Last night at Old Hags

It's nine forty-five p.m and I'm late for Friday night's church service at Old Hags. A quick shave, in the shower, dry off, shove on the cheap Dettol deodorant, kit up and I'm out the house, a brisk 2km stroll up the road heading out for Babylon and Old Hags. I love the night walks, it's you with your thoughts and the night air, striding through suburbia then onto the footpath near the main road and straight until the lights of Babylon peep over the distant horizon. A quick cash draw for beer and reserve-resources and it’s cut a line through the all-night petrol service station to the parking lot gate, up the drive and Old Hags is going off in full swing.

Francois the bouncer greets me with a bone-crushing handshake (I've learnt to meet his match with steely-grin stare-you-in-the-eyes kinda buddy-buddy sizer-outers because Francois comes all the way from Namaqualand with a wholesome prop-forward country boy attitude and I like to keep things in a groove because Francois don't take shit from nobody and I'm still a newbie around here so...) "Hey howzit Keagan!" (the young restaurant manager and also a keen artist) "Hello Theresa!" (she owns the place and does a damn good job of running the show) and I sidle into the bar expecting to see Robby (because his bakkie was outside) and I do.

There's an old-time hipster duo playing lekker seventies rock, Credence-Clearwater Revival stuff and related and everybody's going off. Aha! There's Glen (my next door neighbour) and Glen doesn't smile much in the pub but he does a operate in a sullen, quiet manner. And he likes to fight when he’s morbidly pissed. I like Glen. I once lent him money for rent and he paid me back. But that, only after putting a bit of pressure on him, shame.

Meanwhile the cougars and hens and squawkers are going off, there's a pudgy young chick, sweating, hair dishevelled, face all twisted as if in a state of ecstatic intensity, jiving away with her beta-boyfriend and I think they're both on E. She is, certainly. In her mind she's an 8.5/10, thrusting herself around the boyfriend and pelvic- gyrating, but Rob and I are calling her a 2.5. Nah, a 2.2. In fact, if Boswell-Wilkie circus were around recruiting talent they would have had a steal with her as a born clown for the main show. I think some of the young overweight chicks have no shame in dropping drugs because they perceive it as a win-win situation, as in going off your rocker plus shedding loads of luggage at the same time. And oh, the passion!

Robs orders me my Black Label draught and I mark out a spot next to him that's become a favourite viewpoint for checking all the action out.

"Oi! What's this?" Something hit me. Well, something hit my mind and my head at the same time. Ha-ha, it's coming from that table over there! A trio of middle-aged cougars having a whale of a ball pelting us with shooter's glasses! And damn accurate they were too, the one chick was shot-gunning them, blowing them from her mouth and hitting her targets spot on from at least ten-twelve feet away, impressive stuff!

I felt honoured to be pelted with an empty shooter glass by a grimacing cougar, it made me feel loved.

So I hinted to her to pelt Robby and she did. Robs got all flustered and confused for a moment and we all had a laugh. But I had my eyes on more youthful material which happened to be scarce last night, until a mob of young chicks came in like they were on a girlie's bottom-drawer party but with one hook: they were bumming money for the bride's wedding. A few were quite hot, the bride was a porky, and when they approached me I did the usual friendly entre thing until I caught the trick then went deadpan. They quickly got the message. But it all added to the carnivalesque atmosphere, then an old bloke who was really pissed started braaming me up, "Hey this oke looks like Sean Connery!" Yeah-yeah but without the kilt and the bank account and I've heard that one before a couple of times, it perks the ego but at the end of the day you are you. Or you could be a wannabee. Nah. Just gimme the moneee...!

Ah! An oke is cruising around with his girlfriend's handbag over his shoulder making wisecracks and small-talk here and there and she's dancing at the back with about five other blokes and I smell an achy-breakey break-up coming. She looked about the sanest chick in the bar and I would've gone for her, she looked attractive, intelligent and sort of in control, maybe creative. In fact later I did approach her with x-ray gaze and all, and began interrogating her about her occupation, callings in life and whatnot. She turned her head in intimidation and I liked that, a lot truth came out in that gesture. False confidence, propped up by a bunch of very mundane okies prancing around her like she was the queen of the party, but she wasn't, she was just an insurance clerk stuck in corporation lane. Heh heh. Playing mind games with chicks who are strangers can be good fun.

The band always stops playing at midnight prompt because of neighbours’ complaints about the noise, but they stick on rap-house music stuff which really gets the zombies going.

At about that point I normally hang with Francois because he's sober as a judge and, you know, it's nice to have an intelligent conversation and Francois enjoys a laugh. I know it's in bad taste but normally at that time of the night there's plenty of material to have a laugh about.

Oh! And there was one chick, a big tall blonde who was also a side-feature on the dance floor earlier on, with an "I'm so beautiful" attitude as she swung her full, buxom hips and swayed, intermittently puffing her cigarette for comfort, even a tad narcissistic but she could be forgiven because no blokes were really interested in making out with her, shame. Robs tried to egg me on but nah, not my scene, okay, maybe for a pump 'n dump but there would have been compatibility problems, my big head takes charge of life decisions these days.

"Drink up Mark I'll give you a ride home," Robs beckons and I promise him he'll get a paper-mache sausage dog from me some time. Some time. We had a good evening at Old Hags, again, so guess where I'm probably going tonight?