THE DIARY ROOM

	This is the story of our epic mission. Keep posted for pictures and a more concise description of the mission.   To receive an email update then click here info@theolympicflame.co.uk The crew hold no responsibility for their actions and some of the content may not be suitable for children. 4th August: Rich: Woke up dead early. Still hung over from Thursday. James stinking arse didn't help. Got plenty of admiring glances on the motorway. James: Got to the only definite place to sleep, clives house in Bromley. Bring on the Frenchies. Converted theolympicflame into the blue flame just outside Dartford. Tried to plan a route for tomorrow, but was too much work, have to buy some maps at some point as well. Clive: Seriously thinking about bailing out. Not actually thought about what it entails until now and have just realised that i hate camping and driving! I can't be a***d to get up at 3am to catch this boat. I also get sea sick. 5th August: 5th August: Up at 3a.m, easy drive to Dover. In queue for ferry, some mother told us her 4 year old son thought our car was "Wicked". Managed to get through customs without even a sniff from the sniffer dogs. The girl that checked us in couldn't contain her laughter, and we didn't even have our afro wigs on! On the boat one of us had the bright idea of buying a road map - that's how prepared we were. We studied the map over breakfast and decided to head towards Normandy and pay our respects to those whom died during the D-day landings. What we thought was a short diversion took the entire day, and getting up so early required a sleep of 2 hours at a service station, thus rendering the early start null and void. We were goosed from the outset. We saw Pegasus Bridge, the site where the Paras fought off the Germans during WW2, and honoured it with a slow crossing in theolympicflame. Some woman in the passenger seat of a Ferrari gave the flame a glance. We could tell she would have preferred to sit on our sensuous leopard skin seats and experience the ride of theolympicflame! By 9 p.m. we still hadn't found Omaha Beach, so diverted to the nearest campsite. Our plan of being in Lyon at this time had failed miserably. We headed for a bar and supped some ale and made plans for the following day. On our return to the campsite we seen flashing police lights and found out that some sort of riot had been occurring whilst we were away. Triffic.   6th August: Our plan of leaving by 10.a.m failed miserably. The weather was miserable (like our plans). We made our way towards Omaha beach and had breakfast in a small café. We asked in French if they did breakfast and the reply from the friendly owner was 'oui'. We ordered coffee and asked what they had in the way of scran. 'We only have croissants'. OK, we thought, 'we'll have 3 croissants' we asked. 'we only have two', was the reply. Triffic. Didn't these people know who we were? We drank up and decided to buy some fruit for breakfast instead. We found Omaha beach and the American War Cemetary featured in the beginning of Saving Ryan's Privates. We paid our respects and walked along the beach for a while before heading in a southerly direction towards the Med. We battled for hours through the dullest countryside in the world through extreme rain showers. We brought happiness to many small farms and villages as we cruised through in our Afro wigs giving them the renditions of Dixie from the theolympicflame horn. Eventually we got to somewhere called Clermont Ferrand near the little town of Vulvic where everyone is mad if you're to believe the advert. We checked into a hotel and then went out on the sauce. Found a nice traditional Irish establishment serving the local brew - Guinness. 7th August: Our plan to leave the hotel by 10a.m failed miserably. Left Clermont Ferrand around 1p.m. Drove the mountain stage of the journey and passed the region twinned with Staines - Massif Central. Stunning Views and Clives Stunning cornering. Drove into Marseille to see where the classic Spender episode was filmed, but found the town really was a shit hole so didn't stop to hand our letter to the Mayor and headed for the Cote D'Azur instead. By dusk we were still in the Provence region, by dark we had got to St Tropez, but to our amazement there was no welcome committee. James attempted to speak the native tongue at several campsites, after asking at several site receptions if they were going on their holidays the reply was always "non" and the looks were blank. All campsites and hotels were complet, felt like Mary and Joseph at Christmas. As a last resort we headed into the hills polluting the terraces of several high class restaurants along the narrow streets with our exhaust fumes! Upon finding a suitable ditch we unravelled our sleeping bags, inflated our airbeds and slept with the ants, crickets and the view of the exclusive resort of St Tropez in the distance.   