WHERE’S ME WALLET GONE ?

Prague 3^rd Oct 2004

Czech Mates:

Yup, Ali Gee, Richee, Keithee, Stubbee, Grandpop Bill,

Royzee, Timmee, Sean, Neil Bonker Banks, Jay Cee, D Ceen his glasses,

M Ceen (in place of Tatee), Grazie.

D Ceen his glasses volunteered to organise the hotel bookings, flights and connections for this trip and began in earnest by overlooking the Stokey Wokey group when arranging the hotel booking.  Perhaps he was under the influence ?  Ah well, it all got sorted in the end and the trip was booked for all 14 of us  for 3^rd October 2004.

Sunday

On arrival at East Midlands airport we followed the new procedure of labelling our own luggage.  After a little confusion, especially for Ali Gee (as it later became apparent), all were labelled and checked in before we proceeded to the bar area ready for boarding.

 Royzee was keen to get out of the country and avoid the rumpus that was about to take place when the management turn up for work to find a totally reorganised car parking layout that he’d had a little hand in.

 On board, Ali Gee had to be convinced that the aeroplane had been built by Rover, not Fiat, before he reluctantly let go of two bright yellow life jackets that he’d nicked for each arm.  The flight was short, but long enough for him to devour about fifty blueberry muffins, as they’d run out of his favourite galaxy muffins.  Stubbee was lucky enough to find some chewing gum on his armrest, which had locked onto his sleeve.  It kept him going until he could open his loaded goody bag which he’d struggled to get on board, full of turkey baps, chocolate bars and drinks.

 All went well when we arrived until after waiting at the luggage collection point for around 2 hours, it finally dawned on us that Ali Gees rucksack hadn’t turned up.  A clunk we heard earlier on the plane must have been his bag falling off together with his clean underpants.  The only possessions he’d got with him were his wallet, shades, and a book entitled  ‘a great weekend in Prague’. 

Booking in the Pyramidia hotel was fun to watch, starting with Jaycee’s annoyance with the receptionist for referring to him as Gohn rather than John.  And for some strange reason, D Ceen his glasses’ insisted his booking be made separately, to get his air miles.  The receptionist was reluctant at first, resulting in D Ceen his glasses getting shirty, which is unusual now he’s been on a course for self control; but eventually the hiccup was resolved. 

 After Ali had finished unpacking his book and shades, we ventured down to the hotel bar, as everywhere in the immediate vicinity had closed for the night.  No draft ale was available, but the bottled lagers, beginning with the light and gradually moving on to the darker ones, were very palatable, until the shutters were manually erected and the bar shut down.

When JayCee was unable to order a sandwich, we decided, to my relief, to book the restaurant for the 14 of us, which was open till the early hours.  Having smuggled a gift of a sainsbury’s pork pie and a jar of colman’s mustard over from old blighty, I’d locked them in the room safe, but was beginning to have doubts as to whether or not it'd be strong enough to keep Ali out, if he got peckish in the night. 

Monday

After a good nights sleep (for the residents of neck-end), and a reasonable continental breckie, we met up eager and ready for action.  It was revealed that Stubbie had been up at 7am to do a few lengths in the pool before breakfast but it didn’t open till 9am, and that JayCee had fallen out again with the receptionist over an extra pillow.  Royzie jumped the gun and bought a tram ticket to the city centre but as we were walking into town he needn’t have bothered.

The walk to the monastery was only 5 minutes, passing a shop where the beer was 60 and the water was 70 Kronas.  A difficult choice, but a lesson learnt from Munich swayed the final decision.

Onward and downward we took in the sights down to the palace. The views were magnificent and the hot sun was shining from a completely blue sky.  We waited a short while to check out the changing of the guards outside the palace.  Stubbee stuck his leg out as he filmed the guards and suggested renaming the procedure to the ‘tripping of the colour’.

