Sean Connery

It wasn't the best of ideas, arriving in Prague at midnight, but that's life I suppose.

The first thing we noticed was how dirty the train station was. I mean, it was a real s*** hole. Although we did brighten up when we saw there were loads of tramps in sleeping bags - it meant we might be able to call it home for the night, s*** hole or not.

But then that idea dissipated as ten police officers, dressed in black combats and armed with night-sticks and automatic weapons, started moving the poor people on. It turned out that the station was going to close at 1AM, and not open again until 3AM. A bit pointless really, but clearly just to prevent people from sleeping.

So, after sharing a sandwich, we had to brave the mean streets of Prague.

It was cold.

Admittedly, we had just come from Athens, where even in October it was a steady 28 degrees. But I challenge anyone to walk from a refrigerator out into the streets of Prague that night and not turn back and jump inside to get warm. It was freezing. Actually, it was a few degrees below freezing. And the wind chill factor dropped it further.

We put on all of our clothes. I'm not joking. I was wearing six layers on top. Then we walked the streets for a bit, miserable, cold and hungry (half a sandwich only goes so far). We found our way to the national museum (whoopee) and then found a street that was out of the wind. Then we found a window ledge for an office and called it home.

Karim kindly volunteered to stay awake while I got some sleep. I shut my eyes and drifted slowly into the least rewarding kip of my life. Every now and then I'd be woken by passing Americans saying things like "Yeah, and what's really swell about these Titty Bars is...." as they strolled past.

Anyway, I did actually sleep at one point because when I woke up I remembered dreaming. It was three in the morning. We were allowed to go back to the station. I stood up, and that's when I started shivering the worst. My teeth were actually chattering. I had never felt so impressed with tramps. They just accept it all in their stride. We were fantasising about the hostel we were going to be getting at ten in the morning, and sleeping in for 24 straight hours to get the most use out of it. I don't know how they do it. Someone should pay them.

On the way back, after a little running around in circles to defrost our blood, the wind was worse than ever. Just when the station was in sight, a burly man in a bomber jacket stopped us in the street.

"Just a minute gentlemen", he said. There were a lot of big lights set up down the street, and a lot of people milling around. "We're filming. Just be a few minutes, if you could wait there".

Now, for the other poor passers by, this was really exciting. A real film was being made before their very eyes. For us, it was the obstacle in the way of warmth.

"Who's in it?" One chap asked him.

"Sean Connery", came the reply. "He's filming now".

We stood there for five minutes, shivering and chattering, waiting for it all to be over. Finally, he thanked us and let us past.

"Connery!" We shouted down the street. "You're a c*** !"

Harsh words, but we were really, really cold....

The station wasn't exactly warm, but at least our bodies stopped convulsing. We hung around with all the tramps for a few hours, sleeping in shifts. And bless the tramps, they only bothered me when I was smoking, and that's understandable. And one guy asked for a fag, and when he saw I only had one left, he refused it! Talk about class! Although, bearing in mind I had another ten packets in my bag, when I opened a fresh deck I went over and gave him and his mate a few each. For the non smokers out there, you have to understand what a rarity this act was. In Nottingham, for example, the tramp would have seen I only had one left, taken it and then kicked me in the shins before running off laughing. And then maybe he would come back and rob me. Just for the hell of it.

At ten, we checked into a cheap dive of a hostel, and spent the rest of the day tucked up warm in bed. We went out for half an hour later to check our e-mail. I had one from Lisa, who had received a reply from Marie-Louise about my text message, which she was kind enough to forward. And I had one from Marie-Louise herself.

As long as the There Is No Spoon theory held up, she was going to come with me.

"Mate", I said. "Go get my credit card.... we're going out for dinner".

There were only really two ways to celebrate something in Prague. One was going out for a meal (the first restaurant meal we would have had in weeks). The other was going to a hardcore sex show. Under the circumstances, I felt the former would show considerably more taste.

I printed out the e-mail and read it to Karim over a Chinese.

"I hate that There Is No Spoon thing", he said. "It's crap".

"Mate, it's a wonderful metaphor", I said. "And it's true. There Is No Spoon".

"Stop saying that!"

"You know I won't".

"So what if there is a spoon".

"There won't be. f*** mate, if I can do this", brandishing the e-mail as evidence, "I can do anything. There Is No Spoon, because now I've got this, the rest is a piece of piss. It isn't about injections or visas or money. It isn't even about Thailand. f*** travelling, f*** Thailand and f*** England. If I had to move to Sweden I would. That's why There Is No Spoon. There never was".

"You've got it bad", he said.

"Yeah".