A Message From Catrin Brace

.....

Glyndwr's Dream cont'd

The room was as described: fine, sturdy, oak bed, large seated firedogs guarding a warm night fire, the dark cherry wood paneled walls softened with tapestries of ancient British myths and heroes. Sir John showed his guest the door–subtly anonymous, blending in with the wall panels–the door that led to the tight stone staircase that spiraled down to the dense forest close beyond. Owain, unaccustomed to such comforts, having recently found the straw mattress of a cold friar’s cell in Cardiff comparatively luxurious, sank instantly into untroubled and fathoms-deep sleep. The world and warfare, king’s pardon, parliaments and princes could all wait outside the door of this rare and serenely peaceful bedchamber.

Have you ever had a vivid dream when you knew that you were dreaming, but felt in full control? That you were an actor in and amongst the play of characters, environs and events, able to speak and clearly understand? Well, as Prince Owain’s long silver hair touched the wildflower-scented pillow, the second his eyes closed on a rare and memorable evening–the taste of full bodied red wine still on his lips–he seamlessly slipped through the door that nightly leads to life’s second self. The garden of recollections and imaginings, where deep cares and delights, fears and hopes, shadow and light, where the past present and tomorrows grow wild as blackberries in the teeming profusion of a long and late summer. Haf Bach Mihangel , the Little Summer of Michaelmas.

Owain found himself dream-walking through a series of fine, princely rooms and halls that were amalgams of real and imaginary buildings. A fusion of the family home at Sycharch, of Edward Longshank’s arrogant castle keeps, barons’ courts and knights’ fortified dwellings, all of which he had visited throughout the years; an amalgamation of a lifetime’s hallways, vestibules, galleries and even of the very room in which he now peacefully lay dreaming. The balmy air was pleasantly scented with forest flowers and herbs, and the exuberantly colored tapestries depicting ancient British heroes–struggling with dragons, Saxons, serpents, magicians, wild boars and giants–caught the eye and seemed to come alive. Almost imperceptibly, the vibrantly dyed warp and weft was slowly changing from textured threads and webs into living, breathing figures. Fifteenth century stylized bodies and faces were becoming corporeal; limbs gesturing, lips shaping sounds, growing in volume until many voices were conversing at once, as if anticipating a speaker, poet or musician.

This all seemed quite natural to our dreamer, as it would to most sleepers, and anyway, the medieval Welsh psyche was­–and in many ways will always be–wide open to magical and transcendental excursion. So it was of small concern when the woven throng surged forward, into the room, forming an arc around one eminent tapestry figure who, stepping out in front of the rest, spoke directly to the prince, or rather sang in the perfect meter of Bardic lore.

“ Henffych ! Owain, shining son! As one, Avalon hails Owain.” The millennially-aged man was familiar to Owain, simultaneously being many shifting face-shapes, another amalgam, this time of real and mythologized heroes. “Yes, it’s true, Urien I am.” The gold­en-robed man beat his hazel staff on the floor for emphasis, as he answered this unspoken question. Owain could ask and answer by thought-words. There was no need to speak. “I am Arthur, Peredur, Pwyll; Llywelyn, Merddyn and Madog, at rest now in this westerly world. All the gathering glittering ghosts, assembled hosts of our storied history, all–as one–call this council, merge in merit, culture and heritage.” These words were a mixture of the Bronze Age Brythonic, known to the eloquent Caractâcos, the Old Welsh of Taliesin’s singing and the universally timeless symbol-sounds of dream-speech. They seemed to flow like a verdant valley’s silver nant ; a pleasantly running stream, their beauty, authority and truth filling the mind of our dreamer, by now, become a deep lake of introspective tranquility.

“Unbearably heavy heart, your life load–great weight of Wales–you carry for the Cymry yet to come. A nation’s generations in chains? Life-breath or death the decision… To submit, take the pittance of Henry’s peace, or whether never to kneel, defiant in your defeat until–not long will you wait–you sail the sea of all souls. Another brother brought home, to the solace of timelessness; I Ynys Afallon , to Avalon’s Isle.”

“Assume Henry’s amnesty? At ease under these stout eaves; a soft bed, warm fires, safe at bread; in foul weather sheltering at rest from tempestuous death blows of snowy seasons; the rest of your brightest days blessed, living free with loving family. Yet know, Prince Owain, this path has a price.”

“Wales, the Cymry , her tales and tongue, bard harping and singing, verse, chapter, banter and boast, yea! Even history’s starry astrology will vanish, banished from books. Avalon bereft of the valiant? Immortals become mortal?” The speaker’s voice rose and fell like a restless, broiling ocean, building for the storm.

“This ancient, nascent nation, beloved and bedeviled bright country, within a century will breathe her last breath; no grace will keep her from the grave. Your bowed head our kindred’s eradication. Past glories fast forgotten, each tomorrow sorrowful.”

The figure himself grew to the size of a tidal mountain, then as easily subsided to dream-normal, as the great power and visible emotion of his words threatened to carry all away. In the calm that followed, “Disregard Henry’s pardon? Head held high in defiance, the winter snow of Snowden, eira gaea’ Eryri , will bring you peace, releasing your soul to ancestral rest. No slate will mark your wintery sleep. Carrion crow will carry Owain skyward… a final scattering.”

