Free Tales From a Hen Weekend by Olivia Ryan

night her husband wouldn’t look her in the eyes, or under her negligee? Confessing to an affair with a younger guy who wears black Lycra shorts and a sweatband? It was such riveting stuff, you could have heard a pin drop in that bar last night.
    ‘I’m absolutely fine,’ she goes on, giving me a sideways look and a sly grin. ‘I feel better than I have for months. I should have told you about it ages ago.’
    Something about confession being good for the soul? Blimey. Maybe we should play Truth or Dare more often.
     
    Today Jude’s in charge. Emily asked her to organise some sightseeing, as she knows Dublin a lot better than any of us. We’re all wearing the pink ‘Hen Party’ T-shirts and getting a few smiles as we walk through Temple Bar arm-in-arm. And a few comments.
    ‘Is “Rather You Than Me, Love” the mainstay of Irish conversation about weddings?’ I ask Jude a bit tersely after the fifth of these remarks from passers-by (all women).
    ‘Can you blame them, when you look at what they’re married to? Sure yer average Irish husband is a complete eejit, out on the piss every night of the week and about as much use to his wife as a babby.’
    ‘That’s a bit harsh!’ laughs Emily. ‘Maybe you should look for a nice English guy for yourself, then, Jude – or is Fergus the exception to the rule?’
    She flushes and smiles.
    ‘Well, to be fair to Fergus he does not go out on the booze every night, so I’ve no complaints in that department, now.’
    ‘And what about the other department, eh, Jude?’ Karen calls out, with a suggestive gesture that nearly stops a group of lads in their tracks as they’re passing us in the street.
    ‘Be off with you, you and your dirty mind!’ But she’s laughing and blushing and I think to myself – I hope this Fergus realises just how sweet and lovely she is.
    ‘He’d better bloody treat you right,’ I tell her fiercely, ‘or I’ll be over here to sort him out.’
    ‘I’ll let him know that, so I will, Katie! Now then, are y’all paying attention to your tour guide? As you know, we’re in the Temple Bar area here, where most of the bars, live music and nightclubs are, so…’
    ‘So we’ll just stay here then, shall we?’ says Karen.
    ‘No, we shall not be staying here, there’s a city to explore and sure you’d not want to go home without visiting the famous Guinness Storehouse, would you now?’
    ‘Now you’re talking,’ says Helen appreciatively. Helen’s a beer drinker and she spent most of last night on the Guinness, informing us with every single pint that it was the best she’d ever drunk. By the time she got to the last one I was surprised she could even remember the others, but there you go.
    ‘Lead on, then, MacDuff, or should I say O’Duff?’ quips Lisa in a lousy imitation of Jude’s accent that makes us all laugh.
    ‘Well, I thought we’d get ourselves a trip on the city bus tour. You can see some of the sights from the bus, and we’ll get off at the Guinness building. Is that OK for you all?’
    ‘Abso-bloody-lutely, Judy baby!’ says Lisa, flinging an arm round her extravagantly. ‘A bus would be great. I’m not up for walking too far on these bloody cobbles.’
    ‘Jesus, God, will you listen to her giving out! Sure it’s only in Temple Bar you’ll see the cobbles, Lisa, and it won’t kill you for a few minutes to walk on them either!’
    ‘Yeah, Lisa, stop whingeing and keep up with the rest of us!’ I tease her. ‘How far to the bloody bus stop, Jude?’
     
    We sit on the top deck of the bus, half listening to the commentary as we pass close to Dublin Castle and St Patrick’s Cathedral. Suze, who’s been frighteningly quiet this morning and didn’t manage any breakfast, has fallen asleep by the time the bus arrives at the Guinness Storehouse, and we enjoy shouting in her ear to wake her up.
    ‘Come on! Lovely Guinness!’ says Emily cruelly, and we all laugh as she turns a bit green and clutches her