Friday, November 2, 2012
Man, I don't feel like being here today! I am still hungover, I'm hot and bothered, and I have a sudden urge to jump in my car and fuck off to some desolate part of the country on a road trip. Ok, maybe not too desolate. I think a few days wine tasting could be in order...
As it is, I'll probably end up spending most of my weekend cleaning my house. That is if I can squeeze enough time between football, running, dinner with Rose Thorn and Commander Conker, guitar seminar, band rehearsal and watching Son Of A Naartjie. And braaing. In the despairing words of Morrissey "Etcetera..."
The important thing, though, is to remain hydrated on these warm days. Global warming se ma. I think the weather is being controlled by the SAB and the people who make those 'Slet Sappies', as the Hot Girlfriend calls them. Brilliant. Luckily most of the above mentioned activities can be done whilst taking the necessary precautions against dehydration. Although jogging with a beer, even if it is cleverly disguised in a water bottle, is probably defeating the purpose.
And speaking of lots of fun activities and drinking, Tarty Farty Tequila Party and I are off on a "grand adventure" soon. We propose to camp at 3 different resorts on 3 consecutive nights. I do all the hard work like setting up tents and braaing, whilst she swans about and acts wistful in a summer dress, taking the occasional note or photograph. One of these resorts is the one we went to all my childhood for family holidays. I intend walking through the entire place (which is huge) and recounting all the stories to the poor Tarty of all the mischief we got up to for the better part of 2 decades. I will probably embellish - as I'm prone to do - nothing should get in the way of a good story or skewed sensationalism! I will tell her of all the times I got rat-arse drunk as an underage party animal, of all the naughty deeds and of course of all the young ladies I managed to seduce with my lily-white, concave chest and shrill falsetto. Not to mention my roguish sidepath and the purple paisley button shirt...
I do however, fear the trip to the cherry-picking farm. It is my experience that being stuck in a car after eating your fill of cherries leads to an experience that can be closely linked to Tarty's full moniker. I don't know who should be more scared...
Another fun thing that's happening this weekend - but will have to forge ahead without my esteemed presence unfortunately - is The Summer Seance. Unlike Rose Thorn's maypole affair, which is going to involve a large phallic object with ribbons tied to it and genuine, actual fornication, this is a gathering of musos and bands from vastly different backgrounds - a celebration of variety and a coming together of styles, genres and people. Sounds like a fucking good idea to me. Something for everyone and some welcome cross pollination in a music scene too often backed into its own dark corners and lacking the vision to expand its horizons, mainly because it has its collective head up its arse and vision is a little blurry.
Anyway, whatever you get up to this weekend. Be safe. Be silly. Be sober if you need to drive.
NGDG: Sure, they'll park their cars under the sign that says 'No Parking', but they won't break the 15km/h limit and hopefully hit the brat kid with his football.
Spread The Love. It'll Save You.