TG Newsletter: PEPE'S PUB

Pepe's Pub

(26 March 2023)

You wake up one morning to find there’s no cat food… or beer!!! How to inform Chikita of this cat-astrophe? I might be able to seduce some of the pusses with a can of tuna…

And a good sorcerer could have probably bubbled up a pot of semi-decent tipple, but the Tank Girls prefer good quality juices in brown bottles with a SAB stamp on.

I was still braving up to convey the horrible situation to Chikita but I knew I had to empty my nervous bladder first. She must have heard me mumble something about pee-pee and by the time I got back she located Pepe’s pub on the map.

It’s always beneficial to avoid awkward situations with a highly skilled level of mumbling. This is a talent normally perfected by lazy husbands and overworked mothers.

So, how far have you ridden to get your pint-fix?

We had a respectable amount of rain the day before and most of the roads were sludgy. Within a few kilometers the wheels were caked! Chikita heard ‘cake’ and pulled us off to the nearest garage for donuts and café lattes.

Pepe’s Pub was in the vicinity of Assen (Limpopo), about 125km up north. Surprizingly you will find that beer does not get colder as the day passes. Also surprizing is that motorcycle riders do not get faster in mud.

Saddle and up!

On our way, in the small town of Marikana, we passed by a white unicorn (sans its horn, only to discover later that the horn was indeed attached…)

She did a quick u-turn for the u-nie-corn.

I mentioned to her that the horse really liked her…

“No dude, he really really likes you!”

“Like, listen up lady – the perd REALLY LOVES YOU!!!”

Sometimes it feels like only trees truly listen to me…

We left, uninvolved.

Soon we crossed the way; the railway. To the left you had a shoe-shiner. To the right… only a shiner.

South Africa has a lighter shade of blue sky. I’ve noticed it when travelling abroad. Maybe the sky-painters ran out of colour by the time they got all the way south? There will probably be a more scientific explanation, but I’m sticking with the sky-painter concept.

As soon as a road in the North-West runs flat, the community will jump in with fast moving bakkies (pickups) and tractors to assist in restoring the corrugations. What ever would a dirt road in SA be without corrugations!?! It would almost be so indefensible as a power station with dry coal. Worse even – a couch stuffed with actual hollow fibre!!!

“Nêver!”

Whenever we feel nostalgic, we reflect on the paths we’ve travelled, the roads that lead us to our current destination. We’re thankful for the experiences we’ve encountered, the friends we………

In SA even the roads suffer from the latest flaring global phenomenon: the gender identity crisis. They are not allowed to be called bituMEN anymore. No, that’s too toxic! They therefor categorize themselves as ‘earth ways’. We are all allowed to be what we feel we really are on the inside. The Tank Girls…???

We are just thirsty!

In Africa our steak-bucks come in neonlight-bright colours. They should also not be confused with unicorns as they do not fart rainbows. They fart in hordes, in bulk, in volumes greater than an obese man that just had a pinto-bean salad, topped with julienned cabbage and a rum vinaigrette. However, sliced thick, over coals, they go well with beer.

Often you will find a bridge… Take it!

Seldom you will find a friend with good advice, holding a camera!

“It’s not that deep, trust me.”

Trust; it is something you give to an air fryer. Not that I have tried, but apparently you can entrust them with making the best onion rings. Just don’t trust a friend with a camera in hand, standing near an obstacle!

Screeching HALT! A unicorn! A pure bred African unicorn! To all you non-Saffers, we call them rhinos.

We fancied some relief at a midway oasis for a roadside snack in the customary 330ml form, but alas… the previous night’s Bush Town party was a biggy and it left Francinah’s fridges bare.

You know, sometimes exactly what I want to hear isn't exactly what I want to hear

*Bruce Banner, 'Avengers: Age of Ultron'*

How far still?

It’s only three mules…

Chikita’s Comet flew off the mark. She could smell the bubbles!

“Annnndaaa iiiiiii willa alwaaays…!!!”

While sitting on a roll of grass, I contemplated whether Chikita’s new horse-boyfriend from earlier in the day maybe wanted to check her prostate. As comes so swift and natural to Chikita, she corrected my language…

“It’s called a ‘prosthesis’!”

Trees! Patient paperbark trees! They listen all the time…

We finally got to little Pepe’s Pub, but…

“My swak hart en my pap niere!”

Deceived, deluded… I had to look up these words as the only one that came to my mind was debliksemed!

Words get twisted. Intestines get knotted. Curl up in a fetal position. Curse a blue streak.

Right… all of that done. On to the next watering hole then.

Some call it faux pas. For others it’s just a silly blooper. We consistently fail to express ourselves, trying to give a voice to the madness in our heads. And ever so now and then, there will be someone that gets it.

Not all the time, but when it really matters.

That is all that matters…

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HONESTY NEWSLETTER!

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