we headed to a tour of a brewery. The beer was lovely, and the instruction/history was excellent, but the toll of our previous activities was weighing heavy upon us. Many a drooping eye was seen, and ridiculed, and it was agreed between the strapping, manly hunter-types that made up our number that perhaps we should have a bit of a nap before we went out for the evening. What warriors are we.

The nap never happened as we'd all shaken it off by the time we returned to dress for the evening. We were strong. We were invincible. We were stupid.

Night-time was to be clubbing, to let our hair down and dance. I was then informed of the theme (which everyone else had prepared for). It was Star Trek, a not very secret interest of mine. My friends arrayed themselves before me, resplendent in their Trek uniforms, some with phasers, some with funny ears. 

I was Lt. Uhura.

The high heels I'd gotten used to from the previous night. The tights were warm and snug. The wig was long and luxurious. My beard was shiny and full. The dress was so short it barely covered my gentleman vegetables.

What a night.

Hold on, weren't there lots of people here a moment ago?

Fisticuffs nearly erupted before we'd even had a drink. We entered an Indian restaurant for dinner and were applauded by somebody that was clearly on another stag do. He then started to state incorrect things about the colours of the uniforms that we were wearing. All looked to me as the font of all geekdom, and what's a girl to do? Never challenge a man, 6'3" in heels, full beard and a very short dress, on Star Trek facts unless you can hold your own.

Dinner was great; lots of appreciative waves from other diners; the occasional high five. 

There was a moment of concern when we were asked if a young lady could have her photo taken with the 'Trekkies'. To be recognised as being out on a stag do is one thing, but no-one had thought that we might just be seen as a bunch of Star Trek fans out for dinner. Dressed up. With a cross-dresser.

Awkward.

We adjourned to a bar across the street. We were booked into a club just down the road, but we fancied a few drinks first. We never made it to the club.

The bar had a dance floor, quite a range of shorts and shots (beers were so last night) and a healthy blind eye to the way we were dressed. It was fairly empty when we arrived but the dance floor soon filled up, and it amazed us all how comfortable young ladies seemed to be around us. Perhaps it is a lack of threat implied because we are celebrating an impending marriage. Perhaps we just looked fun. More likely they just reasoned that Trekkies are Trekkies.

We gained a small following of ladies that danced with us for some time, and I was used on more than one occasion to fend off an overkeen predator. Imagine being confronted with me, I repeat, 6'3" in heels, full beard and a very short dress, tattoos on show, and being told with a straight face to "keep walking". To be honest, I jumped when I saw myself in the mirror.

I had my bum pinched a few times, I'm not entirely convinced always by women, and fun, jocularity and much dancing occurred. Drinks of many flavours were consumed and many men were traumatised when I stalked into the gents toilets.

We left there about 3am. I think. I distinctly remember stating that I couldn't dance in those heels any more and being quite a diva. Well, it was my night, after all.

We got a cab, I removed my heels and we headed back to the hotel to crash. This time I remembered my tablets and salts and promptly passed out, my bruised and blistered feet carefully positioned to avoid contact with anything heavier than air.

Morning broke and we all met in the corridor to head down for breakfast. Well, some needed a little more encouragement to rise and answer the door...

Some of our number now had to leave us, but the final, stoic four set out to find crazy golf for one last hurrah. We travelled for miles to locate the perfect spot. It was shut.

We had a frisbee and attempted to throw it to one another, but that only works if any of you are willing to move your feet. We weren't. It was pathetic.

And then someone found a golf ball.

The idea was born that we could play the pitch 'n' putt course with our new ball. We didn't have clubs, but since when have such things defeated such towering intellects? We'd throw it.

We all collected markers, and so the games began. Each would take a turn throwing the ball, it would be marked and then thrown back for the next contestant.

All was going well, it wasn't too strenuous a game, when the inevitable happened. The ball was thrown, badly, back towards the start. The previous thrower was making his way up the field, head down. Garbled warnings were shouted, ball connected with head, and the first blood of the stag do was drawn. The pain, apparently, was minimal. So was the proximity to the eye. Another inch lower and things could have been a lot worse.

Apologies were made, the blood flow was stemmed and we did the only logical thing we could. We continued and finished our game.

All that followed was the drinking of coffee, the eating of cake and lots of reflecting on the tendency of the body to resist recovery as age takes hold. People were deposited at train stations and we all went our very weary separate ways.

Four days later was when I finally started feeling better. A similar story was told by most attendees.

And the bloody head/eye? A glorious red and purple kaleidoscope of a bruise. A well-earned war wound.

I leave you now. Contemplate this fool-hardy tale. Recognise the stupidity. Appreciate the bravery. We survived, one and all, bruised, battered, but ultimately victorious. It was one hell of a weekend.

Thank you, guys.

I will not be here, writing for you, for the next few weeks. I must away to become wed, to take the next great step. I will be back to batter your retinas with words of indeterminate nature, do not fear, but for now...the future awaits. 

Constructing a story

It seems, regular reader, as if Real Life (tm) is going to be a bit of a nuisance and cause a little disruption to my blog writing in the coming weeks. There’s a small life event imminent that I am told takes precedence and in the interest of retaining full mobility in all of my limbs I have determined that the writing may have to be done only as and when I am able. In secret. Whilst behind hard cover. But isn’t that how all the best marriages work?

