A SMURF, a Transformer and Michael Jackson. It seemed more like a flashback to my childhood than a night from my stag do in Las Vegas.

But there we were, in the Mood night club, God knows how many floors up in the Palms Hotel off the famous strip. With Halloween looming a few days later, the Yanks showed their love for the holiday we tend to regard as a children's event by pulling out all the stops for a costume party. It was a good night and a great holiday.

Yes, I managed to come back from Vegas without any major injuries, though I do have a number of unexplained bruises in places that suggest I was walking backwards through an assault course (a possibility). I also managed to not swap all my money for a few fleeting moments on the blackjack tables and I wasn't arrested for lewd conduct, public nudity or for being drunk and disorderly, which is a bonus. Best of all, I came back single.

My patient bride-to-be Lucy had given me just the one ultimatum before I set off — don't marry my mate Shane, or anyone else for that matter. And I didn't. Just as well really, I'm still aching from selling that kidney for the first engagement ring. I don't think I'd survive a second bout of surgery. So I'm back on Swansea soil and still engaged. Bonus.

My Vegas trip was just the first of three stag dos I'm having. I'm sure that the other ones will prove more hazardous to my health and my dignity, but after chalking down one third of my stag triple bill, I do feel a bit reflective.

My first stag experience has taught me a number of lessons. For one, that I can still go on the beer for seven days. Secondly, that I will pay a hefty price in terms of picking up unexplained bruises and generally feeling awful for a few days after said week-long session. Third, that I could actually be ready for marriage.

How do I know this? Well, Vegas has many distractions. Guns, gambling, strippers and other sins all have their charm; especially for a man clinging like a limpet to the thought that he is still young. But the city also boasts a lot of other things to do, and I found myself thinking it was a shame my fiancée wasn't with me to enjoy some of it. Years ago it would have been a case of out of sight, out of mind, bring on the sambuca and strippers. But not anymore. I suppose when you've reached the point when you're prepared to share your heart and your holidays with someone for the rest of your life, something must be right.

It also seems elements from my younger days are back again. If Smurfs, Transformers and Michael Jackson can make a comeback I'm hoping my body can somehow turn back the clock and get me through two more stags dos.

Or at least make sure I don't break that 'not marrying your mates' rule.