Sunday 22nd February 1998

"Look what I've got, Mum - a real Western woman!"

Martin H finally made it to the pool by early afternoon, just in time for a quick dip and a final photo-call. However, it wasn't long before hunger got the better of us, and the session ground to a halt. Some cheese and ham rolls helped to soak up a bit more of the alcohol while we put our heads together to sort out payment for our accommodation. This wasn't easy, with hangovers and four types of currency being used to make up the balance. Fortunately, Martin H - once again with more sleep under his belt than the rest of us - had it all in hand. Or so we hoped!

Martin R then raised the point that he had one spare TDC shirt that he had not managed to swap, and now would not be able to do so, as the only remaining teams - the Serbs and the Italians - had not produced team shirts for the competition. A proposal was made that we give it to the person who most characterised the excellent weekend that we had had, and the vote was unanimous - there really could be "only one Dejan". We each took turns on lookout duty - Doug being particularly consciencious on his shift! - while the others took turns at signing the back of the shirt, and we managed to spirit it away before Dejan returned.

We then adjourned with Dejan and his team mate Mihajlo to a traditional Slovenian restaurant, where we enjoyed our best meal of the weekend. This was slightly marred for Sara, who managed to crack a second rib coughing(!), but painkillers and more booze soon sorted that out. For most of the rest of the team, however, hair of the dog was the last thing on the agenda.

Martin F, Ed, Martin H, Mihajlo and Liz

We whiled away the rest of the afternoon very comfortably, with Dejan treating us to a series of tasteful mealtime jokes involving white rabbits and tampons. He seemed delighted with his present, and said that he would like to come to play for us in Bologna in September. See the Bologna Tour Report for further details of that tournament.

After a steady (shouldn't that be "unsteady"?) walk back to our campus, we settled down for a relaxing evening getting drunk on Doug's twelve-year-old whisky and Martin F's black-label vodka. Martin R was in particularly fine drinking form, but our mellowing-out was helped more than a little by the scent of marajuana drifting in from the Serb second team's escalating celebrations, which continued until the next day. We got little sleep.