May the 4th be with you

Last night saw me stone cold sober in a pub in Winch surrounded by a selection of very authentic looking pirates, a man dressed as a palm tree (complete with monkey on his back) and a fella decked out like a voodoo witch doctor in a little black mini skirt (who would be hot if he removed the makeup and bone through his nose!) singing along to a Sesame Street / Fraggle Rock / You remind me of the Babe medley played by Jack Sparrow and a chap that looked like Smee from Hook. And no, I hadn’t taken any pills either!

It was a totally random night. The witch doctor kindly let us join in his discussion about girls boobies that just do not live up to expectations when the bra comes off and Bells and the boys rocked their set. It being Chewie’s local (he of the grabby hands and inappropriate texts) I did think he’d put in an appearance but was quite glad when he text to say that he was spending time with his old dear, although a bit of a flirt never hurt! There was an awful lot of alternative talent on offer however and I do actually think that this pub has some sort of force field around it that draws tall, good looking men to it like moths to a flame.

Someone I went to school with would have used the phrase “wall to wall totty” and he’d have been right about this place! In particular there were two incredibly handsome, massively tall (and yes I know I am tall but they were crick of the neck tall) men who I engaged in some smiling with across the bar but was too chickenshit to go and talk to! And therein lies the rub – having previously blamed my lack of confidence on the fat and convinced myself that once the fat was gone I’d morph into someone super confident in all situations it was almost nice to realise that there are those times when I will still be a big old chickenshit. It’s as if I’m learning about who I am instead of previously getting hung up on what I was, which was fat.


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