So Dead they’d have to bury me twice……

March 12, 2007

So Dead they’d have to bury me twice……

Monday afternoon and I’m 18 minutes from 5pm and making a break for taking my broken self home and bringing the salvation of food and bed.

I had a little surprise burp earlier and a sneaky little bit of sick came up.

Nice.

Every Monday in recent memory has been a broken one, but this one has been particularly punishing - the Gecko Girls came to Blantyre and indulged in forbidden fruits such as restaurants, bars, swimming pools and TV - such things denied out where they are based teaching in the Milosa schools on the foothills of Zomba plateau.

Friday and the bar with drinks in the pool till near dawn wasn’t the kicker - neither was the whole waking late for work at midday Saturday - finding myself with no phone and a car overheating to the point of explosion and having to get to work and taste a blend - the killer was the Saturday night.

After the Italian meal at Hosteria, Rose, Ziggy and Abbi crashed at mine, leaving myself, Cate and John to head over to Paul’s and drink till around 2am - this malicious mix of vodka, whisky and Po10c propelled the three of us to end up in a locals club off the beaten track called Kambaa - worried that unwelcome paws would be clawing at our beautiful blond English queen, we made sure to keep an eye on the prize and head off any fishing eeway’s at the first attempt - however, upon making my way across the dance floor I realised it was in fact myself who needed protecting - those women were like the vampires from Dusk Till Dawn - hands appearing from all angles - belt being pulled - arms grabbed - and they went for the money shot as well - I’m talking more than a tap - proper cuppage - shy they were not.

Time ticking on and the drinks flowing through us freely, we needed to dance and while Kambaa had character, we decided the place to move to was Tuska in town - walking in it’s nothing special - wooden viewing balcony over concrete dance floor - bar on the right - but such places just need the the right mix of music, the right people and the right amount of alcohol coursing through their veins - and we checked all boxes.

Playing a blend of local Kwasa Kwasa and hip-hop, the night kicked into gear - Cate owned the floor and drank what ever came her way, John seemed to know everyone and the DJ played some floor movers despite his drunken mixing - I was doing a fine job of destroying their stocks of JW Red till I danced into a hole in the floor and twisted my ankle - looked like a spoon for a second and then kept dancing - alcohol foolishly allowing for such things, as the next days swollen foot taught me.

We danced until the dawn broke through the door - always a sign that time has got away from you when the daylight is so bright outside and you never even had the savvy to see the sun sneak up across the way.

This should usually have acted as a big sign saying “home and bed” - but John (who by this point was completely and utterly fucked up beyond all recognition) decided that there was a place in Chilangoma village somewhere and we could carry on there - another guy called Mavuto dressed in sharp suit and shades was also a member of our pack by this point - I make a point of mentioning this as “Mavuto” is chechewa for “trouble” and find it amusing that anyone would name their child ”trouble” as soon as they arrived on Gods Green Earth - he was a bouncer of some description and I bought his shades off him for 1000mkch due to the sunlight becoming an enemy to my eyes as the morning developed.

They’re Gucci’s.

And they cost 4 quid.

Real deal, honest Guv’nor.

After waking up a none too impressed friend of ours called Patrick and establishing that, no, he didn’t want to come drinking at the bottle store round the corner at 730am, we then had a few more drinks at this hole in the wall John directed us to. It was not long before Cate and I decided that John was beyond broken and needed to be put down as soon as possible - we also needed to crash sometime soon ourselves - We said our goodbyes and drove back to Limbe, where we deposited our drunken dreadlocked achemwene on Pauls driveway before heading for home.

Of course we couldn’t return not bearing gifts, so we went to the bakery to stock up on savoury delights for the others - drunkenly jumped the queue outside and started ordering various cakes and muffins to be added to a bulging bag of goodness - once finished I asked the fellow for the bill and was shocked to hear it came to 7040mkwch ($50)- “punishing” I thought to myself but reasoned “suppose maybe doughnuts are expensive here” and started doling out the cash - Cate stopped me when she realised I was being a tool and had just misheard 740 rather than 7040 - good intervention, as I would rather of just paid and left than have a wasted conversation about the price of bread.

Home on the horizon and 8am ticking by there was one more stop to make.

Doogles bar and lodge where full monty English Fry up’s with all the trimmings were all that was on our menu’s and in our hearts and minds.

No finer way to finish an evening.

Spo | March 12, 2007