''I can`t believe you. You used to have such a nice writing style, and now all you do is swear and write about being drunk. I can`t even bring myself to show it to your Granny.'' - My Mother, the other day. I think she wanted to use the expression black-affronted as well but fortunately resisted the temptation.

In my defence of the above, I wasn't actually aware that my mother read our travelpod. However I knew that Vinny's Mother does, so that's not much of a defence. For what it's worth, the rest of this entry will be dedicated to our mothers, and I will try to behave accordingly......

Budapest. The best city in Eastern Europe. Which is kind of strange, as we were preparing for it to be the worst. But it was great - beautiful buildings, nice bridges, big open parks with singing fountains, the same cafe culture you get everywhere in these parts, and none of the british stag do's that we had been warned about.

We stayed in a hostel called The Yellow Submarine. Actually, we stayed in a hostel around the corner, owned by the same guy, as the main one was full. The owner was a guy that can't really be explained properly in a mother-friendly entry, but he was certainly a bounder and a cad... Never stay at his hostel. Bounder and cad don't do it justice. From stomping back and forth all day shouting at his staff who are actually trying to do their jobs well, to complaining to anyone who would listen about how hard his life is.

When we awoke on the morning of Vinny's birthday, he was shouting about what had happened in the main hostel the night before. He had taken a booking of 22 Irish blokes, who had got drunk and thrown all his furniture out of the windows onto the cars parked in the street below. He had thrown them all out, and, brilliantly, instigated a No Irish Poilicy for his hostels. He was really quite angry.

He stormed up to me and asked where I was from... And I fully intended to explain how proud I am of my English Irish heritage, as it allows me to distance myself from either. Strangely though, this came out as 'Oirish? You avin a larf mate? Pound of toms? Do what, knock it on the 'ed, my old mans a dustman etc'.... Such is life.

The only other people staying in the hostel were three Norweigan girls, so we ended up going out for drinks together. We went into the social district of Pest, and enjoyed a light ale whilst taking in the night air. Suitably refreshed, and having paused for breath in our talk to the Norweigans about the history of the Industrial Revoloution, we strolled down the avenue and entered another social club.

Here we sampled a small glass of fine claret, made a toast to Vinny and to England, and went to bed suitably satisfied at around 9pm - but only after brushing our teeth thoroughly.