Naturalist and national treasure Sir David Attenborough has turned his analytical eye to the brutal and feral rituals of the hen party.
“In order to mark the entry into womanhood of a 33-year-old accounts manager from Doncaster, the females are invited into a WhatsApp group. And so it begins.
“The hierarchy of the herd determines those convened to this time-honoured rite of passage, with the blondest taking primacy. Though there will be wise elders, such as mothers, workmates and nans, incapacitated by drink early.
“They become a source of awkwardness later once males – selected for their attractive plumage and physical strength – are assembled before the bride to engage in a traditional G-stringed mating dance symbolising the loss of her last vestiges of girlhood.
“As the pack stalks the raw, savage plains of Bradford, the hens assert their herd identity through the use of sashes bearing the words ‘Team Bride’. These prove that they have pledged allegiance to her for the duration of the ceremony and will swarm interlopers.
“The bride herself will wear a veil or superior sash to demonstrate her leadership. It is highly unusual for any of the hens to switch allegiance to rival brides at this point, but ever motivated by primal needs they may if pissed and a better party is going home.
“Sometimes the bride will also adorn herself with L-plates. This semiology serves to ward off any other potential mates and demonstrates that she will shortly lose her virtue to one particular male, ignoring the fact she slagged about for some years.
“Fertility symbols are crucial. Repeated reference to the phallus symbolise the young woman’s confidence in grappling with the challenges of marriage. An inflatable penis to ride upon, phallic-shaped straws, and cock deely-boppers all prove she has come of age.
“The ritual ends in the untamed jungle of nightclub ThrustZ where the women parade before males demonstrate their attractiveness to potential step-fathers of their young through the use of traditional mating calls, such as ‘Snog the Bride’.”
Of course.
I remember Blackpool in the early 2000s, witnessing a bride to be urinating in the street, her friend, "Helen Melons" as written on the back of her illuminous pink t-shirt, pulled her veil over the bride's face to give her a bit of dignity and probably the same friend who would have held the lucky brides hair back when she's chucked up on the pavement.
ReplyDeletePure class. Jx
Delete"Pure class" is right, sweetpea! I'm so old that I remember when the Bridal Shower was held at your Mama's house and all the Aunties, grandmas (from both sides), and girlfriends and that was the ONLY pre-wedding event, outside of the rehearsal dinner! xoxo
ReplyDeleteAh, those were the days, when the bride was still a virgin until her wedding night... Jx
DeleteI'm not THAT old, sweetpea! LOL
DeleteI didn't exactly have you down as the Maria Von Trapp type... Jx
DeleteI love you, sweetpea! (and you're right!) xoxo
Delete"How do you solve a problem like... Savannah?" Jx
DeleteLOL!!!! Over here...us gays get invited to hens party's now. The girls like their gays. I usually decline. Buy did go once...but only for the strip club portion. And would you know two of the three strippers were gay!
ReplyDeleteOver here, too, there's often at least one screaming queen in with the "hens". Makes just as much noise as all of them, and deserves a slap as much. Jx
DeleteThank the gods I'm now well beyond the age of being asked to gutter-up-chuck.
ReplyDeleteI don't remember ever being in such a humiliating position! Jx
DeleteI never was, but I was "invited" to a couple of ghastly events. Handed over my gift and said I had to work a shift.
DeleteDon't blame you, Dinah! You are far too classy for all that sort of thing... Jx
DeleteThe sheer horror of it all
ReplyDeleteHen parties are such a nightmare... Jx
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