Al & Marie-Claire’s Wedding

Al & Claire's Wedding 064 So we’re all trying to put ourselves together again from an awesome awesome weekend up North at Al & M-C’s wedding.  Ah, what fabulous beauty, and touching base and having a rocking time with the rocking people.

Tink and I fly up to Joburg on Thursday night, to spend some time with the Ooh-God.  We study maps.  Mostly.  Devising the best route to the farm.  And we may talk a little kak.  But just a little.

Friday: pick up Danelle from airport.  Get stuck in traffic up North to Pretoria.  Fun.  4 people who love being stuck in traffic.  Much verbal abuse later finally sees us hit the arse-end of Pretoria.  There are some hectic pockets of humanity out there, people.  And a lot live around Windfall/Watergate shopping centre.  I can’t remember the name properly.  My mind has blanked it out.  Shopping at the world’s worst inbred bottle store, fortune smiles and gives us a free case of beer that the inbred dumb-ass misses in our trolley.  Yes, she misses the case of beer in our trolley.  Oh well, makes up for the horrendous prices they charge up there.  Why do people always think Cape Town’s so expensive?

Arrive at farm.  Meet the ebullient Christine (AKA “Lefty”, though we never got to see the much promised bosom…).  And T – Al’s mom who makes my day by remembering time she met me – silver boots, fishnet stockings, and tiny shorts.  And that’s me, mind you.  Sigh.  Drop stuff in rooms and spend a while throwing a new-fangled frisbee thingy, drinking beer, standing on thorns, and waiting for everyone else to get there.  Beautiful farm – “Jimmy’s Place”.  Awesome thatch roof house, grass, patio…and lake with bilharzia.  We speculate who’s gonna end up in the lake first with bilharzia.  The smart money’s on Bunny.  We might still not be disappointed.

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Finally everyone’s there, and the legal part of the wedding happens.  Al does  a little dance.  I get the photo of the weekend.   Much happiness.  Much premature popping of champagne corks.  People start to realise how many photographers are there.  It’s the damn paparazzi, people!  Much earnest “camera talk” and comparisons…most of which sail over me head.  Awesome curry for dinner.  Al & M-C have been apprehensive about any pre-party partying.  The guests go right on ahead anyway.  Start to realise that, as with all weddings, people start fulfilling certain roles, or functions.  We’re definitely the lunatic fringe.  The hooligan element.  But hey – every party needs it.  Evening commences with dancing around in the little bar area.  One of the weekend’s seminal tunes gets on heavy rotation.  You know what I’m talking about.  “Wat pomp, julle?”  Bunny seems to take a liking to the zef rave-hip-hop crew from Cape Town.  We sense trouble…

Saturday: wake up to the first experience of Bunny’s shockingly unsexy underpants (er, we’re Al & Claire's Wedding 181sharing rooms, case you missed that).  Mild to severe hangovers permeate the room.  We consider acquiescing to the request to not drink before the ceremony.  We give in.  Of course.  Tequila and Jaegermeister for breakfast.  Champions indeed.   People start dolling up.  The ladies  look amazing.  They guys…well, pretty good too I guess.  If you like kilts (me and Bunny) or the Hilton Weiner country collection the Ooh-God is sporting.  Hands up who’s ever seen him in so much white?

Walk through the hot farmlands to the site with cans of coke and vodka.  (Did I mention hooligan?)  Bunny sees a windmill and comes up with the pun of the weekend – “Windpomp, julle!”  It’s gonna stick.  And be repeated.  A lot.

Reach the site, this awesome clearing where 2 rivers meet.  Circles drawn on the ground.  Symbolic and ritual elements in their place.  Some guests slightly nervy about what this ceremony  might entail.  I get “smudged” up my kilt.  Look it up if you don’t know.  And then they arrive.  Ahhhhh…how flippen awesome!

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One very beautiful and moving ceremony later, and we’re wiping tears, blowing snotty noses, hugging the newly wed, popping more champagne, and basically grooving in the style of love.

The afternoon proceeds with lunch, speeches (where Bunny makes a great one, and nearly earns forgiveness for his undies), more grooving, Tom sings beautifully and we’re all crying again, loads of photos, a split forearm fighting with the Ooh-God with bamboo canes, and the sun slowly descends on much happiness and expectation.

