Post by Lord Piggy on Dec 18, 2014 20:57:42 GMT
Chapter 1
DB Promotions in association with Top Trumps are proud to present the M.I.S.A. 2006 tour to Liége
It all started out very innocently with the meeting point at the BMI check-in arranged for 10.00a.m at Heathrow Airport. It was likely to get messy.....
Me, MrsB and Joein arrived together in good time and tucked into a hearty breakfast…we knew that this might well be the last time we had solid food for a couple of days…DB rules are quite unequivocal on this matter…No solids allowed on tour…it must be stated that you break this rule at your own peril….
The troops were gathering and we were all getting slightly edgy…10.00a.m had passed and no sign of the sheriff or his deputies which was a bit disconcerting seeing as how they had stayed the night at a hotel in the fuckin’ airport….
It has to be noted, however that the DB’s and invited guests had attempted a monopoly run on the Friday and it must be considered a huge plus point that there were no cases of alcohol poisoning to report and a somewhat tired looking posse eventually turned up with smiles that were about as genuine as the greasepaint on a clowns face; these boys were suffering for the cause…
The automated check in doo dahs are a great invention and we were soon picking up our suitcases and bags and heading off to passport control. HPS’s bag had a curious clinking sound emanating from within and we were all perplexed as to what exactly he had packed for the week end….
At the passport control a few worried faces were to be seen amongst our merry band. We were clearly attracting attention and we tried to play down the fact that we were a national threat, but we were rumbled….It is an obvious statement to make but I cannot or will not divulge who had to have the full monty body search, but the snap of a latex glove will still send shudders down a certain members spine for some time to come, that’s for sure…and why on earth a certain member decided that they needed two sachets of Whiskas cat food is beyond me….what were they thinking?
Now you are all men and women of the world and I am sure you are familiar with the travelators that most airports have. You know the ones; they look like escalators that have been ironed. Well it seems that one of our crew was not quite as familiar as he should have been and didn’t realise that at some point they finish and you have to start using your own legs again; cue one very embarrassed MISA member, dumped on his arse…..
Finally through into the departure lounge and onto the plane at last…well I say plane…it was more like a coach with wings..now I am not having a pop at DB tours but I have been on MISA away coaches that were bigger than this aeronautical nightmare. Now you will not be aware of this but I am not a good flyer, never have been and never will be but I don’t let it get to me…normally….but when you get on a plane and walk down the centre aisle it is a bit disconcerting when you can reach out your arms and touch the sides of the aircraft simultaneously…this was a small plane….it didn’t help when our resident goodwill ambassador started waxing lyrical about plane crashes and how the crash position is only so that you break your neck on impact thus saving you from an agonisingly slow death through burning….and it is not comforting to know that the only reason you are expected to sit in the seat you are allocated (and stay strapped in) so that the bodies are easily identified after a crash….
Anyhow, to take my mind off all this I looked out for the stewardess and was amazed to find that it was actually Martine McCutcheon…blimey, she’s dropped down the old celebrity ladder, hasn’t she…she wasn’t impressed with smiffy claiming that the people below really did look like ants (we hadn’t left the ground at this point) but she realised she was on a hiding to nothing when she noticed that 75% of the passengers were MISA on tour….yes, I told you the fucking plane was small, didn’t I….and joined in with the laughter. She didn’t have to sing Perfect Moment but we didn’t want to stop her once she started…..
A very upbeat game of Star Wars Top Trumps ensued between EE, Ryan and Elmo Putney. High stakes and Chewbacca impressions rang out and a couple of Yoda’s were thrown in as well. By now the familiar cry was ringing out “ Force factor 9?” with the even more familiar “Cunt” in reply as five-pound notes changed hands
Top Trumps are proud to be associated with DB tours and MISA.
The short journey across to Brussels was, thankfully, uneventful and we landed safely, said our goodbyes to Ms McCutcheon, and disembarked.
