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Rocked, Rolled (and smoked) those Daisies.

photo from channel24.co.za

Things I learnt at the Daisies 2011:

A bottle of apple juice in a campsite is probably pee.

A dam that sits in the sun all day is not necessarily going to be warm.

Black people can get sunburnt too, and are more likely to remember suncream.

Sometimes said black people get confused and buy after-sun lotion instead of suncream, thinking it’s the same thing.

If you wear a headband with flowers on it, people will automatically assume you are a real hippy.

Blackberries don’t get proper signal in hippy-land, resorting to phone calls and SMS only, just like it’s only the noughties.

It is harder to convince people that Angel is your “real name” when you are wearing a hippie head-band in a campsite.

Straw is itchy to sit on when you are wearing short-shorts. (This makes ‘roll in the hay’ not sound like as fun a past-time as it used to)

Ice Cream is a suitable breakfast food. So are hamburgers.

photo by Jonx Pillemer

People are pretty rad.

An entire campsite will wake up at 6am singing Shosholoza to go to the main stage and watch the Boks play Australia in our thousands at 7am.

Gathered at Dawn to support the Boks vs Australia.

Watching our Boks en mass.

National Pride knows no boundaries, neither does our collective indignation at Bryce Lawrence’s blind refereeing.

It is hard work performing stand-up comedy at a festival.

Shade is a wonderful thing.

photo by Jonx Pillemer

Toothbrushes are wonderful things.

Everything is better when it’s sunny.

It’s impossible NOT to lose a squeezy bottle. Three times.


As I write this, my thoughts are being drowned out by the sound of a construction crew, incessantly drilling through (what sounds like) impenetrable rock. Ah, home in the city. I woke up in my bed, with the high thread-count soft sheets and satin pillows hugging my achey body yet couldn’t help but miss the hard floor of a tent, awaking to the sound of drunk festival goers singing jovially as they made their way back through the campsite littered with beer cans to fall into a sweaty coma in the canvas tent-castles of Rocking the Daisies 2011. Give me drunken cat calls at 5am, queuing for a toilet, dirty drum and bass beats vibrating all night over construction workers and traffic at 7am anyday.

Sunrise over the dirty Daisies. (from my Blackberry)

Rocking the Daisies did just as it promised. It rocked my daisy. We were blessed with a face meltingly hot weekend this year and the infamous dam became a welcome highlight, with imported beach sand around the Mainstay ‘beach-bar’ managing to mask MOST of the devil thorns from raping our soft, winter fresh little feet.

Mainstay Bar and Main Stage from behind. (Photo by Jonx Pillemer)

I am writing this blog to catch the last fragments of memories before they fall through my sieve like mind. (Sieve-like? My housemate’s name is Siv, and I do ‘like’ him. So that’s an accurate description. right?)

Dairy of the Daisies:

Driving to the Daisies with Dropkick Murphy pumping in our air-conditioned car – watching the countryside rush past, with fresh green buds on all the vineyards and purple spring flowers colouring all the fields we arrived rip-roaring into the Artist accreditation section to pick up our VIP armbands and right to walk with that extra bit of SWAG that comes with having an armband saying “Artist” on it. Of course, we could invent ANY type of career into that, as my friend who was “the back up guitarist for Civil Twilight” soon discovered. Girls love a guitarist, (it appeared). *high five*  They didn’t need to know that we were the lowliest of the Stand-Up comedians, brought there to only play one little gig – at midday to a very stuffy room full of a hungover Saturday crowd, recovering from the Friday night that Rocked all our faces off.

photo by Jonx Pillemer

Things I remember of Friday:

I arranged to borrow a tent from the infamous Dan Nash, On unpacking it and figuring out which pole went into what hole and how many times you can say “push and Pull” and other dirty innuendos (giggidy!) while pitching a tent (giggidy) I happily discovered that it was huge! (giggidy), like a castle. Bigger than my apartment in Korea was. #Win

My monster tent, Dwarfing Comedian Peter Ssweranga's little Super Mario Mushroom looking tent.

The comedians hosted by Rob Van Vuuren rocked the comedy stage hard on Friday. They were: Dusty RichKGPeter Sserwanga and Thomas Gumede. (If memory serves correct… which is not the most reliable assumption)

Up at the main-stage bar I realised that Tequila was a bad choice.

