Friday 3rd December 1999

Clare and Steve are already in Barcelona; everyone else is making their way there . . .

Martin: "For Martin it was a morning of last minute arrangements, making phone calls, sending and receiving emails, and sending out a final status report, primarily for the benefit of Eryl and Keith to tell them where to meet the rest of the crew, depending on when their flight arrived. The first part of the tournament was being held in one pool, then we were trooping off to the "Nautic Saloon" in the centre of the city for the official opening of the tournament and a slap-up lunch, after which we were going on to a second pool in the "Palau Sant Jordi" Olympic Village that had hosted the 1992 Olympic Games, so even at that point the possibilities for not meeting up with each other were considerable. How little did we know . . .

Paul, Stephanie and Ki picked Martin up at the appointed hour of 1:45 and then headed off to Luton airport. It was plain sailing until we tried to get onto the M1, at which point we ground to a halt because all three lanes were completely blocked, with everyone behind us also trying to get onto the motorway, and everyone already on the motorway trying to move from their own lane into another lane that was also going nowhere, so everything was very rapidly descending into total chaos. Suddenly the three hours that we had allowed ourselves to go two junctions on the motorway really didn't seem very long at all.

We crawled our way at a snail's pace to the next junction, where the traffic miraculously cleared, with no obvious sign of what had been the cause. However, did we care . . . ?

We got off at Junction 10 and went into Luton to pick up the T-shirts, but to our dismay they were not yet ready, so we drove up to the airport to check in our hold luggage and have a coffee. However, we needn't have bothered, as no sooner had we arrived than the departure board announced that our flight already had a two-hour delay, due to delays to the incoming aircraft. An hour later, Martin rang the T-shirt people to make sure they were ready and he and Ki went back to the car, only to meet Paul & Ki's Slough team-mate and Martin's former team-mate, Peter Hodge, who was flying out of Luton with his girlfriend for a weekend in Glasgow. Small world . . .

Pressure was applied to Peter to change his flight and join the team for Barcelona, to which his girlfriend said "you can go if you want to" and did a very good job of sounding like Peter actually did have the option to go. However, Peter very wisely decided to not pursue that "option" and went on inside to say hello to Paul and Stephanie.

Ki and Martin made their way back to the printers and picked up the T-shirts, then drove back to the airport and met up again with Paul and Stephanie. Martin had forgotten his sponge bag, so bought a pack of Bic razors and some shaving foam in the airport chemist - one item from each terminal, as neither chemist had both! - and was doing a very good impression of one of Jack the Ripper's victims (blood everywhere) when Paul put his head around the corner and announced that our flight had finally been called.

Paul, Stephanie and Martin then realized that they had lost Ki, and hung on for as long as they could before realizing that if they waited any longer they would themselves not be let on the plane. There followed a mad dash through departures, totally ignoring the Duty-Free Shop, and straight onto the plane, where they found Ki sitting cheerfully on the third row of the plane, having obviously checked in some considerable time before.

Some miserable woman wouldn't let the three sit together, and was even extremely reluctant to move out of her centre seat to let Paul and Stephanie sit together (this is on an airline on which the tickets do not have fixed seat numbers!), although her conscience at separating father and eight-year-old daughter did eventually get the better of her. Other than that, the flight was pretty uneventful."

Anton: "Having arrived on-time, with surprising efficiency, Michelle and Anton found themselves in Barcelona Airport's Terminal B. After a moment's orientation they realised that flights from England came in at Terminal A. Michelle, knowing at least what Martin looked like, would venture there and Anton would stand by the big steel Christmas tree in case Martin was looking for them in Terminal B (although, it was another question entirely as to how on earth Martin would recognise him from THAT photo! Oh yes, and the big steel christmas tree is only in there for 'ambience' - it bears no meaning in the story). Michelle, however, returned alone.

What were they to do now? Knowing that our hosts would be collecting them - and being convinced that they would not be recognised, as there was no way they could recognise the hosts (their photos are all in the tour handbook, guys...) - they had to give a sign. But what? The sign was duly raised. Michelle went to make another search of Terminal A, while Anton stayed in Terminal B, thus covering all the options.

After a few minutes Anton was approached by a Spaniard who said "Oi, you must be English". Being continentally-adapted, Anton was not used to such blatant remarks and wondered what could have given him away? A split second later, of course, the connection was made: it must have been the sign! Indeed Carlos, the host in question, pointed out that waving a bright yellow fin in the air was a sure way of being recognised! (Recognised, maybe, but as English? Don't they normally wave beer bottles?)

The host group and the mad fin-waver made for Terminal A in search of Michelle, the fin-waver being required to accompany them because without him they had no way of recognising her! Once in Terminal A, with Michelle located, it became apparent that easyJet were working true to form and were in fact two hours late. In the end it all worked out, with everyone arriving at similar times, but the delay and confusion this night were a taster of what was to come . . ."

Martin: "Not only was the Luton flight - the scheduled first of the three - delayed two hours, but also the Munich flight  - the scheduled last of the three - was delayed half an hour, so instead of the Luton flight getting in first, followed half an hour later by the Rome flight, followed an hour later by the Munich flight, the Rome flight got in on time, and Anton and Michelle (and the people who were collecting us) then had to wait an hour and a half for the rest of us to arrive. Still, we eventually got it together and were carted off to a network of twisty turny streets in the Old Town quarter of Barcelona. With a whole group of people, most of whom didn't know each other, being taking through narrow streets in a place to which none of us had been before, in a country where only Michelle spoke the language, it really reminded me of our February '98 trip to Slovenia - the very first TDC trip. The enthusiasm, excitement and anticipation in the air really was totally tangible.

We got to the hostel, where we were presented with a note from Clare and Steve saying that they had arrived safely and would be back to the hostel to meet us at 9pm. It was now 11pm, and there was no sign of Clare and Steve, but before we had finished reading the note, the door opened and Clare and Steve arrived. Perfect timing!

We had previously been advised that the gameplay of the tournament was split over two different pools, due to no single pool being available for the full duration of the tournament. However, it was at this point that Carlos told us that the pool in which we would be playing the second half of the tournament was not the Olympic Pool at Palau Sant Jordi, the locations of the 1992 Summer Olympics, but an entirely different pool in a different part of town, most confusingly called "Piscine Sant Jordi". Obviously Sant Jordi is pretty important to the people of Barcelona . . .

Martin then made a phone call to Keith to give him this updated information in the event that his and Eryl's flight was delayed and they would have to meet us at the second pool. Despite this call, we were all still to fall foul of the trick of "two different pools with the same name" the following day.

Despite the late hour, the newcomers were all quite hungry, so Clare and Steve took us to a tapas bar just down the road that they had found earlier in the day. Excellent tapas and sangria were ordered and it was a very comfortably satisfied group that made its way back to the hostel just before 1am.

After a little humour with the sleeping arrangements, we all turned in for the night, ready for a seven-o'clock start and being in the first game at eight-thirty the next morning. Night all . . ."