No luck on the pharaoh front, but Roly did manage to find time to sample the delights of the local tourist traps.
His boozy, school disco dancing managed to impress at least one of the locals. Oh dear, Youssef, you don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.
"Look, a pyramid!"
Roland was not such a success at the adventuring lark.
Things were looking desperate; Roland had run out of the good stuff, and been forced to contemplate the sticky bottle of un-branded banana schnapps that lurks at the back of every bar cabinet.
Just as he was about to prise the top off and accept his fate, DING DING went his mailbox. Inside was a return ticket to Egypt and instructions to “Find the missing pharaoh,” whatever that meant.
So with a hop, skip and a loading screen, Roland Trask was off to Egypt.
Eventually, Roland felt perhaps he should see what the devil was going on in the rest of the archipelago, so he set off in his rusty boat, Mr Tin.
Turns out, absolutely naff all, so instead he went for an invigorating swim and tried not to think about how he’d survive once his whisky and ramen ran out.
Roland was slightly regretting his drunken, gun-ho attitude towards “essential” supplies. Still, at least Gladstone the Gnome would provide a bit of company.
Our groggy hero reached over to ring for Mrs Bartleby and a pot of restorative coffee. Except Roland wasn’t in his bedroom, and Mrs Bartleby and her stovetop were several hundred miles away.
Last night was lost in the pea-soup of his hangover. Let’s see, he was at the club… there was that chap, with that bottle of ‘89, and they’d been playing Rummy, or possibly Snakes and Ladders. He didn’t think he’d been winning, at any rate. Lovely vino though, went down a treat.
The new fellow, he’d been in possession of a briefcase, and a plane ticket. Rather keen to get rid of the ticket, actually, now Roland came to think about it. Started on about a secret society, and a bet, and an island and, oh blast.