Blackpool has an unenviable reputation for its stag and hen parties. Every weekend marauding packs of brides and grooms, close friends and family, overflow its streets on a mission to consume dangerous, liver-crushing levels of alcohol. This, their rite of passage acted out on the last night of freedom, before the conventions and responsibilities of marital life, mortgage, children. Dougie Wallace has captured a town heaving with everything from bunnygirls to banana men. Girls dressed in togas, all matching gold handbags and neatly-done hair, giving it the ‘when in Rome’ treatment, devil girls, pink ladies, Brownies, guys in drag, stuffed into nuns’ and nurses’ outfits, wearing salacious T-shirts with ‘Johnny’s Last Night of Freedom’ or ‘Up the Anus Ashley’ – each group with the same singular objective, to get as ‘fucked up’ as possible.

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