Day 3 – Bratislava – on the road to Munich

Woke up, amazingly feeling alright and before anyone else was up, after passing out the night before. Feeling bright and not shite we all began to make our way back down to the cars which Ross, who spent the night in a single bed with Craig, had park in the only available space...

[--- Craig crashed into us ---]

... which was about a mile away. Still the cars are still in one piece, and drivable and still on the street. As Ross was parking, the police rocked up and put the car that was next to him on the back on the low-loader and left. So once we had all made it back to the cars, hoping they were still going to be there, it was decided that we were all going to have breakfast, and McDonalds back by the hostel was the decision. Which me, Ross and Craig decided was to far to walk to drove the Mondeo back to the high street for food. While we were sat eating, the topic of conversation moved towards the driving laws, and how Prague’s police don’t accept any alcohol in the body when driving. This, I ahve to admit, made me really nervous as when I was eating, I was beginning to feel more and more drunk again with each bite I took. This I didn’t relay back to the lads, as I really wanted to drive again. The Mondeo was feeling really bad as well. Worse than me. Everything was worse.
As we were driving along, Chris (Paine) started drawing on the dash board with a permanent marker. As a result, by the time we’d reached our challenge point for the day (the Church of bones, Bratislava) the entire inside of the car, and I mean every last inch of it, was covered in cartoon cocks and typical welsh boy sayings. I’m not going to write what it says on the driver’s side sun visor as it’ll probably offend everyone who reads this. But its the funniest thing you’ll probably see in a Mk1 Mondeo.
The drive today though was fantastic, lovely roads, terrific views and some great mates to laugh about it all. They’ve coined a nice name, McLovin’, so I feel well involved with them all now. Paine craped himself on a few bends, and when a lorry pulled out in front of us at 110 mph on the motorway. The brakes went past the bone-shaker to just a hope. We did stop, luckily, and then swapped drivers and I got in the Calibra, when we neared the city. By the time we got there, the lads in the Calibra were getting a bit ratty with each other, so we eventually found a car park, in the dodgest part of town and waited for Mark and Howie to return with directions. We all piled in the Mondeo, sketched about a random guy by the cars, then had a giggling fit with Craig and Paine.

“Get in the fucking back?”“What?”“Get in the fucking back of the fucking car?”
That was the return of Mark to the Calibra, and we soon we’re at the Hostel, changed and out again. The night ended in McDonalds, after a really annoying but nice meal somewhere with the twat of a tour guide, and then a cocktail bar under the belt.