I bought a festival tshirt that had the lineup (including my name) printed on the back. I spent the rest of the night trying to show people my name, on my back, in tiny writing, whilst attempting to stand still. #fail

I met and bumped into a lot of people that had to re-introduce themselves and re-bump into me the next day.

I wore red socks as part of Red Sock Friday.

I remember a few camera flashes in my face. (Oh god, those photos will probably come back to haunt me)

People crashed the Jack Parow band on stage… like a photo-bomb, but on the large scale. They were thrown off by security to Boo’s from the crowd. (at the security for killing the gees, not at the stage crasher)

Jack Parow's stage bomber.... epic.

I called a time-out after midnight and went back to my tent, like a ninja. If ninjas sing loudly, high-five everyone they walk past and drunk-dial sleeping non-Daisyfied Boys. #NinjaFail

On waking up at 7am, I discovered that neighbours in campgrounds are friendly people.

Sunrise over the Campsite.

The Media guy who flew a camera-helicopter gave me an orange, (in a marvellous display of ‘throw and catch’ that would have made Jonty Rhodes proud.) The  ‘A Brother Moves On’ band shared their sunscreen with me and offered to share tequila – at 7am. I did not repeat the bad decision though.

You know it was an awesome night when you look into your friend’s tent to make sure he made it back ok – and you see a stuffed teddy bear back-pack thingy wrapped around his head. #win

The monster lines at our toilet and showers revealed that the ‘plebs’ had broken down the fence into VIP and were happily raping the facilities. Gotta love equality. The natives were restless.  But I shared Mapodile Mkhabela’s wisdom: “Who needs to shower already. It’s only day 1”

I had softserve ice-cream for breakfast (with sprinkles!!) and it was “game on” again (Also thanks to the free Wrigley’s gum that they kept handing out – minty fresh mouths make life better.)

In a nice ‘pay-it forward’ role reversal, we raped the facilities and shade gazebos of the more upper class Klippies and Cola hotel. These people took Glamping to another level with perpetually filled with ice coolerboxes under gazebos, tents with REAL BEDS and duvets in them and ample space. We shared the shade and the cooler boxes because,…we didn’t give them a choice.  (And they didn’t even have a fence to break down.)

Abusing the Shady Klippies and Cola Area.

My comedy was at 12 midday, which felt like hours after we woke up. In the heat of the day, I was impressed to see so many people attending, but it soon became evident that the heat mixed with the hangover made for a tough crowd. (Not to mention my best friends, front row en masse – launching a campaign to convince the crowd not to laugh when I came out. “She’s an actress and a model already, she has enough going for her. Don’t laugh” was apparently the brief. lol. With friends like these, who needs prozac? *blink*  )

Comedy at the Lemon Tree Theatre

All in all it went well. And according to a random French guy overheard in the campsites “The girl comic, she had jokes” (said in a thick nonchalant accent) A special shout out to Peter Sserwanga for stepping up and hosting the daytime comedy when our other host got the times wrong and wasn’t at the fest… Peter thought he was already finished and had started the day with beer. This made for amusing comedy (in the non-conventional sense). What a trooper.

Brendan Murray killing on Sunday morning.

Marcel, the comedic Magician was up after me and succeeded in freaking out all of the aforementioned best friends on their shroom trips with his magic… messing with their minds. (Revenge is sweet)

Jeremy Loops (a fellow Somerset Westian – my hometown) was my favourite performance of the main stage. Maybe I’m biased coz I know him, or maybe it’s coz he freaking rocked and got the crowd dancing and carefree in that ‘throw your arms up and twirl like a happy hippy’ kinda way.

The Converse stage on the walk to the tents featuring Deep Fried Man and Tol Ass Mo singing songs improv was another highlight. ‘We should nationalise the Daisies! But why? Because, we can! Because we like own the country … somehow’

Deep Fried Man and Tol Ass Mo (Photo from my BB)

Most of Saturday was spent socialising in shady areas with friends, making fun of a guy who looked just like Matt Damon. (MATT DAAAMON!!) Then the evening comedy was up with Paul Snodgrass hosting, my roommate Siv Ngesi killing, Rob Van Vuuren pulling out a genius and hilarious set and Mum-Z wrapping up a killer line up. All these guys dominated.

