Prodigy finished their set at about midnight and after a spot of shopping hippy style - see Indian blanket, left, that has been transformed into a rather fetching curtain - I and several hundred others (read: elderly) bailed out of the after-party and wandered back to town where I whiled away the hours in a non-stop bar (The Czech Republic is the only European nation to have 24-hour boozing; while Poland closes at 5am and re-opens at 7am) drinking coffee, reading the newspaper and watching MTV until about 3.30am when I walked through deserted streets to the railway station, full of snoozing and snoring people lying around as if exhausted from some battle.
Hang on ... come to think of it I reckon that explains Honza dumping the stone where he did, because he then went to the pub in his forklift, came back 4 hours, 12 beers and 6 rums later without the forklift, and spent a few more hours walking round and round the stone, forwards and backwards and sideways and in a zigzag, sometimes horizontal on the grass, catching 40 winks, waking up and mistaking the stone for his long-suffering wife, Lenka, and so in an act of apology he started kissing and fondling and slobbering over the obelisk, mysteriously wrapped up in silver like a glamorous lady or a turkey at Christmas.