Downhome Advice For Folks That Don’t Have A Home…
This Texan received an exceptionally long telegram from a fellow Texan, a Mr. Forest H. Crouch, from somewhere in London, England. It seems his wife got herself in trouble, and now he’s stuck and can’t get home.
Mr. Crouch: Mr. Texan, I’m in dire need of help here. I saw your ad in the back of a Penny Shopper paper at the train station. I’m stuck in London and can’t get back to Texas. I just want to go home to my Armadillo ranch. The wife, The Lovely Juanita, that’s what she insists I call her, even though she’s not Mexican, but has a dark complexion and thinks she’s really cute. Well, The Lovely Juniata and I took this trip for our 30th wedding anniversary. We had never been out of the US, so it was a cultural shock to us since we’ve lived just outside Luckenbach, Texas, all our lives and are the proprietors of the Luckenbach Armadillo, Watusi Cow, and Llama Ranch. We were eating at a nice Pub by Marble Arch Station, here in London, and I tell you, I was freezing my balls off because no one will turn the heat on in this city. My toes were like frozen Vienna sausages, and The Lovely Juanita was turning blue, even with her dark complexion and all. Even my Justin boots (manly footwear)couldn’t keep those frozen toes warm. Well, The Lovely Juanita orders some fish and chips, and I order a steak with gravy, since the menu said it was chicken fried like in Texas. The barmaid thought she was really cute and made some smartass remarks about us being from Texas. The Lovely Juanita takes a taste of her fish and spits it out and yells, “This crap tastes like bait, I want some Bass, or at least some Catfish nuggets, and then, thanks to four big glasses of warm beer, the missus jumps up and slugs her. Well, that started the fight, and two big old Limey boys get me down and are working on me pretty good. I couldn’t get up because there was this big Sheep Dog in the Pub, and he started chewing on my leg. Somewhere in the fray, I lost my Sony Walkman, which had all my favorite country music from Amarillo and Abilene on that cassette. The Lovely Juanita grabs a cheap acoustic guitar from the stage and starts beating them about their limey heads, yelling at me to “run, Forest run,”(which is my first name, folks back home call me Hondo), which I did. I run out of the pub just as the limey police come and arrest The Lovely Juniata for assault with a musical instrument, which I guess is a crime here in London. Hell, back in Luckenbach, we use guitars to bust folks’ heads all the time if they can’t play for shit. Just a month ago, I smacked some little Austin hippie dippy man bun wearing boy for butchering Jerry Jeff’s Mr. Bojangles. The bartender bought me a beer for that one. Well, The Lovely Juanita is locked up in a limey jail somewhere in London, and she has all the money in her Pioneer Woman purse, and the hotel key. Somewhere in the fight, I lost my billfold and my lower false teeth, I think the dog may have eaten them, and now I can’t get in my room, and can’t chew nothing. The Lovely Juniata is in the jailhouse now, and all I want to do is go home, be in a Texas bar, and tend to my Armadillos and Llamas back in Luckenbach. Can you help a pal out?
The Texan: Well, Hell, Hondo, I hope I can call you that, it sounds better than Forest. I’ve never been to England, but I have been to Oklahoma, and folks tell me it’s nice there. I’m leery of overseas travel, especially for Texans; it just ain’t safe these days. My cousin from Buda went to Paris, France, and was walking down the sidewalk when he tripped on a prayer rug and the moron kneeling on it, and broke his collarbone. Best to stay in the Hill Country. I contacted the London Police, and Prince Charles and they won’t release The Lovely Juanita until she pays for the cheap guitar, or replaces it. I’m sending the cops a new Fender guitar to take care of the fine, and you and The Lovely Juanita some cash to get home, and of course, a box of Cherry Bombs so you can throw a few into that crappy Pub. Let me know how it all turns out. I’ll be down your way in a few weeks and will stop by to say howdy.
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Notes From The Cactus Patch 
(1) So did the Brits lock up Juniata or Juanita?
(2) If a Fender guitar gets bent out of shape, is that a Fender bender?
(3) Mr. Crouch can’t wait to get back to his armadillos and llamas. But what about his Watusi cows? Let’s see him dance around the omission!
(4) Next time, they should go for dinner at a Bass Pro Shop. I’m pretty sure they have bass on the menu. And I suspect someone will play bass guitar while they eat.
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It was Juanita, damn AI crap spelllll checking. First, she used a Gibson, then a Fender. Watusi cows are very big in the Hill Country, even though they are a tiny cow, almost like a little horse. Bass Pro Shop doesn’t have fish on their menu, only bar food and bait.
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You’re a mighty nice and generous fella, Mr. Texan. I’ve been to Paris, Texas before and it was like a whole other country.
