A gawunderwagen. A ga-voender-var-gen. That’s the vehicle we travelled in going down to Natal. I thought at one point we were fully going to take off: the thing had a completely operational sliding drinks trolley and reading lights on the ceiling. L and I got hammered from squeezy bottles of vodka in the backseat.
There’s something rather pertinent about the little town of Hilton that one forgets easily. The place is shrouded in mist, like, all the time. And it is so searingly green, full of thorny hedges and flowers and shit, it’s really like a little piece of frigging Ascot. Lovely place for a holiday, although does get depressing when you live there for penultimate sections of time. Or like when you’re at boarding school there, and you crap your doondies everytime you have to walk up to the dininghall for breakfast because you can’t see shit in front of you, except scraggly cloud-encased trees that look uncannily like Freddy Krueger in Nightmare on Elm Street.. Ah. The memories mist can drag from the recesses of one’s brain. Random.
So, the weekend was fun. I feel slightly less broken than I was last week. Which still means I am exhausted over everything that commands any involuntary attention. However.
We all walked around my school, and I noted with shock horror that the bloody, but very necessary forest at the aft end of the property had been cut down. This is pants all by itself. That forest was a place of comfort, where naughty girls could go down and smoke, grab their boyfriends, grope ass, that sort of thing. Fuck that! I was most upset, and phoned C from the balcony of our old boarding house to bitch. And then dry humped a school statue in protest. Not that anybody saw, sadly, except for a couple of construction workers busying themselves on scaffolding for the new chapel.
Dinner From Hell.
OK not quite sure how we got ourselves – ourselves being, well, me, actually – but after a glorious day spent swimming in Durban, perusing my school, doing cool stuff, we found ourselves – sober mind you, which makes this so much worse – at a dinner. Where the hostess of the house took an almost immediate disliking to my face.
Let me explain.
Arrive. Have a glass of wine. Have slight altercation with Guy I’m Sort Of Kind Of Sort Of Seeing about something stupid, and while I’m in the whizzer taking a slash, I hear her telling Guy Seeing Sort Of Kind Of to tell me to ‘Stuff Off.’ Really loudly. Perhaps she was hammered. I was quite, no, extremely put out. How rude!
It did not end there.
The bitch was out to destroy me.
Moogs – bless him for bringing up stuff at inappropriate moments – tells this lady about my blog around the dinner table.
Please don’t. Oh God. Please. I tried, visibly seething, just to eat my spag bol flying under a radar so low, I hoped I would simply disintegrate.
Lady Who Hates Peas For No Particular Reason: This whole bloggy business is just pathetic.
Peas: I like it.
Moogs: She’s good, you know.
Lady Hates Peas: Whatever. How bored must people be to read about your stupid little life?
Peas: [now steam flowing from ears in steady bursts] Well it’s helluva more interesting than yours.
Moogs: Um, ok…time to go.
The only thing that kept me going throughout the dinner was imagining Moogs' blind man impression at the Sun Coast Casino in Durban. Waving around with a flailing stick, dark glasses, walking into shit and pretending to be loco on top of that, screaming "hey you steakie" to local passersby.
The next day, in giggles, L and I had a good laugh about the Woman Who Hated Peas On Impact over breakfast. The boys were riding that Amashovashova Cycle Race, and she walked in and told us best we get into her car that instant if we wanted to see them finish in Durban, or else.
“I think that woman has the hell in with you,” said the owner of the B & B.
L: You have no idea.
Peas: She wanted to kill me last night mate. And I’m still unsure why.
Another nice day in Durban, eating pancakes, swimming, watching the dudes all come in from their cycle. The weekend was lank chilled, barring travelling around in a vehicle that looks exactly the part for a cash-in-transit heist. And doing donuts in this thing outside the casino. And Moogs and R getting undressed on the beach, their white asses bearing no doondies. And not getting pissed once except for the squeezy bottle scenario on the way down.
It was a nice weekend, nice beds too.
Back to work. And day to day. Crap. Not in a coma, but sitting on the edge of one.