“Many will say you died in some wide wildwood, taken in some forsaken fastness, lie cold below some lonely crag. Yet our poets–true people­–harpers and tellers of tales, they will say you merely sleep; say you wait for the day of days, that you await the nation’s need. They know you’re the mab darogan , their wild-eyed prophesied son!”

A tangible, timeless silence fell, seeming to last both hours and yet no time at all. Then the speaker picked up the thread. “Many a setback, backtracking, hundreds and hundreds of indifferent, bowed years of obedience, a frail feeling, seemingly slight, still a slow tide–at its low sleep­–unseen and soundlessly will rise and in rising, as weight of waters gather scorn, will grow and flow into flood and our mystic ship of dignity, our ancient nascent nation will rise high on that rising river, in your name reclaiming the realm, fighting with and righting wrongs. Cymru fydd fel Cymru fu! Cymru will be as Cymru once was.”

The speaker’s appearance, shape and size mirrored–became metaphor–for his thoughts. Speaking plainly, “Either hero of heroes, or past and last of the line, choose wisely, this is your choice, choice, choice, choice...”

These last, curt words were accompanied by the rhythmic beating of his staff on the oak floor and, as the final phrase trailed away, the tapestried throng and speaker himself lost dimension, began slipping towards grayscale, as motion turned back to motionless woolen thread. Startled, Owain burst into wakefulness, surprised to find the night had completely passed. Dawn was stealing into the bedchamber and the distant sound of someone knocking at the manor house front door brought the new day to our astonished dreamer.

Rhodri had been up for hours, attending to his countless tasks, as he had done since childhood; making sure the fires were burning brightly, the house was in order and the kitchen staff were preparing the food for the day. Hearing the knocking, he carefully unbolted and opened the heavy, front door and was just about knocked down by Maredudd, rushing past him into the hallway. “ Bore da Rhodri , good morning, are my sister and Sir John ready to receive guests yet? I need to speak to them, this moment.” Rhodri regained his balance and told Maredudd they were in the great room along the hallway, waiting for the friar to rise. Maredudd looked inquisitively at Rhodri when he mentioned the friar, but rushed on, as was ever his impetuous way, to join Alys and Sir John.

Then it was true, Maredudd had been approached under truce by Sir Gilbert Talbot, one of the kings most trusted men. He and Owain, his father, if they submitted to the king–swore never to rise again or incite the wild Welsh tribes to rise–would be pardoned; would live within the king’s peace. Maredudd didn’t seem surprised when he heard that Owain himself was asleep in the tower. They were always aware of at least general whereabouts of one another, just in case Charles the Mad­–the French king­–recovered his senses and decided to live up to his promise to send ships and soldiers against the English. But it wasn’t long before all three and wily Rhodri, who had immediately recognized his aging Prince, even disguised as a friar, were climbing the steep stone steps to Owain’s bedchamber.

Sir John knocked quietly at first, saying Prince Owain’s name in lowered tones, then waited. When even insistent knocking failed to bring a response, he unlatched, opened the door and went in. The room was completely empty. The fire was still embering, the bed slept in, still warm and unmade, and the door to the back staircase was wide open. The assembled company rushed through the narrow opening as one; two-at-a-time ran down the spinning back stairs, out into the bracing beauty of a clear and crisp autumn morning in the Monnow Valley.

Looking out into the ever-encroaching forest, there was not even a suggestion of a breeze to animate a turning leaf and the evocative mist had completely vanished as, apparently, had Owain ap Gruffydd Fychan ap Madog. The stillness was palpable…

No one, not even his family, would ever see the great man again. That beautiful October morning, Owain Glyndwr had quietly and unobserved walked into history without leaving a trace or even a note of farewell. There would be no eulogy or headstone when he passed and, to tell the truth, he didn’t need either. He had joined the immortals.

Deeply sad at heart, Sir John, Alys, Maredudd and Rhodri stood in complete silence for a very long time, hoping to see this enigmatic man walk back out of the woods. Then they themselves, without saying a single word, as if one, turned back to the house. As they reached the tower’s back stair, the crisp silence of the bright, new morning was broken by a solitary skylark, as it soared up, up into the clear air, singing its ecstatic praise for the day. Alys managed a bitter-sweet smile. Now she understood the meaning of her song.

Scene 17

Rome sweet Rome.

Try as he might Des Res couldn't keep up with the Porsche and gets lost in the Italian Countryside in doing so.

Titch: ' How can you get lost when all roads lead to Rome?'

Perrier: 'Why don’t you ask for directions in that Spartacus Pizza Hut?'

They eventually arrive in the Roman capital with Mario announcing in Welsh and Italian to his Mother his arrival in her homeland.

Mario: ' Mama Mia...Mam I' m here!'

The streets are lined with beautiful dark haired girls with skimpy bra-less tee- shirts!

Titch: 'See Naples and die!'

Perrier: ' But I thought we were going to Rome!' he says dimly as they drive in congested traffic passed the Colosseum.

Pat: ' I don't know what you see in them girls....not one of them is ginger!'

The city is alive with Welsh Rugby fans - all clad in red and white and anti Anne Robinson tee- shirts.

