The day was going swimmingly. The rain had stayed away and Vic had stopped crying. Then, out of the blue, Mike said to Vic that he was a Russian so and so and what's more, a lazy one at that, and that everyone knows what the Russians are like. Vic was shocked and countered that Mike was a a fxxxing degenerate Irish git and no better than the dirt we were walking on at present. A bit awkward. Mind you, I could see both points of view.
The row escalated further despite my attempts to calm things down. Eventually Mike said either he goes or Vic goes and that I would have to choose. I think Mike thought that us irish would stick together. But given that I owed Vic money I felt obliged to go with him and also the fact that Mike had no gear with him made the choice a bit easier. So Mike headed home after some more foul language which shocked even Vic, and he's Russian.
Here is Mike heading back to St. Bees. Two years of planning and twenty years of friendship gone up in smoke. All because of that Russian fuck. Shame.
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