Night favours us with her charms.  A kick-ass electrical storm breaks out over the lake.  Some of us do the wild hooligan thing and invoke the storm gods.  Bunny loses his shirt in the lake…and hence we suspect that bilharzia.  Party starts winding up.  Music turns up.  Drinks flow.  Dance floor gets going somewhat.  And.  Then. It. Starts. To. Rain.  Now you know me, I’m not really one for that 3 day music festival lose your mind on a plain somewhere just out of town.  But this communal fever just infects the wedding party and for the best part of 2 hours, people are literally going off in the pouring rain.  It’s a beeg wet dripping heave of love and feeling.  Incredibly mind-spankingly beautiful.

Much later we start realising it’s pretty flippen wet and getting slightly cold, and besides the rain is now bucketing down.  I nearly manage to bash the back of my head in slipping on the stone floor.  Things get hazy.  Things get crazy (I’m sure).  Someone brings out a fire extinguisher and…er…we create a little atmosphere.  There’s nearly a fight.  Of course.  Between the photographers.  Of course.  Time disappears and mu-u-u-u-uch later the thumping house beat that has found its way onto the sound system eventually drags some people reluctantly to bed.  Or somewhere else for a while.

Sunday: a damp, yet smiling version of self.  We’re treated to the second day of unsexy rods. But no matter.  In the warm heyday glow of post-wedding sunshine we can take it.  Groove on those vibes.  Beer and tequila for breakfast, cos nothing else gonna cut it.  Lark around by the lakeside.  Talk a lot of kak.  Hangovers start lifting and a vague feeling of humanity returns.  Feel kinda crap about the fire extinguisher.  Fess up to Bruce, and it seems OK.  Even though he moves a little bit away from us.  People start leaving.  We drink to keep that feeling of sadness for the end of it all at bay.  We sorta succeed.  Goodbyes, good wishes, thank Danelle for being designated driver, roar surprisingly easily through traffic en route to O.R. Tambo.  Pass Tom and Bunny and Bron and Cath and hurl as much highway verbal abuse as we can to (a) give the wedding hooliganism one last stomping, and (b) ‘cos Tom doesn’t have to work Monday – the bastid!  The Keg is witness to our post-wedding-pre-real life-comedown last stand.  We give it horns before finally our flight is called.  And finally, late Sunday, limp back home to Cape Town, only a few mere hours before work.  It’s hot and heavy and our minds are full and our hearts are full and we collapse as best we can wherever we can.

Al & Claire – you guys rock!  What a sublime sublime experience.  Thank you for sharing it with us, and may your lives together be even more so sublime.  It was enormously gorgeous and beautiful.

Beeg beeg hoolie-love from Slaapstad…



I’m really bummed abut this one – I can’t vote.  It’s true.  I’m registered, and up to date, and…OK OK, who am I kidding – is there really anyone proper to vote for?!?!?…but anyone and everyone should just make their mark against what is a crushing and onerous probability of the ANC and JZ in power.  Fucken hell.  America has only just come out of the worst political period in their history (and there’ve been some awesome fuck ups there) – are we just about to start ours?  Unfortunately so, it seems.  Sigh.  So vote.  Vote vote vote!

So here’s a shout out to something that got canned before it even made the SABC…Z-News, featuring the satirical talents of Zapiro and the cream of the crazy amazing Cape Town puppet community…check it…

I’m not saying I support old Thabo.  It’s just a wistfulness for pre-JZ.  Ah bien, those were the days…

Oh, and the reason I can’t vote?  I’m out of the country.  Hang on, you cry – an important court case was won allowing travellers to vote in their respective countries.  True, but it was never gong to be that easy.  So I fall between the cracks of beurocracy (urgh) and miss by a day or 2 eligibility that side (Argentina) or this side (SA).  Bastards.

All Sorted!

Well, things work out as they should and they have been easily solved.  It’s amazing how ridiculously simple things can be, even when you’re embroiled in it and up to the neck. 

The choppy waters of friendship are smoothed again.  We are moving out of a period of intense conflict towards some resolution and it’s all good.  It hopefully mirrors a coming up, a straightening out, and a new chapter!  Rock on!


friends-band-standingJa…feelin’ a leetle blue.  We having a moment with a very good friend of ours who seems to be wanting to push out in their own direction and, for some reason, is terrifically angry with us.  I say “some reason” cos they ain’t talking so well with us.  Comms have really broken down for various reasons.  It’s pretty kak.  And I don’t imagine they’re feeling any better.

There’s anger, confusion, love, worry, stress, disappointment, and pride all jammed together in life’s beeg cement mixer and Satan’s hitting frappé.

