Saturday, September 11, 2010
cider with balls
My Brit is back - hoorah!
He bought me some awesome things over there, bless him, one of which was a bottle of Napa Valley wine. Simply sterling stuff indeed.
So we henceforth drank it and went out to celebrate.
I ended up getting hammered on man-cider. By mistake.
Thoroughly hilarious night, might I add. Except that I suddenly started teetering quite a bit before midnight and the Brit enquired which cider I had been drinking.
Aspall's. That's man-cider Peas. It's 7%. I'm surprised you can even stand right now.
Lately I've found myself saying 'yeah' all the time. 'Ja' is something of the past, I'm afraid. 'Ja,' something I'd attach to most sentences I spoke, is suddenly sounding very foreign when it comes out of my pie-hole.
As a result I told the Brit we needed to go to a Saffa pub. Not because I'm feeling homesick, or that I wanted to talk to other Saffas, but I just needed to hear our accent again. And take stock.
Bless, looking over his shoulder he obliged, and we went to Joe Cool's at Putney Bridge.
This was before I loaded myself up on man-cider, you understand.
The entrance was five quid, and it was drink all you want until 9pm. That already reminded me of home, pig's nights in particular. Saffas are good at getting people fucked. Let's be honest.
It was throbbing, filled with Saffas and possibly even more Ozzies. Antipodean to the rafters, we drank our freebies and left after I'd heard enough 'Ja's and 'bru's' and 'yussis hey's'.
The reality is I actually heard more Ozzie speak in there. And Joe Cool's is a classic Durban dive.
We then sort of bar hopped around Fulham and was genuinely happy my baby was back.
Then got fucked up on man-cider, got a cab home and we stumbled across the estate to my front door.
Or at least that's what the Brit told me, because it's a little hazy. It wasn't the plan, I was only meant to get drunk tonight.
Having a little party today for my (gulp! fuck!) 30th birthday next week, a handful of us are going to this bowling bar on Brick Lane. You bowl, drink cocktails and eat American diner food. All at the same time.
Thought it a novel plan, and suitable for a 30 year old. Grannies play bowls don't they.