Trekking across London on a hang-over on a busy Saturday afternoon is both tiring and stressful. So much so that despite being hung-over I manage to re-discover my thirst by the time I get to the boozer. The bar lady serves up my pint and I scan the crowd for a familiar face. The pub is crammed with blokes - and the occasional lass - in Rugby jerseys. Ireland are playing England and the atmosphere is swirling with beer fumes and testosterone. Not the kind of place you would expect to find somewhere called the ‘Ewok Village’.

I check my phone inbox again and sure enough the message reads ‘We’re in the Ewok Village’. I try to call but no one picks up. Am I in the wrong pub I wonder? I walk outside and see that the pub that I’m in is called the Faltering Fullback. Ah – that explains the rugby. This is the correct pub but there is no obvious connection to The ‘Ewok Village’. It must be a colloquialism; a secret code known only to a select few.

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In situations like this I’ve often made the wrong decision. To ensure this doesn’t happen again I focus hard on the woman across the road waving at me and search my mental ‘facebook’ for a potential match. The search comes back negative which introduces uncertainty into my immediate future.

Time for a quick risk assessment:

If I wave back there is a chance I’ve missed the intended recipient standing behind me and once I’ve clocked on that I’m dangling my digits in the air like a buffoon I’ll have turn the wave into a one armed stretch or invent my own wave’ey.

The latter approach requires commitment and to carry the act through until I’m sure I’ve convinced everyone around me. This can lead to an exhausting routine of mouthing a pretend conversation, making an excuse that I really don’t have time for a stop n chat, that we should call more often and I hope their knee operation went well and they are playing league tennis again.

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