Pat: ' Now that's more like it!'

The car passes designer shops, Gucci, Prada and Des Res ( Rome) Limited- a carbon copy of his shopfront back home as an Estate Agency - Des Res looks baffled as they have stolen his logo and name.

Pat: 'I bet it is expensive in there!'

Titch: 'La Coste of Living is greater out here!'

Des Res: 'Next stop... Vatican City...I have some business with the Pontiff!'

Scene 18

Is the Pope a Catholic?

The mini pulls up illegally in St Peters's Square . The boys get an ugly look from a Swiss Guard wearing a Traffic Wardens hat as they scatter the pigeons.

Des Res: ' I've got a confession to make Boys....I planned this trip to cover my own acquisition of an Old Masterpiece!'

Des Res: ' I have done a deal with the Pope to buy a priceless rare collaboration work by Renaissance Men , Michelangelo, Raphel, Leonardo and Donatello!'

To get passed the guards, he shows them his gold medallion previously hidden beneath is 1970s Bee Gee chest hair....it is of St Peter the patron Saint of Estate Agents. He is shown into a room to be granted an audience with Pope John Paul II. Des bows to the Pope and hands him a business card.

Des Res: ' We have a mutual friend- a papal knight in Merthyr- you have a palace- he has a castle!'

Pope John Paul II: ' So you have come for the Nazi War treasures Kurt Waldheim gave me ...have you?'....Do you have the Reddy Money?'

As Des opens up his wallet full of Euros - His Crookedness the Pontiff unscrews the top of his Papal Staff and pulls out a curled up masterpiece.

Pope: 'Do you want to see it?'

Des Res: ' We have a saying in the estate agency business ...in God we trust...everyone else pays cash...or goes to sealed bids...and you're the closest thing to God I will ever meet!' laughed Des taking a cylindrical protector off the Holy See's desk.

As Des leaves the room...the Pope reaches down under his white robe and pulls out a hip- flask and swigs alcohol from it.

Pope:' I've a hunch....you've been framed!'

Des RES skips back through the Square towards the car. He is beaming as he has effected the second Italian Lob.

Mario: 'Someone looks happy!'

Des places the painting unopened in the fake exhaust.

Pat: ' I haven't seen him look THAT happy since he sold that fifth floor flat with no lift to Stephen Hawking on the basis that his guests would sound like him on the intercom!'

Scene 19

The Place of the Martyrs Hotel.

The boys are all unpacking their gear ready for a night in Rome on the eve of the Rugby Match. Pat opens the room curtains to find they can't open the window because it backs onto the cells that the prisoners of the Coliseum were tortured in.

Pat: ' I always said I would be Christian here!'

Looking down at the floor which was alive with cockroaches he continues.

Pat: 'Caesars palace it ain't ...I reckon we got the animal quarters!'

Titch: ' It's thumbs down from me - the Coliseum stinks worse than Des' feet!'

Des Res : ' Stop moaning will you...at least the neighbours don't have pot- bellied pigs!'...pointing at Pat with his gut showing putting on his Welsh rugby tee shirt showing Howard Marks being arrested by a policeman.

Perrier who has a pot bellied pig takes exception to the comment.

Mario: ' Well boys...we made it to Rome...now we are in Rome we must do what the Romans do!'

Des Res : ' What...pinch handbags and arses?' ( as he pinches Pat's arse as he struggles to get the tiny tee- shirt over his big belly),

Titch: 'No...drinka di Vino!'

Scene 20

The Streets of Rome near the Trevi Fountain on Match Day. It is warm in Rome on St Davids Day and the boys have got a few pints on . They leave a side street, and join a massive throng of Welsh Rugby fans with giant daffodils, top hats and blow- up sheep everywhere. They decide to cool off by dipping into the Trevi Fountain. Titch puts his supply of beer in the front, whilst Mario and Pat argue over an ice cream cone.

Titch: 'What's this song....?'....Three cans in a fountain...

They change it to a drunken rendition of 'Volare!' ....and then 'just one Cornetto' as they fight over an ice cream. As they make their way to the Stadio Olympico, the five tourists argue and debate over the greatest Welsh Player ever. Like most Rugby fans of a certain age they harp back to the halcyon days of the 1970s when Wales ruled the Northern Hemisphere.

Titch: 'Gareth Edwards for me!z'

Mario: 'King Barry John'

Perrier : 'I think JJPR !" He said inebriatedly.

Des Res: ' You can't have two Mun you drunken bugger!...how about you Pat?'

Pat:' Jenks for me...professional, accurate and of course ginger!'

The cry of Wales...Wales ...echoed around the stadium corridors, as Pat reached for his digital camera.

Pat: ' Thank Barry John for that...I thought I had left my camera at the Hotel....I promised My Editor that I would get a few photos for the Depress!,

He split from the others and showed them his Press Badge and made his way with his Assistant Titch to the touch line behind the Italian posts.

Scene 21

The Italian and Welsh teams lead out and line up for their respective National Anthems. They are led out by the Band of the Royal Welsh Fusiliers and a ceremonial goat. Mario, Des and Perrier could make out the shape of Little & Large sitting on the grass relaxing behind the goals. After a circuit of the ground, the band and goat leave the stadium. The game kick offs and the Welsh team race to a 9-3 lead through the reliable boot of Neil Jenkins.

