Thursday 21st October 1999

8pm saw Ed, Marion, Doug, Martin F and Jen outside W.H. Smith's, as planned. Sara, who had some of the group's tickets, Colin and Keith Waterhouse were there at one minute past, after some frantic haring down the M4. Colin and Keith, who live in the same house in Bristol, had come down the M4 in two cars . . . don't ask! Lets just say that communication was not high on the aganda in the Waterhouse family that day!

Liz - who had the rest of the group's tickets - arrived next, but not before Ed had fretted a bit. The rest of the group then trickled in slowly but steadily: Darren and Eryl, then Rob, Mark and Anna, and finally Martin R with the T-shirts bringing up the rear. "Two hours on the train to do twelve miles" he exclaimed, infuriated.

Martin's two requests for a beer to be waiting for him when he got up to the bar went unheeded, so it was down to doing the gentlemanly thing and offering to buy a drink. Ouch! £28 lighter in less than five minutes!

Marion's flight went first, though that was delayed. The majority of us were on a second flight, and THAT was delayed. Hurrah! More drinking time! 2-3 more pints per person were consumed, and then we made our way to the departure lounge, and then on to the plane.

At this point the pints took their toll, and after a very lengthy taxi down the runway and take-off, Martin R, Colin, Mark and Rob were all bursting for the loo. There then followed, as soon as the "fasten seat-belts" lights were switched off, the spectacle of the four boys clambering over each other to get to the loo first, while the rest just laughed. It was a good job we were at the back of the plane - who knows what would have happened if they had been fighting for the loos with all the other passengers, instead of just with each other!

We landed, passed through customs and collected our baggage without event, and then waited for Eryl and Jen, whose flight landed ten minutes after ours. Reunited, we then joined a long queue for taxis.

A flotilla of taxis took the team to the hostel, where people laid claim to a bed, and then many went out again to the bar. Those that went out found an oasis called Bacchus, which boasted not only a full range of beer (although many would have been happy just with Guinness!), but also a dance floor. Eryl's night was made until he twisted his ankle on the dance floor while trying to teach Martin Fisher to dance(!)

A pleasant evening (by this time more like early morning) was passed, but then broke up suddenly when someone mentioned "food", which strangely enough is the second word in Rob's vocabulary after "lager". Futile searching for a kebab house made several of the crew give up and try to work out what Martin F was talking about, when he started going on about hospital corners! The hardy party who continued the search (or should we say "stagger"!) eventually returned with most of Ireland's chicken quota for the year!

No sooner was the chicken finished than Eryl magically produced a tub of Häagen-Dazs out of nowhere. Unfortunately, instead of having some nubile wench for Eryl to smear it over, the tub of ice cream only fired the interest of Mark and Martin R - perhaps not quite Eryl's intention! Martin R, however, cannot even remember the Häagen-Dazs: obviously the Guinness was starting to strike home!

Nevertheless, Eryl did manage to play heavily on the damaged ankle, and thus managed to coerce two delectable assistants into carrying him home. Whether it was the ankle or the Guinness that had caused his difficulty in walking is anyone's guess!