You know the saying “there’s always one”? Well were no exception and our one didn’t listen to the steward telling everyone who had luggage stowed that they had to collect it as they got off the plane. We had a very worried member running to and fro trying to find out where his bag was and he finally rescued it on its fourteenth lap of a carousel…
So, all bags accounted for we headed towards Brussels passport control.
Now came a tricky moment…the Belgium passport police are not the most friendly of people and a herd of English ‘holidaymakers’ was not high on their list of people they would most like to see.
It is fair to say at this point that our member with the sore rectum from his stop and search at Heathrow did not fancy a second helping and we had to be on our best behaviour to make sure there was no repeat performance.
We scuttled through quietly on and headed for the airport bar……
The drinks were flowing freely and smiffy did a surprisingly good impression of a midget with a handkerchief for a hat. Quite why he did it, I couldn’t say but it was well worth seeing.
HPS called for an instant quiz and stood up, gripping his chair in both hands, firmly clamping it to his bottom. “Guess what fence at Aintree?” he asked.
“The Chair” we all chorused.
“No” he replied, “Beecher’s Brook”
He looked at our puzzled expressions and added, “it’s my game and I make the rules”….I suppose you had to be there..
HPS declared it was time to get the train and off we went to the station. The train was bang on time, clean and comfortable. We found a reasonably empty carriage that would allow the decibel level to increase without fear of a ‘calais’ moment and we were on our way. HPS revealed what was clinking in his bag and the worst kept secret since Prince Harry’s parentage revealed some healthy looking bottles of whiskey that emptied out at a furious pace. Luckily Ryan had the good sense to have a bottle of vodka as back up in case of emergencies and that too was welcomed with open mouths…
The Top Trumps game had gathered pace now and Dartford was heavily involved. At one point, I think it was either Ryan or Elmo declared “ Height: 1.8mtr~ storm trooper”
Dartford replied” Fuck you, you cunt, R2D2 1.9mtr, I win”
The response was rapid…”How can R2D2 be 1.9mtr?”
“He’s standin’ on a fuckin’ box, you cunt” came the deadpan reply.
Top Trumps~ the game that MISA and DB tours can't be without
We had to change trains at some place whose name escapes me and suddenly realised that we were not sure were to go next. The sheriff took control of the situation immediately and declared, “The fact that I’ve got you this far is a fuckin’ miracle, where’s Don, Don can sort it out…where is he, where’s he gone?”
It was noted by a good few members that the fact that I was standing next to him did not bode to well…
Orange yelled out to follow him and off we all went down a staircase to be met by plenty of information…all in Belgium. The group agreed that next time we go to a foreign country we ought to make sure that at least one of us has a rudimentary knowledge of the fucking language….
“Luik, that’s Flemish for Liége” announced the goodwill ambassador and he was right. He told us six times in the space of six minutes so we were convinced that he was right. So we boarded at train bound for Luik…which is better than a train bound for nowhere, where you could find yourself sitting with a gambler who nicks your fags and your whiskey then dies after telling you fuck all that will help you win a game of poker.
But I digress…so off we went and during the journey we had a very religious moment when the train slowly went by the biggest Stella Artois brewery in Christendom. Respectful silence ensued and smiffy felt the need to kneel down and pay homage properly…fair play to him.
The train pulled into the familiar surroundings of Liége station and it was noted by last year’s tourers that the tower cranes were still there and it hadn’t changed a bit. It was generally agreed that Multiplex must have been doing the building.
We got off the train and made our way outside, and it was good to be back in familiar surroundings. Across the road from the station we met Liége lion and Dave the Vest and after some continental greetings we were on the bus and making our way to the hotel…..and time for the serious drinking to start….
Chapter 2 ...
Oh, one episode that I have missed out from chapter one was the break dancing competition at the train station..Smiffy won….and let that be an end to it…
To be truthful the drinking hadn’t stopped and on the bus was no exception. I would add at this juncture that despite what the goodwill ambassador was saying, Liége is a decent place with friendly people and quaint architecture and it’s not Liege’s fault that it is not twinned with another European place….it might have a suicide pact with Lewisham though….but nevertheless, friendly and quaint is good enough for me..