8th August: Woke up after a great night's kip in a ditch. Rich vowed never to sleep rough again. The view of Provence was spectacular. We decided to get changed and head to Saint Tropez for breakfast. We looked the part covered in dust and mosquito bites and stinking of l'eau de armpit. We parked theolympicflame beside 2 Ferraris and a Bentley, with the millionaires yachts in the harbour behind. All eyes turned towards the flame splashed beast and a comment from a local summed up the arrival; "Ahhh le Ford Capri" said whilst nodding in admiration. After breakfast and still smelling like a Bears ass, we headed towards Sainte Maxine to attempt to get a decent place to sleep. SUCCESS. The first one had a place. On driving into the site the children gathered and shouted "Regardez la voiture, regardez la voiture". Without haste we headed for the showers and combed our teeth. The rest of the day we spent drinking beers on the beach. Finally we had arrived. Looking like 3 milk bottles we attempted to get some sort of tan - the only tan thus far was on clives right arm from where he had been hanging it out the window. James attempted to use himself as a human advertising board by writing theolympicflame.co.uk on his chest with suncream. He managed to write 'the' before running out of room. If he'd have wrote it on his stomach then he wouldn't have had this problem. He gave up the idea and wiped the cream off. That night we celebrated our accomplishment by walking 7km into Sainte Maxine, having a meal and a few bottles of the local Vin Rouge, listening to renditions of Tom Jones "Sex Bomb" and walking 7km home. James in his drunken stupor mistook a man sized stuffed elephant that had been dumped on the side of the road for a Blow-up doll. Even though it was piss stained and stunk like the locals, James carried it home and spent the night with it. His new partner was named "The Irrelevant Elephant". 9th August: We woke up to find we had been eaten alive by ants and mosquitoes. We had set up camp next to the main road and it was like sleeping on the hard shoulder of the M6 during rush hour. To make things worse all the locals rode Harleys and used the road as a drag strip through the night. The Germans who shared the tent next to us rose early and ate their breakfast to David Hasselhoffs greatest hits. James woke to find he had sunburn everywhere apart from where he had smeared the suncream on his chest. It sort of looked like a flame pattern. We drove to Cannes and found it to be like the rest of the Cote D'Azur, pleasant but nothing special. 10th August: We drove to Nice. Booked into Hotel 5km from Nice town centre. James did his usual trick of using every towel in the bathroom. This earnt him the name 'Jimmy two towels' and severely pissed off the other team members who as a consequence had to use their own damp manky towels. On the way to the beach James managed to score with an elderly woman who requested his help to cross the road because she couldn't see. The first physical contact with a foreign bird had been established. In the evening we went for a meal in Nice centre followed by a visit to the French Tokyo Jo's disco. It was at this stage that we regretted not bringing our afro wigs out as the atmosphere certainly needed lifting. After leaving, our attempt to get a Taxi failed miserably. Rich disappeared in search of a mythical Taxi Rank. Clive and James got some chairs from the beach and sat next to some traffic lights waiting for a taxi. Some girl asked us if we had been smoking or drinking because we should be sat on the beach not on the road. James went in search for Rich but he was long gone. They had lost contact but found a Taxi home. Somehow the conversation between James and the driver got on to the subject of imperial and metric measurement. Clive remembers James explaining to the driver 'it is now illegal in England to measure in ounzes and grams, we now have to measure our vegetables in kilograms'. It's frightening to think he is finishing an engineering phD. The driver was disappointed that theolympicflame was locked up in the garage. He had heard so much about it and wanted to see it for himself. Clive and James arrived at 3a.m. Meanwhile Rich began his training for the Pissed Olympic Event - "The 5km Stagger". He walked back to the hotel, arriving at 5a.m. Utilising Andy McNabb's survival skills he re-hydrated himself mid journey with a random half empty bottle of fluid, it was that or the garden sprinkler on a hotel front lawn. On arrival to the hotel Rich found that the receptionist had forgotten to put the spare bed out so Rich slept on the floor. 