Solong good Friend it's hard to die

Four years ago I started working at this restaurant, part time while looking for another job. I ended up staying four months. It was the worst of times, it was the best of times. The owner and I became great friends and to date she’s still one of my favourite people.
When it came to building castles in the sky we were two peas in a pod. Sometimes it got us into a little trouble but mostly it provided for some of the wildest nights in the bush. My very last project before leaving was to get my favourite band to perform there. It was such a huge success that they requested to return the next year.
Situated on a game farm in the heart of the bushveld it had the most spectacular views. Words can’t describe the African night sky and breath taking sunsets from the deck. A thatch roof double story only visible about 200m from the entrance.
They had the best Sunday carvery in the world, and that is saying a lot coming from someone who grows up in a house with a chef for a father and working for the opposition. The last time I was there was a couple weeks ago. It made me decide to write a blog about it. One of my top 5 favourite places in the world.
The memories are prise less. I lived with the owner and her family on the naigbouring game farm and weekends the brat and some of our other friends would pitch up and crash on my bedroom floor. Wall to wall bodies. After I left I would go there all the time. On a Friday night I’d get a text message… SEDIBA?... and a half an hour later the brat’s best bud would be at my door. If it got to busy I’d jump in and lend a hand, we all would. And when times were tough and payday still a week and a half away we would work for booze. Getting more sloshed then the punters. We’d drink cheap red wine from a box and dance on the bar..(hope momzy’s not reading)… downing bottles of jagermister with the owner…. That reminds me, this one time while I was still working there it was so quiet, she decided that we would have a shot of jagermister for every hour that past with out any customers. That was 10 o’clock the morning, 12 hours and three bottles later, just as we were getting ready to call it a day, three hunters and the gay hairdresser from town rocked up. I think we only got to bed at 5 the next morning… jagermister was our signature drink, the most revolting stuff I’ve ever tasted, but the most delicious. In al the time I worked there I never got sick, we recon it’s the jaggies. Sometimes we would pull an all nighter, enter sun east at six and exit us west. Sometimes we would go right through 24 hours then crash two days solid. Mondays and Tuesdays we were closed and I would come in to town but sometimes I would stay and we’d spend the day on a friend’s game farm.

This morning at 9 I got this mms. Our watering hole burnt to the ground. I was, shock it’s like being woken by dripping water on your forhead after a peaceful dream. I still can’t believe it. The couldn’t save anything. I feel sick just thinking about it. I had my last drink In December but that doesn’t matter, an old friend and I was just talking about having to make some time to get up there again. Now… nothing. Life is so short and so unpredictable…SEDIBA, YOU’LL BE MISSED OLD FRIEND!!