Rafikis. Plane. Italy. 30.
“Do the world a favor and give it horns”
My original plan was to go full throttle and head over to Vegas for 4 days. Unfortunately for Vegas, we were not quite ready. Instead I got booked on a job for Fat Face to camera assist in Italy. My flight was on Sunday the 8th May, initially being the 6th, two days before D-Day.
Did someone say Rafikis showdown? Sorry family. I know you had plans of a quiet weekend chilling at Arabella, but Windhoek is calling.
At about 7, just before the rugby, things kicked off with Ash and Stormie…
From about 9, those who had been sent to put me down arrived. I have been told. At this point brief flashes of glory are the only memories I have. I remember stroh rum on fire, I remember “do you have any shrooms?”, I remember “NO Steve, I wont let you eat my balls in the toilet!”, “One more of you fuckers flirt with my little sister and shit is kicking off”, I remember cheese joints, I remember looking for keys I didn’t ever have, I remember calling a drink time out and I remember not going home alone…
When did buying your mate a shooter stand in good stead as a present?!
Into mothers day I went. Brunch was at my sisters spot in town for mom. It started at 11 I think and my flight was at 2. I was fucked. My eyes were orange red. I had the rehab shakes. My skin was now a completely new pantone somewhere between lime green and pink. Vomiting allot at this point. I took a shower and digested some “mypies” before driving very slowly and wide to my sisters. On arrival I think I puked. I found a warm couch and lay there while everyone convinced little Ashton that his uncle cant play with him because he is ill. More like on his last few beats before hell! My mom looked worried.
They ate. I took abuse for a bit and said goodbye. Greatest achievement so far as an almost 30 year old was making it there that morning.
Kirsty picked me up and took me to my grave.
I had to fly via joburg to Frankfurt. I am not kidding when I tell you that for about 14 hours of flying, I was sick for maybe 10 of those hours.
The lady next to me on the aisle seat, bless her, complained that I looked like I was going to die. But she also wanted to be moved or for me to be escorted off the plane. It was hilarious amongst all the fear and now serious claustrophobia I was feeling. They moved me into business class, which I thought was very sweet considering they were “european” and there I lay for the last few hours.
I landed into Frankfurt at about 6am and called a friend to come collect me so I can shower and try feel normal again. My lay-over was 7 hours before flying to Verona so I had some time to chill. I still couldnt eat a thing! But my body was fighting through. As long as I moved slowly…
Finally I landed in Verona, where I realized I didn’t know where to go, who to talk to or how I would contact anyone. Shit man.
I saw a flight that arrived 45 minutes after my flight from London so I figured some of the crew would be on that and we would head out together. This was not how it played out… Besides some of the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, no Fat Face crew.
I had no cash now, was starving and didnt quite know what I was going to do. The next flight was in 4 hours from UK.
I sat it out… The airport is about 50m wide with one coffee shop and a tourist office. I changed in those 4 hours…
The crew did eventually arrive and we were all picked up and taken to our accommodation on the shore of Lake Garda. Rock n Roll…
The drive from Verona is about an hour and we jumped in with Simon. He’s English and had driven the 15 hours in a van down from Portsmouth. The man is my hero. He could kill a gorilla with those tennis racket hands and I am pretty sure I saw him pick up a boat!
Simon works in sea rescue and trust me when I tell you he can solve any disaster. Seriously, give him world peace, one week and some cable ties. Problem solved.
There were 4 models brought over from the UK, 2 of which were South African. They were up for anything and we had some good laughs throughout the trip. I thought it was very well casted. And I am a professional on models… Trust me. I am international.
We stayed in a caravan park called Fornella Village on the waters edge of Garda Lake. I met the Fat Face team and was shown where I would be staying for the trip. They all looked very concerned at the state I was in. Good impression Rich…
I opened the door to #6 caravan and there sat the photographer, Nigel and the digital assistant Ryan, who everyone calls Dave, in their boxers. They thought it would be hilarious to turn the air-conditioning to the lowest temperature and pretend like all was fine. It was polar in there. I am not kidding. That night I shivered myself in and out of hypothermia for about 6 hours until the sun eventually came up. I had slept maybe an hour, was frozen and still had the kind of headache that needs 24 hours on a pillow.
We started shooting at the pier early morning. Believe it or not, Nigel needed some reflection from the water onto the models faces. My job. Fuck man. This is glacier water and very early. Nigel is smiling far to much! Revenge is rushing through my veins!
And in my boxers I stood waist deep holding a small reflector smiling at two very cute models. Give and take huh.
The evening was spent drinking champagne and Grappa, eating pizza and enjoying the 13th century sights on display through the San Felice Valley.
I was bumped, which was new to me and involves a person at each limb and thrown into the air for each year lived. Unfortunately for my body, I was 30.
I had a great night and sat up with Nigel and “Dave” sharing war stories. Someone had spent their first day in Italy trying to hunt down the most disgusting prostitute he could find as a birthday laugh on me. “Unfortunately” all the “models” were very hot and expensive so the mission was unsuccessful… or was it.
Thank you Fat Face!
This entry was posted on Monday, May 23rd, 2011 at 12:58 pm
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