At Peddlars… On The Bend. And Sobhar. Oh and Wadda Too.

It was a wet and wintry Friday night when I found myself at Peddlars (On The Bend) a much loved little drinking haunt in the gang-infested suburb of Constantia.

From here, we ventured forth to Sobhar and Wadda Bar in Claremont, as this cleverly written time line will account for. Read on:

21h15 – Arrive at Peddlars. On the bend. Parking space is a problem and I am forced to park in the muddied outskirts of the establishment. This leaves me slightly irritable, as I am wearing a pair of Italian loafers, who I found hiding behind some crates at a nearby shop, having a smoke break when they should have been working.

21h17 – Wading my way through the 100m of waist-deep mud, before reaching the paved parking area. On the way there, I encounter a dwarf, who is sinking in the quick-sand like environment. I manage to pick him up and hoist him on my shoulders. Strangely enough, he isn’t the first little person I have saved from quick sand, but we’ll leave that particular story for another time.

21h25 – Peddlars proves to be quite a lively bar. The inside section boasts a restaurant / eatery of sorts, whilst the outside court offers ample seating and standing room, enabling you to drink beer and be merry. It’s at the outside court where I see The Gupster and The Brand Ambassador, together with The I.T Guy, and I waddle over nonchalantly, careful not to trip over anyone lying on the floor. There doesn’t appear to be any bodies on the ground though so I make it through safely. A good sign. The Gupster gets the first of many rounds. I have my first Jagerbomb for the night.

21h49 – There are an abundance of people I know here. It’s a high school reunion of sorts, and many people are catching up and swopping old war stories. People seem helluva impressed about my days as a masked crime fighter, whilst studying medicine and working on a treatment for laziness (I make sure to show them the Italians on my feet when I mention this) I mill at the bar for a bit, where The I.T Guy and myself have our 2nd and 3rd Jagerbombs for the night.

22h30 – Send a text message to The Girlfriend, telling her how well behaved I’ve been and that I haven’t thrown away my good name by saying something offensive and stupid. At this point, conversation at Peddlars is starting to lean toward future plans. I tell everyone that I’m going to open a school for retarded kids, teaching them to speak properly. After an awkward silence, I am then informed that the future plans in question revolve around what to do later that night. I send a text message to The Girlfriend, telling her how well behaved I’ve been and… well, ja. The Gupster hands me my 5th Jagerbomb.

23h05 – After furious lobbying from various parties, Wadda Bar in Claremont is mentioned as a likely alternative. I remember going to Wadda once before many moons ago, where a slightly inebriated Barry (the Token Black Guy), had a verbal slanging match with Graeme Smith, who got really pissed off when Barry kept referring to him as Hansie.

22h07 – We arrive at Wadda Bar, only to discover – wait… that time can’t possibly be right.

23h17 – We arrive at Wadda Bar, only to discover that there is a sizable queue, the size of a Danny K concert. As far as I’m aware Danny K isn’t scheduled to sing here, but you never know with him, he has a habit of popping up anywhere, trying to flog his single, “Hey Shorty”, as a viable club track.

23h18 – Danny K isn’t performing at Wadda Bar, but we’re still not keen on waiting in the line. It’s getting helluva cold right now, the guy in front of us has literally frozen from the elements. (There are stray dogs and a couple of vagrants licking him) We decide to make the best of things and head off to Sobhar, a dangerous and treacherous journey 300 metres away.

23h25 – The journey is a tense one, and we lose many good men along the way – some to the bitter cold, a few to the gale force winds, and a couple to a group of young flossies (floozies) who we encountered halfway through the journey.

23h35 – Eventually we arrive at Sobhar. I often get annoying text messages on my phone, advertising their “Hot and Single” bar staff. Either I’m the only one getting these messages, or no one seems to be paying attention to them, as the place is decidedly empty.

23h38 – A Kurt Darren number hits the decks and the club is magically transformed into a thumping venue, people seemingly appearing out of nowhere to dance to the big K.D’s new treffer – “Standing On The Edge”. I see someone who shares a remarkable likeness to Danny K, sulking in the corner.

23h42 – The Kurt Darren song ends, and just as suddenly, so does the night at Sobhar. We decide to mission back to Wadda.

00h05 – I manage to force my wors into Wadda, which takes some doing, as there are probably close to 10 000 people packed inside the tiny space. Sadly Graeme Smith doesn’t seem to be in attendance, leaving Barry (the Token Black Guy) to look out for any other South African sportsman to relentlessly mock. The Gupster and I head off to the bar, ten feet away.

01h10 – We eventually make it to the bar, having to fight of hundreds of thirsty revellers to get our orders in. In the process, I have sent 13 grown men to the hospital, while The Gupster is lagging behind slightly with 10. He has managed to have sex with three girls in that time as well though, so morally he is the winner. We order our drinks, and toast his victory.

01h49 – The music at Wadda is more or less what you would come to expect from a Claremont nightspot, with commercials ditties from the likes of Fall Out Boy and Good Charlotte interspersed with Roxette. I decide to dance my tits off and head toward the dance floor.

02h41 – I have officially danced my tits off.

03h05 – Wadda was okay, but my stomach begins complaining, as it normally does on a Friday night out. “Hey Shaun, I’m hungry my chyna” it keeps moaning, which is annoying as it keeps interrupting me when I try and speak to someone. It also has an annoyingly high voice, so this makes me helluva irritated. Eventually I can’t take it any longer and so we decide to head off to Starlight Cafe in Rondebosh Main Road. To shut my stomach up, I order the “Artery Blocker Burger”, which comprises a whole pig, drenched in fat, with a lick layer of grease on top. I gobble it up in three minutes flat, and my stomach suddenly doesn’t have much to say anymore.

04h38 – It’s fairly late, and I manage to sneak back into The HQ. It’s way passed my curfew but The Girlfriend is fast asleep. A reasonable night out comes to an end. Why is my stomach such a bitch, and how did The Gupster manage to have sex with three girls in one hour?

These are the questions I ask myself as I doze off into a deep, alcohol induced slumber. The end.

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