Sharon, Stokesy and myself left Caister at 0110 hrs 10/10 heading in a southerly direction towards Stansted Airport. Upon arrival at the car park we boarded a bus to the Terminal. After a cuppa and admiring the techniques of some attractive lady footballers, we checked in and went into the departures lounge.

I went straight through, Sharon had to remove her belt and boots and Stokesy was briskly frisked by a large Immigration officer who then passed him on to a superior who emptied his bag. Out went his shampoo, deodorant and contact lens solution. The drinks bottle had to be consumed before he was let out. I thought 'I'm not sharing with that smelly bugger'.

The subsequent flight was on time and largely uneventful apart from Stokesy saving his bowel movement until he was over Germany as 'I've always wanted to shit on them'. At the same time Sharon had just got her bum on another toilet seat when she was removed in mid-stream due to turbulence. It struck me it could have been caused by the two of them at the same time but the pilot
assured us it was outside the plane.

Upon landing we were met by the two Keiths and a bus whereupon we and the other 20 or so guests on the plane were transported to the hotel in Tegoborze. Roadworks and traffic congestion made it a 2.5 hrs trip to our destination but it was an extremely pleasant journey through the Polish countryside.

After checking in we were told lunch would be served at 1330 so the three of us went for a walk to stretch our legs. Unfortunately there was a bakery about 100 yards away and that was as far as we got. Cakes were purchased and we went back for a drink and lunch.

Teresa outlined the plans for the next couple of days and then we had our cakes. Three hours sleep followed and then we got up for tea and drinks. This was going very well until Teresas' dad turned up with his home-made vodka. Samples were freely imbibed until it ran out. Fruit from his orchards were then produced before he departed.

We continued making merry until he returned with another bottle of vodka. This was soon confiscated by Teresa as she didn't want her big day ruined by Keith, his dad and her dad being
hungover.

By this time we heard Jim and Turbo would be arriving at 2300 hrs so, tired as we were, we decided to stay up and welcome them to the town. It also gave us the chance to slur out exactly what they'd missed by coming on a later flight.

Bed beckoned and after a hearty Saturday breakfast, the four cricketers walked into town and down to the picturesque lake. A youth football match started and we watched the first half. Stokesy was talent scouting and we bollocked the ref for a controversial penalty decision that brought the only goal.

The local mini market was visited before returning to the hotel to make ourselves look lovely for the wedding itself. Meeting in the foyer at 1300 hrs we saw the groom and his attendants awaiting the arrival of his car. Then some blokes in traditional gear with instruments appeared and started playing and singing. Obviously this meant nothing to us but was in fact his invitation to follow them to the brides' house where they would ask the parents for their permission to remove their daughter and marry her to Browny.

We all went to her fathers' house and awaited their agreement. Surprisingly they all came out together which presumably meant they'd agreed. The church service followed in which Keith gave his vows in Polish, one of his attendants read from the Bible (in English) and the traditional musicians kept on singing outside. It was however a delightful hour or so and rather moving. You didn't have to be religious to understand how much it meant to the happy couple.

Outside, sweets and money were thrown. Stokesy only wanted the sweets naturally.

Then we returned to the hotel where the reception began in earnest at 1600 hrs with the arrival of the first hot meal - chicken, mashed potatoes and cauliflower. Beer was on tap the whole time and there was soft drinks and some wine/spirits available as well. Soon after the plates were cleared the opening vodka bottle was placed on the table.

This was swiftly consumed as the band commenced playing upstairs in the ballroom. The next hot meal arrived just before 8 and the next at 11 followed by the final hot food at 1.15 A M. All the while a running buffet was provided so we could snack between meals.

Unfortunately Stokesy wasn't about for the final two meals. After taking part in a few dances, including the Polish Birdie Song, he succumbed to excessive lager/vodka intake about 11 P M by vomiting all over the ladies toilet as the mens was occupied. James found this highly amusing and tried to take a photo of the bemused Stokesy which thankfully didn't come out.

More dancing ensued, interspersed with numerous vodka breaks, until the all male dance competition arrived. Only men without a partner at the wedding could enter, so as Stokesy was incapacitated and Sharon was on my arm, it fell to Jim and Turbo to represent the club. They looked longingly into each others eyes as they competed in 5 different dance events, many with hands on each others bums. A bottle of vodka was their reward which they promptly left upstairs when they came downstairs for more food.

The vodka soon found its' way inside the band who by this time were getting as steaming as the rest of us. Turbo kept standing on ladies' feet when he was dancing with them, although this didn't affect one of them as she had a false leg!

Just after the last meal arrived, Teresas' dad appeared with another bottle of home-made vodka which went down very well. At 2.15 I felt enough was enough and went to bed, checking on Stokesy as I went. Jim wasn't long after me and Turbo kept going till about 5 a m.

