Freddy Got Fingered

Our last two days in Prague are literally not worth a mention. But it is a travel blog, so I'm kind of obligated. After saying a macho farewell to Bob and Anthony, we four (the large Canadian joined us) got a chinese and then went to see Star Trek. And bloody loved it. We played a bit of poker - Mont the victor - and Walshe and Canadian (who we just called 'dude' or 'man') had loads of beer. Unwise, me thinks. At 11pm we got peckish and grabbed a pizza. 'Twas literally 40 inches. One more beer, then bed.

After the worst night's sleep of my entire life - I only nodded off when Canadian left at 8am - we decided to see a bit more of the city. We saw the Royal Castle (obligatory photo with guards), palace and cathedral, walked about 7 miles and had a phenomenal milkshake. At 3 quid a pop it bloody had to be. We toasted our last night with a celebratory pizza ;) and a lovely drop of Budvar and then got into bed, ready for our 6.30 wake up call....

Bratislava - in Slovakia - was to be our next destination, and we arrived with no trouble having slept for the majority of the journey. The map in the Rough Guide - that me and Monty both got for Christmas - is possibly the worst map since the one Kitty Jay took when she went for an evening stroll on the Cornish moors. No streets were named properly and the bus station wasn't even on the fucking thing. After a valiant effort from Walshe - asking all and sundry where we had to go - we were completely lost. So we jumped in a cab who took us round the corner. Cheers.

The hostel was named Patio Hostel. There was indeed a patio out back, so I can't take the piss. After getting the key to our room from the be-dreaded crusty at reception we dump our gear, shower and head out. There's a Tesco - home from home - so we enjoy a sandwich with bread drier than a nun's dark places and then head to the square. Bratislava is renowned for its amusing statues, which pop up round corners and behind benches and out of manholes. Limited entertainment if I'm honest, so we grabbed a cold one in yet another beautiful square and watched the world - in the form of tanned girls in strap tops - go by.

We'd been lead to believe that Tesco in Bratislava stocked 12% lager at minimal expense, so we investigated. Bob and Anthony, you were wrong lads. We bought the stuff, which was minging, and while drinking decided to thouroughly inspect the label. Turns out it was 4%. The 12% is simply the name of the beer, much like Carling in England. Or Fosters. In England. Anyway it was a 3 pint bottle for 90p so we can't whinge. More poker was played, beer was drunk and we headed out. Monday's in Bratislava are crap. We went back to the hostel and decided a movie would cap off the evening nicely. Monty and Walshe had, for some unbeknown reason, set their hearts on watching Freddy Got Fingered. I'm not even going to justify this boil-on-the-devil's-arse of a film with a review. Actually, minus 5 stars. It stinks.

We changed rooms the next day to cheaper ones - classy - and then headed towards a park for a sunbathe. I cannot stress how nice the weather was. We were sneered at by a pair of gays - I don't fancy you either lads - and then sat down for some tanning. Well, I was in the shade. I get sweaty. And my nose goes red. We then had a walk to the castle, which took ages, and found it smothered in scaffolding. Almost everywhere we've visited has been under construction. The views from the top were amazing though, as it sits on top of a hill, a fortress like a beacon of power and prosperity. And a few diggers. And builders with their shirts off.

After a long walk there's nothing like a nice, cold Fanta - orange - and a sit down. So we did that. Next stop, Tesco. We just really fancied a fry-up. Walshe cooked up some gorgeous sausages and eggs and bunged 'em into a bap and a baguette. Our own little slice of England. A nap followed, with Doug relentlessly saying "five minutes" when asked to get up so we could do something. An hour and 25 minutes later he got up. After last night's cinematic disaster we wanted to watch a credible film with good performances and a strong plot, fronted by an actor who could do a good London accent. So we chose Green Street. Good for a laugh, but surely even Charlie Hunnam himself didn't think he sounded cockney - "Ah, you're 'aving a bubble". Twat. The evening was saved when Walshe got chatting to a slender, delicate South African called Lauren. She looked a bit like my friend Anna. If you don't know her, sorry. Monty and I played Fusbal. She read my blog - loved it, so... - and then went to bed. Alone.

That was a boring blog. I apologise. The next one's going to be better. There's more sex, more drink and a load more giraffes...