The hen don't

Queen of tack... Katie price at her hen do

Over the past week I've come to a conclusion. There's only one thing worse than a bridezilla and that's an over-zealous hen party organiser.

As the dreaded wedding season creeps ever-closer I've found myself physically unable to escape from the evil clutches of the Hen Do Nazis. Every one of my inboxes has been spammed with countless messages demanding payment for overpriced meals, inflatable willy hats, glow-in-the-dark penis stickers and humiliating outfits I've been forced into wearing but am somehow expected to part with my hard-earned cash to buy. And that's before I've shelled out for the bride's share of the meal, accommodation, outfit and plethora of penis accessories.

If Facebook for mobile isn't constantly pinging, my hotmail account is beeping at me. When I ignore them, my texts start bleeping and, shock, horror, if I don't reply instantly I'm hit by hostile messages across every possible medium. As time passes, the endless demands on my time and money have spiralled out of control until I'm left broke, pissed off and feeling as deflated as the inflatable willy three months after the event.

The dreaded inflatable willy

Now don't get me wrong. There's nothing I love more than a good hen do and I want to see my friends out of singledom with style. However, there's a hen do etiquette and it certainly doesn't include Facebook stalking, behaving like a certain Fascist dictator or expecting groups of self-respecting women to wear penises on their heads in a public place.

It's like being targeted by the school bully all over again, although this time they're not stealing my 80p dinner money, but asking me to hand over £500 for the designer penis-shaped yacht trip. I still feel like I've been robbed.

This kind of 'forced fun' feels more like attending an army boot camp. Operated with military precision and to a non-negotiable timetable, the hens are left terrified of stepping out of line without fear of reprisal for even the smallest of crimes. And if a brave chick dares to stand up to the authorities, her pleas are ignored - or she's cruelly exposed to the remainder of the party as a 'tight arse.' 

The Hen Do Nazi is a particular breed of woman. No-nonsense, strict and efficient, her sole mission is to ensure maximum fun for her best friend/sister/cousin - at the expense of all the other poor hens forced along for the ride. Often wealthy, she is unable to empathise with other hens' desperate pleas to keep the costs down. And she has a unique talent of making attendees feel guilty for complaining about any aspect of her organisational skills. She's also an obsessive photo-taker - leading to hours of frenzied de-tagging on Facebook the day after the event. 

But despite psyching myself up for another summer spent embroiled in hated hen do politics, I've also made a promise to myself to grin, bear it and and have a good time.

After all, something's got to make up for all those credit card bills on the doormat...

Forget the marriage, it's all about the wedding

Bet theirs didn't cost 25 grand...

Marriage. A beautiful union of two people joined together for a lifetime. For better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and...forget that, isn't the gown a Vera Wang?

The flashy wedding is so vogue right now. And there's no wonder why. It's virtually impossible to browse a magazine newstand nowadays without being faced with a wall of tangerine-skinned 'celebrities' celebrating their big day.

With the average event costing more than most earn in a year, everyone from vintage car owners to cupcake bakers are laughing all the way to the bank. Everyone, that is, apart from the happy couple and their long-suffering family and friends.

Overindulgent weddings became all the rage in the late nineties - around the same time a post ceremony knees-up at the local village hall stopped being the classy option. Registry offices have been ditched in favour of posher venues and organists have found themselves booted out of churches to make room for the 80-piece orchestra. It's a fact: society loves keeping up with the Joneses and if that means inevitable bankruptcy then so be it.

After their special day, not only will the newlyweds have a piece of paper certifying their marriage, they will, no doubt, also be the proud owners of at least five maxed-out credit cards. With a luxurious honeymoon on some far-flung isle to look forward to, they can relax and try to push thoughts of those hefty bills on the doormat to the back of their minds.

But it's not just the bride and groom whose bank balances are drained during the wedding season.  Friends and family practically have to take out a second mortgage to pay for lavish stag and hen dos in exotic locations. Not to mention travel expenses to the wedding itself, hotel rooms, suits, frocks, hats, childcare, department store gift lists...it could go on forever.

And that's after putting up with months of the kind of behaviour you'd usually only ever come across on Jeremy Kyle - family feuds, pissed off partners, warring friendship groups and bridezillas more terrifying than the Texas Chainsaw Massacre.

So where does it all end? Surely these insanely pricey weddings are beginning to overshadow the real cause for celebration: the marriage itself. On the most romantic day of their lives, numerous couples spend the entire wedding at loggerheads because the flowers are slightly droopy or the chair covers are the wrong shade of lilac.

And guests are so busy quietly comparing the food and table decorations to the last wedding they attended they forget they should be supporting two friends as they begin their lives together.

I once heard a saying that the more expensive the wedding, the shorter the marriage. After all, no matter how much you flash the cash, money can't buy love.