These two were sharing a room and apparently when Turbo got into bed, his snoring and wretching woke Jim up and he couldn't get back to sleep. He went to reception and found another room at about 5.30 in the morning.

I got up about 10 and after my ablutions, went to breakfast. Surprisingly it was well supported, although I was the only cricketer in attendance at the time. Stokesy got up about 11. We had to ask where Jim was as Turbo didn't know he'd left him. We went to his room and told him about breakfast whereupon he joined us.

He then went to track down Turbo and found him laying flat on his back pointing at the ceiling in a drunken stupor. He finally surfaced early in the afternoon and we all went for a walk down to the lake, taking the club frisbee with us and playing for over an hour on the local football field.

We returned to the hotel to prepare for the afternoons' festivities which were due to start at 4 p m. Just after 4, Sharon, Stokesy and myself were raring to go although no sign of Jim or Turbo. Again the first hot course was served at 5 consisting of pork, mushrooms, potatoes and veg. We'd already had starters off the buffet which had been set up since 4.

Drinking started at 4 as well, apart from Stokesy declining vodka and the other two declining alcohol of any sort. This changed when KBJ sat down at our table and insisted on a vodka toast. Turbo and Stokesy managed half a glass but Jim went for it big time and didn't stop till 2.30 the following morning.

Another two hot meals were devoured by 11 by which time Turbo and Stokesy had gone to bed, neither finishing any of the courses and declining the last two altogether. James by now was a budding John Travolta and dazzled us with his lightning footwork and moves around the dancefloor. Just before midnight I retired to my bed in order to be awake at 5 before leaving at 6 the next morning.

Jim was now really getting going and it seemed a shame to stop him. So we didn't. Unfortunately we couldn't wake him the next morning either and the bus had to wait for him to arise before leaving for the airport. Roadworks made us feel at home but it took considerably longer than anticipated reaching the terminal, not least because we had to stop 4 times for Jim to puke up in various Polish fields.

The flight was at 10 and we checked in just before 9.30. The rush needn't have happened though as fog caused the cancellation of our return trip to Stansted. A huge queue developed at the Ryanair desk and it took hours for everything to be sorted. Jim, Turbo and Stokesy managed to pay extra for Easyjet flights to Gatwick leaving the same day. They then had to travel to Stansted to pick up their cars arriving back in Caister about midnight.

We on the other hand were offered flights back on the Friday or travel about 300 Km to Rzeszow (near the Ukranian border) and fly back Tuesday morning. We accepted the second option and commenced making the necessary arrangements, along with the remaining 13 Brits trying to get home, to get to this place which we'd never heard of. Luckily one of the party had previously visited Poland on a number of occasions and knew some relevant numbers.

A mini-bus was hired and accommodation booked in Rzeszow as close to the airport as possible. We travelled into Krakow by train and wandered round the beautiful Market Square for the afternoon, indulging in a delightful meal and further beers. A bright, sunny day helped our mood and we thoroughly enjoyed our enforced stay in such a wonderful city.

The journey by bus was without mishap but took about 3.5 hours so we arrived rather tired at our hotel at 9.15 P M. Worryingly we were told the restaurant and bar closed at 10 so we quickly checked in and ordered food and drink. More beer and vodka was consumed along with gigantic
pizzas. Another terrific night of fun which summed up the whole weekend.

Following breakfast, we went to the airport for our flight home which was right on time and got home just after 4 in the afternoon. The entire wedding was memorable and surpassed all expectations. The hospitality shown to us was second to none and the welcome we received
from everyone, both English and Polish, will never be forgotten. Fine food (and loads of it), buckets of booze and great company combined to give us all the best fun we've ever had at a weekend. We only hope the newlywed Mr & Mrs Brown enjoyed it as much as we did.

Turbo picked me up and after reaching Stansted we both decided to hit a couple of beers – in fact it was the first pint I’d consumed in three weeks and the thought of vodka looming large on the horizon was already filling me with dread…

Flights and connections went fairly smoothly and four hours later Turbo and I approached a small Polish village an hour and a half’s drive from Krakow airport - host to the weekends activities. Time was late and on close inspection Stokes was already paralysed with fear for the weekend ahead in his chair in the reception area of the hotel – he simply couldn’t move.

Mick and Sharon us and explained that although the father of the bride couldn’t speak any English, he had a flame throwing, gut exploding, intestine exterminating fire water barrel of vodka that should be avoided at all costs. Mick, Sharon and Stokes had apparently been sampling some of the finer vodka throughout the day.

Time was getting late however and after Mick stitched us up with ‘Steve the photographer’ at the bar the boys decided on an early night to prepare for Big Fallo’s big day.

There was no sign of Senior – apparently he’d gotten totally smashed sampling the finer vodka and had fallen out of the hotel door a few hours earlier.

As soon as I woke I raced to the window to check the destruction I’d heard during the night. I was expecting Tsunami’s, Volcano’s and Earthquakes – possibly the end of the world as we know it - but saw nothing of the kind. All I saw, propped up in his bed snoring away was the legend they call Turbo.