Pat:' See...he slurs ...that Jenks is magic !'

Titch looks on.

Pat: ' I will let you in on a reporters secret...I know how he is so accurate!'

' A good newshound never reveals his sources but my mate works for 'Just Mentals' and he told me his secret...watch him from behind next time!'

The whistle goes again for an infringement and Jenks steps up to take the kick.

Pat: 'See that shadow of his ears on the pitch are aligned with the goalposts....he keeps his head still and kicks through his boot....he was also taught by his mate the Maori Chief that every tackle on the pitch is a spiritual battle against an invader...a modern day ' War of Jenkins Ears' if you like!' laughed Pat falling over into the grass.

Titch: ' That's bullshit!'

Pat: ' Goat shit actually !' ( rubbing his hands).

Pat looks through the camera lens but is so drunk he has double vision.

Pat: 'Titch take some pictures for me otherwise my editors will be a head-hitter on Monday Morning when I get home!'

Scene 22

Potters wheel

Up in the stand the balance of power on the pitch was turning. Like his wine- Des Res was in vintage form. He was a passionate supporter.

Des Res: 'C'mon pass the bloody ball out wide!'

He was mentally tackling and scrummaging like he was on the pitch. Demi Moore appears from the crowd.

Demi: ' At last, I've been looking for you all over the stadium!"

For the third time that weekend, Des looked deeply into Demi Moore's eyes and the Welshman lost track of the game and surroundings- it was a blur - like Russell Crowe in Elysium Fields, Gladiator Maximus Boyceius- he was oblivious to pain ( Demi-god Max Boyce is shown in a field talking to him)- oblivious as the scoreboard turns over with Italian points. Des Res is motionless- his mind is elsewhere. It is a fantasy scene. He stands behind Demi with his hands turning an imaginary potter’s wheel like in the scene from the film ‘Ghost’. She turns around and slaps him hard across the face- he has been fondling her Silicon implant breasts like he was turning a lathe. A stadium steward has to intervene to break his grip. When he realises what has happened- he goes red and then white with embarrassment like the Welsh flag.

DES RES: ‘Miss Moore, more please!” he pleads like ‘Oliver’ in the Dickens story with a finished potters bowl.

The stewards drag the sex attacker away towards the pitch and his ‘phoney passport’ falls onto the grass in the struggle. He is ‘booed’ by the crowd around him. He struggles to pick his passport up.

Des Res: ‘But I only want to go to the touchline again!”

He is restrained further by more security stewards. The Passport is lifted off the floor by a steward who looks at the picture and hands it to the nearby Bruce Willis. He in turn gets the passport stolen by a pickpocket in a melee of the crowd. The pickpocket and Des Res both get arrested by the Police and slung in the back of a Police Van. Mario, & Perrier decide to watch the end of the game before going to the aid of their friend. There is 5 minutes left with the score Italy 6 Wales 12. Suddenly, the ball is hoisted high into the air as a change of tactics.

Perrier: ‘What is a Garry Owen called in Italy?”

Mario: ‘ Him’ said Mario pointing at a hairless Pack Leader.

The Italian Captain, Garry Baldi has ordered his fly-half to kick it high and in the direction of Welsh Forward Robert Sidoli. He knows he has divided loyalties as his Brother Peter plays for the Home side.

Garry Baldi : “99”

The third Italian Lob was on. Sidoli stands sweating. The ball takes an eternity to drop. His mouth is dry- divided loyalties- does he catch it for Wales or drop it for Italy. Out of the corner of his eye he catches sight of an Italian Mafia Hitman with a gun pointed at him. Sidoli’s legs turn to jelly and his hands to ice cream. He drops it rather than be killed by a contract killer. The ball bounces free and into the hands of massive Italian forward- Hugo Bastardo. The Welsh BBC Sport commenter Jonathan Edwards takes up the microphone. John Inverdale and every single Englishman (including Eddie Butler) in the studio is willing the Italians to score and leave Wales with a first ever Wooden Spoon.

Edwards: ‘Bastardo has the ball 5 metres out…all that stands between Italy and victory is Neil Jenkins…all that stands between Wales or Italy for the wooden spoon is Jenkins…it is a David and Goliath story here and my monies are on Goliath’

On the side behind the goal, the drunken Titch had strayed too close to the action…too busy looking through the camera lens. Due to his Press Badge- no steward would interfere. He tries to get a close up shot for Pat’s editor…now all that stood between the rampaging forward was the squatting six stone frame of Titch. The noise in the ground is deafening as the Forward crosses the line and places the ball down tackled by Jenkins as he collides the unfortunate Titch. For a split second only Titch knew that the rugby ball hadn’t been grounded by the Italian Forward. He had made the supreme sacrifice for his Country.

Titch: AAAAARGH!!!! As he is hurt and the camera obliterated in the collision.

The Referee asks the Fourth Official:-

Ref: “Can I award the try?”

