Wednesday, December 10, 2014
What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. I'd happily have stayed a while longer in Barrydale.
Alright, for the sake of my ever diminishing dignity, and your mind's eye, let us get the awkward euphemisms like "pitching our tents" out of the way first.
It was a balmy night...
After a little roadblock in Robertson, and a few educated guesses owing to poor directions, the Brother In Awe and I arrived at the farm where we were camping for the weekend - next to a damn - for Commander Conker's bachelor party. Some of the lads had gotten there quite a bit earlier and the spirits, as well as flowing, were already high. I know I was supposed to be done with the whole pitching the tent thing, but let me tell you, it ain't no picnic in the countryside with load shedding. There is a special kind of dark out there, and I wasn't close enough to the roaring braai fire. The first night was quite sedate, with only minor casualties and the drinking limited to "extreme".
You know how I'm always on about the Brakpan Boikies Boetilicious Braaimix? The one with Summer Of 69 and The Final Countdown on it? Well, one of the locals that was invited - let's call him 'Kaptein' - decided the best way to wake up an entire camp full of hangover guys was to blare, you guessed it, 'It's My Life' as if we were at a fucking T20 game at 9 in the morning. He very nearly was decapitated by a Jack Daniels bottle. After much sitting around, a cold shower, inspecting the massive pork spit roast that was already on the go, and some cat herding, it was off for brekkie at a nearby wine farm. Kak life, I know... Anyway, thinking I was too clever by half I decided to make use of their rather more pristine facilities. Sauntering into the bathroom, trying to attract the very minimum of attention, I fled like a detainee who just managed to escape Gitmo. After the inevitable guffaws subsided, I calmly explained that the loo was infested with little birds and that entry was not an option. Thankfully everyone's favourite knight in shining armour, TDB, was at hand to shoo the 4 foul beasts from the bathroom and shut all the windows and doors. Very bravely I once more entered only to find their nest above one of the cubicles. Farm life is not conducive to a pleasantly relaxing dump, lemme tell you! We had to make a quickish getaway anyway after Kaptein politely asked the farmer's wife if he could "daai wyn uit jou doos uit drink"...
Back at the camp we fished. Well, everyone else fished. I stood there, casting, reeling and cursing. Fishing is only relaxing if you're actually catching something. The frustration of failure quickly negates any meditative quality it is supposed to bestow on those participating. Time for the first drink of the day! And then off to one of the most picturesque slabs of real estate I've ever seen (on a winding mountain pass between Barrydale and Swellendam) where we indulged in a spot of jumping off rocks into brown water. Glorious. Once again returning to the camp, we were greeted with a call to lunch and were presented with an entire pig, spit roast to perfection! I thought my friend SaTim was going to pass out - he was actually hyperventilating from excitement.
Nothing like a spot of lawn cricket and some more standing by a dam with a stick in your hand, while everyone else catches fish, to relax you and get you in the mood for the evening's pub crawl...
Yes, the inevitable pub crawl. Going from one place to the next, taking over, being obnoxiously raucous, making new friends, contributing to the town's GDP to the extent that most inhabitants could take the rest of the year off, and generally having a blast. At one point we walked into some place and as soon as they found out it was a bachelors party, some patron ever so nonchalantly ordered 20 Jagermeisters for us. He wasn't the first to lavish rounds on us, although he was the most generous. And he wouldn't be the last. A few minutes later the poor bachelor was faced with what I can only describe as a Platteland Flaming Lamborghini. And after he failed to successfully dispatch of it, it was left to me to save his blushes. If only someone had told me that stuff in the middle was Stro Rum. After that I somehow volunteered to take his shots on his behalf and that's where things start getting a bit hazy. I do remember, after much more drinking back at the campfire, that my Brother In Awe passed out somewhere that wasn't his tent. Then after a lengthy process of elimination which involved a lot of muffled "fuck off"s we eventually got him to it. He refused so hard to enter that we left him and found him asleep in his car the next morning. There is also a mountain of photographic evidence of the bachelor eventually relenting to social expectations and performing his own striptease.
All in all, it was a fantastic weekend away and my sincere thanks to the best man Doctor Thrasher for organising such an awesome getaway.
Can't wait to see all you maatjienaaiers at the wedding...
NGDG: I'm convinced that showering by candlelight inspired many a Manowar album cover.
Spread The Love. Someone Bring Me A Damn Fish.