But after a brief well deserved mope, he got back into the swing of things and by all accounts spent a rewarding year kicking back in the likes of Belize and Guatemala, teaching in a crazy school and experiencing one of those twists of fate which led to him being reunited with a former beloved (no, a different one), that of his American sweetheart from his time as Great American-College-Boy Bear. And now he’s back and penniless in Crap Town. If you know Crap Town, enough said. If you don’t… Hmmm. Let’s just say it’s quite like Central America, but smells more like damp gym socks than coffee. *
The Great Bear’s house had been the trusty party-house through the sixth form years, and its return as a venue was most welcome, and by and large the same old faces were there, engaging in the same old behaviour. True to form, after a promising start to my partying, I managed to spectacularly crash and burn.
"It’s because I hardly slept last night," a whiny voice in my head reasoned.
"It’s because you drank too much too quick you moron," my sterner voice berated me.
---------- The Otter, The Me, The Bear
I had managed to collar The Great Bear ahead of my impressive slur-sway-collapse party trick, and bent his ear about the American situation.
"The Rocky Mountains to Crap Town; it’s a hefty distance. Are you not a bit apprehensive about whether this thing can work?" I devil’s advocated.
"Well, of course. But the most important thing is that somehow I’ve got another chance at something special, and these things don’t come up too often in life," he told me. "Yes it’s improbable. Yes it’s going to be difficult. But the priority is how I feel about her, and the rest are just minor hurdles in comparison. It’s more important to give it a go regardless of the risks, than to give up for no other reason than because it wouldn’t be the easiest relationship out there."
Hmmm. Wise words I thought. The Great Bear is right. Being a pragmatist and being a realist don’t have to be the same things. Something that’s not straightforward isn’t the same thing as something that’s impossible. Good on him.
Shortly after the deep and meaningful, there is a distinct lack in black box material, up until 9am and a wretched hangover. My journey from underneath The Great Bear's bed – where I awoke – to the kitchen could best be described as a one man waltz. More realistically described as a still-drunk-stagger, but nevermind. In the kitchen, I encountered The Otter, having a brew.
"Suspect I may have been a little tipsy last night," I coyfully confided.
"Yes," He said pensively.
"?" I asked.
"I was trying to talk to you about important stuff," The Otter spake, "girl stuff."
"Oh yes? Was I particularly insightful?"
"You began snoring."
I rose to leave, but The Otter barked an order for me to remain where I was.
"Sit down, and drink coffee. If you try driving in that state, I'll shop you myself."
Good old Otter.
*Crap Town Tourist Board - feel free to adopt that slogan. It's on me.