I am still recovering from the cricket world’s most exciting test draw! I managed four and a half days of it live, at Newlands, left on the fifth day at 15.10 when I could not contain the ants in my pants, and less than two hours later things went ballistic. I must share my opinion. The Proteas gave that game away. Too little too late.
Anyhoo, it’s back to the orifice for me, where I am writing an industrial theatre script and longing for Newlands. What it also means is that I have to be serious about going back to gym properly, which I did yesterday.
Only, last night I went to the Balkanology Fiddle East party, here in Woodstock, at the Albert Hall. I have been to one other Balkanology party, the one that was held at The German Club, off Hope Street; the one where they raffled a pig, and it was a crush of people, but seriously good fun (although I couldn’t get inside for most of the night).
Last night’s one, with the promise of Middle Eastern music, was directly up my alley, and also geographically in my back yard. I wasn’t going to miss it.
My friend and I did what all old people do; we got there 20 minutes after the door opened, and nobody (except for a few over-exciteds like me) was there. We got served at the bar (without waiting 40 minutes like my other friend did an hour later) and even had a place to sit and chat before we started dancing.
First up as dj was James Webb, and I was like a pig in pooh. He played my music. Music like Rachid Taha. I have fantasised about dancing to Rachid Taha at jauls but have never thought it would come true. There I was. (He looks like a mad, Algerian version of The Boss, no?) I went a bit insane, I have to say. By the end of the set the place was full and I was drenched and out of breath! (I can’t tell you how stiff I am this morning!)
Next up was a dj who played more Egyptian sounds which was also fantastic. By then I had become a bit of a policeman with people smoking inside. Then it was the more Eastern European true Balkan gypsy, circus sounds from the next dj.
It had suddenly become very, very full, and it was too windy to be outside. Not long after my friend came back with drinks we decided to call it a night. I had got what I went for; a big, fat skop to my soul music! As we left we noticed the hip and trendy, in a long queue, waiting to get in. Oh, my ancientness paid off.
I literally couldn’t watch the game on TV last night. I had to keep channel hopping; pretending I was engrossed in that damn irritating Supernanny who went to the U S of A to go and fix their disgusting children and pathetic, ‘disempowered’ parents. I swear, watching those children scream and throw food and furniture was easier than watching ‘Gram’ Smith hobbling to a loss, with cramp and not enough runs on the board.