Why did I write a comedy where a hen do is ended prematurely by the Apocalypse? Wish fulfilment. Many’s the time I’ve stood in a sweaty bar, dressed in demeaning fancy dress, with people I’ve never met before and have no desire to meet again, and wished for Armageddon, just so it would end. In Henpocalypse! I got to make that happen.
Talking to friends, it seems I’m not alone in being ‘hen do averse’. They also get that sinking sensation when their evite arrives. It’s not just the cost, although the average cost of attending a hen do is over £600, and over a grand if it’s an overseas one. A grand! You could buy a really classy sofa for that. There’s also the emotional cost. The random strangers (‘But you hate Julie!’), the themed games (‘Spin the Penis!’) and the absolute requirement to visibly have fun at all times.
There is, however, something even more challenging than just attending a hen do. Organising one. Which I’ve done six times. As ‘Chief Hen’, you’re required to manifest all the unhinged whims of the bride-to-be (‘could we get a Shetland pony?’). Plus, you’re responsible for keeping the whole thing on track and within the law. Here are a few tips, my Hen DON’Ts, should you get asked the big question: ‘Will you be my Chief Hen, babe?’
1) Don't offer credit
Sure, that AirBnB in Marbella split seven ways is affordable. But it won’t be split seven ways. Because someone will decide they should pay less because their room is ‘less nice’. So get the cash up front.
2) Don't try to make friends
As Chief Hen your goal is to make sure the bride doesn’t have a sobbing fit to Bruno Mars and gets some selfies without a nipple in. The other hens aren’t your problem. If the restaurant booking is in 15 minutes, it’s a 20-minute walk and Julie is only halfway through her rendition of Anaconda, someone needs to rip the microphone out of her hand and tell her to put her shoes on. And that’s you, Chief Hen.
3) Don't go abroad
Julie’s luggage will get lost, there’ll be pass-ag WhatsApps about who ‘deserves’ a window seat on the flight and it’s hard to explain ‘the bride’s arse is horribly sunburned coz she passed out face down on the beach’ to a Spanish doctor.
4) Don't admit failure
For drinkers, there’s that one drink that brings on ‘truth telling’. For me, it’s whisky. I ordered it in a Novotel bar when
we arrived after 12 hours of gruelling ‘fun’ I’d spent six months organising and shelling out for. I thought my work was
finally over, then the bride announced, ‘Let’s have a nightcap!’ I’d been up since 5am, burying clues around Haworth for a Bronté-themed treasure hunt (‘coz me and Andy are Cathy and Heathcliff !’), so was already strung out. Then the whisky kicked in. Not even Julie’s reprise of Anaconda could drown out my drunken demands for immediate bank transfers. It soured the tone. So yeah, avoid whisky.
And finally, a hen DO. Which is to remember that being Chief Hen is a true act of friendship. Your task comes with a massive credit card bill and hours in a non-breathable novelty outfit, but it’s a noble one. Sure, the bride might be a demanding cow who’s made your life hell for months. But she’s your demanding cow. And you love her.
Plus, you never know, the Apocalypse might actually happen before you order that whisky.
Who is in the cast of Henpocalypse?
‘Henpocalypse!’ starts 15 August, on BBC Two and BBC iPlayer