The bus got us far enough and as we departed the old familiar surroundings were once again with us..the IBIS hotel and the bars that are adjacent to it…. what more could you ask for?
Keys were quickly dished out and bags were unpacked and because that wasted an unnecessary five minutes it was felt by the team that extra beer was required to get over the shock.
The group were settling down nicely and were joined by Desert Lion who had made the short trip over from the sand dunes of Camber (probably?) and he hit the ground running and was soon into his stride. He was keen to let us know that he was an early riser and would expect the rest of the team to adopt his policy of early rising tomorrow because he took his football seriously. He distinctly said that he expected the rest of the squad to “shit the bed” and get up and on with it, just like he would…..
Next on the scene was Lags, first time tourer but long time party animal and he had brought a fiend…sorry, friend…. with him. Jesper…Now I know you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover (but I guess that’s exactly what you should do or how the fuck will you know what it is about?) but Jesper, it has to be said (and it was, on numerous occasions) is one evil looking Viking. Shaven head, bull necked, stocky frame, veins the size of your little fingers throbbing on his temple…this man would scare the skin of a rice pudding just by looking at it. Photo’s will be shown at some point (as long as the camera wasn’t too terrified to capture the images) but rest assured, we were happy he was one of us.
Usually it takes music to calm the savage beast but in this instance, good old reliable Top Trumps stepped in and soon Jesper was part and parcel of the team. He proved to be an excellent player but we are still not sure if the cards were simply awestruck and changed their values through fear of upsetting him (at one point Jar Jar Binks won the brain category…)
Top Trumps….the game you can play between meals without ruining your appetite
We met the owner of the bar where we were drinking and we are not sure but we think his name was Tony…well if it wasn’t it is now and he was a very nice bloke who looked a bit like the Milk Tray chocolate man. He didn’t know it at the time of our first meeting but by the time we had finished the tour he would have made enough profit from our imbibing to have a three-week holiday in Florida for him and his family...
The weather, it has to be said, was awful. The rain didn’t stop but it didn’t dampen our spirits (Ryan wouldn’t let it. He is very much against spirits being dampened and insists on them being neat) and we were happy to sit outside under the awnings and continue to quench our thirsts.
Smiffy treated us to a reprise of his break dancing but slipped on the damp pavements and went arse over head. To his credit he spun around and leapt back up on his feet and insisted it was all part of his ‘freestyle’ range…
The night wore on and at last discussions turned to the football match. There was some confusion as to when the kick off was and when it was made clear that the K.O. was at 10.00 you could see some very worried looking faces. The time now was approaching midnight and there was no let up in the drinking. JW was asked what tactics we should use. He plumped for the orange flavoured ones because the ordinary ones lose their flavour too quickly…. Doh! Smiffy, it was felt, would be our best bet up front as a lone striker, his speed and agility would certainly catch out the Liége boys. Footie The goalkeeping predicament would not be settled this night. Ryan was pencilled in but felt he might be needed to instil some alcohol into the system instead. Hmmmmm.
Some of the troops decided that a quick freshen up was needed and they retired to their rooms, marching in an orderly fashion, keeping their powder dry, so to speak.
There was a tricky moment when ‘Tony’ the bar owner sent out some cheese and biscuits for us to nibble on. The DB’s were immediately up in arms and steadfastly declared that no solids were allowed. ‘Tony’ thought he had insulted us by not bringing out enough and compounded his schoolboy error by bringing out more…it could’ve got nasty then but Janie saved the day by explaining the situation in fluent Spanish….exit one confused bar owner….
