Let me eat cake

I’m not sure if you were there in the heat of Live Action Stuff.Gen.NZ blogging as it happened – but I was. This was a portion of last night’s post:

Hamish is in town. Apparently he’s scouting for Roman Polanski’s rendition of Lolita. You get put on one lousy dvd cover and then you think you can waltz back into the country without so much as an interpol warning…

Because, you know, I was high on not doing anything and the thought of that cultural myth turning back up in christchurch filled my drinking glands with saliva.

And then he commented back
Hi Dave. I see that you posted your last thing about 45mins ago. I’m hanging around the central city nursing a sun-burn and a thirst – sans friends.
Round about now-o-clock.

Me and Mr. Allan organised a meeting last week scheduled for tonight, but what the…??! No show. So if you or anyone wants to discuss, amongst other things, the anti-smacking law change, meet me and Wendy @ the Loaded Hog (for now) Otherwise see you in 5 years! x H.

I got that about ten minutes after he commented because I’m no longer in a show so simply sit at my computer and hit refresh. refresh. refresh.

The internet isn’t that big if you’re not searching for porn.

So – in a state that could loosely be described as mild panic I ran around the house uttering phrases like ‘whoop whoop whoop whoop whoop’, ‘it’s not good, jeff’, and ‘dave. dave. dave.’

Composing myself somewhat I replied:
eah, umm… that was organised for tomorrow… wasn’t it?.

Because I had been informed it was tomorrow night. Now tonight.

I have no cellphone. All me phone numbers (damnit grr argh damnit) are gone. Who to call who to call. Nic’s not at home because he’s slaving over the hot love that only pages and pages of MBA self-torture can provide. BUT! in a flash and dash of genius he was led gently into the fold of catch 22 which meant his cellphone number was buried deep in my spam filled inbox.

Haha! Sucess. He was utterly useless.

Then to Ben. Who confirmed that party was on Tuesday night, not Monday night.

Then to Tim who panicked in appropriate manner and we decided to hunt the streets of Christchurch for said Hamish. Quickly! To Ben’s. Get on the street ordered Tim into his cellphone. Yes, said Ben. I will.
He was not on the street.
Move it move is said Tim.
We leave no man behind said I.
Tim ran to the door – seconds (oh they’re precious in Prague) ticked by. he knocked. There was no answer.
We left him behind.

To the Loaded Hog (wtf!?!) to discover it was closed.
Oh no said Tim.
Gnash my teeth said I.

Where we go if we were Hamish?
Denny’s?
Not yet – too early (10.30ish by this stage).
Le Cafe
It has a degree of style.
So we went to the only logical location.
The outdoors Kareoke bar.
No Hamish.
Where would a drunken ex-pat kiwi engaged to a Praguian go for drinks?
That’s right. An Irish bar.
We found him.

AND it turns out he still exists in the physical plane. As does his fiance who turns out to be quite nice and much prettier than he is.

Good times were had by all. We caught up on what was going on. He’s a teacher now. Of children. There are no cages in the room. I was confused by that. He discovered that James was arrested once, that Tim and Sara were no longer together, and that Nic was doing tertiary study at uni. My how things change. Just goes to show that news takes a really long time to filter through the haze of the Eastern Bloc.

The moral of this story is that this blog save lives.

And never get Hamish and Ben together to organise anything ever ever again.

This entry was posted on Tuesday, March 6th, 2007 at 5:49 pm and is filed under General. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.