So for today a dedication of a lyric by Mr Malcontent himself, Lloyd Cole:

walking in the rain walking with jesus and jane
jane was in her turtle neck i was much happier then
am i asking oh for so much
you could do anything you wanted to
am i asking oh for so much
no just something that i can hold down
because it`s all downhill now
so let me count the times that we swore and lied
that we`d tie ourselves to the railway line
let me count the times when of course we lied
well we know no better it was no crime
let me count the times
i well i don’t know when i when i`ll be content
but i do know i need a brand new friend

It’s not literally saying go fuck yourself we don’t wanna see you no more.  Mebbe it’s not understanding and not wanting to be friends with you like this.  But a commitment to repair what’s in sy moer in.  Y’know?

It’s time basically – to heal all wounds and wound all heels.

Too @#*%$$ hot!

melting21It is so flippen hot.  Last night we battled to sleep.  Mozzies fat as throat lozenges attacked us relentlessly. Tonight is even worse. Make it rain.

But speaking of that, we had the wettest winter last year in Slaapstad for ooh about 50 years. I will put money on it this is the worst summer in a while…bleurgh…

Oh Joshi

So Tink and I have been on the Detox Mission for the last 3 weeks.  We never thought we’d be these kinds of people – y’know: check the label on absolutely everything, annoy the hell out of waitrons asking if you can have the linefish, but no sauce, lightly grilled, no potatoes, oh and hold the chips instead could I have a small duck stuffed with olives, and sit quietly at a bar and order mineral water.  Hell, no – not us.

book1_big But that was before we heard about old Dr Joshi and his “miraculous” Holistic Detox.  So we hunkered down and did the whole thang – no meat, no deadly nightshades, no booze (that was a biggie), no fruit other than bananas, no coffee, no sugar, no dairy, no wheat/gluten…yep, so the 1st question people always ask is: what the hell do you eat?  Thus begins the explanation of how it’s about aligning the PH of the body – sorting those naughty acids out, oh you can eat a mountain of green leafy stuff, and so on.

It was a mission, let’s make no mistake about it.  And man we suffered the 1st week – weird pains, sleep disrupted hugely, detox headaches, cravings (mine was coffee, Tink would dream of toast)…but then that passes, and I must say we’ve both felt flippen awesome.  Like energy bounding around the body, fresh as daisies of the galaxy, good sleep, and a total retraining of tastebuds and things.  It’s been a little boring, the whole regiment, but that’s what regiments are.  Boring.  But otherwise we’ve both been largely chuffed with it all.  (With perhaps the exception of the liver flush drink you’re meant to have once a week – nothing like chugging back half a litre of vomit.  Urgh.)

So the upshot of it now is we’ve finished and can re-enter normal life.  So last night, as it happened, we were at the Suidoosterfees mayoral ball, and to celebrate we had a glass of wine (whoo), and a glass of champagne (whooooooo), and actually ate a butternut/feta concoction that was really tasty.  This morning?  Tink has a stomach ache from hell and roll me over a barrel and paint me purple if I don’t feel like I have all the symptoms of a hangover!

We have been changed, it seems.  And so starts the life wrestle – how far does one take all of this?  Stick to the letter of the law and walk the line?  Or be vaguely human and give in to the wrong stuff from time to time?

And will I get wired from having a cup of coffee?  Hmmm.  I’m gonna go check that one out…

What’s in a name?

It’s one of the first things people ask – what up with the name?  It goes something like this – Ugly Bob is a character in South Park who appears in Terence and Philip’s Not Without my Anus.  His face is so hideous, it’s like “somebody tried to put out a forest fire with a screwdriver”.  So Terence and Phillip give him a paper bag to put over his head so he can score chicks.  Which he does, later.  With Celine Dion.


The kick of course is that he looks exactly the same as Terence and Phillip.  Which just goes to show.

Anyhoo, so at Varsity, this sexy chick drops this as a nickname on me, and sure as eggs – it sticks.  Not “Spikey Bob”.  Or “Angsty Bob”.  Or “Flippen Awesome Bob”.  But “Ugli Bob”.  So Ugli we became.  And here we are, 10 years later, meeting someone…Them: “Hi, I’m Steve – you are…?”  Me: “I’m Ugli.”  Always a brief pause.  A double take.  An explanation.  And there you have it.

Ah, and the sexy chick?  Best ending to a story ever – we married last year.  Hah!  One for the misfits!