Strange memory

I once spent a drunken evening at uni being told, by a pot-smoking German philosophy student, what each of my past lives were and how they have influenced me in this existence. 
Uni, huh?
His name was Gustav, I think. I remember him using that name but I’m not completely sure whether it was his real name or whether it was the alias he used when he was pretending to look into peoples pasts. Either way, he had an annoyingly full beard for a 19-year-old and stank permanently of a mixture of cannabis resin and Persil. He told me, from beneath a flat cap and from behind a cloud of Joss stick smoke, that I had been a beekeeper in a Saxon village, an anchoress in Medieval Lincoln, and a Victorian chambermaid, who may or may not have been raped by a blacksmith. All very serious stuff that made me laugh my drunken tits off, but he was rather insistent that he was correct and by four o’clock in the morning I was starting to be convinced. 
I’m not sure how any of his information may have helped or hindered me since, but I saw someone at work today who looked like him and it brought this memory flooding back so I thought I’d share it with you. It made me smile on an otherwise tedious day so hopefully it’s done the same for you.  
I don’t know where he ended up. Probably dead by now, or possibly working as a forecaster for the news channels that covered the Election.

RC 13-6-17