Since I’d started at Bubble Blowers, there had been mention of the Hippy Xmas Party that Friday night. I managed to borrow some 60s-themed clothes from my friend Julie-Ann, and since I was diving all day, Bernie (Brandon’s girlfriend, partner in business and crime and all-round hostess extraordinaire) had offered to pick up a few things for me so I wouldn’t go hungry at the braai.
The party was a blast and we were also celebrating Brandon’s birthday, though his age continuously varies depending on who you ask (and I thought only women had this issue?). Steven and Alma showed up, with Steven not in costume (such a party pooper) and the drinking ensued in full force.
Please note: a cautionary tale (actually two) ensue . . . take heed my word, and you shall not end up with a resting heart rate of 90 beats per minute.
Cautionary Tale #1: If anyone every offers you Pocho, refuse. In fact, refuse, take the bottle/glass/shot glass/whatever out of their hand, smash it and run RUN AWAY.
Cautionary Tale #2: Don’t ever run out of air and then drink with your diving buddies. Just don’t run out of air. Period.
Ok . . . so yes, there was a lot of drinking of Poncho. I should tell you that Poncho is a coffee-flavoured liqueur, since you will clearly take my word for it and follow the rules of Cautionary Tale #1 above. It is rancid. It smells adequate, and that’s where it gets you!!! It is a foul, foul drink that some evil bastard thought up to play on the world’s obvious caffeine-in-coffee-form addiction. You may be thinking that I drank a whole bottle of that kak, no no no, only 3 shots which was PLENTY.
Of course my three shots of Poncho (plus a few beers and a couple of cider) was coupled with the fact that I had run out of air that day. Rather early’ish in the evening, I was confronted by a strange Rastafarian man with purple Elton John glasses. Hmmm, I did not remember seeing this rather odd gentleman come in earlier . . . oh it’s STEVEN. That little S#*%!! He had with him a most interesting contraption: it was a mask and snorkel – with a funnel attached. FML. As a slight aside, I am absolutely terrible at shotgunning beer. I figured this would be far, far worse. Initially it was, until I thought ‘Sod it’ and pulled the mask away from my nose so I could breathe and continue drinking this effing beer through the snorkel.
I managed to get through it without choking, spluttering, getting any beer on myself, or puking – well done me! Needless to say I learned my lesson about running out of air.
At some point after that, we all ended up in the pool, and of course that was cause for celebration and another shot of Poncho. Eventually we ate (inevitably when you braai you end up eating at 10pm or later), and then around midnight the party broke up and I wandered back up the street to lay my poor drunk self down to bed.
UUUUUUGGGGGGHHHHHH I spent the next two days drinking juice and watching TV trying to rehydrate myself.