So, on to the riverside tale…….
Fly bitten, bleeding (at least I was, Anthony was in fine fettle, laughing all the way, bastard) and myself longing for some liquid refreshment that didn’t include tadpoles or mud we started for home.
After scrambling up the bank, dodging some hissing bushes (snakes, young women attracted to waders, I don’t know, give me a call if rubber and thorns turn you on, I saw you, you little hussy) we retired to our chalet.
A quick change of clothing and shortly to the bar, where we were informed that the bar service was non existent due to the fact that a wedding party would be arriving within the hour.
Quick thinking prevailed. We purchased all the beers that were available. My thinking was that if there was a problem, the groom would confront his father in law, claim that the organisation of the wedding was deficient and the fault of the event organizers. The discussion that would take place should last until at least midnight.
We’d hopefully be well away by the time the wedding party arrived.
We were. But in the garden outside the reception area there were two best friends who had to agree once again the sleeping arrangements for the night. Up for discussion were the four poster bed and the gentle cradle made out of pine needles (so it seemed on reexamination) . We decided that dinner would decide the issue.
It came down to intestines. Whoever ordered the most exotic meal (remember this is Africa) would be given the nuptial bed, a four poster, the other would sleep on the foam kiddies bunk (the gentle embrace of pine).
These negotiations took place over many (many) lager cocktails. Anthony has reminded me that 12 year old Irish whiskey was involved.
Up to the restaurant / bar where we, much under the weather by now requested that we would like to take dinner in our room.
Now, I’d like to say, for the record that the owner of this establishment and his good lady wife were the soul of accommodation, a kindly smile and a nod toward our so called ‘unique’ relationship.
The menu was presented, our choice was complimented and we were sent on our way to stumble back to the chalet.
We staggered across some tree lined paths, we intersected some frog filled pools, we discussed whether deadly snakes would actually lunge at you during the night and after stumbling over a couple of sleeping dogs (they were very understanding of our lurches and staggers, not a nip or a growl) we arrived at our accommodation.
We arrived as our hosts were in the process of setting out a table with silverware, covered dishes and as a hat toward our supposed relationship, a floral arrangement consisting of red and yellow roses.
For Anthony, a well done beef steak, for me ostrich steak, medium rare. For the entrée a small green salad. A good bottle of champagne would accompany our meal.
We were amazed and gratified with the table arrangement and with the effort of the hosts, and with many a thank you and ‘we’ll certainly recommend’ we sat down at our supposed nuptial feast.
Gosh, this is taking a long time to tell, but I promise it’ll be worth the effort.
In the next couple of days I promise I’ll finish the story and it’ll contain vomit, anal pain and bananas.
Anal Bananas – good name for a grunge band by the way.
Trust me you’ll love the rest.
PS: A good friend has just reminded me of death by fire, baaaad dogs and fishing. Another time, give me your feedback.