Prague 2005: Day Three - Going Home

Beer-count=not many

Urgh! Early flights suck

Once again, we rose early after not a lot of sleep, but didn't even attempt to do breakfast. A swift bag-pack saw us outside waiting for our pervy friend on four wheels. The disabled among us were carried down and after a little faffing we were aboard and heading towards the airport. The journey was a slightly more subdued affair when compared to the earlier going-ons of the weekend, but it was fairly understandable when you realised that most of us were suffering from massive hangovers combined with a healthy dose of sleep deprivation.

We arrived at the airport with a bit of time to kill, so after getting checked in the group split to find food / buy presents / get some sleep. We all met up at the the exit gate to chill for a few minutes and check out Woja's most recent purchases: two magazines that any connoisseur of the finer side of sensual photography would appreciate. Distinctly eastern european in their styling, they were true carnal masterpieces that certainly wouldn't be gracing the top shelves of Mr. Patel's round the corner. These were pored over (to fully appreciate the art that is without doubt a euro-speciality) before we boarded. They were then pored over again before take-off. Once airborne they were once again bought out and dutifully read and shared with our fellow travellers / art critics, who too were suitably impressed by the artistic photographic compositions and the close-up shots of the models involved.

Around this point in the journey, the Woj decided that his limited breakfast would be better positioned in the bowl of the toilet, which was fortunately close to hand, and said breakfast soon found itself having a projectile outer-Woja experience. This wasn't the only outer-Woja experience that Woja's stomach contents would have during the flight though - shortly before landing a Ryan Air sick bag managed to intercept some more making a valiant escape from his mouth.

The plane touched down at a rather wet Stansted (why is it always grey and wet when you land back in the UK?) and we all got split up as we collected baggage and filed through customs, only to reunite in the arrivals lounge. No-one was stopped or strip-searched, despite our rather dodgy, haggard appearance, which was a bit of a relief (although I suspect Woja was secretly hoping to be abducted and have the lady with the rubber-glove and KY do her stuff). It had been pretty mammoth with much drinking, dancing, chilling and all-round goodtimes happening. But alas, real-life beckoned again. Cash had to be made to fund the trip, other-halves had to be talked sweetly to and there was a lot of sleep to catch up on.

But shit - what a fantastic weekend!

We do fucking rock!

In case you were interested in what happened afterwards, here's a very brief epilogue.

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