Monday, November 17, 2008
A hangover (veisalgia) describes the sum of my wonderfully unpleasant physiological effects following another exceptionally heavy consumption of alcoholic beverages on Saturday.
Friday was a non-event because I was hanging from Thursday’s binge, although our boss did feel the need to run his own “amazing race” event, which had me driving around Dirtbin, looking for stupid fucking clues, whilst Charro (my good colleague) was reading the wrong clues, thus chasing the wrong clues, fucken ‘ell it was the last thing I really wanted to do on a Friday arvo…really, did the boss not stop to think and consider how sacred a Friday is, if you want to bond with your employees do it during your time, like Monday through to Friday 8am-5pm, not 5pm Friday…fuckitfuckitfuckit fuckwit!
After which the couch attacked me, and kept me hostage the rest of Friday eve, whilst Harrison Ford lumped his old ass looking for a crystal skull, what a lame movie.
Due to me hanging out Shia Lebouf and Harrison Ford on Friday night I was amped for a shit off early start on Sat, so I dragged Pharo out of bed at 5:30, and we sped to the beach. Red joined us for Breaky on top of Durban Surf Lifesaving club and we chin wagged about general nonsense, then a random dude just joined our table, its that kinda restaurant locals and all that where everyone knows everyone and tables are joined or taken over, and its cool, but this dude asked if he could sit on the end of our table and drink a coffee, no worries dude go right ahead, just don’t fucken take over our conversation you opinionated ass. Hate that…this weekend wasn’t going in the right direction…then…
Red invited me to a pool party, I went I fell in love, this was real love, the love that only happens once in a lifetime, her name was Peace, and she was beautiful, I thought about running away with her, I asked her if I could, she said no, I almost cried, Hold on, I did cry. She was only R5k a month, beautifully shabby and on the beach, I mean on the beach.
Peace cottage is the most beautiful beach cottage that some mates rent from an old money family, they have decked the place out with the bare essentials of beach living, surf ski’s, surf boards , dive equipment, half a drum for a braai, outside bar, inflatable pool, and an garden of milkwood trees that lead onto a private beach. Well I settled in for the day, drinking, eating watching CRAP rugby, and getting more drunk – I was lord of the bar, and once the John Deers started flowing I was tickets. The blurr set in after we hit Hops & Barley, some dude try to smooch Pharo, I lunged at him in slow motion, with a growl that echoed in my head. I ended up buying him a beer and by the end of the evening (at Harveyz)I think he was my brother for life, the kind of “brother from another mother” kind of drunken murmurings. I danced the four feet monkey shuffle showing the young ones how to throw some tail…oh and i kept asking this mean looking dude to slap me, cause I needed to get slapped sober. agghhh, why?
To my detriment (damn), the world did not end during the night, and I had to deal with my hangover (again) on Sunday, I chilled hard, so hard that I am still dealing with it now…
Sovember here I come, from now till the end.