He and the rest of the stadium look up at the big screen and see that the Italian has put the ball down in the ‘Dead Ball Zone’ but that there was a nut sack belong to Titch in the way. Merthyr’s latest eunuch was rolling round in agony- while the rest of his companions (bar Des Res) are jumping around in ecstacy. The Try is disallowed. The referee blows the final whistle. Pat starts to sob. Mario races from the stands to the pair.

Mario: ‘Why are you crying….we won…you are both Heroes!”

Pat: ‘I bet the suitcase of money on Italy to win!”

The Italian crowd and stewards now turn nasty. They too have realised that it is Titch ‘tackle bags’ that have robbed them of Victory. Perrier takes matters into his own hands. He strips off to create a ‘Dai-version’ and streaks across the field to distract them. They race through the players tunnel and reach the Mini-Car- pursued by lots of angry officials. They then drive out of the City using the sewers and stadium roof like the film the Italian Lob. As they do…a dementia suffering Michael Caine does a double take at the Union Jack Mini. They escape (like the old Mini advert) because the Police cars cannot cross the cattle grids.

Final scene

Outside Viazzani’s Café in John Street , Merthyr

The four friends are back in Merthyr buzzing of sweat, unshaven and bleary eyed having driven the car non-stop for two days. They ‘roll in’ to a look of disgust from Luigi. They are surprised to find that Des Res has beaten them home. He sits there immaculately dressed- smelling of quality aftershave, as he lowers the broadsheet Merthyr Depress newspaper.

Des Res: “ What kept you?”

The others are shocked as to how he had beaten them home- in view of the last time they saw him he was on his way to an Italian jail.

Pat: “ How the Hell did you get home before us?”

Des Res: ‘The Orient Express of course!”

Mario: ‘Was it packed?”

Des Res: ‘At first it was Murder…but once I showed them this…I was upgraded!”

He shows them Bruce Willis passport that he had lifted from his pick-pocket cell mate.

Titch: ‘ So how the Hell did you get out the Police Jail so fast?”

Des Res:’ I used the one word of Italian Perrier taught met !” he said (pretending to sneeze)

Perrier’ ‘What Ebola?”

Des nods.

Des Res: “ Oh and Pat…your Editor is outside the window…I think he has a message for you!”

The Editor is outside the half window of the café waving a sack.

Pat: ‘ I have something that belongs to you- !”

He hands Des the rolled up painting still in the cylinder removed from the Mini fake exhaust. Pat turns his back on the group and starts to smile- he is waiting for a cry of desperation from Des RES. The camera pans out with Pat smirking even if he is about to lose his job. DES Res unfurls the painting for the first time. It is a work of Leonardo, Donatello, Michelangelo & Raphel as promised by the Pontiff- but they have green faces. It is of the Teenage Mutant Nina Turtles- which he has paid £40K for. He has been conned.

Des Res: (like the Terminator) ….There’s going be a new Pope in Rome soon…I’ll be back John Paul!” (angily)

Luigi: ‘ What’s the matter with him?”

Pat: ‘I think he is having ‘Turtle Recoil!”

Scene 9

The inside of the small seedy club has a small stage and a small bar. The room is dark, smokey and is full of dry ice vapour- as a prelude to the arrival of an artiste. The music starts up- it is a striptease song. The five tourists receive a round of five Stella's and a bill for 20 Francs which is passed around the table by the tighter members of the group- Titch- Pat until it ends up in front of Des Res who always gets stuck with the bill.

Ruth Jones is once again dressed as the stripper only this time is younger and is dressed in a ginger wig.

The five excited males start clapping with Perrier so excited that gets up on his chair and does his own version of 'Pole Dancing'. It is obvious he is aroused as his Welsh Leek emblazoned underpants begin to swell.

Mario feels uneasy- being in a rough bar in a Foreign Country containing a sleazy stripper. He looks around him and notices that the ice mist is starting to lift revealing that the other men present in the bar were wearing white vest tops, leather hats and were sporting 'Freddie Mercury style moustaches'. Mario nudges Des and Titch to alert them to the fact- but they appear to somehow know already.

On the stage , stripper Ruth Jones beckons to Pat to move closer to the stage - in his excitement he doesn't notice the stage name Rusty Rocket. Pat carefully selects the lowest denomination note from his money belt and places the note with Napoleon's head on it into his mouth. He moves forward to the stage and places the note in the ginger collection box being the knicker line of the stripper.

Perrier gulps with anticipation - bringing a lump to his throat.

Pat has his own unexpected lump to contend with. He has an eyeful of a different Paris Tower.

Pat screams: 'He's a Transister!' Outing the hermaphrodite.

Pat the traumatised paper boy shrieks...'It's got a nob!'

Perrier goes limp and jumps down from the chair trying to cover his embarrassment with his Sweater shop jumper. In the background, further shapes reappear from the mist- an Indian Chief, a telephone engineer and a cowboy-

Mario screams: 'We are in the YMCA !'

Des and Titch collapse on the floor with laughter as the big joke they have played on their 'back row' has worked a treat. The Madame sidles up to Titch and demands a small service charge for her part in his friend’s humiliation. This time the Madame reverts to her native thick Welsh accent.

He puts away his camera phone video for future evidence and pays the Madame.

Madame Fifi La Foo: 'For five Francs more- you can kiss me where it smells!"

