Travels in a Tin Can

number of islands in need of names. Very hard to find, we nevertheless
persevered, as the pub had been recommend by our (almost) trusty
guidebook after all. Plus, we really had few other options for dinner. The
crowds that greeted us when we did reach the No-Name were ample
evidence of this fact, so we elected to eat at the bar rather than wait for a
table. A near fatal error...
We ordered pizza, delicious, what we did not order was crazy man, but
apparently he was complimentary...better than a side salad I suppose. At first
Gerald Hepworthy was just a bloke who sat next to us, but then we
discovered two things. First, he was named after a bar in a bacon culture (at
least this is what Emma heard∗). Second, and more scarily, he was Canadian!
Bless him though he seemed harmless, and lonely, so we let him strike up
conversation and sat back to watch where it would go. And it went something
like this: religion; sex; politics; hypnotism. So much for small talk along the
lines of 'lovely weather we are having' or ‘so you guys are Australian?' or even
‘So, Princess Diana, what is really going on there?’ Instead he asked us
questions including ‘You’re both literate right?’ He also talked about drugs so
much that we though he was a dealer, a suggestion strongly denied - well you
would, wouldn’t you?
The highlight of our interaction however was when a drunken woman
approached him. At first we thought she must be his girlfriend but soon
realized she would be that friendly to anyone meeting her need for cigarettes.
At least he blocked her from invading our space, and at the same time (very
seriously) tried to implant the suggestion that she stop smoking. By the end of
the night we decided he was gay, and was actually trying to pick me up, totally
 Actually ‘a bard in a pagan culture’...obvious really.