Wednesday 4th February

12.30pm
Not so merciful is the fact that even foreign TV audiences appear to have ‘My Hero’ inflicted upon them. My sympathy for Greg Dyke wanes somewhat.

1.30pm
It’s not every day you see a dog wearing a neckerchief cross the road.

2.30pm
It’s not every day you see a dog being carried around in a shopping bag.

3pm
Stepping inside St Vitus Cathedral is like walking into a huge stone fridge. Work on the huge Gothic monstrosity began in the fourteenth century but wasn’t completed until 1929. Presumably during the intervening 600 years Sunday services were held in an enormous mobile caravan.

4pm
Sitting on the banks of the river. A couple of swans advance menacingly on a couple with a baby in a pushchair, but before things turn nasty and arms get broken, the couple beat a hasty retreat.

5pm
Another mindblowing Turkish coffee in the classy Café Slavia, decorated in the Art Nouveau style and situated opposite the Narodni divadlo (National Theatre). A picture on the wall depicts a man suffering from absinthe-induced hallucinations – away with the green fairies.

7pm
Back in Staromestske namesti, wondering whether we’re slowly becoming anaesthetised to the architectural beauty all around us. I’d hate to live in a city like this and become unappreciative or indifferent to my surroundings. Then again, perhaps the numbness is due to our second glass of hot wine.

8.30pm
Yet another fabulous meal. Thank fuck we’re leaving tomorrow, otherwise we’d seriously start piling on the pounds. We both realise we’re going to be paying for food and drink with gritted teeth when we get home.

11.30pm
Malostranske Pivnice, our first experience of a genuine Czech pub, is filled with locals rowdily downing drink after drink. I carry on with the pivo but J opts to try the local firewater Becherovka, a spirit made of medicinal herbs which tastes a bit like Aftershock Red and is served in a 40ml shot glass with a handle. I’m slightly taken aback when, at the end of the night, J is borne off across the pub by a man who looks like an off-duty lumberjack and good-naturedly invited to kiss his mulleted friend.

12.30am
Mullet Man has inadvertently tracked us down to another pub. More lager and Becherovka.

2am
Vomit (not mine).