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Preparation For A Right Royal Night Out OUT, (Without The Kids)

So, a Ginger fella with more money than sense and a lass off some American Netflix show about smart-mouth lawyers are getting wed and the whole country has gone cock-a-hoop.

Having been subjected to having to watch ‘The Windsors’ whilst at a recent trip to my big sisters, I can tell you that German family, especially the fellas, know a thing or two about how to throw a party.

However, given that young HRH, is still a bit wet behind the ears, has very embarrassing uncles and older bro and the fact nothing that ever ‘goes on tour’ ever stays on tour these days. I thought I’d give the young prince a bit of wisdom I have learnt from having attended my fair share of stag-dos over the years.

Well, I am nice like that, and I have it on good authority from a mate of mate’s mate down the pub, that his best man has been reading this here magazines excellent listings guide, for ideas on what to do on their night out. (WorthingRocks) it seemed only fitting that I ‘drop some science’ as the young un’s say.

Preparation Is Key.

Make sure you book not only the morning but the next night, the day after and the previous three weeks off. This is the amount of time you will need to be nice to the Corgis. (You will be sharing their house for at least the next 48 hours).

If by chance, you stumble into your bed at the end of the night, you are bound to be met with a cold shoulder, “Bloody hell what time do you call this?” and “You stink, you’ve been smoking haven’t you?” Make sure you steel yourself against this by heading straight to the spare room. Don’t get this mixed up, and not with the kid’s bedroom. If, god forbid, you accidentally wake them, by stumbling into their room, your significant other will greet you in the same manner as if you had admitted to being an Evil Henchman’s Wingman.

OOTD (that is youth speak for Outfit Of The Day)

You can wear trainers but don’t unless they are old school ones. Don’t imagine you will look good in some multi-coloured hi-teks, skinny jeans or anything that looks like it comes from Topman or Jeremy Clarkson’s wardrobe. It doesn’t matter what you are wearing because you are going OUT OUT! Not just out. Settle for the universal dad uniform of smart work jacket, jeans, and a shirt. Everyone else will, and you will feel left out if you don’t.


Keep it old school with proper mates, not workmates or NCT buddies or anyone that will fold under questioning. You want ‘The Inbetweeners’-like group social dynamic that you had when you were at school or uni together. Also, anyone born after 1980 is automatically barred for fear of ruining the inevitable drunken “Do you remember?” conversations.

The General Public

The majority of the general public are complete idiots, especially when drunk. The older you get, the more your tolerance levels diminish. Consider that you will be doing a lot of tutting. Tutting about how stupid most blokes around you look with their beards and skinny jeans and tutting about how skimpy/glam the women look.

The Club

You will spend at least 2 hours convincing everybody that you should go to a club. Don’t. Just try and find a half reasonable pub with a late licence. Somewhere you might be able to have a sit-down and not subject the world to your dad-dancing is pretty much ideal.

Time to Go Home?

Inside you are screaming for a cuppa, but you’re in the process of telling your best mate just how much of a massive wuss he is for wanting to go home. This means you can’t bail-out for fear of losing face.

If the Gods are with you, you somehow manage to get home, make sure you don’t slam the front door, trip up over one of the kid’s roller skates and wake them up.

The Next Day

Get Dignitas on speed dial, because you will feel so bad you will want it all to end. Constantly having to say, “Oh did I?” and “Sorry about that – it won’t happen again. It was (insert best mate’s name) fault, you know what he’s like. I know you never liked him.” and “I won’t see him again.”

And to Meghan, Kate, Camilla or any other wives or girlfriends reading this please rest assured none of it is true.

Until next time pop-pickers, keep it on the downlow…

By Dan Flanagan, Head boy at Don’t Believe The Hype | TotRockinBeats