Cornishman in Africa ; Whoops I did it again.

Whoops I did it again.
I don’t know if you ever have that feeling when you wake up in the morning and think. What exactly happened last night. Then with no provocation, memories start to come flooding back, and you are not 100% sure what is fact and what is just a dread fear of what might have happened.
I had another of those experiences this morning as I dragged myself from slumber and realised that there was actually no need, as it was Saturday morning and I had no need to wake at six at all.
The sun was not quite coming streaming into the bedroom as I had hung a bed sheet up over the burglar bars in lieu of a curtain(Why or how I don’t know.) I only have one curtain in the house, and that covers the window on the bedroom that looks to the front of the house. The other five windows stare unblinkered out onto the trees, grassland and dam that make up this tranquil wooded enclave that I have come to know as home, away from Cornwall.
The dawn chorus was in full swing with the Franklins, Louries and a hundred and one, different species of birds doing there damndest to drag me into Saturday. They succeeded.
I got up, sat down, got up again sat down, and decided against vertical travel. Crawling was going to be the best mode of transport to the bathroom. Unfortunately the paracetamol were on the top shelf, so I decided they would have to wait. I reckoned that, at best, I could probably reach, up and hopefully remember how to operate the taps of the shower. I did, and as the burst of cold water hit me, with it came some recollection of being very wet not six hours earlier. The million piece jigsaw that was the night before slowly stated to piece itself together.
Matthew and Lorain, and another friend Sally (Who is planning on moving into Kalima) had come round for a few drinks and some snacks the previous evening. The evening started about six, relaxed and sober. Chatting over the previous week and catching up on all the gossip, that manages to circulate around the African communities even faster than the proverbial drums could beat. As the sun went down the pace stepped up, not intentionally but that was just the way things panned out. The conversation was lively and fun, punctuated by laughter and serious moments. It was a lovely evening.
As the laughter became louder and more frequent, the serious moments fewer and further between, we put meat on the braai and the smells of sizzling borrowours filled the still air.
We ate we drank and we were very merry.
Now, sitting beside the dam on a beautiful starlit balmy evening is never a good idea when you have started on the second bottle of “Smirnoff”, the red wine has gone the same way as a number of “Savannah Dries” and a few “Castles”. The setting is idyllic, and I don’t know what it is in the human nature that when someone makes a ridiculous suggestion, you all think it’s a really good idea.
Now I blame Sally, but in fairness it may have been me in the past, on a few occasions. Sally decided that it might be a good idea if we went for a dip. And like a couple of silly school children, Matthew and I thought this was the best idea since dear old Henry Ford thought of his elaborate colour scheme for his “Model T”. We could not get our kit off quick enough.
Lorain had decided that there were enough children in the pool and she was going to stay firmly on dry land. (Well one of us had to be sensible, and dry.)
I charged my glass and staggered roughly in the direction of the dam, slipped on the teflon mud, landed on my arse and slithered unceremoniously into the water wearing nothing but a pair of black M&S underpants and the contents of my glass. Oh but the water was refreshing. Very shortly afterwards the peace was shattered by another two splashes and the sounds of satisfaction as Matthew and Sally both plunged into the crystal clear waters. We sat, we floated and swam about, gazed up at the stunning canopy of stars that had been laid out on the sky for our perusal. It was amazing.
Quite how long we stayed in the water I have no idea but I do remember having my glass refilled a couple of times while in there.
After a time, but how long escapes my memory, we came out and drip-dried in the warmth of the wonderful summer night. Needles to say we did not have the foresight to think about towels.
We settled down into another bout of, less comprehensible conversation and could have gone on till dawn. Luckily for our livers and our sanity Lorain (bless her) decided at about half past midnight that she ought to take her passengers home.
I cleared the decks at the bar and sat and just had one more drink, (that I really did not need (as the following morning pointed out)
How I got to bed, I have no idea. Who did the washing up, the clearing up and got my computer, speakers and other accruements back to my house will remain a mystery until the end of time.
The only thing out of place this morning were Matthew’s grey underpants hanging in the upper branches of a Mango tree about twenty feet from the bar (At least I assume they were his.)
Just don’t ask.

Denzil Bark. (Recovering slowly)