By Little Stinger
December 17 2003

The drama started even before I left the house on Friday morning. Eldest Tiny Stinger was in floods of tears as I was about to leave for the weekend, and what’s more I was going without him! After an uneventful trip round the M25 I called home to ensure all was well. I was informed that both Tinies were totally dischuffed with their father and that I would have to do something about it. On the spur of the moment I suggested that Eldest Tiny may be considered for Perpignan and Youngest Tiny for Bridgend, however expecting further discussions when I got home it was left as that - a proposal.

On to the plane and arrive in Milan-Bergamo to be welcomed by a bus bedecked in Drunken Wasps flags (just to make sure that we couldn’t get on the wrong one) and the DW’s that had already blown in from Milan Linate (there was a 100mph tail wind and all the flights were 20 minutes early).

PhiltheB did an excellent job (then, and all weekend counting us all on and counting us off again) and Brescia here we come. So out came the hip flasks just to keep us at a consistent level of inebriation. Absent friends and associates were discussed and there long continued absence toasted. Daisy and Dolly had already been inflated and were enjoying the views of the Italian countryside on a sunny December afternoon.

Joining a long queue to check in at the Master Hotel a lonely DDW joins the end of the line, but he forgot the cowbell! Never mind the rattles acquired at the Parker Pen final will have to suffice.

Barney, his friend Mike and myself head off to a café to enjoy a couple of bottles of red; who happens to wander past complete with railway timetables for Brescia to Calvisano on match day, but Dixie! We twist his arm to partake in a glass with us and exchange travelling stories for the hour or so prior to the DW Tour Dinner.

Some eighty to dinner at the “Subbueto” restaurant where an excellent pasta dish was followed by veal and roast potatoes, scrummy. A small quantity(!) of wine was also consumed just to wash everything down.

As it was still quite early as we exited we split up and made our way into town by way of a 420 metre tunnel running directly through the hillside. This tunnel split Brescia into two, and on the way Sleepy Pete found a hat which he promptly put in his pocket (?). On the other side we find the old part of town and a bar called “The Golden Lion”, right by the Duomo. As upstairs was busy and the small cellar was almost empty the initial eight or so of us sat down for a quiet drink. Someone must have had their phone switched on which acted as a swarming point because within an hour some forty folk were crammed in, forcing the few locals sat at an adjoining table elsewhere.

Wine (and a little water) was consumed with gusto, and with every bottle of wine was delivered slices of ham, sausage and little pizzas! None of us were fluent enough to state that we had just eaten so as not to upset the locals we consumed all of these additional nibbles aswell. Much singing practice ensued ably conducted by maestro Dom; I especially recall an excellent rendition of Two Little Boys, with additional dying scene!

The owner was a lovely Bangladeshi guy who showed Kristin around his kitchen and upon request proffered a bowl of “dansak” (olives to you and I) at a drop of a hat.

Some how we found our way back through the tunnel and back to the hotel where some of our (now small party) required further libation to keep them going. This was much regretted next day.

Breakfast was coffee, juice and water (not necessarily in that order).

A wander into town (via the tunnel) to see where we had been the night before was transformed into a Christmas wonderland with a street market and wooden huts providing festive gifts. A café was found to restore us, whereupon a selection of flashing father Christmas hats were offered for sale by a passing vendor. Mr G*****g, father to a young hooker, knocked the price from EUR8 to EUR5 and purchased one. It was suggested that this could be passed up and down the line out to act as the target for Trevor’s throw ins.

By 1 p.m. we were back at the hotel to catch our 78 seat double decker bus to Calvisano, and some 40 minutes later we were there trying to persuade them that a DW flag should be run up the empty flag pole.

An exercise to split the guys from the gals was successfully done as the gals could get in for half price. The beer tent and BBQ started selling tickets and beer was poured and sausages placed on the barbie. The Wasps team turned up in their Ferrari coach and looked a little bemused at the surroundings, which I would compare to Richmond Athletic, but in the middle of no where.

Meanwhile a couple of our enterprising DW’s circumnavigated Calvisano security (by bending back the wire on the gate) and hung DW flags on the half way line, and midway between each of the 10m and 22m lines bang opposite the TV cameras. This simple act was to cause much bemusement later on.

I estimate there were between 250-300 Wasp supporters in attendance and we sure made a lot more noise than the locals did. The result was never in doubt after 15 minutes so we cheered our tries and applauded the opposition.

