The Undesirables
When you last left them the travelling pioneers were holed up on the floating cesspit also known as the Eurostar Salermo. After very little merriment and even less frivolity land was finally sighted and on cue, like all good Dads, Tony rounded up his siblings for a photo on the top deck. All was going swimmingly until one step up from sea level Craig's vertigo kicked in. However, like the trooper that he his, and after a few deep breaths, he conquered his fears for the greater good of artistic photography. By the second step he was hyperventilating, and by the third step the nose bleed started and he retreated to a rocking foetal position on the car decks.
After docking and watching the impatient scrum to exit the ferry with barely disguised amusement our underslept adventurers finally touched down on African soil. With gleeful exuberance they headed for a quick customs check then on to a hotel for a cold shower, hot meal and a cold beer - how wrong they were! Four hours later after, in no particular order; filling in vehicle forms, having passports checked, having passports checked to make sure the previous three checks had been done correctly, queuing at vehicle checkpoint windows, paying bribes to find out which forms to fill in and queuing at more checkpoint windows, hurrah the exit was reached. Disaster! Out of the hundred or so forms filled in through the previous laborious process it appeared that the Zebra documents had been stamped with the incorrect date, so off toddled Ian to queue at yet another window so an idle bureaucrat could shout at him as though it was his fault that his staff were incompetent. Finally after all the i's were dotted, all the t's were crossed and all the bums tickled the Zebra and Cheetah finally emerged into Tunisia. After a quick stop for directions and a quick tug by the five-oh, for what can only be described as a downright dangerous manoeuvre by Craig, Great balls of fur were holed up in a cockroach infested hotel drinking a well deserved beer in an idyllic location overlooking the Med.
Anyway Ian, stop procrastinating I hear you say, tell us what happened to Charlie and Tom. Well, all good things come to those who wait, unfortunately they waited but nothing came. Let me take you back a few steps, remember, the point when Craig's nose bled? Well shortly afterwards as we were leaving the ferry Charlie, who was travelling on the ferry as a foot passenger, decided that his bag was too heavy and it would be best if he threw it in the vans. So off they went with gay abandon into the Customs hall with no luggage, no tickets and a large portion of arrogance. Trouble first reared its ugly head when they refused to pay a not very subtle request for a bribe. After a few funny looks and a very close look at their arrival cards the questioning started. Question 1. Tom are you really a beekeeper/ philosopher, and Charlie are you really a children's entertainer? Question 2. Why do you have no luggage? Question 3. Why do you have no tickets? At this point Tom's rather jovial text messages, which until this point had been along the lines of 'We should be out in a minute' took a sinister change. Instead they said 'Nobody will speak to us' and 'Our passports have disappeared' before reaching the low of 'The Interior Minister has been called' and 'Call me now'. At this point on the orders of the Interior Minister they were loaded onto the next ferry back to Italy with the ultimatum 'Your bags come to the ferry port before the ferry leaves or you are deported.' After a frantic phonecall to the rest of the Furballs, a quick appreciation of the 1:4 000 000 map that we have for navigation; engines revved, tyres squealed and Tony and Chris drove 50 miles in the wrong direction before realising, spinning around and reaching the ferry port 15 minutes after the ferry left.
So to summarise, four members of the team are now enjoying the sights and foul smells of North Africa and Charlie and Tom have been deported with nothing more than t-shirts, shorts, flip-flops and 170 Euros between them.