Andy and Ed had been to this little corner of the Costa Brava many times before, and Dan had even gone with them in '96, but this was the first time all four of us went and had a proper boy's holiday. By that of course, I mean we spent a huge amount of time drinking, sleeping, perving by the side of the pool, and struggling with maps. Muggins here drew the short straw and had to drive from Barcelona airport to our camp-site,
Mas Patoxas, at Pals. When I was a kid on holiday with my family in Spain, I always looked down the steep mountains that lead away from the winding roads at the wrecked cars many metres below. Thanks to an ill-advised shortcut through the mountains, we almost suffered a smiliar fate.
But many sleep-deprived hours later we arrived, and Stefan had waited to greet us! What a good egg that chap is. One of the highlights of the holiday was the England vs. Holland vs. Spain football tournament. Three teams and temperatures much higher than was advisable resulted in England being soundly thrashed. Or was it that fact that Andy and I decided to warm up with a greasy burger and a cold beer? Going in goal seemed like the sensible idea, until I realised we were playing on what was essentially a gravel car park. Ouch.