Civil Twilight and Band of Skulls were the back track to the drinking at the main stage later that night – and it all gets hazy.

Shout out to No Regret Friday for sponsoring and keeping the reality check in our minds.

Sunrise over the Daisies (from my BB)

Rad people that I can remember from the Daisies who are also on the Twitter-interwebs: @NatalieRoos @BangersandNash @JordanLSKY @YesWeCrann @LolaByTheSea @ZarahRobertson @Mapodile

Comedians: @iamSivN @Solidgame @KGComic @MumZ @Snoddie @DeepFriedMan @Robvanvuuren @DustyRich @TolAssMo @Marcel_Perform @ThomasGumede and me @YesReallyAngel

If anyone knows of any photo-blogs from the Daisies please let me know. I didn’t take a camera.

Update: Booked to perform at Rocking the Daisies 2012. Read post here #RTD12


Filed under High Five Moment

Birthing the concept


doesn’t love

a random


The idea for this site hit me when a group of friends and I were wandering around at a three day rock festival, like dirty little hippies –  day 2: hung over and drunk –  Teetering between completely awesome and completely legless we were running around making airplane noises, laughing at blades of grass and randomly tackling each other to the ground. (Where I had the full weight of a grown man, launched gleefully into the air, land on my face – but it was ok, my nose broke his fall – and did I cry? no. I Laughed, hysterically. True story.)

Walking along, through the crowds of equal distributions of black, white, green and blue people – some of whom were hippies in last month’s dirt and tie dyed extremities. Some of whom were scary emo/metal/goth types who had come for the ‘rock’ part of the fest and of course, some were the normal breed of preppy waltzing along pretending to feel comfortable without a hot shower and gel in their hair. It was during this wonderous display of ‘awesome’ when one of the more forward thinking of the ‘Kutting Krew’ (as we have lovingly, and rightly, dubbed ourselves) took it upon himself to prove that “everyone loves a high five”.  He began throwing up high-fives at every person who walked past.

And would you believe it, not one person rejected his upstretched, outreaching arm. Even the skinny sad emos, staring at the floor and stamping along, as if to try and inflict pain on the grass underfoot – darn it for being so green, and happy, and alive – even they lifted a hand for that one awesome moment of human connection. The satisfying ‘slap’ of skin meeting skin.

His point (and my point here,) got further solidified, when we were standing front row, right up against that metal barrier they erect infront of rock stages to protect you from the band going crazy and trying to eat the faces of the crowd (I can only assume is it’s purpose) – so there we were, a group of unkempt, noisy vagabonds (if you will) pushing up against the railing. Laughing, high-fiving and rocking (both “out” and “back and forth”)…. and there he was – a big, really big, Nigerian bouncer/security guard. Standing stoic in front of the stage, leering at us from across the ‘no-man’s land’ DMZ of grass. “Crowd control” I believe is his job description.

Believe me when I say, He was NOT amused.

But, not one to…

a.) Fear authority

b.) hold back ‘love sharing’

c.) think clearly about things before doing them

…my friend reached out his hand in the universal proffering of the random high-five – and there he defiantly held it.

We said things like, “Dude, leave him. He’s working. Don’t irritate him, he’ll rip out your throat”… but what was that? A movement from the security guard! Could it be?

Yes, it could. Forward he (begrudgingly) shuffled, raised his hand and slapped my buddy’s. With not one stitch of a smile. Almost with an air of “fuck-you” about him before he returned to his previous position, arms crossed across exploding pectorals. Blink and you woulda missed it.

But our uproar of cheers, applause and general JOY at his actions “Everyone loves a high-five!!! You ROCK, Security Guard!” made him twitch just a little, shake his head and then: crack a smile! Maybe it was because a bunch of white kids just went buck-crazy in front of him and he was laughing at us… Hard to say, but I like to think that – really –  the echo of that slap of skin hitting skin had lingered on his ‘Awesome Radar’ and it’s pretty hard not to feel smug after an epic high-five.

Thank you Mr. Scary Security Guard, may your future be filled with happy surprises. Smiles from strangers and random high-fives when walking down the street.

I dare you to try it. I dare you not to love it.

It’s gonna be huge.. It’ll go viral.

(That’s what she said!   High-Five!)

By: TwitterButtons.com

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Filed under Awesome Observations, High Five Moment