11th August: Drove to Monte Carlo. Rich broke the lap record in a Ford Capri, timed at 9mins 38secs, despite stalling twice. We walked part of the course before having breakfast by the harbour. We headed onwards to sneak through the Italian border. Team "Hombres des Flambres" had conquered their first nation after 1,700 miles. Being totally prepared for every eventuality the crew found themselves heading for the motorway with no Lira to pay for the tolls. We pulled off just before and entered a service station. It was here that the first Italian phrase was learnt: "Solo Adulti". On arrival in Milan we headed for the stadio San Siro, home to AC and Inter Milan. We circled the stadio a few times trying to find a decent spot to take footage of the flame. Clive spotted a barrier leading into the car park and proceeded to force it open allowing exclusive pictures to be taken. We then headed for the centre where we found a 2 star hotel called hotel Napoli. We scrubed ourselves and went for a meal in a fine restaurant owned by the professor of olive oil. Afterwards we hit the town and went in search of some models. At 2a.m, and after several vodka and oranges, we stumbled across a local's bar with more Stingfellow-esque grey mullets than Grimsby Fish Market. It was here that Clive made contact with the Don of Genoa. After smiling and nodding at every word he spoke, the Don had realised after 10 minutes that Clive didn't have a clue what he was saying. Clive thought he had understood the Don to be trying to give him his wife for the night, who had skin like Gandhi's sandals and Collogen injected Mick Jagger lips. The Don gave Clive some tips on where to visit whilst we were in Italy and turned his nose up in disgust when Clive mentioned we were going to Bari. A new relationship between Coventry and Genoa had been established and the crew were now "Made Men". However, links between Coventry and Milano were severed when Marriella, the club singer, mistook our drunken laughter as mocking of her singing songs in English. After speaking through the interpretor (also the keyboardist), damage limitation availed. Despite tense negotiations, the crew were invited back the following night for further talks in the peace process. Unfortunately the flame had to move on and we never reached an agreement with Marriella. Lest we forget Marriella. 12th August: Rich was feeling the after effects of his Pissed Olympic event training session. His shin splints had him walking like John Wayne. We headed for the local café and had a cappuccino, which loosened the sides, and James suddenly felt the urge. On entering a continental toilet, he found there was no toilet seat. Forced to squat he managed to sustain a pulled hamstring. As if this wasn't bad enough, poor old James was suffering from bad clutch rot - a nasty rash situated behind the left knee that is brought on by profusely sweating whilst driving. These sustained injuries worried us and put the mission in jeopardy. We left Milano and headed to the coast south of Pisa, where we rendezvoused with The Italian Connection: Marco and Roberta. The 2000 mile barrier was broken. Unfortunately for us Roberta was staying in a plush Beach Front Villa, and we were forced to slum it for the next 3 days. "From the Gutter to the Stars". That night The Italian Connection took us to a local restaurant in the hills to eat the recently hunted local wild boars and drink the local chianti. 13th August: We spent the day on the beach and recovering from the traumatic first week. In the evening we had a BBQ of local fresh fish and fine meats. After nearly burning down the surrounding pine forest we burnt the food. The wine was good though, thanks to the connoseur Marco. 14th August: Again we spent the day on the beach trying to establish some sort of tan. We spotted one German guy who was whiter than us so that made our day. Marco suggested a game of beach football and so it was butcher Robbins and Gommista Vs the Italian budda and Munro. Whilst Marco was showing the skills of a Serie A footballer Robbins was playing more like a Nationwide Div 1 defender. His two footed lunge looked all the more spectacular for flying horizontally through the air. Needless to say Robbins came off worse and sustained serious bruising to his shins and ankle. Robbins had the last laugh though when he and the ginger wizard eventually won 5 - 3. In the evening the team walked for 1 ½ hours into Castigleone for a pizza.   