Midland Madness

As some of you may know Birmingham played host this weekend to the now world famous De Beer/Veldman birthday celebrations tradition. Which I may have to point out had a lot to live up to considering last year when the boys of Huis Noordelik hosted a party that kicked ass while simultaneously shakin it too and fro like a white J-Lo.

So the stage was set, and all anxiously awaited the arrival of the key players. Ess The “Molester Esmeralda” Veldman was first on the scene arriving a day early (fresh from her travels of the South Americas where it is rumoured she attended secret training camps on how to eat meat without letting your veggie friends know you’ve defected. This comes after an inside source lays claim to having heard the vegmiester confess to having had a bite of a Mr Mohammed Long Street boerie) to ensure she had prime position for the big night and had time to scout her domain. Ro The “I don’t need a day to scout the scene because I live on the most expensive bloody island in the Channel Isles and am therefore cool by association and the fact that I have to fly anywhere I want to go just adds to my cool ass mofo, retro, lekker by die beach, alter ego” De Beer in true style jetted in early on the Saturday morning and it was time for the games to begin!

Well the day got of to cracking start with champagne flowing and…. Umm no! That’s not exactly what happened. The girls just wanted to go shopping! Well I suppose they are only girls and so as the resident male (Please note: no feminists were injured during the writing of this blogg) I took it upon myself to spend the afternoon in a bar drinking beer trying to salvage some respect for the weekend to end all weekends. Now whether the weekend’s success was purely as a result of my selfless act I suppose we will never know but I did come across a road leading to a old friend of mine during the salvage operations. Some of you may know him as the Angel of “so nearly dead you actually wish you were” while others will be more familiar with him as the Angel formerly known as “The hangover caused by drinking all-day and making the schoolboy error of mixing drinks indiscriminately because you think you’ve recently been recruited as a member of the untouchables” who had to shorten his name for obvious reasons. But this is not a tale of my sorrows. So continuing… the girls have shopped till they dropped and managing to, in a mere 6 hours, buy a single pair of red shoes were now ready to hit the town.

Finally drinks were flowing people were merry and I was, not to put too fine a point on it, drunk. As the girls raced to catch up it seemed Esmeralda was about to show her true colours and slip in a bit of a break dance. But before she could squeeze in her first head spin for the evening a strange wind started to blow… I like to call this wind The Balti Boy Breeze. He came out of nowhere, feigning left then right a quick half pirouette for good measure and he was in there chatting laughing shaking some ass and generally playing a half decent game. Not bad I thought, as I observed with my steely eye gaze, obviously immune to his wit and charm. Knowing that these girls may be cheesy but never easy he was going to need a big finish if he planned on landing this one. And then it happened. He moved in and swept Ess right off her feet. Literally! Like a humming bird beatings its wings in a blur of speed and grace, Esmeralda was lifted up rotated 180 degrees and left hanging upside down in the middle of the dance floor. Time stood still as we bent over double in fits of uncontrollable laughter seeing Ess upside down not sure whether to protect her head from a fall that must surely come or stop her herself popping out of a shirt that was obviously never meant to be worn while suspended like a bat on Halloween.

So did the balti breeze fill her sails you may ask…well if you have ever tried to help Ess over a fence at say 11pm on a deserted railway track near Newlands Stadium you may well know what the answer to that question is. At least this time she left with her jeans intact if not completely with her dignity. My only regret is that overcome with laughter and slowed by tequila I was not able to utilise my usual cat like reflexes to snap a shot of the blonde bombshell bottoms up.