Craig ChantelleSo as alluded to in an earlier post, Friday night Chantelle and I were booked in for a not quite so frightful Halloween party hosted by Andy and her partner in crime at Treasure Chest, held at the delightfully remote and feathered Blue Mountain Bird Farm out in Klapmuts.

The theme for the get together was the letter H and as such, there was quite the variety of weird and wonderful on display when we finally arrived, fabulously late and once again in one of our ‘better late than never’ attitudes! :P (Well, we can’t help the place is so bloody far away from Gordon’s Bay!)

While I had taken the fairly easy route out, picking up a poncho and a sombrero and insisting that I go simply as a ‘hombre’ (I didn’t even shave for a week or two for authenticity’s sake), Chantelle on the other hand went all out, deciding on going as a ‘hippie’ and even going so far as tie-dying her own shirt!

So there she was, emblazoned in a bright pink flare pants, white and blue tie-dye shirt, blue headband and completely decked out from head to toe in jewellery, and me in my multi-colour poncho and sombrero that puts even Joseph’s amazing coloured technicolour dreamcoat to shame. However, bright as we were, it becomes difficult to compete when you are up against a fearfully pink ‘hasie’, two big rugby ‘hookers’, a colourfully attired ‘hindu princess’, a ‘high flying pilot’, a ‘Hawaiian’, ‘Hobo’, ‘Hello kitty’ and even Heidi the Hospitable Housemaid herself!

By the time we arrived, the meat was already on the coals and we quickly fell in step, felling those drinks and gathering that gossip while two poor designated bastards slaved over the hot fire behind us. The mood was pretty festive (and not just thanks to ‘Horny’ Fiona and her ill fitting bull’s horns and Andy’s gigantic rubber breasts) despite the skeletons and fake spider-webs hanging all around and with some good music on in the background the party was pretty much a success.

As it turned out, the food was more than enough to match the mood, and when it did finally come off the coals, everyone hungrily tucked in, though a little more carefully than one normally would do, thanks to the paper thin plastic plates that displayed a nasty tendency to crack right through the middle with a well placed fork prod. Needless to say, I dropped enough salad bits through the hole in the middle of my plate to embarrass myself and just hope that no one can ever link that fallen piece of chicken to me.

At least the various attending dogs now like me.

The party stuck around until pretty late, though just before 00:30 Chantelle and I pulled a fast one, wishing a quick goodbye to the important people that were still there and then disappeared down the road in a cloud of dust, sobbing at the fact that it would still take us a good 45 minutes just to get home! :(

(Thankfully the radio proved to be rather good company on the long drive home. Chantelle’s gentle snoring did not.)

The one thing I did however learn from a thoroughly enjoyable evening out and about is that being a hombre is particularly difficult. Sombreros tend to knock into things if you forget how wide the brim is, and when you hang the sombrero behind you, it feels as if somebody keeps tapping you from behind… which is almost as annoying as the flappity poncho which seems intent on getting caught in everything! :)

Frightful, I know.