It’s quite strange that we’d only ever met Scott once before - the day that Joe was attacked by a shark. Out of the crowd of bewildered onlookers he was the one who left his breakfast on the table and sprung into action, helping get us to the hospital (he saw the look on my face and knew that I couldn’t handle the situation on my own). Yet despite having only spent a few of the most stressful hours EVER together, picking him up from the airport in Prague felt like meeting an old friend.

On his way back to Thailand (where he’s now living) Scott managed a detour to Prague and we spent three days taking in the old town, eating goulash and filling in the gaps. Prague is beautiful, and I managed to drag the boys around the mammoth castle in all its splendour before being subjected to a visit at the Museum of Torture. Hmm.

Luckily Scott also has a travelling person’s aptitude for drinking, so over quite a few gin and tonics, Czech beers and Gluh weins got to know each other properly and finally heard his account of what happened that day at Balian.

We were dying to get his perspective on how the events that day had played out – after all, we’ve had all year to talk about what we think happened, to speculate on what could’ve happened and to come to terms with it all. But to hear an account from another party closed the circle on things that had been a bit of a mystery to us – and also reminded me of the ridiculous things that’d been said and done in a wild panic. Such as Scott helping Joe onto the bed at the first medical centre just as his boardshorts fell down to his ankles.

Prague was an awesome backdrop, and the belted Czech/American man who bought us a round of beers so that he could sit down and tell us in a colourful array of expletives how much he hates his American ex-wife and how much Prague is all about sex was mildly amusing too, but the best thing about Prague was hanging out with a new mate like he was an old mate – thanks for dropping by Scott!

PS. I just remembered - Joe was so disoriented in Prague that he got lost getting the car from the carpark to the hotel, drove down a pedestrianised street and got pulled over by the rozzers. If this was in Kazakhstan he'd be in a gulag by now.