Thursday, March 25, 2010

2 months in a place I hardly know


I've had some ups and downs in Grahamstown in the past couple of months. I've lain on the floor outside Slipstream Sportsbar after an epic chunder session and felt pretty homesick but I've also climbed the statue outside the Great Hall.

I've worked moderately hard. I've turned a bare room into a little piece of home with trinkets and letters (Thank you, my jeanpant-girl). I've made some real friends, and learned a little bit about what friendship means. I've learned that even boedies can be legends, and that owning a gym card doesn't mean you go to gym.

All in all, Grahamstown has been rather kind to me and that I look forward to furthering my education at Rhodes, and also sometimes go to uni.

I leave for home in less than 36 hours, and the excitement is mounting. I long for Durban tap water, toasted cheese, a dvd from Video Mogul, my dogs, my Monica (My maid and second mother), my family and my friends who i've left at home. The lady friend comes to Durban too, and I can't help but be both excited and nervous about a little festival we call Splashy Fen.

Pictured above: Splashy Fen

Splashy Fen is quite good at being awesome, in ways you really don't expect. Last year I ended up breaking my straight-edge and turning into a raucous, clumsy buffoon who compared himself to Jesus. Good times! This year, there's HORSE the band, the craziest band to come out of Earth.

Pictured above: The craziest thing to come out of Earth.

So the next few weeks should be awesome. I cannot wait.

Saturday, February 27, 2010

My room looks like something taken out of The Twilight Zone (Not the Twilight films). Curtains closed to shield my eyes from the afternoon sunlight, ripped jeans lying on the floor, and the only source of light; dimly seeping into the room through my computer monitor.

Last night, my friend Ruth and her digsmates hosted a party, to welcome a friendly group of lads and ladies to their humble abode. The theme: 80s punk, the result: chaos.

Pictured above: Chaos.

Naturally, i was going to try my best to dress fittingly for the occasion, by finding the most hideous and kitch apparel i could lay my hands on, slap it together haphazardly and spray painting my hair some sort of neon colour. This included finding the unwashed leopard print vest in the boot of my car, spraying it with deodorant and leaving it for a few hours, borrowing a pair of slashed skinnies roughly three sizes too small for me, retrieving the moth-ball-smelling pastel bomber jacket from the deepest reaches of my farthest cupboard and squeezing into it all.
With some help from friends, Becca and Dieter, I was ready to take on the world.


Pictured above: Ready to take on the world (And by the world, I mean the buckets of punch provided)

Now, I sometimes don't think things through. Yeah. Chortle. Finished?...
Good. Tonight was one of those nights. I decided that to maintain my dignity, I would have to drink an absorbitant amount. And bounce around shouting obscenities, spilling my punch, and scoring myself a loose, or two.

Needless to say, fun was had by all. I ended up at one of those places, quite similiar to Joes, dancing to the latest D&B rendition of Call On Me, which incidentally was a top track at some stage during the 80s I believe. I also walked across Grahamstown a couple of times, as I only realised halfway between home and the hellhole that is Friars, that I left my keys at Ruth's digs. 30 mins later I was at the same spot, reunited with my keys; still mindless, and thankfully on my way home.

I apologised with pie, for being loud and obscene. It was delicious.

Saturday, February 20, 2010

Dear diary.

I've decided to write a blog; a self-important memoir into the foray that is my life in a little town called Grahamstown, middle of nowhere, South Africa.

I've been here nigh on twenty days, and so far have felt just about every emotion for the place; from wonderment, to a despairing envy of those in my home town. I've changed my mind countless times about such little things as my diet, to such big things as the course I'll be studying for the next few years. I've been a first year for two weeks and a second year for one. It's all quite confusing so far.

I live in a 3x4 metre room, surrounded by trance-music-blasting excitable first years, fresh out of high school. A good bunch of fellows, no doubt; had I taken the time to get to know them. In the past twenty days I've done such things as serenade girls residences as a sort of ice-breaker for those new to university life, as well as get in my car, and drive an hour in one direction to get away from the place.

Grahamstown is both depressingly small, and cosy, depending on the mood one happens to be in. For starters, there's no Woolworths food. A travesty, am I right? There are very few places to go out to at night and the mindset of those who lives here seems to revolve around two things; the Never Too Late special that the Debonairs here offers as well as an exceptionally large amount of alcohol.

I have however, met people who have more going for them than fast food and hangovers, and it’s these people that give me hope for the place. While I’m certain that I’ll get homesick, I have taken some measures to ensure that I never completely disintegrate. For starters, I’ve turned my room into a little piece of home, with letters and notes, and lyrics and flyers, courtesy of a beautiful Juané Van Dyk; and the warden’s cat, which seems to have adopted me (A black minx: I was quite attracted to the idea of calling her Nightwish, but to my dismay, her name is in fact Julie).

I’d love to tell you, diary, about res food and my experiences with the Grahamstown nightlife, beggars and the joys of DC++, but I really feel like pressing enter, and so that’ll be a story for another day.

Yours,
Phil