The Cathedral was next on the agenda.  There were thousands milling around, so you’d be wise to safeguard your wallet in an area like this,   well most people would.  However, as we completed the tour and sauntered out into the light, D Ceen his glasses exclaimed ‘me wallets gone?’.

The stark realisation that he wasn’t joking slowly dawned on us.  Impossible we all thought.  How on earth could anyone have found his wallet when he can never find it himself.  Now he’ll never get a round in.

Luckily, son M Ceen was available to sub him a couple of Kronas, so we moved on in search of cheap beer.  It just so happened that Yup knew a well renowned traditional Czech pub in the back streets near the British Embassy; which provided us with some interesting pork type meals and buckets of ale for under £4 each.

Next stop, after a few piccys of Winston and choruses of ‘Where’s me wallet gone?’, was the river, to meet Carl, Captain of one of the pleasure boats, and present him with the Sainsbury’s pork pie and jar of Colman’s mustard, which I’d promised to bring him on a previous trip.  Sadly, he was off duty today, so they were quickly handed over to his wife before Ali Gee got the scent, with the promise that we’d be back for a trip up the river tomorrow.

On the bridge Royzee rubbed the brass sculpture for luck.  He’d need it for when he gets back to the office.

Over the bridge and finally, Ali Gee, still without a clean pair of pants or a shirt, spotted a gift shop selling extra fat b’d size tee shirts.  Shame they didn’t sell pants in his size.

Time for a drink near the astronomical clock.  The prices were too high outside in the square, so we found an indoor bar with a wild clock inside a cage!!  At 5pm several made a quick dash outside to see the clock strike on the hour, and Royzie knocked the milk over on the table.  The waiters rudely began requesting tips but didn’t get one, except off  ‘D Ceen his wallet’, who suggested that they try filling the glasses next time. 

A quick tram ride back to the hotel and it was off to a nearby shop to buy a toothbrush and razor for Ali, who by this time was minging.  Still no pants for sale though.  Grazie came jogging past, training for the prague marathon, and managed an ‘evening gentlemen’, before collapsing in the hotel lobby.

Still no sign of Ali Gee’s rucksack, despite phone calls to East Midlands airport, so still no clean pants.  Grumbling, ‘I don’t know if I’m going out tonight cus I’ve got to do some laundry’ the taunts from Yup finally enticed him out, even though he was minging worse than ever.

We caught the tram outside the hotel and went in search of a restaurant.  After a quick peruse, a Mexican, highly recommended to Yup, was chosen and an abundance of fajitas, chicken wings, potato skins, nachos, chips and god knows what ever else, was ordered.  Bonka took the plunge and ordered a vegetarian chicken meal.

Plenty of wine and velvet beer (a creamflow type lager, ugh) were served up during the meal followed by cocktails, shorts and other weird concoctions to complete the session.  Stubbee was first to win an Oscar for his impersonation of the mask after supping a sambuca coffee through a straw, in one go.

This was Bill’s first ever Mexican meal and he loved it, especially the bit where he attempted to set fire to the coffee beans in his attempt to crack the atom.

Only £13 each and enough corks to drown out some of Ali Gees snoring through the forthcoming night, or so I thought.

Bill reminisced over the Mexican on the way back to the hotel, whilst declaring his love for Prague.  The night was clear and the stars were shining, but Stubbee outshone the lot with his wind instrument repertoire, closely followed by Keithee with a fanfare rendition, before entering the hotel bar for a quick’un.

The tale endings of an earlier exhibition occupied the bar area but we made ourselves at home nevertheless, especially the Del boys; Stubbie and Richee, who sat and slurped their ways through margarita cocktails, a right pair of penis coladas.

At 12.55.am came a knock on the bedroom door.  Expecting to get told off for laughing and excess merriment, we were stunned when Ali’s rucksack was handed over by the hotel porter.  Finally clean pants, if only we could get into the damned thing.  It had been sealed so well, that, try as we did, we couldn’t open it.  We even tried using the television remote to cut the tape, but only succeeded in putting Sky news on.

