WEEKEND WOMBATS

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Yowzah! What a long weekend!

I shall spare you the mundane details of how I spent most of Thursday in bed hiding away from the unpleasant cold.

Friday I was picked up in sheer luxury and, with good ol metal pumping nice n loud, set off for our weekend away at the the Patat Festival in Napier. I love Napier. My friends and I have a long history of visiting there and it will always have a special place in my heart. Also, it has made an indelible mark on my liver.

First stop, Suntouched Inn for a quick pint of the good stuff, before taking on the 20km dirt road out to our delightfully quaint farm cottages. Well, I say quaint. They had DSTV and a braai big enough to do an entire ox in one sitting. And a pool. And indoor fireplaces. And free rusks.

We braaied, drank, laughed, talked kak and generally had a very chilled time. And by chilled I mean "occasionally flick the frost forming on your friends' eyelashes off before their eyes freeze over shut altogether". Fuck it was cold!

Next morning after what was possibly the most leisurely breakfast of all time, we headed back into town to go and check out the festival. The breakfast was in fact so leisurely, then we missed the float parade and the newly crowned Miss Patat (or whatever). Not too dented, we boldly strode into the complex where the booze was and naturally made a b-line for the Napier Bier Stall, where the wonderfully awesome proprietor greeted us with a free pint each! Festival off to good start.

After browsing the various stalls, which looked like they'd been airlifted in from the parking lot next to The Strand beach, we settled in to watch the live band and enjoy another pint. The band was having fantastic fun and were entertaining the gathered crowd royally, until they were informed that their time was up and they'd have to pack it in. Rather sulkily they pretended to start striking down, when they surprised everyone with an impromptu and very gleeful rendition of Bob Dylan's classic 'Everybody Must Get Stoned'...

Seeing as the entertainment was thus over we decided to skedaddle to the Suntouched Inn so long. We actually did see someone pack a stash of potatoes in their car boot and then a lengthy procession of "skoutrekkers", another festival feature we obviously missed.

Nights at the Suntouched Inn are always the same. Without fail I drink far too much, have an ever widening grin, start rabble rousing with the locals and am thoroughly entertained by the talent on show. We were treated to a show of folky harmonies by a band called The Hedges. Awesomely adept, these lads are on their way up - there's no doubt.

Twelve billion ales and an ass-load of tequila later it was time to take on the dirt road again. We even had enough energy after all that to have a few more drinks back at the homestead. By the time we'd woken up the next morning Tarty Farty and Ms Vivacious had already buggered off to learn the gentle art of making croissants. Have I mentioned how ridiculously cold it is out in the middle of nowhere? After a brief stop to get our Moerse Pies, we were off.

Anyway, back in town it was immediately off to the Father's Day celebrations and watching pictures of my parents' recent vacation.

Back to life, back to reality, back to work. Fuck.

NGDG: "Neal Goldwyer wants to wish everyone a marvellous day. No, my profile has not been hijacked."

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