Once. Long ago, we went out to the Vaal for a spot of weekend fun. The towns name was Deneysville and it was as epic as the name suggests!
Our friend Si (now married to Lottie who was among the revellers that weekend) had invited us on this adventure, and as he and Wes had just acquired drivers licences we looked forward to our maiden road trip more than words could explain. In fact I remember my mother lovingly-if a touch suspiciously-asking me why I was looking forward to that weekend so much. I think I answered with some unconvincing spiel about water sports and needing a break before matric finals.
We undertook the hour long journey with the greatest gusto and indeed glee! I'd be lying if I said anything interesting happened on the actual trip, but I remember being in the back of Wes' red Citi golf, better known as Chippo thinking "woah, how good is life right now?!"
We arrived in Deneysville and the first order of business was finding a bottle store, I seem to recall it being a Sunday. I think everything was closed when we drove through the sleepy, one road town, save for two places. One, a biker type pub, and two, a video store with a pizza "ristorante" attached to it. Anyway, upon arriving at the biker pub, we all decided it looked likely to be housing both former and current members of the Vlakplaas military command unit. With that in mind all the males in the car chickened out of going, and instead sent Qwemba to go and do the "reccie". Very classy, not to mention gentlemanly of us. My memory is sketchy on just why we didn't choose that as our desired hang out. It may have to do with the afore mentioned crowd. Off we went to the pizza place. The only other place open. There we discovered a veritable smorgasbord of alcoholic delights to choose from. We took all the cider they had, and a couple of beers to boot.
We had a fantastic night of drinking games and smack talk. One moment nobody seems to forget is when Hardbody and I had a misunderstanding about the braai master situation. Hardbody as the name suggests is your ubiquitous uber male, beer and tongs ever near by. I happened to be playing with the braai tongs when somebody suggested I do less playing and more turning of the meat as it was burning. I made it clear that I was in no way involved in the braaing and was simply entertaining myself. I don't think Hard appreciated that.
Post braai, we retired in to the house owing to the dropping mercury and forged ahead with our drinking games. Quite out of the blue an almighty argument regarding the difference between a Meercat, and a Mongoose erupted. I say this with the greatest respect, but, what in the actual..?! Till this day I do not understand the significance of that particular argument. I think the dispute was settled by game ranger Duncan's insistence that he knew what he was talking about, while everybody else was merely taking a stab in the proverbial dark.
The following morning was characterized by heavy heads and raspy voices. The house was an absolute mess and it seemed we'd used every kitchen utensil ever created in the history of man. We got on with the business of making the house livable again, and all agreed that we would never partake in alcohol. It wasn't long after we'd finished cleaning the house-or uttering the words-that we began to renege on the promise to give up the bottle. I remember somebody exclaiming that their first beer was "going down with hooks chine, hooks!" While somebody else wondered out loud what business we had imbibing the nectar of the Gods when we'd all been so clear we'd never do it again.
Our afternoon chill out session ended up getting quite rowdy. It was in the early evening, stripped of all inhibitions where a game of "one-two-three block" was proposed. All the protagonists were in favour of such a such a movement and what ensued was probably the funnest hour or two of my life. An infamous anecdote from that game was the collision between Ebz and Charlie Mac. It goes, that right in the thick of the game, with everything to play for, Charlie emerged from one end of the house, with the sole intention of reaching the bench where he could block himself. The then six foot, seventy odd kilo frame of first team rower Charlie was in full flight when Ebz emerged from the opposite direction also moving at full tilt. Ebz stood at a slight five foot four inches (at most) and wouldn't have weighed much more than a feather. What followed might be described as a Lomu-Catt incident. There was dust kicked up, and general mayhem upon collision. There may have even been a squeal or two. I assume that emanated from Ebz, but you never know with these rowers. Anyhow, never being one to miss an opportunity, I remained calm, and duly blocked myself. I'm told this was callous as poor Ebz could have been on her deathbed. She wasn't! However, she's never let me forget the incident, and often wonders aloud what kind of friend I am. The answer is simple. The kind who didn't want to be blocked...
The end of the night came when some amongst decided to check what would happen if we jumped off the second floor of the house. This thrill seeking behaviour though not uncommon was particularly stupid! It was not actually exhilarating and looking back at it, I still wonder why any one would deem that an acceptable course of action? Youth really is wasted on the young.
The final morning was not particularly fun. Again the house was in a state. This time though, there would be no post house work chill as we would instead have to undertake the onerous trip back to the city. Nobody was best pleased. All good things must come to an end as the English language tells us. I must say, as far as good things go, that remains one of the best.