Meanwhile, our goodwill ambassador decided that he needed to go to see a shipper. He asked around to see if anyone else wanted to see some shippers. To be honest, we didn’t know what a shipper was and in the end had to ask him. “You know” he slurred, “ shippers…shippers fer fuck’s sake…I want to see some shippers”
We continued to look non plussed and he then stood up and started wiggling his hips and taking his top off….”Shippers…girlsh who takesh their kitsh off….”
I suppose at 1.00am in the morning is as good a time as any to see some lap dancing but not many of us fancied it. Mrs B & Janie enquired if there was any chance of the Chippendales being involved but sadly, the answer was no so it left the goodwill man and one other who shall remain nameless to venture out into the back streets of Liége to find some exotic dancers……and find some they did….the problem was that the Goodwill ambassador told us all about it the next day….constantly….and although the tour team are probably groaning as they read this, it has to be documented for posterity, so here goes…..
The shipper was scary…very scary….she had no tits and no eye brows and that makes her a wrong ‘un. And she never took her knickers off.
Now call me old fashioned but there are a few things in that statement that set alarm bells ringing with me and some of the others. For starters, if you are watching a stripper, why are you looking at her eyes? And if ‘she’has no tits and refuses to take off her knickers there is every chance that her name is Ralph and ‘she’ is a bricklayer during the week.
My advice to strangers in a strange land is to stick with Top Trumps..they’ll never let you down by pretending to be something they’re not…
Top Trumps each day help you work, rest and play
For purely research purposes I have checked out the club that they went to and this is what I found out….
Bienvenue au club Prive.
Un endroit où vous pouvez dérouler et laissez nos « filles » prendre bien soin de toi.
Détendez dans une atmosphère intime où nos « filles » peuvent rendre te le sentir spécial.
Nous couvrons les hommes âgés moyens qui font face à une crise de moitié de la vie et qui sentent la nécessité d'être le centre de l'attention à tout moment.
I have no idea what the above says because my knowledge of French could be written on the back of a postage stamp. I’ll let Liége Lion translate for us at some point?
Just a brief note now regarding some of the more ‘colourful’ characters that waltzed by us as we sat out drinking al fresco…. The ‘ghost woman’..how pale was she? She made 5 bells look like a bronzed sun worshipper..and the bloke with the matted hair..what the fuck was that all about?
At approximately 1.50a.m I retired to my room in the forlorn hope that the team would get at least a couple of hours kip to prepare for the match….
At around 6.00a.m we were woken by the sound of what appeared to be someone kicking a door in….we never found out who it was, did we Liégers…but suffice to say it didn’t dampen our enthusiasm and just as Desert Lion implored us from the previous day, the majority of us “shit the bed” to coin a phrase which means, as I am sure you all know, “to get up early”.
Unfortunately one member took the phrase quite literally and had a sheet cleaning exercise to perform before breakfast. Never mind. What goes on tour….
So, after cheese and croissants for breakfast we started to collate the troops into some sort of order and it soon became apparent that despite having at least 20 odd ‘tourers’ we were struggling to find 11 that wanted to play a football match. I myself was out of the equation (arthritis) Janie & Mrs B (women, obviously) HPS (injured ankle..don’t ask) but the rest…….all I can say is that there are those that talk the talk and those that walk the walk…..so fair play to those that turned up for the match (spectator or player) and all those that didn’t (with the exception of those mentioned) FOR SHAME!!
At this point I should explain that there was only one person that failed to get to the game and I suspect he is suffering enough flashbacks without having the added burden of me naming him in this report.
Taxi’s were summoned, spirits were rising (literally in some instances) and we headed off in a small convoy towards the outskirts and the waiting Liége team at the scene of our triumph from 2005….
Final chapter ...
Look, I know you have all forgotten about our trip to Liége but I never got around to completing the diary..I have been away on two holidays since the last chapter and then the world cup came along and before I knew it I was another year older and I had to buy the missus a new car and my grand sons needed attention and fish tank need cleaning and..well you get the picture...
So here is the last bit that I want to dedicate to Joein...read on to find out why...
