It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. It was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness.

Best? Who doesn’t love a weekend getaway to Byron Bay to write about food and wine and Scotch. Wise? Because I had finally discovered whisky and felt all mature and clever, sipping away like a grown-up. Foolish? Because I grossly misjudged its potency and after several glasses decided to shimmy the farmstay’s fence and ride their Llama.
I did.
So the Llamas were kind cute.
Bit smelly, but they let me pet them.
Apart from the Alpha Llama.
He was set on doing the riding.
He was territorial and aggressive ... and frisky.
I am not entirely sure what transpired in the following 90 seconds but there were numerous body blows and kidney punches inflicted by some gnarly hoofs and a fair degree of lamoid attempted rape, before I was rescued by the kindly farmer and his broom-wielding wife.
Fortunately my moleskin pants were heavy duty and resilient, and by the time I was rescued I was bitten, bruised but unsullied.
Later, with sobriety restored and only my bruised ego for company - the dinner party guests had departed in varying degrees of sympathy and mild confusion - I decided not to ride Llamas.
I imagine I will not be riding any alpacas either.