So, this week I have dug into my archives and found a piece of work that I produced whilst on a residential writing course a few years ago. 

The brief was to come up with the idea for a story and not write it, but to identify the Main Character, the Secondary Characters and some minor Characters, articulate the Point of Change (the event that sets all other events in the story in motion), what the Obstacles (major and minor) are and how they can be resolved, and finally to give a brief rundown of the Resolution. The only part to be written in full was the final scene.

Here’s what I came up with…

Time travel

Main character

Alex Burroughs, 27, Research Scientist – discover the secrets of the universe

Secondary characters

Rupert Mansfield, 59, Senior Research Scientist – gruff, two-faced, opponent

Tanya Reynolds, 31, Research Scientist – supporter

Uncle Albert, 73, retired, wealthy – supporter

Minor characters

Alex's mum – doesn't understand but puts him in touch with Uncle Albert

Andrew, research scientist – Rupert's lackey, doesn't like Alex

Pizza delivery guy – gets to know Alex quite well, light relief

Security guard – prevents Alex from getting into the lab

Point of change

Alex discovers a solution to the equations governing the theory of relativity that allows time travel and it appears that it would be possible to construct a machine using these principles to shift a human being through time.

Apple unveiled the new iWatch and the fanboys went wild.

Obstacles

Main conflict - Rupert verifies the equations but announces the discovery as his own. Alex objects and is summarily dismissed for trumped up reasons.

Obstacle – Alex is determined to continue his research and follow up on his discovery, but he doesn't have the resources and is shunned by the scientific community.

Resolution – Uncle Albert provides the money for Alex to go it alone and through his contacts can gain access to the necessary equipment.

Obstacle – Alex and Tanya have a romantic history that didn't work out. He still loves her, but she believes the lies that Rupert has told and sides against Alex.

Resolution – Tanya comes to realise that Rupert does not fully understand the science involved and little clues point to the fact that the discovery was actually made by Alex.

Obstacle – A race to build the machine. Rupert has the backing of the lab, the scientific community and the general public. The first to give a working demonstration of the machine will go down in history alongside Galileo, Newton and Einstein.

Resolution – Against the odds, both machines are finished at the same time as Tanya has played saboteur to delay the completion of Rupert's machine.

Resolution

Both parties have tested the time travel machines using light beams, with success. Alex wants more testing but Rupert decides to travel himself at a press conference to make sure he is first. Alex realises one of the implications of the equations during further testing and stops his experiments, but he doesn't think Rupert will be aware of them. The press conference is due to start in an hour. History is about to be made.

Alex rushes to the lab to warn Rupert. His calls are being ignored. Security has instructions to stop Alex from interfering. The scene is set. The machine is set for 5 minutes in the future. Rupert should disappear and reappear in 5 minutes. Alex screams for him to stop, being restrained by the security guards as the world looks on. Rupert pushes the button...and vanishes.

The world holds it's breath. 5 minutes counts down. Nothing. Alex walks away, head down, knowing what has happened.

10 minutes. Nothing. Uproar at the lab. The media are speculating. Tanya still there.

15 minutes. Nothing. Tanya has chased out and found Alex by the river, looking up at the stars. She asks him to explain – what does he know?

       He laughed and looked down at his hands. 'It's my fault. The answer was always there but I missed it.'

       'What? What did you miss? I've looked at the equations and everything, everything, says that time travel can be achieved. People have spent months proving your theory is right. Hell, even your tests showed it was working.' She put her hand on his arm and her voice softened. 'What is it?'

       He met her eye for the first time. 'In the tests we used light.'

       'Yeah?'

       'Light has a particular property. It travels at the speed of light. It was in motion when it was sent through time.'

       'I don't understand.'

       'The theory of relativity states that at the speed of light objects gain mass because they cannot exceed the speed of light – we know that light itself doesn't do this. Some people have theorised that light is a special case...' He paused, waiting for her to fill in the blanks. She didn't disappoint.

       'Light doesn't gain mass, it occupies all points at the same time.'

       'Exactly.'

       'So?'

       'So when we sent it through time it disappeared. When it came back it simply popped back into existence at the point that we expected because it already existed there. Call it quantum entanglement.'

       'With you so far.'

       'That is only the case with light.'

       'Stop stalling. What are you trying to say?'

       His hand crept up and covered hers. 'The equations are correct. Time travel does occur. I have no doubt about that.' His eyes drifted up to the stars. 'What I didn't see is that to travel in that dimension, the time dimension, all movement in the other three dimensions is stopped. Absolutely stopped.'

       'Ok. So Rupert should have just reappeared at the exact spot that he left,' she said.

       'That's just the thing.' He looked back at her. 'He did.'

       'What?' Then her eyes widened as it dawned on her what he was saying. 'No,' she whispered.

       'Yes. Rupert stopped moving in the three dimensions of space so that he could travel 5 minutes in time.' They looked up at the stars together this time, hands clasped. 'But the Earth, the solar system and the galaxy just kept on moving.'