Breakfast the One-Hundred-and-Fifty-Eighth

Strawberries & peach with yoghurt & museli.

The man has a point.

Though he may count himself lucky not to have to go on hen weekends: twelve druken women all out food-fadding one another whilst wearing ridiculous T-shirts and the requisite silly headgear.

There are always a couple of long-time single girls virtually on the point of suicide by the end of the weekend, or homicide -- depending on the number of smug newly-engaged, rock-flashing women there are in the group. And, of course, there's the endless chorus of complaints about sore feet. (Why can't people bring along flats to change in to, or better still -- wear comfortable footwear the whole time!)