Finally, the clean pants were out.  Overwhelmed and over nourished, Ali’s little head hit the pillow, and within a minute he was fast asleep and ………….snoring, triggering the seed of a tsunami on the other side of the world. 

I became very attached to the view from the bedroom window, where I stood and tried to shelter my ears from the thunderous snorts from the opposite side of the bedroom.  I can remember every inch of every cobble between the tram tracks, as I stared out of that window, waiting for the sun to rise and Ali to wake from his slumber.  The local direct works lads began digging up the road but even the noise of the jackhammers wasn’t enough to drown out his snoring.

Tuesday

After breakfast we split into 2 groups, with an agreement to meet up in an hour or so in Wenceslas Square.  Shaun and Bonker went awol and were to turn up later at the river. Those in search of Stata Prague, the local football stadium, went one way, and the rest slipped into the monastery brewery to czeck out the amber and dark beers; in the interest of helping out the monks of course in their research, and for Bill.  In the city centre, as we sat waiting in the sunshine admiring the local shops, the call came through from ‘D Ceen his wallet’ that he’d now lost his bearings, as well as his wallet.  Luckily, we had the shops to ogle over whilst we waited another half an hour.

Rocky O’Reilleys was near by so we popped in for lunch and a drop of black stuff.  Suitably refreshed we wandered off to the main station I think, checking out train times for the trip to Karlstein castle, and the Jewish quarter, before making our way to the river to see if Captain Carl was on duty, and luckily he was.  After a few introductions and a wee bit of skilful negotiating, discounted trips of 50% were obtained before sitting in a beer garden waiting to be called on board.

Again the sun was beating down and the sky was blue.  The boat trip was very relaxing interrupted only by some weird commentary that was difficult to follow, despite the translation.

As we came to shore, Bonker and Shaun were spotted amongst the statues on the bridge and a joyful reunion ensued back into the beer garden, before returning back to the monastery for another spot of research before returning to the hotel.  One or two couldn’t stand the pace and returned direct to the hotel, namely, Royzee, Shaun, Bonka, and Grazee.  JayCee and Timmee were the only county wounty wallers who could.

That evening we wandered around aimlessly for half an hour before going for an excellent meal at the restaurant next to the beer garden where we’d sat earlier; baring some resemblance to a beer cellar. Royzee, Timmee and Bonker went their separate ways in search of a 3 course meal. 

We returned to the hotel on the tram with our tickets except for JayCee who dared to risk the trip without one, and looking forward to a good nights sleep.  10 minutes however and the dictaphone had to come out to record Ali’s snoring.  Unfortunately it was so loud, the recording became distorted as the soldered joints on the electronic board inside it were blown apart and the sounds of car alarms which were set off within a mile radius echoed round the room.  Despite the condition of the dictaphone I managed to capture a snippet at around 4.30 am when he started again.  Locals were out in their masses, likening the noise to that of a ‘Vulcan’, a six-barrelled electric Gatling gun capable of firing more than 6,000 rounds per minute, which they’d last heard during the german occupation. 

Wednesday, ( final day )

A trip to Karlstein castle was on the cards for the last day and we set out on the tram from the hotel to the main station.  Bonker had thrown his ticket away after the first stage of the tram run, not realising he’d need it to complete the journey.  Luckily, good old Royzee ran backwards up the escalators to give him a helping hand, as he was holding us all up, and rummaged through the bins to find it before we could continue.

Patience is a virtue, or so they say.  Sadly, when we got to the train station, Royzee had lost his, and eager to get his train ticket first, he queued up at a separate kiosk to the rest of us.  Meanwhile, a huge group discount was successfully organised by Yupmeister at another kiosk for the rest of the group.

As it happened, the timing and cost of the train, (for most of us), to Karlstein was spot on.  The carriages were a little bit dated but nevertheless practical, as ‘D Ceen his wallet’ found out when he went to the toilet and discovered it opened out directly onto the tracks below.  Luckily he spotted it before he opened his bowels.  Bonker, grateful to Royzee for his assistance in finding his ticket, opened a bottle of fizzy water on the train in celebratory fashion and showered Royzee across the table.  ‘Plonker’, or some other similar explicit could be heard.

