SHAM ROCK

So yesterday it was the turn of the leprechaun. A day celebrated for Saint Patrick getting rid of snakes or something. I bet Samuel L Jackson could have done with some of that on that plane. And the rest of the world takes it upon themselves to vajazzle themselves in green and pretend they looooove Guinness. In throngs. In hordes! Luckily, in Cape Town there are a grand total of 4 watering holes that have the black stuff on tap and they are FULL on St Paddy's Day.

Enter Tardy Fardy Tequila Pardy. A few swift keyboard strokes and a click later the event "Make mine a Guinness" became a reality on Faeceboobs, and therefore real life. After waiting patiently for the only parking bay in creation to become available as a family of revellers left the establishment, I was greeted by the one thing I had been dreading. I can queue at a bar. I can wait for my drink. I don't mind being jostled in bustling establishments. But walking towards the doors of O'Driscoll's and being exposed to the plaintive wailing of a 'Wedding Singer' style cover duo belting out U2 was almost too much to bear. I might add that I was certainly the only grumpy git in the place as everyone else seems still enthralled with the poor man's Bob Geldoff. The term "sham rock" was born. Damn cheesy wedding classics cover artists.
Anyway, my mood was instantly uplifted as soon as I had my grubby paws wrapped around the delicious dark beverage. The band continued their best to try my patience, but I was in that all too familiar (and comfortable) place where I secretly just stand and judge everyone around me and dismiss their horrifyingly unsophisticated music taste with a cheery grin. What is it about The Proclaimers that make evidently educated people lose their shit? There were a number of contenders for "I'm getting fired tomorrow"...

Nevertheless, it was a fantastically fun night out. Tina Sex, Slappy, The Succubus, Tardy Fardy, The Hot Girlfriend and I had a great time. I drew the line at singing along to the equivalent of "Who the fuck is Alice?!?!" as it paints one in a particularly uncomplimentary hue. The bloke with the tie around his head certainly didn't care. Guinness, truly an elixir of every sort. And FOR every sort.

Which reminds me, TDB and I invented a shooter which we dubbed a 'Leprechaun' back in our misspent youth. Equal measures creme de menthe (cause we're men's men), Jameson Irish Whisky and Sambuca Gold, drizzled in layers of descending viscosity and voila! It never really took off, but we liked the fact that our drink was actually served (or at least on the shooter menu) at Comic Strip. It was the only other reason we kept going back there...

Ah, memories...

NGDG: Jimmy Buffett, you owe us a fortnight's worth of Pina Coladas, bitch.

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