Titch ( Rob Brydon) : "I am not taking you back to Port Talbot luv...besides you are no oil painting ( looking around at the entrance filed with French brothel type paintings) I don't Chagall I'd have to be in Seine to go on a two louse la trek with you!"

She doesn't take offence and chuckles like she has been in a wedding with distant relatives. The gang head off for the Moulin Rouge. Perrier keeps asking anyone around the way to a place called the Red Windmill.

Scene 10

The five are sat around a table watching the show at the Internationally renowned cat house. There are colourful female dancers in a line high kicking to a can- can on a stage. The boys too soon become can-can boys as the beer flows. The Estate agent becomes entranced by a dark haired caged dancer who seems to be staring at him.

Des Res: 'I am sure that's' Hollywood actress Demi Moore...she's been looking at me all night!'

Pat: 'Don't talk to me about cat houses....( sobbing in drink) I'll never be able to stroke a ginger pussy again after tonight....my pet kitty will have to go when I get home!'

Titch: 'Speaking of kitty...drink up you lot , I'm thirsty!'

The beer continued to flow - the boys were treated to some aerial entertainment. Mario was busy looking up to the heavens intrigued by his own Virgin flight of fantasy as two pensioners dressed as rodents were copulating intermittently on trapeze above their heads.

Perrier: 'I knew Disneyland Paris wasn't as good as the Florida version but surely that's taking the Mickey out of us tourists!"

Eventually, the five professional alcoholics decided to head home for a night in Le Fleapit. Back home in their hotel room after a short walk , the Welshmen were tucked up in bed.

Scene 11

With the sun shining through the holes in the room Titch awoke first. Des Res was snoring loudly with the tiles on the roof sliding back and fore with the vibration threatening to turn the Hotel into a five star one. He let out a belch that Barney from the Simpsons would have been proud of and the resulting alcohol cloud like an Iceland volcano woke the Estate Agent from his slumber.

Titch: 'See he is always up before me in the morning tickling me under the chin!' he boasted doing his own stand up routine.

Des Res: ' Don't remind Pat about last night!'

Pat: ''You bastards...you knew what you were doing ...I have had nightmares all night!' He said reaching into the mini-bar for a hair of the dog....knowing the room was booked on Des Res credit card....'I'll find a way of making you pay for that one!'

The ribbing of Pat was merciless .

Mario: ' Did your dream involve you nearly eating the 'lunch pack of Notre Dame?' " teased the chip shop owner.

He received a pillow missile for his comment. The Centuries old unwritten Welsh male oath of 'no tales on tour' was adopted.

Perrier : 'what did you think of the sword swallowing act last night?'

He fared worse than Mario as the French Gideon bible bounced off his coiffured bounce. Des was oblivious to events he was busy recalling a vision of a bikini clad Demi Moore dancing in a cage beckoning him towards her.

Des Res: ' I wonder if she was doing some research for Showgirls 2 ?'

Mario: 'Who?'

Pat: ' You are not going on about Demi Moore are you?...it wasn't her...why would an Hollywood A- Lister be dancing in a cage and staring at someone as ugly as you?

Des Res: ' I'll have you know that I was mistaken once for her ex-husband Bruce Willis in the Charles De Gaulle airport....it was during the Algerian crisis...!'

Pat: 'Rubbish!'

Des Res: 'It's true ....a tourist asked me to sign an autograph!'

Pat: 'Bollocks'

Titch: ' You were the only one talking bollocks last night!'

Pat reached for a shoe and threw it at Titch. He ducked and it hit Perrier square in the quiff. He dived over Titch to scrap the newspaper hound .

Perrier: 'Lets see who will die hard now!'

The pair grappled on the floor playfully until they both gave in to the exertion.

Scene 12

Return to the Spice Mobile. With Titch driving as usual, there was a reshuffle with Des Res being relegated to the back row and Pat and Perrier separated like two squabbling schoolchildren. Titch had donned his yellow jersey and cycle helmet for the mountain stages of the Tour De France. The mini speeds away South with Titch driving like a Playstation driver at speeds that look even faster in kilometres as he tries to make up for lost time. Here, the song motorcycle emptiness by the manics could be played. They reach the Alps and restock their own mini- bar with beer at St Berrnard in the Alpen Springs and clean water and breadsticks are taken on. The roof of the mini now is clad in breadsticks, daffodils and leeks.

Pat: 'We look like the Hovis Expeditionary ski force!'

After a further hour driving till the dark descends , they then decide to park up in a makeshift lay-by high up in the Alps. They decide to leave the car radio on over night to drown out Des Res snoring and ensure that as they are in an Avalanche zone the sound is consistent. Owen Money is busy on his BBC Wales radio show playing songs which send them gently to sleep. Titch awakes from his slumber with the first Rays of the sun on his windscreen. He comes around to an announcement on the Radio.

" Rover- the manufacturers of the Mini have decided to recall all models following a discovery that they may be technical problems with the handbrakes"

Looking down at the 1000 foot drop into Italy six inches from the mini Titch agreed. He looked at the sleeping Welsh tourists and considered saving himself.

