Soon the dreaded thirst gripped, but our heroes had some difficulty finding a pub. When they finally found one, they were amazed by the barman who asked them to look after the place while he went for a cream cake. This seemed to ring a bell, so while they waited for Len to take them back they too had cream cakes, and even managed a second round with Len while waiting for Janet and Alan.

So there they were, speeding towards the school, when John suggested, "Give us a song, Mick". His mind raced - “What shall we sing?” Then, sudden inspiration: for the past couple of days they had been busy translating "The Music Man" into German just in case the Germans asked them to sing, thinking it would be nice to do something in German with a simple chorus; and with Gabriele sitting at the front of the van, they would soon be able to witness a German’s reaction to the song. So off they went, “Ich bin der Musikmann...” with der Klavier, der Pauke, der Wiola; der Schottische Doodlesac. It was not until the van stopped that they realised that Len had been washed away in a flood of tears, and that Gabriele was suffering from a dislocated jaw and aching ribs due to a severe dose of laughter. “Ach so - success”.

Our heroes arrived at the school and went downstairs to change for the ceilidh. As they had a little time in hand (makes a change) John and Alan (I) embarked upon the Mammoth Square Game. The rules are simple - take a large board (or wall) and take it in turns to draw short lines, without presenting your opponent with the opportunity to complete a square. The room was silent, the atmosphere electric as the two battled it out. The score was 0 - 0 after 20 minutes, but Alan was exhausted, and called on Toddy as a substitute.

Three moves later the score went up to 23 - 0 as John capitalised on Toddy's inexperience; and set fire to the board with the speed of his chalking, “Huh, huh, beat yer!” Meanwhile Gabriele told them to change into kit in the changing room behind the stage, and after they had done so, asked them to parade behind the curtain on the stage.

Once again our heroes came unstuck in their attempts at German. Armed with his Werte Buch, Alan asked a passer-by, in carefully rehearsed German, the way to the Post Office. Alan soon wilted under a barrage of quick-fire German, and as the others rushed to drag him to safety the man turned and pointed. There, fifty yards away, was a large building with ‘POST’ written above the door, and stamp machines along the wall. Well, at least they'd found the place.