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Sometimes you just have to share these things with others….

Good day all you spiffingly wonderful readers. I hope you’re all doing well. If not, well, tough luck.

I was planning on writing this a couple of days ago so it could be a part of the Llama’s My Story week, but I got busy/lazy/distracted/ill (delete as you see fit) and I didn’t get around to it.

However, I thought to myself...Wook old chap, old bean, dear boy, etc...you don’t need a special week run by the Ministry of Home Affairs to write this story down and share it with the rest of the eUK. No, by Jingo! You can write this story any time you like and hope that the beautiful eUK public rejoice in your telling of the tale as much as you rejoiced in being a part of it at the time.

So, here goes….



This one time, at band camp backpacking I got rather inebriated and….

Once upon a time in a land far, far away...called ‘Murica, a young wookie took his first tentative steps on his own in a strange new world. He had deferred the last six months of his degree at the University of Kashyyyk (London campus) in order to explore a foreign but reassuringly familiar country with only a walkman, a few battered Star Trek novels and his gloriously groomed fur at his disposal. What could possibly go wrong?


The book that I might have written…if I’d been a completely different person called Neil…

The story begins as our hero, that’s me by the way, finds himself three months in to his travels…

Wook rolled down the window on his rented Chevy Malibu and let the warm Florida air rush over his luscious locks as he cruised down the A1A state road and looked for somewhere to stay the night.

It was a balmy June afternoon and the town of West Palm Beach was calling to Wook with all its worth. This was the place, he just knew it. The place he could let his, much loved, hair down and relax for a few days before making the rest of the trip down to the Keys.


It wasn’t just the alluring beaches and promise of bikini clad girls that enticed people to stop there, it was the party buses too!

WookieO pulled into a motel, parked up, dragged his backpack from the boot and checked in. After a quick shower and a rather lengthier period of time blow-drying himself, he headed out to find a local bar.

The evening was lovely and the bearded buffoon kept on walking, even though he’d already passed some pretty good looking drinking establishments. He wanted to find the right one though and so the hike continued.

Eventually, after almost an hour of wandering the Florida town’s streets, Wook came across Kitty’s Saloon. Oh yes, this was the place. A bit rundown, the sign above the door a little shabby, this was a bar WookieO could see himself drinking in for many hours to come.

There was a blackboard out front, with “Happy Hour is my group therapy...and it lasts ALL week!” written on it. Wook stepped inside and began his descent into oblivion…


In the harsh light of day, it doesn’t look as enticing…

After many beers, a few shots and a lot of singing with a Venezuelan lady called Christina (whose husband, Vinny, was not looking too impressed with the wookie moves being made by our hero), midnight rolled around.

The barman politely asked Wook whether he’d like a cab back to his motel, but there was no going back for the shaggy sot! He demanded another beer, a vodka and a bowl of nuts.



This is where the story begins to get a little hazy...

In the police report, the barman told the officers that Wook had finally staggered out of the bar at around 3am. He had refused the offer of a taxi, vociferously slurring “I’m English, God damn it! I could find my way home in my sleep!”

As he weaved out of the doors, he had apparently lit a Marlboro, put his sunglasses on and lurched off down the street singing Radiohead’s Creep at the top of his voice.



To be continued…

WookieO

vCP of the eUK



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