Last weekend….

Too far off now to relate in great detail, but amusing to observe is my descent into immorality when drunk. Picture 3 rambunctious 25-year-old 18-year-old-wannabes at a picnic hosted by Investec at the Inahnda, dahling, for its honourable clients (most of whom are 40-plus 60-year-old-wannabes). To this mental image, add a free picnic basket (nice place to store stolen goodies) and free bar (Johnny Walker Black all day!)

Now think of the innocent kids trying to have good honest fun on the trampoline while the overgrown drunk kids try to kick them off… and what of the septuagenarians playing English bowls on the lawn, heedless of the evil twisted overgrown drunk kids nearby? Well, to stop beating around the bush, I stole six French boules balls as they mysteriously rolled down the hill, and hid them in our generously-sized picnic basket. I have been prattling on about how I wanted to start bocce/boules/bowls, so I thought this would be a fabulous beginning to my collection. The Gilb, not present that day, got the story progressively over the phone. “I’sh shtoooolen shixsh (hic!) boules ballsh, lieeefieeee!” I proudly pronounced.

Then, on to Melville, a couples of tokes and some tea later, somewhat less drunk (and having forgotten the conversation with The Gilb earlier), “Liefie! I stole six boules balls from Inahnda – how cool hey! Poor sod who lost them I guess, but hey! I got balls!”

Then, the next morning, hung over and remorseful, “Liefie, I feel like kak. Some poor dude is going to hang himself because his beloved shiny (so so shiny!) boules balls are gone! I think I’m going to take them back.”

You’ve been warned. Don’t put out the silver when I come over for dinner, unless you spike my alcoholic drink with lots of water…