Old-Timer Barney describes culture and a lot more!

Get Tucked In Friday
By Barney
December 18 2003

It all went frighteningly smoothly. Expecting around 70 people, coming in on 3 different flights to different airports, to successfully join forces was asking a lot - but it worked.

I arrived at Linate at around midday, and lunched in the self-service restaurant. It was excellent. A fantastic array of pasta, good prices and plenty of stewardesses to please the eye.

Next arrivals were Deb, Sleepy Pete, Yeti and others who'd flown in - zephyr-like - from Gatwick.

Our bus was located, DW banners were erected, Dolly the sheep and Daisy the soon-to-be-renamed cow were ceremonially inflated - andiamo!

The pickup of the main body of DWs at Bergamo went smoothly, and it was next stop Brescia.

The first sight of the city (population around 200,000) was not promising. The suburbs were typically charmless. However, the Hotel Master was conveniently located near the old centre. There were the usual problems at checkin. Al Slade was sent to two occupied rooms before striking lucky. Mike and Sue Neill were given a room, but no key. The usual stuff.

After an inaugural, investigative session at the hotel bar, we repaired to a nearby restaurant - this despite the hotel menu offering "golden, smooth hound" for dinner. A typically convivial affair, saw the food washed down by jug wine best described as unashamedly earthy.

Later, vast amounts of sambuca were downed in the hotel restaurant, where an old-fashioned Friday night dance was being held. A diplomatic incident was narrowly averted, when yours truly swung round and almost decked an elderly gent. Only fulsome, abject apologies dissuaded his well-built, blonde consort from exacting a hideous vengeance.

A free (and surprisingly hangoverless) morning gave us the chance to explore what turned out to be a very attractive city centre. The strangest sight was a visiting busker. His instrument resembled a sheep who'd had bagpipes inserted into its rear orifice. Playing this instrument required actions which are probably outlawed in much of the free world, but which excite some unnamed races. Put rather bluntly, the player looked as if he was engaging in sexual activities with the said sheep. Worryingly, the sounds it emitted were those you imagine might be heard, if such a sexual meeting were to take place.

Enough of that. Some of us visited the "new" cathedral - a massive building, just a few yards from the Golden Lion pub, which proved a magnet for many. Others tracked down the church of Santi Nazari e Celso, where the highlight is Titain's "Averoldi" altarpiece.

At the appointed hour, we gathered outside the hotel and were picked up by the bus - ready for the trek to Calvisano itself. I'd read that it was a case of "blink and you miss it". A fairly accurate description. Calvisano is not on my excellent road map of northern Italy - it turns out to be a village, around 30 minutes' drive from Brescia. The rugby stadium was duly found, and we were exposed to a shocking display of sexual prejudice. We'd all paid 15 euros each, for ground admission. It emerged that women were to be let in for 5 euros, and the rest of us for 10. Disgraceful. The good thing was that we agreed that the surpuls cash - around 450 euros - should be donated, in true DW style, to the minis.

As for the game itself, a curate's egg - some excellent tries by Wasps, mixed with some alarming defensive lapses. The hosts ran in five tries, which Warren Gatland desribed as "unacceptable".

The saga of the DW banners is already well-known, so I will not enlarge on it. Suffice it to say that Heineken should not worry about their product being associated with drunkenness. In the absence of anything else, I attempted to down two glasses of their "lager", and couldn't finish either.

Thankfully, there was an old-style clubhouse which proved a great venue for post-match festivities. All the players crammed in, many watching the Perpignan-Celtic Warriors game. It was like an old-fashioned rugby club, made more individual by the regular blackouts - and the fact that they'd sold out of red wine by the time I got to the bar. The whole event was only marred by an "ordinary" supporter berating Kevin Broadbent about the "negative image" projected by the DWs. I suppose it was fine to have a team called the Vandals!

I was reluctantly forced into airing my croaky voice on the return coach trip. It seemed to please Candy the Kiwi. I intend to do some practice between now and the Perpigan trip - not least so that I can sing something appropriate when Daisy the Cow is officially renamed ******.

The evening saw many of us eating at the excellent Vasco da Gama restaurant and then repairing to the Golden Lion. With outdoor heaters on the go, it was warm enough to sit outside and watch the world go by. Many were impressed by our DW shirts and expressed interest in buying their own - marketing opportunity?

I went in to Milan on the Sunday morning. The PIazza del Duomo was heaving with football fans, watching the AC - Boca Juniors World Club Final on a giant screen. There was also a huge military parade - something to do with alpine regiments. Thousands of largely old men trooped past, all wearing alpine hats with large feathers. In America, they'd all have been toting guns, and it would have been rather sinister!

For lunch, I returned to a restaurant I'd last visited three years earlier. Da Bruno was recommended to me by an opera singer friend, who's appeared regularly at La Scala. I must have been wearing a Wasps shirt last time I went, as the head waiter recognised me, making particular reference to the shirt.

He was a valuable source of information, giving me all the details of Saddam Hussein's capture. When I saw him jumping up and down, punching the air, I assumed this meant AC had won. "No. I am an Inter fan!" he beamed. I never did find out the score.

A great weekend - excellently organised by Lord Stratford himself, aided and abetted by the heir apparent, Phil.

Broadbent Jr. wielded a mean clipboard, and displayed a nice line in poker-faced humour. Clearly one to watch.