We all got back to the hotel in dribs and drabs and after various ablutions were carried out we assembled in Tony’s little bar which was almost like a second hotel room to us all by now. Tony saw us all taking up residence in our usual seats outside and a smile as wide as the river Meuse danced across his face.
My understanding of the Belgium language is, as already stated, about as useful as tits on a bull but I believe the little speech he gave went something along the lines of
“Il y a Dieu ! l'Engish sont de retour pour une autre tentative à nous boire secs. Je sors pour acheter une autre barre. Épouse ! Fille ! …Trayez-les secs !
I am told it translates as “ Happy days! My English friends are back to keep my wife and daughter company for the evening”
Well once again I expect Liége Lion will give us a rough idea of what the speech was all about…
Orange and Essex Exile did not join us but showed good solidarity with the Liegé lads by joining them on an away trip to watch the professional footballers do their bit. The rest of us settled down nicely with Tony the bar owner’s wife and daughter , Melissa, who began to take a bit of shine to Joein, but more of that later on…..
To be fair to the DB’s they had ruled the roost with some aplomb and decision making was done without any fuss or bother. The ‘no solids’ rule had played it’s part in ensuring the weekend had been one of strict adherence but it was democratically decided that the time had come to whack some food down our gobs to stave off certain death so what better place to head for than a Belgium Chinese restaurant…
Tony’s wife and fragrant daughter Melissa were doing their utmost to keep us rooted to our seats but they learned quickly that when the DB tours are on the move then nothing has been invented on this earth to stop it… we left them in floods of tears but promised we would return to continue our thirst quenching rituals. This seemed to appease them because the lovely Melissa whispered to Joe “Si vous ne revenez pas, Mon père vous trouvera et découpera vos testicules avec une cuillère émoussée !” (Liége Lion…this is your bit again Very Happy )
So with that happy thought ringing in our ears we all marched off to the local Chinese to fill our pie holes in preparation for a full nights imbibing.
Now I don’t know if any of you have ever been to a Belgium Chinese restaurant before but they are very similar to English Chinese restaurants. You know what I mean, you walk in with a group of friends to met by Chinese waiters/waitresses who look at you like startled, slightly narrowed eyed, rabbits who then attempt to talk to you in your own language but fail miserably because they cant pronounce the letters ‘R’ and ‘L’ in the right order?
Well the Lord only knows what letters they get wrong in the Belgium language but, bless them, they give it a good go at talking to us in broken Belgium followed by Cheshire cat type grins all round.
This was not a good start and the situation was exacerbated by Lags and the Viking who answered them in Danish…..
But the universal language of hand gestures soon had us all seated and staring at a menu that may as well been written in Martian.
Janie, as we all knew, had a good grasp of Spanish so it was deemed that she could translate for us….and it seemed to work fine because we managed to order red or white wine without any trouble at all. We ended up, on our table, with an authentic Chinese white wine, now that is impressive. Well it was until I read label that told me our ‘authentic Chinese white wine’ was produced and bottled in Luxembourg…
Strangely enough the one person who had no real trouble at all with the menu was Barrowboy. To be fair though, his use of signs was way ahead of the rest of us (for some obscure reason.) and the chubby Chinese waitress certainly took a shine to him. He obviously struck a chord with her as I am sure I overheard her telling another waiter that “ Risten to me, I am long time fan of ballowboy, he going get me on MISA Radies, velly soon”
I think the waiter mumbled something like “ doopid iriot” as he wandered off to get the grub sorted out…
Now I don’t profess to know bugger all about how to be a waiter (or a waitress come to think of it) but I do know that having a decent memory should be a prerequisite for taking orders and fulfilling them correctly.
Our waiter had a foolproof method of remembering who ordered what…he wrote it down on the table cloth as well as in his note pad…brilliant idea….but slightly flawed when you realised he didn’t write the table number down in his note pad. This meant that every time he came out with a plate of piping hot noodles or prawns or curry or whatever else was taking two layers of skin off his forearms, he had to rush around the room reading everyone’s tablecloths until he struck gold.
