There are few sights in this world that invoke such a feeling of euphoria as walking into a nightclub, on a particularly bad night as far as talking-to-women is concerned, and seeing a grotesquely pissed hen party and noticing they are, mostly, quite attractive.

I would imagine it is similar to being lost in the desert, being on the verge of dying a horrible starving death, and with the last drop of energy in your body stumbling across a KFC Family bucket with Coke and Coleslaw.

We just knew the night was about to take a turn for the better. The much, much better.

Fast forward approximately an hour.

“How many did you talk to?” I ask of a friend.

“Three. All married”

“Hmmm, I spoke to two, and they were both married as well”

“Where’s Dave? He’s been gone a while”

“He’s coming back, look.”

And back he came, with a face like that looked like he’d just been told that James Blunt was about to perform an impromptu acoustic set.

“They’re all fucking married!” he exclaimed.

It turns that out we had spoken to nine women on the hen-do and they were all married, well, except one, but it is considered bad form to try and pull the hen. Unless she is up for it, in which case it is OK.

All future Hens please take note, it is your duty as a soon-to-be-married woman, to take out lots of hot single women on your hen do. This is because as you remove yourself from the available pool, it is only fair that you top up the pool with more available women, who will be drunk, emotional, and fuelled by the dream of meeting that special someone of their own. Even if it is just for that night.

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