15th August: We retraced our steps and saw some sort of leaning tower on our way to Firenze. It was by this tower that the team decided to stop for lunch. Clive ordered a sandwich and the nice waitress asked in italian what sort he would like. Clive new she said ham and cheese for the first option but the second option was not in his vast italian vocabulary. The waitress mimicked a sort of pinching movement with her fingers and Clive thought 'Ahhh, it must be crab'. So he ordered what he thought was crab. What he actually got was a sandwich with peas, carrots and potato in!?! Mmm nice! On arrival in Firenze we found a decent campsite and made a reconnaisance of the town centre. James, still traumatised by the confrontation with Mariella in Milan, bought an Italian phrase book. It was then that we realised why he was getting funny looks whenever he went to buy some water. What he was actually saying was 'can I have 3 crates of water please!'. We set up the tent and Clive yet again opted to be 'the lucky pierre' in the middle! 16th August: We drove to Sienna to experience "é palio". A medieval horse race around the town square. We made our way into the square and for three hours in the blistering heat we watched a parade of horses, riders, knights, flags and drummers. The riders from 17 districts within the town entered the arena in their respective colours. The atmosphere was amazing, 50,000 people packed into a square the size of four football pitches. The race started and finished in under 3 minutes. At the end of the race the rider was lifted off his horse and hailed as a hero. At the same time the crowd were in tears of happiness or sadness and almost every Italian man climbed onto the race course to fight his rival district. It all kicked off, none of us had heard of a riot at a horse race. The winning rider was paraded back to his district, where they headed for their church. Like true Man Utd supporters we jumped on the bandwagon, bought a flag and followed the parade. The rider and horse were blessed in the church, this being the only time that a horse is allowed in an Italian church. If it shits in the church the district has a year of good luck. Clive and James forced their way into church and it smelt of horse shit. The rest of the night was full of drummers, parades and singing around this district. Businessmen fund a month long party and we took full advantage of their free chianti. We passed out on the traffic island in the centre of the district main square, with many of the locals and woke at 4a.m. Unfortunately we forgot to arrange any accommodation, so we retreated back to theolympicflame and after inflating our trusty airbeds we slept behind a hedge next to the main road, AGAIN!! 17th August: We were woken up by a bus on a traffic roundabout in Sienna. Shakily we drove back to Firenze. As our hangovers wore off we began to recall the previous nights activities. James was caught feeding the horse live on Italian TV, Clive was staggering around with a garland of bay leaves waving the Drago Banner and Rich was woken up by the stench of a piss soaked tramp cuddling him on a roundabout near the Drago HQ. The tramp was similarly repelled. On arrival in Firenze we hiked twice around the centre, following the inept navigation skills of the one now known as Gommista. Eventually team Flambre arrived at the museum de accademia and sized up Michelangaelo's David's ass. Next stop was Michelangaelo's grave. Triffic. We sloped off for a kip utterly shattered. 18th August: We were rudely awoken by a dirty, spotty teenage f**kwit strimming the hedges at 7 am. What a winner. We drove to Roma and witnessed the magnificence of the Stadio Olympiaco, home to AC Roma and Lazio. We mounted the pavement so that exclusive pictures of the Capri could be obtained. After driving round the no drive zone in the centre of Rome (we wondered why it was quiet) and driving up a bus lane we booked in to a hotel. The car was valet parked into the hotels garage. We went out for scoff. On returning to the hotel, we stumbled across a local Italian establishment - The Nag's Head. It was a Scottish theme pub, with a microscopic tartan rag adorning one wall and a filthy set of bag pipes above the bar. The bar stewards were also acrobats - the sign on the door said so. Whatever they were they weren't bar stewards. It took ages to get served. We met a load of dirty Mancs and got leathered in true British fashion. At 3 am we made our way back to the