I’m sure you will be delighted to learn that Sevitz has taken it upon himself to organise a summer blogmeet, to take place on 30 July, somewhere in London. The venue appears to be a relative secret, but details can be obtained by leaving a comment here or on sevitzdotcom. The more the merrier, I say…
June 7, 2005
Important Notice about Parties and the Forthcoming Summer
The venue isn’t that secret. It’s in the ship on the river. 🙂
Ra ra, summer parties.
Thanks Karen.
Which means we can’t really call it a Braai, seeing as we’ll be, like, paying for our food and drinks nd stuff.
There will still be meating cooking on an open flame. It’s my party and I can (call it a) braai if I want to.
No, no, no. South Africa should disown your ass for this kind of treasonous talk. One of the classic, fundamental features of a Braai is that the men stand around the BBQ drinking beer while the women prepare the salads. We’ll be at a pub, buying pints and ordering food from the bar. That’s not a braai. That’s going to the pub. The last time we went to the ship, you didn’t say: “Let’s go to the ship for a braai.” Just like going to a Mongolian restaurant is not “having a barbeque”.
Don’t make me uninvite your ass.
Upon consulting Wikipedia, the jury finds in favour of Dan. Not that it really matters.
Men will be cooking the meat. Women will be making the salad. Just they wont be bloggers but bar staff doing that.
Here’s the litmus test for a Braai:
“Can I make my world famous Pimm’s?”
IF “YES”: It’s a Braai.
IF “NO, THE BAR STAFF WILL ASK YOU TO LEAVE”: It’s not a Braai.
It’s not world famous.
It’s my braai. I can call it whatever I bloodywell want. You’re going to get yourself barred with that attitude.
The definitions of words do not alter simply because you wish them to do so. If that were the case custard paper disc pen drive.
It’s a title, it’s not a definition.
…And handbags did once again ensue between Dan and Ade…
We’re going round in circles here. Adrian, Dan, please continue your discussion by email.
Screw that. Throw them some oil and tell them to get shirtless. If they’re going to fight, they might as well make it entertaining to watch 😉
We prefer creamed corn for our wrestling, Pix.
Whatever floats your boat, sweetie.
Braai, bar, bra, brawl. With these two, it seems hard to tell the difference.
I don’t mind wrestling in oil, but I’m not wearing a bra for love or money.
Who are you kidding? You’d slap a bra on for Natalie-Portman-love in about about two seconds.