Black Tie Camping

Epic overnight drive complete, the ballers eventually rolled towards the coastline of Western Italy keen to find a picturesque beachside campsite where they could recuperate, carry out running repairs and perhaps even enjoy some non-McDonalds-based sustenance.

In actuality, Italian sea ports on major shipping lanes do not quite come under the category of picturesque. Perhaps the fact that the signs for the beach appeared alongside those for the romantically named 'Zona Industrialle' should have been a clue but, nevertheless, with true British spunk and determination, our protagonists vowed to make do, and a pitch was established.

Following their first access to running water in 48 hours, it was a squeaky clean bunch that propelled their snow white and misshapen torsos purposefully towards the beach.

An hour later, 6 rose red and misshapen torsos headed into town to stock up on supplies for the evening's BBQ.

Now this meal justifies the coverage that it is about to receive as it ranks up amongst the furry's collective dining experiences as one of the most surreal to date. It began in a very ordinary and familiar way, with G&T taken in the ante-room, ably furnished by Chesterfield and Standard Lamp, and followed on in the dining room, provided by the freshly laden picnic table, in the usual manner. It turns out however, and you, fair student of bloggery, will be as shocked to learn this as anyone, that the Continentals are not accustomed to dining in the appropriate fashion. The mere fact that our chaps were well turned out in black tie, sat beneath their travel portrait of Her Majesty, and flanked to the right by the resplendent Union Flag, seemed, inexplicably, to draw the eye.

First came one tentative onlooker, then another. Out came one camera and, lo, a second, a third, and very soon the flash bulbs were pumping away with gay abandon. An average count of 30 plus spectators was the norm for the duration of said vittles, with only the occasional pause to receive complimentary bottles of wine and even bunches of flowers from the crowd. The experience was likened to that enjoyed by zoo animals and circus freaks and our reformed heroes vowed never again to deliberately antagonise the inhabitants of Monkey World. Dinner completed, the gentlemen retired to the bar to round off the evening with brandy and cigars and Craig took himself to bed in protest against an alleged press-ganging into driving when he was tired.

A brief breakfast in tweed the next morning prepared all for the next leg, and Italy's Clacton-On-Sea bade a hearty farewell to its strange visitors from the North.