hotel. Rich and James participated in another famous pissed olympics event - the 50m uphill chariot pull. This consisted of Rich pulling the huge bulk of James along on a stinking dustcart. On the way home we passed a newsagent and Rich thought this would be a discreet moment to purchase some 'solo adulti'. Gommista managed to catch him in the act by taking a snapshot of him holding a magazine called 'Maschimo' with two blokes on the front! These were worrying times for the team.   19th August: Yet again we were rudely awoken. This time by a phone call at 1.30 pm, asking the team to vacate the room for the cleaners to mop up the filth. We got up and headed for the Colleseum with hangovers from hell in 32 degree heat. Triffic. Saw some sisters with bad habits, who were having nun of it. James wanted to see the Trevi fountain but with gommista navigating they got tired and never found it. Who trusted him with the guide books anyway? That evening we graced the Stadio Olympiaco to watch AS Roma kick Fiorentina's ass in the Super Coppa (Italian Charity Shield) 3 - 0. Half of the 70 ,000 capacity crowd ignored the seating plan and crammed in to the Curva Sud where the Team Flambre supposedly had seats. Never before had we witnessed such passion at a footie match. The team were covered by a 50 foot Italian flag and survived a flare launch only millimetres away. If there were as many fit birds at British footie matches, every game would be a sell out. The Gommista navigated the team back to the hotel, only after passing the Stadio Olympiaco twice on a two mile circuit. Triffic. Lots of horn beeping and flag waving ensued.   20th August: We booked out of the hotel and the car was retrieved from the garage. The hotel porter had a big smile on his face as he appeared around the corner. We visited St Peter's square in the Vatican City. The first attempt to enter God's house failed because God didn't like our hairy legs. Clive & James purchased white paper trousers and entered, only to be outdone by a freak wearing his jumper over his legs. Rich decided that if God didn't like his legs, then he wasn't going to get his 7000 lire entrance fee. Clive & James climbed Michelangaelo's dome, where Clive remembered his vertigo half way up and stood rooted to the spot for hours. James reached the summit alone and filmed spectacular views of Rome. We then drove to Naples after a few circuits of Roma due to the Gommista's navigational skills. Gommista was thus relieved of all navigational duties pending further enquiries. After filling up the flame with juice we saw a disturbing sign. It read RIP Gommista! Was this sign a sign? Would Gommista not finish the mission? The team dwelled on this for all of 10 seconds then proceeded to drive to Naples. Upon entering Naples, The Flame began to backfire and lose power. The Italians have a saying - See Naples and die. The Flame almost took this too literally. The Flame had sensed it was nearing it's spiritual home - The Island of Capri - and became emotionally disturbed. We pulled over and checked the obvious things. We then limped to the nearest campsite and set up camp for the evening. We relaxed with a few beers on the terrace picking grapes from the overhanging vines whilst staring at the stars and talking shite amongst ourselves. It had been another hectic day.   21st August: Again rudely awoken. This time by busses tooting their frigging horns just metres from the slumbering team. Immediately we had a strop and packed up camp, moving to a more peaceful site perched on the side of a craggy cliff. More car problems ensued. With the island of Capri beckoning in the distance, we waited for a tow truck. The Flame was taken away to hospital, stranding us for the first time since leaving the shores of Blighty. There was serious doubt as to whether we could finish the mission. That evening just as we were leaving the camp to forrage on the hillside for berrys and wild mushrooms, the Flame appeared miraculously from the haze like an angelic apparition, driven unproffesionally by a dirty mechanic. We understood that the points had been changed. Either that or the mechanic was telling us he was growing vegetables, as his hand signals were un-cannily similar to the waitresses at Pisa. What actually took place in the workshops can only be guessed. With all the excitement of the flame being returned James reversed into a tree denting the bumper. Luckily there was no structural damage. We drove to Sorrento for some scran and as the Flame was being parked, the engine cut out and refused to re-start. We noticed the fuel reading was low and surmised that the Flame had run out of juice. The mechanic must have gave it a spin around town before returning it. We refilled the Flame but still it was not burning as brightly as usual. We ate a shite pizza, listening to a load of stinking cockneys watching Arse(nal) vs Leeds. It was the worst day of the mission and morale was low. We kept reminding ourselves that the children needed our help and that we had to get to Athens. The flame flickered back to the campsite.   