It's perfect male friendship weather
Load up those tan leather overnight bags, fellas.
We’re talking high 20s most days, some days over 30. That’s hot for the UK.
Too hot for everyday life, honestly. It is the ideal weather, however, to be at the Stanstead Departures Lounge Wetherspoons at 4am with 4-20 of your boys, rippin’ pints.
You may be wearing a seasonal camp collar, a trim-fitting Fred Perry or a Fear of God Essential that comes with cute matching shorts. The only guarantee, is that fucking lid is coming off as soon as you touch down on the continent.
I have posted this story here before, but it’s important.
The Annual Lads Only Weekend
Will drank six stubbies on the back lawn, unbuttoned his Country Road chambray shirt and held it proudly above his shoulder.
He turned to the rest of the lads and declared that it was time for a lids off party.
Every one laughed at the concept and four or five of them got involved, unbuttoning and pulling of their shirts and t-shirts.
Before long a chant of "Lids off! Lids off!" started, gaining the shirtless more numbers.
As the divide became more distinct, the chant changed to the more pointed "Lose your lid! Lose your lid!" directed at those still wearing shirts.
One by one — some willing, some reluctant — lids were removed until the backyard was little more than beer containers, discarded shirts and bare chested best friends.
The chant changed to "twirl your lid" and they picked up their shirts and spun them overhead like colourful cotton helicopters.
The chant changed to "swap your lid" and they exchanged shirts and paraded their costumes, spinning through the garden like young thespian gods.
The chant changed back to "lids off" and briefly tapering to let them have a sip of beer or a wee by the back fence.
Someone then chanted "repurpose your lid" and the men wore their shirts as pants and skirts and capes and bandanas.
The chant changed to "worship your lid" and they threw their shirts into a pile in the middle of the garden and leapt around them like a maypole.
The chant changed to "sacrifice your lid," and the men piled the shirts onto the gas barbeque, danced around it — eyes wild with drink, torsos lit by moonlight — as the smoke rose and the coloured cotton and polyester blends flared with heat and melted together as one.
This one always makes me lol!!