I am off this weekend for a conference.
It will be held in a bushveld enviroment with attendees from all over the world.
Last year, I went with a bang and came back with a whimper. This year I am going with my ante-buse firmly in my pocket. I was almost too ashamed to go, the cringe factor is 10/10 on this one.
I had actually managed to go AF for about 7 days before the last conference just long enough to reduce my tolerance and get the cravings going.
My job was to organise the first night's events and welcome the delegates. Great,
everything went well, until my first glass of wine, about 2 hours before the delegates were meant to arrive.
What was I thinking
by the time people started to arrive the buzz was being chased. I managed to down a bottle, on an empty stomach and was ticking and ready to roll. I slipped out to get my next bottle, and the rest, as they say, was the making of a disasterous history.
Anyone who has been to a South African barbeque will know that it takes a looooong time for the food to arrive. By the time the food was ready I had formed my own little pool of revellers and dived, fully clothed into the swimming pool.
I believe that among other things, I tried to convert a Baptist preacher to Catholicism:upset:
I also lost my shoes and had to slip away early in the morning to find some place where I could buy a pair of respectable sandals. I spent the rest of the conference wearing a pair of sea shell covered slip slops, a size too small, made by the local trading store.
Next day, I was finished, ashamed and as hungover as a dried piece of jerky.
You would think that I would learn... not so.
Next night it was the formal prize giving and there were a few bottles of my favourite wine on the table. By the time that the official announcements were over, I had quenched my thirst on the wine. I barely remember the food.
I then lost my keys and a room had to be found for me for the evening. One of the organisers escourted me to my room and I thanked him by vomiting all over the flower beds.
Early the next morning, while everyone was going on a game drive, I was searching for my room keys My head felt as though it had been chewed on by a hyena during the night and my stomach could not even take in the tiniest sip of water.
The other delegates returned with stories of wild life sightings to go down in memory. I was only concerned about my own wild life shenanagins, now lost to my memory.
Why am I telling you this?
To remind myself, never, never, ever again.
It will be held in a bushveld enviroment with attendees from all over the world.
Last year, I went with a bang and came back with a whimper. This year I am going with my ante-buse firmly in my pocket. I was almost too ashamed to go, the cringe factor is 10/10 on this one.
I had actually managed to go AF for about 7 days before the last conference just long enough to reduce my tolerance and get the cravings going.
My job was to organise the first night's events and welcome the delegates. Great,
everything went well, until my first glass of wine, about 2 hours before the delegates were meant to arrive.What was I thinking
by the time people started to arrive the buzz was being chased. I managed to down a bottle, on an empty stomach and was ticking and ready to roll. I slipped out to get my next bottle, and the rest, as they say, was the making of a disasterous history. Anyone who has been to a South African barbeque will know that it takes a looooong time for the food to arrive. By the time the food was ready I had formed my own little pool of revellers and dived, fully clothed into the swimming pool.
I believe that among other things, I tried to convert a Baptist preacher to Catholicism:upset:
I also lost my shoes and had to slip away early in the morning to find some place where I could buy a pair of respectable sandals. I spent the rest of the conference wearing a pair of sea shell covered slip slops, a size too small, made by the local trading store.
Next day, I was finished, ashamed and as hungover as a dried piece of jerky.
You would think that I would learn... not so.
Next night it was the formal prize giving and there were a few bottles of my favourite wine on the table. By the time that the official announcements were over, I had quenched my thirst on the wine. I barely remember the food.
I then lost my keys and a room had to be found for me for the evening. One of the organisers escourted me to my room and I thanked him by vomiting all over the flower beds.
Early the next morning, while everyone was going on a game drive, I was searching for my room keys My head felt as though it had been chewed on by a hyena during the night and my stomach could not even take in the tiniest sip of water.
The other delegates returned with stories of wild life sightings to go down in memory. I was only concerned about my own wild life shenanagins, now lost to my memory.
Why am I telling you this?
To remind myself, never, never, ever again.
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