But despite the waiters’ floorshow, and despite the fact that they didn’t twig we were English until we asked for the bill, and despite the fact that the food was just about edible, it has to be said that it was an experience I never would have thought I would go through, so once again DB tours have added a little something special to our world...
I would just add that throughout the meal you could clearly hear Elmo and the Viking calling out such phrases as “Height, Brains, Dark Side, Jedi Powers, Battle Skills and Force Factor” which had the poor waiters running back and forth like blue arsed flies trying to work out if they were ordering more food.
And even the Belgium Chinese smell of sprouts…
Top Trumps… you think you’ve had enough 30 minutes after your last game then you just crave more..
So, with solids on board we dutifully tramped back to Tony’s distraught wife and daughter, declaring our need to wash down a dodgy curry or two with gallons of Leffe and white wine for the ladies….
Now as the night wore on we uncover a little story within the story. This may be uncomfortable reading for some of our younger viewers so parental discretion must be employed if any minors are reading this.
It all began innocently enough as we settled down for the nights pleasantries, and a few cursory glances were definitely aimed at the bar owners delightful daughter, Melissa. Ahhh, Melissa, even the sound of her name now can bring a lump to the groin of the most celibate of men. But she had eyes for only one of our motley bunch of reprobates and as the Gods in Valhalla are my witness, it wasn’t the Viking who she wanted for a quick pillage. Oh no. The one who had set her dainty heart aflutter was none other than Joein. Veteran of the inaugural visit to Liége, this boy was turning into a man before our somewhat red and bloodshot eyes.
Little looks, little giggles, coquettish turns of the head were all part of Joe’s repertoire and boy did he strike lucky. We watched in wonder and amazement, as he was enticed behind the bar into Melissa’s waiting arms.
Language is no barrier to lust and before you could say mine’s a large one he was in her arms.
They kissed…..and you could tell it was almost perfect. Their senses reeling, they were giddy with the sheer happiness of the moment. The gentle meeting of lips gently succumbed to a more urgent need. They parted briefly, but not for long. Just enough time to draw breath; then their mouths brushed against each others again, softly, searching, tasting the sweetness before developing into a second kiss.
They relished the moistness and Joein gasped when Melissa’s lips opened, inviting him to taste more, to explore with his tongue, clearly intoxicating to a fledgling lover. You could tell that every nerve ending was tingling, every part of his body seemed to come alive and when Melissa’s hands moved over him, caressing, touching him in a way he’d never known, he felt another part of him stirring.
Although her touch was innocent and their kisses pure, the arousal was inevitable.
“Melissa…?” Joe sighed, pulling away a fraction or so, “ Can we…?”
She put a finger to his trembling lips then reached for his hand and slid it over her body so that it lay upon her small breast. He murmured something inaudible as his fingers – surprisingly not trembling-found buttons, undid them, lay material aside. He touched the wonderfully soft skin beneath the thin cotton of her underwear, felt the tiny mound that swiftly grew into a firm nipple and heard Melissa catch her breath. She gave a little moan.
And we are not sure what happened next. The smart money was on him shooting his load in his y fronts but he suddenly pulled away and ran off into the hotel.
Melissa’s Mum who was watching the whole thing did not look too impressed. She seemed happy enough with the kisses and the fondling but she lost it once Joein had fled the scene.
She shouted something at her daughter along the lines of “Idiot ! Comment vous comptez obtenir un père pour votre bâtard à venir si vous gardez les inciter pour mettre le feu à la balle avant qu'elle frappe la cible !”
We firmly believe she was chastising her daughter for getting up to shenanigans in full view of everyone and compromising her virginity but I guess we’ll never know…..
And Joein aint telling…
After the somewhat surreal episode of Joein and Melissa we got back to doing what we do best when on tour. You guessed it…TOP TRUMPS!
