the vodka gulags

I spent much of my weekend with a mate who is out from London. He really is too much fun, and always offers a quality dose of intellectual frippery.

Saturday we tried to find the ridiculously pretentious Sky Bar at one of the hotels in Sandton, but ended up instead at wrong hotel lobby, a sanitised version of a Sherton drinking hole, if you will.
Nevertheless my friend has lived in Russia before, and so we thought it would make life more interesting if he was the Russian order husband, and I’m the British chavvy wife.

The staff at the Hilton must’ve thought we were either mental and hadn’t taken our meds that morning, or we were fucked up on some crazeee Class A drugs.
We ripped the chicken apart. It was so much fucking fun.

The waitress milling about our table and the barman kind of dwindled around, handing us shots of ice cold vodka, I presume, to get a load of the crap we were talking.

Peas: How do you do, I'd like a pinah coladah please, and my, um, friend here would like a Russian Martini. He’s ver’far from home you see.

Russian: That is very nice, I like. It’s nice? Martini make for nice?

Peas: Yes darling, it’s very nice. Would you like to order anything else?

Russian: It’s nice yes I like. Bring me big cucumber. Bring me cucumber the size of elephant’s dick.

[pragmatic pause from waitress]

Russian: It’s for vodka, we eat cucumber yes? I marry this lady for British passport, I love British passport, it’s very nice.

Peas: Don’t you worry darlin’, Daddy works at a panelbeaters in East Acton and he pays three fifity an hour. You'll make loads of mates with the other Polish employees. They ALSO worked in steel factories. So you should have plenty in common.

Russian: I kill the Polish with my bare hands, I kill them with gun!

[waitress:‘Will that be all?’]

Russian: What is this ‘goeie more’ I am hearing? In Russian it is the meaning ‘You have face like dick’.

Peas: Now now relax, Sergey. It means good morning or some other bollocks. You know, if we have two babies in quick succession we get a free house.

Russian: I like free, I am free! I no live in Chernobyl, I live England! I like you for make my wife. I like for make the sex. We make the sex?

Peas: Sorry waitress? Can you guys rustle up some fish and chips for us over here?

Waitress: We don’t do Russian food like that.

Peas: That’s not fucking Russian mate.

Russian: You not like? I like. It’s nice you no tell her no fucking Russian, you are pain in my assholes.

[pause]

Russian: I like capitalist rock and roll. You like? You like Beatles? Did your grandmother get ravaged by bear?

And so it went. After copious cold vodka shots and enquiries after a cucumber the size of an elephant’s cock, we switched between actually being ourselves and this arcane pan-european couple.

I think the waitress got kind of pissed being told ‘Goeie More’ by a supposed fake Russian dude, who thought it meant ‘dick face’ the whole night.

After such a big weekend – not rah-rah–let’s-go-fucking insane-and-drink-three-bottles-of-Jaeger-and-show-our-private-parts-to-passing-strangers kind of weekend, just lots of late nights on vodka.
So I did what any self-respecting bitch would do yesterday – I had breakfast with and went shopping with The Ant.

We always go to our customary favourites together – The Space, Big Blue, Bogart. And bought some fuck off nice coat thingies for winter.

Who says winter’s drab? These bad boys are the Big O in cloth.

PS: A very very well done to the winners of the Blog Awards for this year! 2OceansVibe cleaned up by the looks of things – well deserved. I’m still honoured to just be a runners-up in some of the categories, so all those who voted, thanks so much. Well done to all the winners!