Unt Hallo!

I love living where I live. I have been accused of having Small Town Syndrome and a Narrow Mind because I have never had the desire to go abroad. This isn’t necessarily correct, I do have the desire, just not to actually live there. A holiday overseas with my fabulously rich sugar daddy one day where we will fly over in his pvt jet and sail on his yacht in the Meditterean somewhere for a few weeks will be cool, or a stay over in the famous Ice Hotel in Sweden would do. Naomi Cambell once posed in an exact (but overlarge and blown up version) replica of the Absolut Vodka bottle made of ice, in the Ice Hotel. I wouldn’t mind doing that. Except I would take it one step further, I’d do it nude! Also, a picnic in Central Park, could be fun. I’d even feed the American ducks (or are they turkeys there?) little bread crumbs. But live anywhere but SA? For good? Hell fucking no, mofo! I love my town, in my country.
Once a year the German Community do a German Beer Festival and Church fete. Its probably the only time I am in holy territory, besides when people peg or get hitched. This annual event is quite the occassion for many in our town. All the little german grannies and wives dress up in their traditional little German clothes, wearing puffy lace sleeved dresses with wooden shoes and two braids on either side of their heads, the old men transform into an overnight brass band, which blasts through century old speakers all around the church grounds, which is right next to the cemetary. The dead people must get completely pissed about it. Interruptions of drunken old fossils singing to Folk songs, pimply teenagers running over gravestones (or shagging ontop of them) must really piss them off in their designated, silent & peaceful afterlife sentences.

The kids are entertained by archery, jumping castles, fair grounds and competitions. All the while traditional wooden puppets, knitted baby clothes for sale and cakes with names like ‘broedgekooken & pannekoeker‘ being eaten and washed down with tea by greedy housewives as they gossip about the ‘town tart’ sitting behind them and German home made meat on display is more than enough to amuse someone with a broken foot like me during the day. By night the over18’s are entertained in the oversized Beer tent, drunkenly displaying bouts of affection to people they havent seen since last years Beerfest.

Live music and stand up comedy entertains you while you stand in que for more than an hour waiting for an enormous jug full of foul tasting beer that you wouldn’t normally drink anywhere else if you were paid to.

Aaahhh, this weekend was the above mentioned German festival. Did you know being drunk on urine-like beer makes you balance better on your unbroken foot as you hop to your knocked over crutchers? Well now you do!

Current mood: fissed as a part