From the station at Karlstein, the short walk to the castle took us through quaint narrow streets adorned with gift shops and beer gardens.  The sounds of budgerigars could be heard from one of the gardens.  Budgerigars to everyone except Royzee who was convinced they were parrots.  Jaycee knew the difference of course, having previously endured the pleasure of a great big squawking parrot stationed outside his bedroom door at the Swiss family Robinson’s b & b in Ireland, a couple or three years ago; or was it a cockatiel?

Bill took a fancy to a Gerry hat on sale, but reality finally hit home when he realised he’d either got to get it into his suitcase, or wear it on the plane.

Royzee was being troubled with bouts of wind but didn’t dare let rip in case of a follow through.  Memories of the ‘brown eyes’ melody drifted back from yet another previous trip to Ireland.  To be on the safe side Royzee paid 5 kronas to use a public toilet but there was to be no thunderous volcanic emission as expected, just a meek whimper.

We stopped for lunch and a few beers in the sunshine just below the castle, except for Grazee ‘lard-dee-da  Darjeeling’ who had tea with a hint of Venetian vanilla, before making the climb eventually up to the castle for one of their tours.  The tour took around an hour.  A neck-end carriage had been preserved and was spotted in mint condition in one of the rooms. 

On the way back we stopped again in the same beer garden whilst one or two went shopping.  Royzee came back with the largest boxed glass he could get his hands on hoping to squeeze it onto the parcel shelf on the plane.  The ST1 club was spotted near the station but there were no takers.

The day had obviously taken its toll on Stubbee who struggled to open a window on the train journey back.  Luckily ‘D Ceen his wallet’ was on hand to help out.  The seductive sound of the conductresses voice drifted through the carriage and Keithee declared his love of her.  A copy of the timetable now sits on his desk at work as a constant reminder of her voice.

Back in the main station, and not for the last time I’m sure, Bonker, and Sean in tow, delayed the trip back to the hotel, having forgotten to buy their tram tickets.

Bill suggested we do a bit more research at the monastery brewery.  And who were we to argue with research and progress.  Just time then for a last quick’un, before eating our last Czech meal at an Italian restaurant near the hotel.  Richee was convinced we were getting into bad habits spending so much time at the monastery, and pondered whether to invest in the brewery shares when he got home.

The Italian was cheap and cheerful.  ‘D Ceen his wallet’s glasses were passed around the county wounty’s table, as is the norm these days, to assist those whose eyes are diminishing with age to read the menu.  They finally ended up on JayCee’s head where they remained unnoticed for most of the night.  At least they didn’t end up in a pizza box this time.

‘D Ceen his wallet’, Royzee, Shaun and ‘M Ceen his dad’s wallet’ ordered tee-bone steaks.  Obviously the waitress had a problem with the translation and served up kebabs on skewers.  She had the same trouble at the Stokey’s table serving up a pizza with extra olives instead of chillies.  Sounds similar I suppose.

Back at the hotel the bags were collected and the bills settled in a production that the New Vic theatre would have been proud of, with D Ceen my wallet tearing into the receptionist yet again and demanding that his bookings be put on one invoice.

At the airport check-in the pressure continued to tell on D Ceen my wallet, who uttered ‘get yer passports up here now’ in a mildly compelling sort of tone, before we passed through immigration control and into duty free, where, yet again, he had another minor difference of opinion with the sales girl over the purchasing of cigarettes.

In the departure lounge Stubbee had a minor heart attack as he thought he’d left his camera at the passport control desk, but was put at ease when it was revealed that it had been noticed and picked up.

Back home and the question remained on everyone’s lips;

‘How did ‘D Ceen his wallet’ manage without his wallet?’

(Answer:             ...............…..    easy ! )

Next year, Latvia ??          Well volunteered Rich