Titch: 'It's a self- preservation society!' (cue music from film- the Italian Job- as he opens the door – which stops abruptly once he closes it again)

Titch tried to reason as to what had happened overnight. He suspected that the violent snoring of Des Res coupled with the dodgy handbrake had led to the little car becoming perched precariously with its boot hanging over the edge of the Mountain Pass. He decided to wait until the others woke naturally in the back so as not to panic the other occupants into a fatal mistake.

Pat was the next to wake and the look on Titch's face in the rear view mirror was enough for him to realise the odds on him surviving were slim. The newspaper hound saw his life passing before him in twirling Merthyr Depress newspaper headlines:-

'Downhill all the way for Rugby Fans on the Piste'

'Des-aster as Estate Agency crash hits peak'

'Perrier Springs Eternally'

The sound of a Welsh ringtone alarm nearly proved fatal, as four of the car occupants fumbled for their mobiles to the tune of 'A design for life' by the Manic Street Preachers. The fifth largest and oldest tourist , Des Res slumbered on blissfully unaware of the 'gravity' of the situation.

Titch: 'We need to lighten the load in the back!' (Whispering to the still, white Perrier).

One by one the 'refilled' beer bottles were 'passed' into the front seat to Titch who due to his dt's spilled most of them on Pat before pouring them on an unsuspecting French Shepherd in the Valley below.

French Shepherd Moutton Rouge: "Ello...Ello...it is peezing down again!' He said looking up at the golden stream of rain.

A text message appeared on Titch’s phone. It was a dragon symbol ( indicating it was his wife) ....it read...'How R U ....U no answer...RU OK?'

Titch: 'I knew she would push me over the edge one day!'

Scene 13

Titch's wife is sat with her mobile in her hand in her curlers reading the horoscope in the paper. Her psychic nose won't stop twitching.

She has intermittent images of Sue Barker and Princess Grace - which can only be interpreted as connected with Cliffs. She has a bad feeling something is deeply wrong with her husbands trip and doesn't want her marriage to be on the rocks. As she is always on the phone , when she rings direct enquiries they recognise her voice and know her personally.

Lynne Hatchey: 'Alpen Headquarters, please send help!'

Scene 14

Cliffhanger

The boys are wide awake and have to try and extricate themselves from their quandary. Des Res is still snoring unaware of the predicament- the boys are too frightened to wake him as he is a bit of a drama queen.

Titch: "You're still too heavy in the back!....you must get rid of some more weight!'(whispered)

Mario: "But how?" ....you've had all p*ss bottles, the last of the food, even our shoes and Perriers box of ribbed condoms...., we've given you all the heavy items...there is nothing left in the back!"

Titch: 'It's the 'Gold' beer in the boot....it's weighing us down!'

Titch: 'Eureka!' He said moving Des feet from the head rest - with the Estate Agent slowly coming around.

Titch: 'Pat - reach in the back and see if you can reach Des' wallet ...it must weigh a tonne ...you never see a poor Estate agent do you?"

The sight of Pat taking money from his wallet really shouldn't have bothered Des after all these years of round-dodging but it was the directness of it this time. Still half- cut and the sight of a hairy hand reaching into his heart pocket in the French Alps was too 'Gaulling' even for the mild mannered Des Res. Some primeval fear was awakened in him- and he uttered one audible word:-

Des Res: Darlo...

He struck out with his fist and punched Pat so hard sending him backwards in doing so jamming his behind in the steering column. He then returned to his snoring unaware of the drama unfolding around him. The resultant wedgie that Pat received for his efforts stabilised the car but sent the 'gold' label beer in the boot further backwards and the jolt sent open the spring on the car boot mechanism. Pat was now disabled , Titch was shaking with the DT's and fear. Mario was unable to move, as he was wedged tighter than one of Titch's home made roll up fags. Titch reached inside his pocket and took out his old faithful tin of tobacco. He always felt more relaxed when he rolled his own.

He cleared his head. How would his Welsh Rugby heroes get out of this tight spot? He tried to think back to his days as a boot-boy at the Arms Park. Not as an apprentice but as a hooligan. He decided to hum internationally to raise the spirits in the car. The rugby songs did the trick, as the car rocked to the tune of Bread of Heaven. The boys were convinced that God was Welsh so they prepared to meet their maker in style.

Titch: 'Barry John- into your hands I commend my spirit!'

As the car was just about to tip over the edge- from the Alpen mists appeared a giant St Bernard dog which bounded onto the bonnet of the car stoping its descent to the Valley floor below. Reaching out of the window Titch grabbed the brandy cask from around the dogs collar and helped himself to some of the St Bruno and smoked and drank deeply.

Titch: 'I'd like to share with you boys...but this is an emergency!'

Titch: 'L'eau de chien !' He spluttered spitting out the spring water like it was Albright.

With Bread of Heaven still ringing in his ears, he was divinely inspired to grab a hardened breadstick of the roof of the car as a pool cue and potted the 'gold' pool style through the rear seat flap and gold beer out of the back of the car into the deep blue yonder - causing an avalanche in the Italian village below never before seen. The mini having lost its ballast - righted itself with a bump which woke the startled Des Res suddenly.

Des Res: 'Morning Boys!' He said trying to stretch in the confined space.

