So away we all went for a jolly to the Canaries to see Jo & Steve get married in the gorgeous sunshine of Lanzarote. Jo, Brod and Brod’s family and friends drew the long straw and got to fly from Humberside, while Me, Ben, Rach and the rest of Jo’s family got the short straw and had to bus it down to East Midlands.

We played the usual game of 10 minutes after leaving trying to think of what you’ve forgotten to pack. We thought Rach’s mam was winning after remembering not to remember the bride’s father’s shirt, but then Rach decided to top that by forgetting Ben’s Pram! Oh joy, an over-excited 2 year old toddler heading to the airport for a week in a sun soaked ‘rote and no pram. Both problems were remedied upon our first day in ‘rote when Pat bought a new shirt for Steve from a huge Zara store not far from our appartments, and we hired a buggy from reception for the week for 15 euros.

We were staying in the old town part of Puerto del Carmen just above the harbour, with the Broderick’s down the road in the new town part. We all met up before the wedding and had a great night out in one of the hundreds, and I mean hundreds of Irsh bars dotted around the resort. Needless to say, much of our time was spent in said Irish Bars. Oh, and an hour or two in the sports bar next to our apartments where you could place a bet behind the bar. Handy.

Me, Bill & Steve spent the day before the wedding out at sea doing a spot of fishing off the coast of Fuerteventura. It was a wonderful boat trip in wonderful weather, but don’t believe the pictures - all we caught was rays. SUN rays not STING rays!

And so to the wedding which took place in, yes you guessed it, an Irish bar! Well not so much a bar but a fabulous little complex overlooking the sea which comprised of a large open air veranda where the ceremony took place, a huge dining area, and then just a stumble to night do in the Irish bar. It was a fantastic day, the bride looked heavenly, the groom handsome, the bride’s maids beautiful and the page boy cute! Everything went swimmingly, including Steve’s (the father of the bride) long awaited speech.

The last few days of our hols were spent entertaining Ben in the swimming pools, he loved them. They were pretty cold but with the temperature hitting 27 - 28 degrees every day, they were a welcome cool down. The little pool where he could stand up all the way across was where he spent most of his waking hours, but with the addition of a small rubber ring, he loved being towed along the big pool by Jo and Rach.

More poolside funnies included Rach’s grandad Roy teaching Steve how to perform the perfect dive. And while there was nothing wrong with his technique, the integrity of the elastic in his swimming shorts left little to the imagination!

A great fun holiday with loads of family and friends, I hope we can do it again next year. You can see the rest of the pictures here.

One other thing that I thought was postworthy, after a night out, several tots of ‘wizzie’ on our patio and the inevitable onset of singing and joke telling, we got on the subject of Monty Python sketches. Specifically the Philosophers Drinking Song. While I did a reasonable job of remembering some of the lyrics, Bill managed to recall about 80% of the song. A tremendous feat when you’re sober - made all the more remarkable when you’re pissed! So if it’s been a while since you’ve heard it try this. And the words we spent all night remembering?…

Immanuel Kant was a real piss-ant who was very rarely stable.
Heidegger, Heidegger was a boozy beggar who could think you under the table.
David Hume could out-consume Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel.
And Wittgenstein was a beery swine who was just as sloshed as Schlegel.
There’s nothing Nietzsche couldn’t teach ‘ya ’bout the raising of the wrist.
Socrates, himself, was permanently pissed.
John Stuart Mill, of his own free will, after half a pint of shandy was particularly ill.
Plato, they say, could stick it away, half a crate of whiskey every day!
Aristotle, Aristotle was a bugger for the bottle,
And Hobbes was fond of his Dram.
And René Descartes was a drunken fart:
“I drink, therefore I am.”
Yes, Socrates himself is particularly missed;
A lovely little thinker, but a bugger when he’s pissed.