It's amazing really. You get out of Joburg for one weekend, and you feel like a new person.
Poen's farm weekend involved us regular bunch – about 16 of us - doing what we usually do when in the mielie belt that is Viljoenskroon.
We get pissed, loll around the pool, eat lots of meat, smell cow shit, have sundowners in the peanut fields, and generally play the fool.
Had a lot of fun myself. My personal life has suddenly taken an interesting turn.
A couple of things that marked the weekend:
1) C2s story about this dude she went home with at varsity who, after whipping his kit off, revealed a pair of mustard-coloured tighdie-widies. With a hole in the front with a little run down the side. With a leering stare he said, “Hey baby, let's get it on.
I can't think of anything at this moment that would be more traumatising. I mean the Woolies 3-pack jock set is horrific enough as it is, but Autumn mustard? With a hole? I'd make a beeline for the door and never ever, ever, look back. As he went to the bathroom, she phoned a mate: “Pick me up now, please mustard coloured doondies, not coping.”
2) The car in front of us ran over a tiny kitten that was still alive. We stopped, and Ches had to break its neck to put it out of its misery. So actually, that was more traumatic than the vision of holey-mustard briefs.
3) Ches and I apparently did a little bit of our Hip Hop dance, but I can't remember. Video footage slightly-jogged the vague memory, in between Zulu dancing, shirtless men and a broken chandelier on the ceiling.
4) Stopped in Parys for breakfast on Saturday, and besides the shitloads of two-tone and people hooting in the streets because maybe Steve Hofmeyr had just released his latest album, it's a cute little town.
5) The smell of bovine by-product cannot be emphasised enough.
6) We made mojitos, which is especially fantastic, since that's what I'm going to be drinking in Buenos Aires in two weeks, and it's only fair I give my liver notice.
7) Reacquainted myself with the golf club that smacked me in the face during a party in first year. The guy who owns this particular golf club – called The Peas Driver – came on the weekend. This time the club didn't come into contact with my face, which is always nice.
The best thing was feeling yourself completely unwind. I didn't think too much about my book launch tomorrow (gasp nerves tomorrow), or work or anything.
Which is another reason why I love that Poen lives in the Free State.