Having then spied B Fallo and Rupert run past our room like little school girls carrying a beautiful display of flowers – such beautiful colours to match their lovely eyes, I made sure I got a good photo for future website material!

The wedding was magical – apart from it all being in Polish and the only words recognisable were ‘Keith’. Big Fallo then tounge kissed every man from Eastern Europe in some strange initiation ritual to thank them all for coming. The Caister Crew were disturbed.

Back at the newly weds parents house the folk singers were reaching a crescendo and it was time for food back at the hotel. And the food just didn’t stop. Stokes was in heaven.

THEN the danger period started…over came bottle upon bottle of Vodka. English eyes were trying to avoid them at all costs – but it was to no avail (maybe this was just me). I was sitting next to Turbo and opposite Stokes and watched in amazement as the shots were flying down throats. I even looked in utter disbelief at Turbo after he sunk his sixth straight vodka in a row with a smile slowly forming. Mick and Sharon were also ploughing through the vodka like it was water.

I tried to steel myself but instead opted for the safe option and a redbull substitute drink to help the vodka down. And it seemed to work despite tasting like vomit.

Stokes, who had ‘gone quiet’ for close to two hours dramatically, and with no prior warning burst into action. Springing from his chair like a gazelle, he literally exploded into life.

Something hadn’t settled well and the race to the toilet was on….and ultimately proved fruitless. Ten yards from the toilets his stomach simply couldn’t hold on any longer and he launched a torrential blast of vodka fused with crisps all over the beautifully polished walls and floor in front of a number of very young Polish girls – many of whom may have been covered by this stench. It was so venomous that his eyes balls nearly popped out of his head, due to the force of his stomach contracting. The roar generated certainly was not human.

Stokes soon disappeared to his room but the night went on and on. Turbo was drinking straight red vodka by the bucket load and this would only mean one thing later in the night. After some top class dancing routines (including Turbo going down hard during the Rumba – photos were taken!) Jim, Mick and Sharon called it a night at 2:30am.

Turbo remained though. Caister’s international star took the fight to the Poles and made arrangements to take on the local vodka guzzling state champion in his own back yard! l‘m told they went toe-to-toe until five in the morning trading blow after blow before a score draw was finally declared.

I know this as I was woken at about 5:30am by something that can only be described as the sound of a hippopotamus violently wretching/struggling to breathe and facing a long slow death in their sleep. At one point I was sure a volcano had erupted and half the bedroom was covered with Turbo larva. It was too much to take and I was down in the reception area begging for another room immediately!

Surprisingly I felt fine, despite the amount of vodka I’d ploughed through the night before. Someone who wasn’t fine though was Turbo.

Big Fallo found me and upon entering the hellish room from the night before, Turbo was found lying on his bed pointing at the ceiling with his eyes glazed over, unaware we were standing next to him. I think he may have been pointing to God. He couldn’t speak and I think he had also gone deaf. It was as if he were in a trance.

Then we saw why – after looking round the corner, Turbo obviously thought he’d murdered me during the night. The walls and ceilings were soaked in a crimson red liquid and the room smelt of death. However, what looked like blood was actually found to be projectile vomit – and pints of it. It was knee deep in there.

We left Turbo to finish his talk with God before heading to the local football ground for some serious frisbee action. An hour in we were exhausted and slowly walked back to the hotel for one final night of vodka.

I felt up for the fight and started hitting the strong stuff hard. Egged on by Big Fallo I distinctly remember yelling ‘Fill it up again!’ a number of times.…. My memory of the night is a complete blur. I think Chubbo found me collapsed on a road near the hotel at one point, and shortly after (about 3am) I remember trekking round the village with Big Fallo (who was possibly in a worse state than me) for a guided tour of his family farm.

The next thing I remember is waking up with Fallo trying to kick my door in saying the bus to the airport was ready to go – it was 6am!

After throwing everything I could see into my bag, I scrambled into the bus as soon as I could – our flight was due to leave at 10am. Two minutes into the journey I knew I had a problem. My memory started to come back to drinking from the barrel of fire water I’d been warned against the night before. My stomach felt like a washing machine about to take off the ground and I knew it was a case of seconds rather than minutes before I’d be on my knees ‘Praying to Ralph’.

After screaming ‘STOP THE BUS’ for the fourth the time my stomach had been completely cleaned out. After only just making ‘check in’ I was on death’s door. To make matters worse our flight was cancelled, but rather than die in Poland, I, along with Turbo and Stokes arranged another flight through Easyjet and arriving back home some 12 hours later.

Today I have a check up with Dr Sharma at the local clinic. The vodka seems to have completely dissolved my stomach lining and the normally coloured brown toilet torpedoes have turned to a ghastly shade of white. Suffice to say, I’m off the alcohol for a while….

Turbo's report