I’m actually writing this the day before Star Wars Day because I know how I’ll be celebrating less than 24 hours from now.

I won’t be having a light sabre battle, nor will I be attempting to make a floating rock balance on top of a static rock whilst doing a handstand.

I won’t be tricking Stormtroopers into thinking that we can move along when we’re blatantly harbouring the droids they’re looking for, and I won’t be flying my Millennium Falcon into a massive asteroid-dwelling worm’s mouth.

I won’t even be torching someone’s auntie and uncle.

Instead I’ll be in the pub, drinking various libations. You may well ask how this celebrates Star Wars Day, to which I refer you to the well-known Mos Eisley Cantina scene, where Han shoots wotzizface… Greedo, the green weirdo – whilst onlookers sit there being all multi-genus.

That’s where I’d be if we had access to interstellar transportation, lackey robots, infinite knowledge, and a city that sprawls over an entire planet – down the pub, surrounded by unrealistic looking patrons, drinking a pint whilst listening to musicians with heads like lightbulbs play something that you could dance the Charleston to.

Although I may go round telling people that I’m their father. That could prove fun.




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