Some say we should get back to a more rustic way of life; being at one with nature and our god given utensils etc. Experience how fortunate we are to live in the time we live in.
The smell of manure.
The greasy fingers after eating a chicken and roast with your hands.
The long and complicated monologues of entertainment.
Participating in silly dances at the order of a superior.
Using a wooden stick to bang on a table instead of applause.
Unimaginable BO. Un. Imaginable.
Getting drunk. (Hey, some things stay the same.)
All of which can be found at Greensleeves, that little, and very old entertainment plot outside of Jo’burg.
I suppose I should be more descriptive.
There was indeed mud and slush, as it had been raining, so “check”. Even got mud in my shoes. They do, indeed, make you eat with your hands, and punish you with ridiculous dances should you fail to feed someone else. Clapping apparently used to warn people off,should someone have a certain nether-region disease, so the stick-banging was a favourite. The MC does warble ad nauseam in his hot potato tone, yacking the rules.
But the BO must be confusing you. “Caw! Isn’t that going a bit far?” you may wonder.
As you can well imagine, people in medieval times smelled, quite literally, like swass. And so do the outfits at Greensleeves.
Now, I’d been there before a couple of years ago, and hated it so much that I swore on my life I’d never go back. Granted, I wasn’t with the funnest group of people. So when I was asked to go to a year-end function there last week, I was petrified. But I went, because this time it was an awesome group of people. My kinda possie.
We had a great time, getting pissed and shoveling meat into our mouths like savages. But Jesus, did those outfits stink.
|People *ACTUALLY* get married there...|
If you’ve never been there (lucky you), what happens is, you book, and your costume is included. So once you get there you go into a big change room, pick an outfit, then go up to the hall for the, er, festivities.
This time, when I walked into that changeroom. I could smell the ass. I thought it might just be all the traffic in the place. But alas. I took two dresses into a change booth to try on. Put on the first, blue velvet: siff now, waaay stylish in 1492. Looked alright, but thought I should throw on the black one just to try.
I could not get out of that thing quickly enough. Oh my fuckeroo, I have never smelt anything like it. You know sweaty gym shorts that get left in a gym bag, and aren’t washed for a week? It smelled worse than that.
Not alone in this exposure to swass-covered costumery, and luckier, some of our party had no choice but to don an unfortunately-fragranced frock.
So this is the picture: a small-ish hall packed with about 70 people, eating with their hands and wearing BO robes.
|This is actually the big hall - couldn't find a pic of the smaller one we were in.|
Hey, if nothing else, they achieved the historical accuracy.
The evening is fun if you’re with good mates and if you’re keen on booze. If not, don’t ever go there. The food is edible, nothing to praise. The MC and musician were good. Just too many activities – after a while, people just want to be left to their boozing and heckling. The musician was better at guitar-playing than singing, but we urged him on nonetheless, being drunk enough to sing along to his Jack Johnson covers. (I know – what??)
|Some of the "official entertainment"|
But the whole idea is a bit dated IMHO. The opening monologues are okay, ‘cause everyone’s in the mood and feeling all jovial and jolly and shit. But after the two starter courses, they insist on doing a whole shpiel of “punishing” those who fed themselves, by making them all dance. For a really long time. It’s long-winded and boring. And the waitresses don’t serve while the show is on. THE FUCKERY.
It’s different, but not quite my brand of awesome fun, so I think I’ll be keeping my promises to myself in future. ;)