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The way of the dusty

2007-08-10 15:58
You're know you're having a good time when you start wondering what the people around you do with themselves during normal working hours. Like, what does the guy with the tattoos on his FACE actually do for a living? I doubt it's selling real estate - or anything my parents might approve of. But he has to do something, right? Those tattoos aren't cheap, and money doesn't grow on thorn trees.

This place is full of freaks - but there are more than enough normal people to keep you grounded. For every crazy dude with a tattoo of a flaming skull on his neck, there's a blonde poppie with a fake tattoo of the Playboy corporate logo on hers. Make no mistake - you're still in South Africa. Nothing's changed, and no amount of peace, love and - ah, who are we fooling? This is all about the booze. Music comes second, and it's been alleged that sex comes in a distant third, although the closest I've come to that since arrival is being squashed against the railings by a blanket of writhing, anonymous flesh during the Violent Femmes set. Seriously. I'm not gay, but I would totally do Gordon Gano. Just so I could tell my friends.

But enough about the music. There may be four stages, but the headliner at each is the adjacent beer garden. Buy five beers and you get the sixth beer free - and a t-shirt! Yay! Complete strangers buying multiple rounds of chest and wallet-clearing Jagermeisters for each other! Whoopee! It's only a party if you wake up broke.

Drinking is important here because it helps you to ignore the solidifying cold at night, the throbbing heat of the day and the dust so dusty it tries to shake itself off, and fails. It's everywhere: in the air, in your morning coffee and in you. Just blow your nose to find this out - and then inspect the tissue, just like you always do. Yuck. It's like living in London. Snot should never be that colour.

But we're only here for a few days, and so long as the booze flows freely, we can survive - and party our skin off - outside of our natural environment, if only for a little while. Nothing tells you that you're just a guest on this planet quite like camping. Out here, without our mod-cons, we're subservient, subject to the whims of an uncontrollable environment. In short, we're nature's bitch.

Thankfully, nature appears to be a lot more tolerant of us than we are of it.

- Chris McEvoy
It's not a party if you don't wake up broke, in bed with some Femme called Gordon.

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