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What the heck?
It's unorthodox enough having a Skype pal who lives in Europe, but now I have managed to find another one. Or rather, one managed to find me after years of not seeing him.
How about that.

This one lives in Durban.
We're not Skyping, but he's a dude that I am in sudden communication with, and have been out with a few times.
And, again: he's a china that doesn't live in my city.

I mean hell. Durban is next door compared to Belgium.
Durban is practically Joburg South in mere comparison.

I could walk to Durban and maybe manage to not die. But I'd surely be mauled to death by desert goats and tribal cannibals on the way to Europe.

How ridiculous.
I suppose it's like having a special friendship with two men. Where there is a sexual something or other. Where they live far away.
I suppose that's exactly what it is.

One thing that's quite funny, is that the Brelgian Waffle says 'ja' sometimes these days. I even witnessed a 'kiff' slip out.
Classic.

Right. Don't make me feel worse about this than I already do:

I fell off the fucking smoking wagon. I am the 1% that fucking failed.

I had a few cigarettes this weekend. I'm not sure why, I'm not sure even the fuck how – can we not discuss it please?
So many people manage to so the 'Just a few at a social bash' thing, so why the fuck can't I?
In reality, I can't do this. So am starting a new page today. Monday. None of this 'a smoke-here-and-there' bullshit.
I'm going to phone the emergency Allen Carr hotline number they gave me.

But this is still not up for discussion.

Of course, I went to about 8 braais this weekend, whereby one cigarette meant I'd make instant friends. Because that's what smokers do.
I met two amazing girls who immediately became my New Best Friends – an actress and a hotshot fashion designer.

Two independent lovely women who I just casually started chatting to at these garden functions – unmarried, unpretentious, unshallow, unbovvered.

However, one braai this weekend a little picture perfect: did I stumble into a Sta-Soft ad ow what. Cover me in Tuscan architecture and call me Stunninghill.
Engagement ring talk, baby talk, finance talk – and all in bright shiny clothes with lurid smiles.

Went to join Dove and company at a pretentious little restaurnty hole. She informed me that this new laugh I have adopted – don't know how the fuck this happened either – isn't in fact fetching and adorable. In fact, apparently it looks and sounds like Jack Nicholson in The Shining..

I can't help it, my laugh is ingrained in me and it's scaring people shitless.

Dove: Oh my God. Don't do that.
Peas: [finishes laughing] Do what?

Dove: That laugh china. You look like Jack Nicolson in The Shining.

Peas: No I don't.

Dove: It looks like you're about to vomit on the table.

Peas: Well you were laughing like an orangutan right now.

Dove: [face drops] Fuck you, that's my normal laugh.

Dove came home with me, we quaffed more pinotage, talked more shit and both passed out at 3:30am.
Was nice to wake up to a friend in the house again. I miss that still sometimes.