Sofia, so good.

I went, I saw, I survived. And that, my friends, counts as a result. The fact I managed to have a bloody nice time into the bargain just adds to the experience.

Yes, for the second time in my life, I joined that rite of passage as a man-child becomes a, err, committed man-child and flew to Sofia for my mate Al's stag do. Have to admit I quite looked forward to Bulgaria; it's not the kind of place people generally go, and after our experiences in the former eastern bloc during the summer I have a soft spot for former communist republics.

I was a little concerned about hijinks and tomfoolery - being a sensitive, self-conscious and largely puny soul -and all too aware that the locals may not take kindly to a crowd of pissed up Brits stumbling around their fair city being loud and obnoxious. I need not have worried - the debauchery was cranked up to "just right", and as it turns out my fellow staggers were as lovely a bunch of chaps as you could hope to meet.

The focal point of the weekend was a day's skiing in Borovets - I'm stunned and proud to announce that even with a gap of almost 18 years since my last foray onto the slopes, I remembered how to ski straight away. Like a penguin to snow. The fatigue in my legs kicked in pretty sharpish after lunch leaving me incapable of anything except gentle snow-ploughing, but I've got the bug back now. The rest of our time was spend boozing, in a controlled-ish manner, at a variety of pubs and bars in the city centre. I even managed to blag my way into the VIP section of a local nightclub and myself and fellow friend-of-stag Ryan are now immortalised in all our glory on clubbing website Disco.bg (pic 99)

Alas, it seems my dance moves themselves were deemed "too hot for the internet"