Monday, July 13, 2009
my dog likes beer & other weekend pick me ups
Friday evening I felt like I was lost in a [particularly shonky] episode of Seinfeld.
And I wasn’t Jerry, I was George.
Like most Seinfeld episodes, it was laughable and slightly ridiculous, at the cost of being seriously awkward.
My local pub is more local than I realised.
Not an ideal way to end off the week over a few bevvies, but not completely disastrous or terrible either, just more uncomfortable than one would usually choose. For everyone concerned. The good lesson here is that we all can behave like adults if we try. Isn’t that nice to know?
Even if it means I did drink two glasses of rouge in very quick succession and focus on whoreganising a recent and upcoming trip a group of us are going to do in August.
I cannot believe it’s been 3.5 years since I was in Mozambique. Out of all the places I’ve seen, Mozambique is still one of my favourite chill spots on the planet.
For one, it’s accessible. We’re gonna fly straight to Vilankulos. No fucking about. I don’t need a visa - fuck yes!- and it’s not 10 hours away. (And with my passport pages currently running out 2 years before it expires, I have to choose locations carefully visa-wise).
Most of us going are in search of five fundamental objectives:
1) Sun. Winter is a load of old pony, it must get bent and do one.
2) Postcards. White sand, blue waters.
3) DeusM. And fresh crayfish.
4) Chill out time. And a good time.
5) Feel what it's like to walk around in almost nothing again.
Plus one can’t scoff at the Bazaruto archipelago. Even if one of my mates once did an…oh god…aqua turd out there near Benguerra one time.
Truth is, a long weekend away in Northern Mozambique is what the uDokothela ordered.
‘Peas, Ombre [my staffie] got lost yesterday. But don’t worry we found him.’
Peas: Dad. What, how do you lose him?
Dad: Don’t worry he headed straight to the pub.
Peas: He went to the pub.
Dad: Yeah. He arrived and basically stayed there the whole day, talking to customers and knocking glasses of beer off tables with his tail, and then they had to chuck him out at closing time.
Peas: This is the dog we’re talking about.
Dad: They dropped him off back home, and he was very happy it seemed. If not slightly confused.
Peas: Well he is completely deaf, poor little baby.
Dad: He’s old, but they know him there at the pub.
Peas: I don’t know whether that’s funny or worrisome.
Sunday I spent brunching with my family – half of them German and hilarious, at least the non-blood step-relatives.
There’s something about having an extended family that screams ‘Genau! Schtimt, ja, vergessen das umlaut, und tschuss? ’ to each other while braaing steaks on a Weber outside.
And then DVD Sunday with my new mate. Chilling in his garden, talking shit and then kicking back to Southpark.
Great weekend but realised with a start: I think my dog may have more of a life than I do.