22nd August: Clive woke in the middle of the night to find a crusty smelly rag next to his head. Clutching it in his hands he held it up until his night vision could focus on the garment. To his utter disgust he realised it was James's crusty 3 day old Y's. When confronted in the morning James just laughed. How they got there only James knows. It was decided that we would visit Pompei and on the way the Flame lived up to it's name, firing out a 10m flame and issuing forth a massive bang. The Flame cut out and was eventually coaxed back into life after several anxious minutes. The Flame staggered to Pompei and we embarked on a whistlestop tour of the ruins. Triffic. A mechanic was once again called and the Flame was towed away to hospital again. Whilst waiting for the tow truck the heavens opened for the first time in 4 months and spilled their guts on us. We went with the tow truck to a "garage" and attempted to describe to four separate mechanics that the problem was unrelated to the downpour through the medium of sign language and James the human sound effects machine. After 2 hours the flux capacitor was changed and we travelled off in time to the middle ages, before finding our way back to the present, but that's another story. We drove back to the campsite only to find base camp sodden. The Flame still burned dimly. Sympathy from an English family was found in the form of a nice cup of Rosy Lee - the first in 2 1/2 weeks, saving the mission from certain ruin.   23rd August: We were woken with another brew from our saviours. The mother of the English family was oblivious to the importance of her role in saving the children. We headed for Monte Versuvio. We managed to get the flame half way up the volcano in 1st gear before deciding this was not the most ideal place to conduct a test of its stamina. We decided to wait for a bus to the summit. After 1 hour we were running short on time so James used the power of the thumb and managed to get a lift from one of the tour guides in a 4x4 Fiat Panda. We were transported in the style we have not been accustomed to, to the summit of the volcano. Passing dehydrated old people and children attempting to walk up, we should have felt some guilt, but didn't. Spectacular views of the summit were cut short as we had to get the bus back to the flame, and be in Bari by 10 pm to get the ferry to Greece. Robbins drove the flame at a steady 60mph to Bari and we arrived at 7.45 pm. It was then that we found out that the ferry left daily at 8pm, not 10pm. We were stranded. Triffic. We found a hotel and instantly James marked his bed and towels in a manner that would deter even the dirtiest tramp from using them! We headed into town expecting Bari to be the hole that Don Genoa had told us it would be. Touring the town we found that Bari was actually a really buzzing, and lively place, with many street cafe's, bars and shops. We were surprised to see all the locals drinking the tramps choice of Tennants Super, and found the weakest beer the we could get was 7.5%. Strangely we got leathered and had an argument. None of us could remember what it was about and Gommista couldn't even remember having an argument. We met another bunch of dirty brits that were pilots for a famous freight company. They were regular visitors to Bari and some Italian friends of theirs took us to some bars. The pilots were minted and so bought us beers for the rest of the night. We were all offered garlic squid sarnies by one bar owner and James happily tucked in. Rich threw his away and so did Gommista but only after taking a bite because the owner was watching and encouraging him to tuck into the gastronomic atrocity. As soon as the owners head was turned Gommista chucked the sarnie to a dog who was similarly disgusted with it. The pilots invited us back to their hotel to empty the mini bar - as if we hadn't drunk enough. James went with 2 of them and Gommista and Rich went afterwards with the remaining pilot. When James entered the room One of the pilots produced his collection of Italian 'solo adulti' videos and all of a sudden James felt very vulnerable. Luckily Gommista and Rich weren't allowed in the room because of the hotels no guests policy. James was saved and we headed off to the hotel with haste.   