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I once had a cattle ranch in Paris, Texas, back in the 70s. All my cows were wine snobs and would only eat Brie on sea salt crackers. Back then, there weren’t any morons on prayer rugs on the sidewalks, only cowboys.
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Thanks for another well-written and entertaining story, using familiar names and song titles, Phil!!
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You are welcome, and glad you picked up on all the song influences.
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I’m more than a bit of a music nerd, Phil
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Well, that explains it then. Most of my readers don’t pick up on it, not even Momo and she knows me too well. You should visit Luckenbach Tx if you ever in the Hill Country, it’s a real place with a great general store and stage for live music. Jerry Jeff Walker recorded the live album Viva Terlingua there. Of course, dear old Hondo has since passed on, but he was the ultimate Texan, crusty and funny. I had he pleasure of talking to him for a while back in the day. Sort of a cross between Gabby Hayes and Will Rogers. Thanks for reading and writing, Terry and Hubs.
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My wife and I have walked the Camino de Santiago de Compostela twice, from St. Jean Pied de Port, France, to Santiago, Galicia, Spain. The first time was in 2016; that’s when we met (in Spain). The second time was in 2019, for our honeymoon, after we got hitched in Worcester, England. My wife’s British.
A lot of people have walked this path over the past 1,500 years, but we did it in our 70s. After completing the main route, we went even further to Finisterre and Muxia. A pilgrim encounters hundreds of other people along The Way: British, French, Germans, Spaniards, Norwegians, Russians, Chinese, Japanese, and Americans. When you meet someone, you naturally ask, “Where are you from?” The typical American answers, “The United States.” Texans answer differently: They say, “Texas.” Everyone in the world knows where that is.
I know many Texans. Some by birth, some by choice. I’ve never met a Texas whiner, though — well, except for a few folks from Houston, Dallas, Austin, and Beaumont. Almost everyone else in Texas has sand.
If Mr. Crouch wanted to go overseas, he could have driven into Reynosa for much less money and gotten into fights there for a lot fewer reasons, too. Plus, a Texan hasn’t been to jail until they’ve been to a Mexican jail.
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I should have mentioned that to him, after the fact, though. He would have been worse off in Mexico, kidnappings and all, as well as getting shot up by the Cartel boys. Yep, we Texans are a braggart lot of hot air. We don’t view Texas as part of the US; we’re a country of our own and proud of it. Austin aint part of Texas, only parts of Houston and Dallas are, and Fort Worth is 100 percent Texan, that’s where I hail from.
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Very inspirational travel writing! What is your favourite destination?
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Cut and Shoot Texas, southeast of Dallas. The name says it all and there is a darn good BBQ joint there.
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That’s awesome! Dallas is still on my bucket list! There is so much to write about. By the way you should check out the Travel Media Academy. We start a new semester of the Master Program of Travel Journalism the 7th of September. https://perutours.nl/academy/
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Sorry about your lower teeth, Forest, even if that part made me laugh out loud.
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Yeah, me too while I was writing it. My uncle’s dog, Mr. Pooch, did eat his false teeth, chewed them up real bad and then swallowed some of them. That’s where that came from.
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That crazy Mr Pooch! Did he need surgery after that or did nature take its course?
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My young cousin, Beverly, said she had never seen a large dog turd with teeth, and it scared her pretty good. She wouldn’t go around Mr. Pooch for a while.
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😁
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After reading your advice column, I have multiple songs earworming through my head and Forest Gump adding a voice-track of “My momma always said, life was like a box of chocolates.” That was nice of you to help Mr. Crouch and the lovely Juanita escape the cold grip of London so they can defrost in the fiery heat of Texas. 🙂
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Well, that’s a good thing, Nancy. London ain’t as warm as it used to be, or as friendly.
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Nancy, my son and his family were in Europe a few weeks back and visited London. He said it was hard to get around because of all the people kneeling on their prayer rugs on the sidewalks and streets. He actually tripped on one, and that’s where this little part of the story came from. I had a prayer rug when I was a kid, but the darn thing never allowed me to fly.
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Haha! 🤣
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Just listened to Luckenbach by Waylon Jennings! Fortunately, I didn’t trip on any rugs while in London last year. Another entertaining tale, Phil!😂
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Thank you. Luckenbach is the place to go if you want to get that Willie, Waylon and the boys vibe. I had the honor, back in the mid-70s to meet and visit with the late mayor of that village, Hondo Crouch. His daughter and family run a restaurant and live music venue in Fredricksburg called, of course, “Hondo’s.” Gotta watch out for those prayer rugs, they don’t budge and can cause a nasty fall. Thanks for reading and the reply. God Bless Texas and The Alamo.
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