And copious amounts of alcohol…
It was decided that a parlour game was in order and the DB’s split us into two teams. The game would be ‘give us a clue’ or as some of you more genteel readers might know it as Charades. Ryan went first. He stood up, slightly bending his knees, brought his arms up in a lazyish, boxer’s stance and adopted a far away look on his face.
“Is it a film, a play, a book or TV show?”
Nothing
“You have to let us know, is it a film, a play, a book or TV show?”
Nothing
We all looked bemused and started guessing film titles.
After an inordinate amount of time, Ryan declared that we lost because we didn’t guess that he was being a statue….
For fuck sake, how were we ever going to guess that! 1-0 to the DB’s
Essex Exile decided he could go one better and jumped up onto a chair, promptly fell off if and almost bashed his head in.
HPS was on it in a flash, “ Fat drunken Taxi driver!…2-0 to us!”
It was a one sided affair and no mistake. HPS then stood up, chair wrapped round his arse and stood still.
Ahhh, we all knew this one. We had had it on the inbound journey. He wanted us to say that he was “The Chair” at Aintree and then would tell us that he was Beechers and claim the winning point.
“Beechers Brook” we chorused
“Nah” said HPS, “You thick cunts, it’s the chair at Aintree, 3-0 and game over.
Like he said before…his game…his rules…
Well it was getting late and at 1.30 am HPS called time and decided to have a little party in his room. I haven’t got enough time to explain all what went on in his room suffice to say what goes on tour stays on tour including bad language, eh Janie?
The next morning brought us all back to reality. After a few farewell drinks at Tony’s bar and after Joein had got melissa’s e-mail address, it was time to get going.
We had to get to the station under our own steam and to be honest we struggled. We wanted to get a bus but didn’t have a clue what bus went where, at what time and which way. After some deliberation Orange managed to read a timetable and assured us a bus would be along next Wednesday afternoon at about four o’ clock. But then by luck rather than collective judgement a bus appeared and had the name of the station on it so it was a good bet that this would carry us along. Some of our more panicky members didn’t wait for the bus and got a taxi instead, the poor deluded fools. We managed to get our train with about, oh, I dunno, four fucking seconds to spare so there was no need for any hasty taxi rides lads, was there?
The train journey back to the airport seemed much quicker than the inward journey but with the customary change at the station I can never remember the name of and the ensuing beers at the station bar, we were soon back at Brussels airport.
Oh, one thing I must report on during the change of trains was one of those moments that could reduce you to tears of laughter but never seems funny to those who were not there. It was a simple thing really, not something that you deem as funny but I swear that watching that fat woman trying to get on her bicycle was truly hilarious and why was it strangely fascinating waiting for the inevitable gust of wind that would lift her skirt above her head? I don’t know why, but it was just funny and that’s an end to it.
We finally boarded our plane back to England after the DB’s kindly allowed more solids in the shape of half a dozen Pizza’s and I am happy to report that this time we all left Belgium together and we all got back to England together. I was also pleased that the plane home was slightly bigger than the mini bus with wings that took us over and after a spectacular flight along the River Thames to Heathrow we touched down with absolutely no problems whatsoever. A first for us, I’m sure you’ll agree…
We all said our fond farewells and went our separate ways.
So another successful tour over, old friendships had been cemented and new ones made.
I am not going to get all soppy and sentimental but from a purely personal point of view I had a splendid time with all of you Liégers and I am looking forward to many more similar excursions. I am going to ‘do an Elmo’ on the next trip and by that I mean I am not going to take my medication so that I can have a proper drink!!
For those of you who wanted to come on tour but couldn’t get away for various reasons, you missed a good one and for those of you that wished they had of come but ducked out for no good reason then make sure you sign up for the next one.
And one final message for Joein….your mate who let you down needs sorting out and I’m sure there are a few Liégers who will explain to him why he owes you if you want them to! Battered
…and how is Melissa?