24th August: We woke at about mid-day. The TV had been on all night but no one can remember much about turning it on. The suspicion was that Gommista was trying to look for some solo adulti on the Italian channels. He must have been unsuccessful because he woke to find Rich's collection of magazines, which were purchased in Rome, under his pillow. Gommista admits to knowing nothing about what happened. As usual Gommista was up first and Rich up last. James wakes up somewhere in between and then just falls asleep throughout the day. we headed for the square where we had spent the night drinking in search for breakfast. the square was earily quiet compared to the previous evening when everyone in the town had been out. We ordered our usual breakfast of ham and cheese toastie. In Italy they have 100 different types of breakfast, all ham and cheese toasties but with different combinations of ham, cheese and bread. Triffic. Afterwards we headed for town but the shops weren't open until 5pm so we sat in an ice cream cafe eating and drinking for a few hours. It was during these hours that we had a moment of insanity and collectively came up with an idea for our next mission. We are to travel to the arctic circle in an ice cream van and sell ice cream!! code name theicecreamvans. We caught our ferry at 8pm and Gommista and James packed a survival pack for the 16hr crossing to Patras. It consisted of an airbed and toothbrush. Rich however only carried his camera and toothbrush from the car. We enjoyed the Eurotrash they were playing in the disco and then looked for a suitable place to sleep. It was at this point that Rich regretted not bringing his airbed and all of us our sleeping bags. It got cold at about 3am and rich was looking in a bad way. Rich was sleeping on a hard plastic seat wearing only one trainer - his other was used as a pillow! We thought he wouldn't make it but refused to huddle up to him to prevent hypothermia for the fear of looking like fruits. James improvised by using his shorts as headgear and gommista used the drago flag from Sienna as a headscarf.   25th August: Rich survived the night but was severely dehydrated. We arrived in Patras at 12.30pm and headed for Athens. We took the wrong turning and headed for the hills! after 45 mins we were back on track and back where we started. Half way to Athens we were severely dehydrated and were in need of water. We pulled off the motorway and took a wrong turning to find oursevles going back to Patras. It was no coincidence that Gommista was navigating. Rich could take no more and drank from the stale water that was reserved for the radiator - It was at least a month old! After 35 mins of driving in the opposite direction we found a turn off and got refreshments. We arrived in Athens with 12 hours to spare before Clive was to be airlifted out. We took exclusive footage of the flame next to the olympic stadium and the acropolis. After 3100 miles we had made it but were exhausted and stinking. On the drive up to the acropolis the flame could take no more and the clutch went. We met Yiannis, our guide, and limped to his flat in Athens. We decided to eat and then drink until Clive was to be airlifted out and officially relieved from his tour of duty at 06.50 hours. It was a good night and we would like to thank Yiannis for his guidance. James and Rich arranged to be airlifted out by a dodgy greek airline on Monday afternoon. When they got to the airport they realised that in their drunken stupor they had got the wrong day. They were being picked up on Tuesday afternoon! They got back to the centre, and found the first hotel they could: £8 per night. Dirtiest cesspit they'd ever seen, and next to a massive building site. They decided it was better outside the hotel than in, so in the evening they went for a walk. Some dodgy old Greek guy told them he would show them a decent bar. It turned out to be a lap-dancing club full of Albanian whores. They left there quickly, whilst they still had money, and ended up boozing in a bar all night. They got up and were airlifted out and back to Blighty in time for Eastenders. The olympic flame still burns outside the flat of Yiannis until we decide how it is to be extinguished. James could not bring himself to leave the air horn on the car so salvaged it for future missions. Watch out for the movie of this epic mission ' crouching turtle, touching cloth' and the un-edited version 'crouching turtle, touching cloth - un wiped!'   DOES ANYONE WANT TO BUY A TENT?!