The Dreaded Hen Night.

Despite having to frequently come up with new ‘fun’ ideas for hen nights in my capacity as writer on a bridal magazine, there’s little else I find more terrifying than groups of drunken girls out on a mission to embarrass themselves.

Frankly I’d rather stick a fork in my eye than be seen donning a pair of flashing willie-shaped deedly boppers and a tacky slogan t-shirt. So when it came time to plan my best friend Louise’s last night of freedom, I was determined there wouldn’t be an ounce of tack.

With the date set for mid-August, I optimistically decided the weather would be fine and laid out plans for a surprise champagne picnic in the meadows followed by a cabaret show in the Spiegelgarden. The dress code would be strictly black tie so posh frocks and heels were the order of the day and calling in the services of a friend with a catering business meant the picnic itself would be a cut above your average volouvant and soggy sandwich fest. Or so I had hoped.

Things were marginally complicated by the fact that there were four other bridesmaids who had their own visions of the perfect hen night - visions that included helium balloons with L-plates printed on, furry bunny ears, fairy wands and silver deedly boppers for each of the guests, as well as a shot glass on a chain and a veil complete with flashing lights for the hen herself. The cold sweats had started and we hadn’t even reached the night itself yet.

Then I checked the weather report. Rain, rain, and more rain. Fan-fucking-tastic! There’s no way the garden gazebo we’d planned to erect would stand up to that kind of wet weather. We needed a plan B, and with only 24 hours to go, we needed one fast.

That’s when my knight in shining armour stepped in. Will from Isobar saved the day offering the lovely Iso-lounge as stand-by venue should the rain be so bad we would have to abandon the whole picnic plan. Then disaster number two struck - the caterers backed out. Time to roll up my sleeves and get an apron on, I guess.

Many hours later, a stonking picnic (or as it turned out, buffet) was all ready to go - yummy smoked salmon, a huge mozzarella, tomato and basil salad, various nibbles, lots of fresh crunchy bread, a fantastic cheese board, a big platter of juicy strawberries and a hamper of sweet treats provided (gratis, no less!) by the lovely people at Harvey Nichols’ food market.

It was all transported to Iso-Lounge, the embarrassing balloons structures were erected, bubbly poured, and the party began. But to be honest, my memory of events from here on in, is a little blurry.

I recall being horribly embarrassed by my mother, clutching the new version of the Kama Sutra I‘d brought along for a laugh, and proclaiming that she thought my dad must have written it as there wasn’t a single manouvre in there that they hadn’t tried. Nice.

I remember forcing all the guests to remove their dodgy headgear before we reached the Spiegelgarden just in case the bouncers didn’t fancy letting a hen party invade. Of course, I faced a barrage of abuse when I refused to take off my chic black fascinator…well, it’s hardly the same thing, is it?!

The next thing I remember is being disappointed that the show we’d booked in to see wasn’t actually in the beautiful Russian mirrored Spiegeltent I had expected, but it’s less fancy sister, the Bosco Theatre. Still, the show was hilarious and all went well until the bride's sister kicked off and started screaming at me - apparently i was being too noisy and raucous during the cabaret show. As if I would! Little quiet me! And more to the point, it's a cabaret show in the middle of the festival on a hen night...how can anyone possibly be too noisy?! I think I deserved to let my hair down after spending all day in the kitchen preparing a gourmet picnic for 20 people anyway. Hmpf.

After the show, the drinking continued for many hours in the Spiegelgarden. I think I got lost for a while. I remember wandering around on my own in the rain close to tears because I couldn’t fine my way back to the party after heading off to the toilet alone. I eventually found them when I heard a piercing shriek come from their direction. Apparently the bride-to-be’s veil had brushed the nightlight on the table and gone up in flames. A helpful guest threw a drink over poor Louise to douse the fire and she had promptly fallen over with the shock, knocking over our table and the one next to us and spilling everyone’s drinks all over them! It was clearly time to go home.

I left the majority of the party in various states of despair and drunkenness sitting on the pavement in the rain awaiting their lucky cab driver who would drive them back to Dunfermline while I managed to bag a lift back to Leith.It was 4am, I was pissed as a fart, and despite all the drama (or perhaps because of it), everyone had had a ball. The hen night was officially a success. Now I’ve just got the wedding to make it through…