Day 6 - Rain, rain, feckin rain

At around 9am Big Jock realized that there was movement within T2 and began to drip all over Mouldy about the feckin weather. Mouldy was quick to point out that the normal way to initially greet people in the morning was, “Good morning!” Suitably shellacked, Big Jock bid Mouldy good morning and then continued with his tirade about the rain. He was promptly handed a lovely cup of coffee by Mouldy and then told to “Shut the fuck up – I know its raining Big Jock, I do wear glasses you know.”

Benger, dressed in his white pants, said that we were off for breakfast and the prospect of nosebag calmed Big Jock to a frantic murmur. Mouldy, Benger, James, Bomber, Jan P and Big Jock all headed for croissants, rolls and jam with lashings of hot coffee. Bomber did moan about there not being cheese and ham but was promptly told by Big Jock that the kitty couldn’t afford the extra 3 francs for this extravagance. Bomber was not happy but Big Jock had saved a few more pennies and was ecstatic, ha, ha.

At this point Benger, in mid flow, was attacked by the only poisonous species of spider in Switzerland. James came swiftly to his dads rescue and slung the spider into a designated safe area (anywhere away from us). The spider landed on a small child loafing in the vicinity, which promptly ran out with the aforementioned spider – screaming!

After their extremely healthy breakfast it was off to the pub to stabilize the equilibrium and bring their bodies back to the normal state of semi-drunkenness. The MILFS and Minxie turned up and then eventually George joined us. George is Mag 7 and is joining for the remainder of the tour. The bar began to fill with George’s workmates and friends and was definitely the place to be until 2pm when the crew really needed to make a move and get George’s bags on board. It was at this point that the Murtahurm travelers realized that George may have been a teacher but it most definitely not Mathematics.

Having insisted that he was only bringing two bags, it is believed that he missed the zero off his initial calculation and what he should have said was that he was bringing 20 bags! His gear was thrown into the Spit Roast Special along with James and Big Jock. It was at this point that Thunderbird 2 was reclassified as a private residence and the Spit Roast Special was reclassified as a council residence (or coonsill murtahurm in Geordie dialect). James and Big Jock certainly felt like asylum seekers – without any benefits though!

Bomber drove to rendezvous with T2 and George’s additional kit was distributed between the two Murtahurms. After this mammoth task and the retrieval of Bomber’s two mobile phones from the log pile, Benger and Jan P turned up to offer their assistance, loafing gits!

All packed up, the convoy 10 personnel strong, departed for lunch in St. Moritz. Jan P was not impressed by his first experience of Rosti – he had more oil on his plate than JR Ewing had on his Southfork ranch – but Bomber got his Swiss sticker for the Spit Roast Special, so happy days all round.

Gentle maneuvering saw the convoy depart St. Moritz for Lake Como (Leerk Keermo) in Italy. The scenery on the journey was breathtaking and the sharp bends were frightening; a bit like the gases being emitted from the arses of James and Jan P. George had made his escape to some Italian friends’ place because he obviously spotted the dark clouds that we had been dragging behind us on our trip from Switzerland to Italy. Yes, we’re in Italy, Lake Como and it’s fuckin raining yet again! We had definitely upset the gods and I could see that we would have to make human sacrifices and pretty soon. The MILFS began to look like potential volunteers (or pressed men, should they put up a fight).

After desperately trying to find a half decent campsite, (lies all lies I tells ya) we ended up in a campsite, sorry, Pikey fuckin campsite complete with traveling circus, the Pet shop Boys, Erasure and a shitload of gay Italian truckers. Big Jock had completely wrapped by now because he was expecting a nice hot shower but his immediate future looked like his shower may not consists of hot water but something slightly sinister. He would likely get a cap busted in his ass or worse (in his ass!)

The MILFS had long since disappeared to a lovely plush Italian lakeside hotel with running water, showers (hot), probably a bath and a decent menu. At this point Minxie looked at Big Jock’s face, which resembled the approaching thunderclouds and decided to bug out and follow the MILFS example by seeking some home comforts in the hotel. James and Benger thought, “hotel means bar, bar means beer, and followed suit.

Mouldy in the meantime refused to have his spirits dampened by Big Jock or the weather, so he poured himself a spirit of his own (a very large Scotch) and settled down to watch “Al Murray, pub landlord” on the DVD. It was a great move and brought smiles to everyone’s face, yes everyone – good old Mouldy.

Midnight came and the boys turned in to watch the mother of all lightning storms. It pished down all night – again!