"Marge, Where's Your Badge?"

Dear pilgrims,

I am writing to faithfully inform you that your scribe of familiarity - Gerald - is back. So, Walskadong's last day in Dubrovnik you want? Read on...

We decided a yummy meal was deserved as a fitting farewell to a fine friend and chef. After a bit of wandering we fell upon a quaint establishment called Azur Bistro. After 10 minutes of sitting we had still not been asked what we would like to drink, let alone eat. Time was of the essence as Walshe had to piss off in a few hours, so we murmured pathetically about leaving. A further 10 minutes passed. The waitress was chatting to a table of men. Monty stood up. We were actually doing this. Finally we were acting as our Dad's would if they were on one of those football trips in Italy. Well, they'd have given it some mouth aswell, but similar. So we walked out, heads held high.

Nowhere served food. Well, not to English guys in tiny shorts anyway. After a well deserved, albeit substandard, meal we bumped into the lad that lives at the guest house. He kindly drove us into Old Town, Croatian rap blaring from his tinny speakers. Naturally, The Dong inquired as to what we were listening to - his arms up around the shoulders of van den Boom and Mont, exposing his famously malattended armpits - and decided he would purchase the CD. 'Connect'. That was the band's name. Along with the CD, he bought a gift for Susan Moss, in preparation for Mossfest 2 the day after his return to Blighty.

My bank balance was marching boldly towards 'I told you so' territory, so we grabbed a coffee to assess the sitch. And we saw the fittest girl in the world. Someone proclaimed "I'd eat her shit". Can't remember who it was...

We had a sombre, poignant farewell with Doug - "Look after 'em Tommy" - and waved him off as he rode shotgun in Ana's car. Yet another dynamic to contend with. Beans, assuming the alpha-male role, cooked and then we had some brewskies in preparation of our third night out on the bounce. One thing was certain: we were not going to Latino Club Fuego. We told the taxi man to take us to Exodus nightclub. We pulled up outside a building that we recognised from earlier in the trip. Monty looked out of the window, disbelief on his face, uttering a fully deserved "Dude, what the fuck?" - we were sat outside none other than Disco Club Restaurant Bar Club Dancing Club Fuego. Club. Oddly, it was busy. Ish. There was a fair bit of skirt and a lad we'd seen at the hostel in Zagreb. After a brief dance we all thought about Walshe. This made us sad, so we returned home for a good old kip.

The walk to the Old Town takes you past the entire beautiful coastline, offering stunning views of the cliffs and assorted islands. If you're lucky you'll also be afforded the picturesque image of a pale Geordie with his shirt off. Depends where you look. We grabbed a pizza slice from our local haunt and Beans was awarded his second slice free of charge. I think she fancied him. Huge walls surround Dubrovnik, giving the image of a huge fortress. We walked the full circumfrence of the walls, culminating in about 3 kilometres of amazing scenery and annoying Italians. One such Italian fella - we called him Luigi - was the bane of our excursion, constantly performing for his entourage and setting up amusing photograph opportunities, all sealed with a customary, cliched "Aye!" Twot.

We watched some lads playing five-a-side for a bit too long, then 2 toddlers displaying the promise of a Wednesday night at Latino Club Fuego. Funny though. Out of nowhere Beans had a pang of jealousy and began discussing the thought of staying longer. He only had 2 days left, but it was looking like he had made his mind up to extend his stay. After a few beers, phone calls were made - Boger and Livi - and his mind was made up. He would stay until the 18th!!!

After this great news we just drank a few cold ones on the balcony and indulged in some deep chat about loves long lost, emotions and family shit. We will never tell a soul what was discussed on that balcony, that night in Dubrovnik. So don't ask. Ok? Good. A bowl of Nesquik was gobbled up the next morning and Old Town was again our destination. The place was full of old, fat Yanks sporting badges with their name and coach number on them. They were being led around like sheep, listening in to banal history and scoffing ice cream into their greedy faces. Nothing against them, I was just grumpy that day. Things picked up. We went again to our pizza slice place and were given a slice of pizza each for free. Gratis. I got a water too.

I was pestered at an internet cafe by three foreign boys, constantly making me say things in their language and then chuckling. I must have called myself a vagina or something. I taught them the word 'prepubescent' . All's fair in love and war. Irish Pub Gaffe was touting its burger and chips as the best in town. That sounded like a test, so Beans and I tried it. Mont had an omelette. It was indeed the best burger in town. I hadn't had another though. The Gaelic football was on - Dublin vs Meath - and we were treated to an Irish woman saying "Aah, Jaaysus!" every 3 minutes.

We returned to a bag full of clean clothes - cheers Ana - and a telling off for using her private bathroom - sorry Ana - then hit the hay. Tomorrow we travel to Split, with Beans...