First half high and low lights were: Kenny’s three tries, Worzle’s try and Roiser’s well worked try. Calvisano’s first try was a penalty try as Volls tackled the man without the ball as he was about to dive over (and was yellow carded), but their second looked like a double movement to us in the stand.

Just after half time a man appeared on the opposite side of the pitch and pulled down the DW flags, so we roundly booed him (gawd knows what the players thought was going on!)

Denzil was sent on for Sonic, only to receive a haymaker, which was spotted by the officials, so why no yellow card for the home team player?

Calvisano (or Calvi to the locals) had realised at their half time chat they could not win but they could get a bonus point by scoring four tries. So they ran hard at the Wasps defence punching holes (admittedly with some dubious crossing movements) and outscored Wasps 3 -2 in the second half. The ref was shocking at times, the usual knock ons and crossing movements were missed, but one Calvisano try came when Shane (who had tackled the guy with his lower jaw) and a Calvi player were lying in the middle of the pitch on the 22m line obviously with injuries to the head. Play should have been stopped immediately, but Calvi play around these players and scored in the corner.

Match finished and the final (incorrect) score sent by text to some interested parties back home and all off to the beer tent on what was now a very chilly late afternoon. We returned to the opposite side of the ground to collect the removed flags taking our official DW translator with us to find out the reason. You cannot make this sort of thing up. We were advised that a Heineken executive had called in to complain that as he did not want his product associated with drunkenness and therefore insisted that the flags be removed. Later conversations with a blazer amended the reason to the fact our flags were obscuring secondary advertising, which consisted of black screens. Perhaps they were the Guinness adverts?

The guy who took them down was very friendly and no with animosity on our side we gave him a flag to take home! I would expect it to make an appearance in their clubhouse in the not too distant future.

The merits of whether Heineken could actually make you drunk together with practical tests carried out under laboratory conditions proved that the answer was “no”. It was also announced about this time that Daisy was going to be renamed, but as this ceremony has not yet taken place officially, full details remain shrouded in mystery.

We adjourned to the main clubhouse on the other side of the car park for some warmth to find the some players outside having a chat and the rest watching the Perpignan / Warriors game on the television inside. All were very chatty, signing autographs and having their photos taken, excellent chaps! You have made some fans very happy (and a couple of Tinies at home, thanks Ben G).

Uncle Kev was soon rounding us all up and after a couple of recounts we were heading back to Brescia for the evening. The now obligatory singing had started before we left the car park and B****y (AKA Pava Wasp) was soon walking up and down the aisles taking and singing requests (his name is protected as we don’t want his agent to know what he gets up to in his spare time).

While all this was going on a new Olympic sport was being invented at the front of the bus - Sheep surfing. This entails the roof of the bus being opened, a suitably thin person who eats a lot then places sheep through roof, which is then followed by head and upper torso of suitably thin person who eats a lot. Points are awarded for style, number of low bridges passed under and the number of policemen who wink at you.

On to dinner, this time in smaller numbers, and a further night on the town. Kristin then supplied the surprise of the weekend. He smuggled out a particularly fizzy chardonnay that had remained undrunk. As we exited he lived out his long held dream of enacting a M. Schumacher winners scene, consequently we got soaked!

Sitting outside the Golden Lion (with overhead heaters for warmth) was very pleasant as the guys and gals of Brescia promenaded back and forth as we consumed their speciality coffee and other local brews. As well as this we had the “locals” trying to sell us everything from pens which are no good for shaving to carved elephants. Our requests for a blow up elephant went unrewarded.

Some local guys seemed very interested in Barney’s DW shirt, and as they were keen to acquire these icons of 21st century fashion we may end up with a Brescia salon to provide competition with the fashion designers in Milan.

After another light breakfast on another bright and sunny morning a small expeditionary force went to storm the castle (which sits atop the hill through which the tunnel runs). After a little heavy breathing we got to the Military Museum right at the top to be met by (amongst other things) the longest muskets I have ever seen, they were about nine feet long and would have taken six weeks to reload.

The walk down the hill for coffee and the strangest cup of tea (it was straight milk) was followed by our very last walk through that tunnel. I trust that its pastel shades and acoustics brought as much joy to all other Brescia travellers as it did to me!

Bags collected and back on the bus to return the airport and on to Stansted. After delivering purchased goodies to Mrs S and Tinies, I was informed that I would be having “company” on the next two European excursions as intimated at the start of this story.

DW trips may never be the same again!!

P.S. why do all our European excursions of this season and last begin with a B or a P (Parma, Bordeaux, Paris, Ponty, Bath, Brescia, Bridgend and Perpignan)?