All my friends now, they're all getting kids, all of them. Loads of them are getting married. Loads of my mates are getting married now. I lost four friends last year. That makes me sound heartless, like I'm never going to see them again. Statistically, two of them will come crawling back. I am. Realistically, for. I don't object to other people's happiness, I don't what I object to is their delusion of my level of interest in it.

Sometimes wedding lists or the wedding or register, that is the worst. These are the first time I got a wedding list through. I thought it was a wind up that these are grown adults. Here is a list of the gifts that we want. I had to run to the mirror to see whether I'd grown a big white beard and a fucking sleigh. I always get to it late as well, when there's only two things left and all you can get them is a butter knife or a yacht, because here lies the problem.

These people are taking the piss. It's bad enough when it's something mundane that they want, like plates. They wanted plates the other day. You didn't have those before? Yes, we're getting married. And we just thought it was time for us to stop eating our food directly off the table. But when they go home, that's even worse. My friend from university, my best mate from uni on his wedding list, is asking for a Royal Albert tea set.

I'm like, May, I've seen you eat Cheerios out of a slipper. Forty quid as well for the Albert. He says, no way. In the end, I gave him a kettle and some mugs that I got for free. Thank you, Travelodge. The only thing that I like about weddings, right, and you must have seen this as well, it's so good. The best thing about going to a wedding is bumping into a bloke that you met on the stag weekend that is now with his Mrs.

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Complete transformation, John, is the swaggering imposture now his whole body is crumpled like a paper cup before us monokini has been folded away for a rainy day. Now a neatly steamed suit best still is when the voices changed, when all of a sudden because with their message, they started talking in Pride and Prejudice. You walk over by Stevie Boy, the Loga Monster. Greetings and salutations, Jack. I introduce you to my radiant fiancee, Claire. Oh, the fun back you our new moon.

Yeah. And he made that joke about how she's the only vacuum that doesn't suck. I can. Then he moved me to tears. Yeah, funny that, Steve, because the last time I saw you crying, you were being let down some stairs in Estonia by a prostitute with an Adam's apple. I can't handle it.

I can't handle the stacks because every time I've ever been on, there's always one member of the group that reveals a true darkness in their soul.

And it's always the one you least suspect as well, isn't it? So he's the quiet one, the groom's friend from home. This is my mate, Colin. Hello. Originally I had down here the Hagaman Gyrates was chock a block. Thankfully, I had my good friend classic hip to keep me company. Oh. Yeah, I got Colin down and wearing a fleece, just ordered a Sprite bit of a square, but probably a decent enough guy cut to five hours later.

Colin is being escorted out of a TGI Fridays for shitting in a woman's handbag. The stag do kitty must never worked in the history of mankind as a stag do kitty. Yeah, chaps, we're going to pay into the stag do kitty and Miss Kitty will last, all of us, for the entire weekend, gone within 20 minutes. You know what happened? There was a grand in there. Oh, yes. Sorry, Colin bought a gun.

He's fucking weird. Then you've got the journey back from the sky, that's the most depressing flight in existence, isn't it? You're all there on the plane, shivering wrecks like broken men returning from war. The deafening silence throughout the fuselage of a thousand stories that can never be told. You're sober for the first time in 72 hours and now only too aware that you're sat in public wearing a T-shirt that says, Lord, Obama lost. You think it's bad for you.

You turn to the back of the plane and there he is, Colin, strapped into his seat like Hannibal Lecter. He's got a black eye, a criminal conviction and hepatitis B. The fear slowly creeping across his face that come Monday morning it's back to work.

Teaching in his primary school is women laughing along. I can see their faces as I'm doing this routine. They're laughing along, but they're looking down their noses at us chaps. They are tossing away going, Oh, you boys, why do you do it? You know why you don't have a leg to stand on, ladies? Because whereas on a stag weekend, one of us turns out to be calling on a hen weekend. Your old it. Watch Jack Whitehall at large only on Netflix.