The fishing village of Kippford boasts two pubs, but following Wilson's spat with the landlord of the other one, we felt obliged to limit our patronage to the Anchor where we stayed.

Once billeted, the lads set off for the usual Friday afternoon nine holes at the nearby Dalbeattie golf course, some four or five miles back inland, returning to the Anchor in the evening for an excellent dinner and a few (!) beers. Wilson took a recky over to Colvend to locate Saturday's venue, getting lost in the process and coming across the picturesque village of Rockcliffe, where he stopped to ask the locals for directions, finding that all the locals came from Newcastle.

Those who hadn't made the afternoon round joined us that evening in the Anchor for a great meal and a good crack.

Proceedings eventually drew to a close at a (kind of) respectable hour. During the night Monaghan, clearly disturbed and confused (drunk), got up to go to the loo and (had it not been for the timely intervention of Wilson) would have been down the stairs and outside heading for the harbour wall, having taken the wrong door on leaving his bunk.