'I had a lovely dream about Wales - some girls with the voices of angels were singing 'Bread of Heaven' ( cue Charlotte Church and Katherine Jenkins) - pointing at the St Bernard drooling on the windscreen.

Des Res: 'When did we acquire the nodding dog?'

Des looked around at his companions and knew something was up.

Des Res : 'What's up ....I missed something right...I've never seen Pat sweating so much since he nearly bought a round at the Millenium Stadium!'

Titch managed to drive forward with Pat lodged in the steering wheel and a two tonne dog on the bonnet to safer ground. Only then did they tell Des Res what happened. The only way to get the hysterical Estate Agent to stop shaking was to make him drive the car.

Titch: 'But you will have to drive...my Taff-ograph....says I have used up my allowed hours....and as you are the only one who is able to drive as the others are now in continent!'

Des would only drive on one condition that he could play his Max Boyce CD 'Live at Treorchy '.

He tried to convince his fellow occupants that they were lucky to be alive- and that it was another sign that the Welsh were God's chosen people.

Des Res: ' see Dog is God backwards...you were singing Bread of Heaven....the dog was carrying Spring water....it all adds up...we are bound to win in Rome boys...we are 'divinely inspired!'

He put pedal to the metal, as he screeched around those high hairpin bends above the Mountain passes, as Max Speed met Max Boyce. The boys in the back wished they 'all had Doctors papers' to avoid the butt- clenching journey. Des Res was determined to hang onto his 'yellow jersey' as he drove with the motto of the Welsh Front Row stuck in his head as lorry drivers tried to overtake him.

Des Res: 'Thou shalt not pass!'

Des Res looked in the rear view mirror and liked what he saw- not just his bronzed tanned face, and neatly trimmed 'Pepe Di Marco' goatee but the other great love of his life- behind him was a red Porsche Carrera with a flashy female driver with a body and face to die for.

Scene 15

Cut to the chase.

The mini is being pursued by a red Porsche on a straight road into Northern Italy. The driver of the mini car is Des Res and the Porsche Demi Moore. The car is tailgating the mini trying to get them to pull over so it can pass. Des Res flashes a smile at the female driver- which is reciprocated by perfect Hollywood veneers.

Des Res: ' Now that is what Chris de Burgh was singing about- that really is a 'Lady in Red'

The Porsche pulls alongside the mini on the right side of the road and Des Res and Demi lock stares- like a mutual attraction of flirting- They both accelerate to 150 kph with the mini initially in front.

Des Res (gleefully) : Outstripping the stripper!'

Des then checks the rear view mirror- the Porsche is gone- it is now in front of him. He suddenly realises there is a man in the passenger seat with her. It is the real Bruce Willis. He points at Des Res as the cars race at speed and signals that it is like looking in the mirror- like he is his doppelgänger.

Mario: 'Des ...I don't want to spoil your big moment but we drive on the RIGHT in Europe!'

The two cars almost crash as they round the bend to see a road block of cars up ahead. Des Res and Demi Moore stand on the brakes to avoid a collision.

Pat : ' It's CARmaggedon!'

There are skid marks on the road and worse ones in the back seat of the mini. The red Porsche zigzags through the fleet of black sedans blocking the road and away into the sunset. Des Res is furious that the love of his life has disappeared again. He gets out of the car and rages at the dark suited Mafia men on the hillside and road.

Des Res : ' What ...do you think you own this road?'

Perrier: ' Who are those people with the dark glasses and violin cases?'

Pat: ' I think it's a safe bet that they aren't The Blues Brothers!'

Mario: ' They are the Cosa Nostra ...and the DO own this particular road!'

Titch: 'Let me out of the car...will you...they are looking for me!'

Titch gets out of the car and walks around the back and produces a long thin packet from the fake exhaust. Instinctively, the Mobsters raise their weapons and train them on Titch and the purple incandescent Des. Des is raging like Basil Fawlty.

Titch: 'Let me negotiate this deal Des....I am gonna make them an offer they can't refuse!'

He swigs the brandy cask and pretends to be Marlon Brando. Titch has a small scar on his face from a playground fight as a kid. He comes up 'spaghetti western' style face to face with their leader who has a much bigger knife scar on his cheek. After an initial Mexican stand off, Titch whispers that he is with Mario Pizza originally from Bardi. Mario on leaving the car is welcomed by his third generational countrymen as the Godfather meets the Codfather and the first of many Italian Lobs is complete. A bag of unmarked bills is handed over in exchange for the vacuum cleaner blueprint.

The mini is allowed to pass and the car moves on silently passed monasteries until it reaches a border control check point and toll booth.

Scene 16

Checkpoint Charlie's

Stuck in a queue is the red Porsche containing the two Hollywood A- Listers. There is only one guard on duty for two booths as his mate has gone on a toilet break. He has to cover both lanes.

The Italian official looks at the Porsche containing Bruce Willis and the Mini containing Des Res...he takes both passports in at the same time to scan them and drops them on the floor mixing them up. As they look identical he hands the wrong ones back.

Italian Border Guard: ' You are not planning on 'moonlighting with any Shepherds Mr Willis are you?'

He is talking to Des Res by mistake - who just nods at him as he is anxious to catch up with the accelerating Porsche.