Paul’s Bosnian story

Paul’s
Bosnian story – cont.
The plan was to sneak into Bosnia with a convoy of supply trucks, which was
well protected by armed guards. Along the way, the band’s two roadies
mysteriously disappeared. It was discovered later that the pair had decided
to drop out of the convoy and follow on later, but they were ambushed and shot,
and their bodies left beside the road. Luckily the band suffered no such misfortune,
and made it into Bosnia safely, albeit without a roadcrew.
On arrival they met up with their young lady friend, who gave them the address
to offload the fax paper. They hired a van and drove to the address, but discovered
only a ramshackle looking caravan parked where a house had once been.
None of the band was particularly keen to knock on the caravan door, but after
some heated discussion, it was decided that it was the drummer’s responsibility.
With the rest of the band watching on nervously from the safety of the van,
Greg found himself knocking on the caravan door. Suddenly the door opened and
he was confronted by a shaven-headed insurgent wielding an AK 47, complete with
bandoliers and a bad attitude.
After some very tense moments, Greg somehow managed to convey, with a combination
of broken English and sign language, that a) he and his mates in the
van weren’t a threat, and b) they had a load of precious fax
paper to deliver.
The fearsome-looking gentleman spat and banged loudly on the side of the caravan,
and to Greg’s astonishment, (and the rest of the band still watching from
the van), about thirty heavily armed men poured out of the door – apparently
the caravan was parked over the entrance to their underground bunker.
In the end, the band was paid handsomely for the fax paper, and in the following
few days managed to play the gigs organised for them without further incident.
The gigs went down just as their informant had suggested they would, and they
left Bosnia very relieved and with their pockets stuffed with the local currency.
The next week the band was playing a gig in a converted dungeon in a castle
in Prague. After the first set, Greg found himself in the toilet. He looked
in vain for a roll of toilet paper, but eventually found nailed to the wall
in lieu of regular toilet paper, a fat wad of notes of the very same currency
they’d been paid in Bosnia.