The boys are on a stag weekend. The best man led them to believe they were going down to Sandbanks on a 100 foot gin palace with a crew of Victoria’s Secret models. The grim reality is just dawning on them.
Dave has dropped his tour t-shirt into the water and is desperately trying to retrieve it so he doesn’t get fined by the rest of the lads (Mrs Dave is bound to check all his receipts after this weekend as it is…).
Steve thinks he has probably ended up with all the rowing duties just because he’s got a Peloton. It doesn’t seem fair somehow - being penalised for a positive approach to health & fitness. Despite the rowing calories he’s burning he probably should have stayed at home with a wheatgrass shot and a kettlebell.
Geoff pulls his ‘kiss me quick’ hat further down over his head and wishes he didn’t suffer from sea-sickness. The stupid wristbands his wife bought him aren’t even touching the sides of his green gills. Smug Steve suggests that the doner kebab & jägerbombs on night one of the weekend might have rather a lot more to do with Geoff’s nausea than the swell of the Solent. Geoff thinks how much he would like to tie one end of Daves’ tour t-shirt to Steve’s wrist and the other end to his kettlebell.
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