Yup, Wednesday was another one to remember...

or not. Actually, I don't remember a whole lot after 7pm... As mentioned in a previous posting, I was off to play golf on Wednesday and fly fishing on Thursday, both of which were quite a good day out. I played the best golf of my life, firing in an 84 gross. Considering that I have only played twice in the last two years and relegated myself to an unofficial 24 handicap, I thought I didn't do too bad. In fact, I think I've only ever once carded a 90. Halfway through the round we were disturbed by a small electrical storm that lasted about a half hour, but we decided to stick it out under the trees and I'm glad we did even though it was a bit cold and wet (kind of like a dog's nose when it sticks it in your ear as you're sleeping on the couch, but I digress). After golf, it is customary to "wet your bag" with a few beverages and that's where the wheels fell off. A few games of pool and snooker, and a "few" drinks later, I got home around 1am... On Thursday, after a light breakfast, I packed the fly fishing gear into the Ranger and headed for the hills, or lakes, in this case. Try bending over to tie flies to hair-width fishing line with a hangover the size mine was...fuckin' hell...I thought my head was going to implode. Luckily I came home with a fish of around the 600g mark, which Steph promptly baked for her dinner (I had the curry I was supposed to have on Wednesday night) and the previous night's overindulgence was forgiven. And today, in their infinite wisdom, management have decided to let everyone out of their cages at 12h00 for preparation of their respective new year celebrations. So I guess I'll be outta here shortly to go and sort out the pool at home that now looks like a fuckin' mudbath, thanks to the brown sludge that poured through from the neighbour's during last night's storm... Anyway everybody...stay safe, have a fantastic new year celebration and we'll speak again next year...

Computers are the last thing on my mind...

when the prospect of a day off comes around. Aside from the posting of a few minutes ago, I haven't written anything for a while (except a disaster recovery plan for a client), but that's due to the holidays. I spend hours every day behind a laptop computer, working, and when I'm not working the laptop is relegated to the depth and darkness of its carry bag. Today, I'm off for a game of golf with some chums from my previous company and some action cricket mates, so it already looks like it's going to be an all-nighter. And tomorrow, hangover willing, I'm off for a couple of hours fly fishing. Strangely, I'm going to meet our builder at the water, as we share this pasttime and he's out camping at the resort for a couple of days with the wife and kids. So...don't expect a posting anytime soon...maybe Friday I'll post an update on the above activities. If not, I trust everyone has a safe, peaceful, New Year and I hope to read some of the hangover tales on Monday...

Season's Greetings to all...

wherever you may be... I know it's a little late to wish everyone a Merry Christmas, so I won't (oh, okay, I will), but will wish everyone the most prosperous, joyful, 2006 and beyond for the upcoming new year. May the best of 2005 be the worst of 2006 to you all...

(Gob)bling Turkey??

Inane, but worth a giggle... Click here...

If Blogging is one of the means to...

communicate with a "larger audience", then why, as Lee remarked in a previous comment to a posting, does it seem that there are regular readers on sites? I must admit, I am guilty of having a select few blogs that I visit regularly, but am keen to expand my reading, which I will do when I get the time to do so. If you pop in here on occasion, and would like me to reciprocate by reading your ramblings, please drop me a comment with your Blog address and I'll drop in sometime. By doing so you also get to drop your address to other readers (not that there's many, or at least not as many as Cuzzin Ross or Jenny-May's blogs)...

Why do we usually wait for "special" occasions...

to reflect on things? I asked myself this question this morning, having read Lee and Jenny-May's latest blog postings for the umpteenth time, trying to figure out how to post a response or comment. For anyone who reads this and hasn't read their blogs, do so first and see what I'm referring to. In the western world, Christmas is supposed to be one of those "special" occasions, so as it's only a couple of weeks away, I'm going to reflect. And before you think "he's just going to be boasting about how much he's got", you're wrong. I'm actually reflecting on how privileged I am to have things and people in my life, that enrich my life. You might want to get the Kleenex out, as this posting has changed from what I originally planned, this sentence having been added after it was written. As someone who has worked (relatively) hard my entire working life for the things and people I have in my life, having made a few mistakes along the way and having to rebuild as I went along, I started reflecting on how fortunate I actually am compared to some others. Summer is in full swing in southern Africa and while you may think "so what?", we are also in the middle of a drought (or "minor drought" as the fuckwit on SkyNews weather calls it - there's no such thing as a "minor drought", ya twat!!), having had only about 20% of our expected rainfall so far. This means that there are people out there (you've all seen the pictures and news footage) who are struggling to get a drink of water, yet all I have to do is turn my tap on and there it is. There are farmers who are battling to get crops raised to feed these same masses, yet I can leave it to my computer-controlled sprinkler system to ensure that my plants don't die. I can afford, though not extravagantly, to go out to a supermarket and buy groceries, or to a fast food outlet, to keep my overweight gut in "shape" (round is also a shape, you know) and to keep my stomach from grumbling, yet there are those that I see every day on street corners, begging a few coins for something to eat or drink (the latest "scam" is for beggars to drag along a blind person to try and elicit sympathy, and money, from motorists). Those that I can, and being able to judge (I think) a genuine case, I will drop a few coins into their cup, or hand them one of my McDonald's junior cheeseburgers when I'm treating myself (the chips are mine, no way I share those). In winter, I can load an extra duvet onto the bed or turn up the electric blanket a point or two, yet there are those that don't even have a blanket for warmth. I can snuggle up closer to the ever-warm Steph, yet there are those who don't even have someone they can say hello to, let alone hug for a bit of warmth or affection. I have my health, even if I'm a little bit overweight (I blame Steph's great cooking, another privilege), but again everyone has seen the footage of masses of people in food shelters, waiting patiently for morsels, or in filthy make-shift field hospitals, coughing their lungs out or suffering, sometimes in silence, from some or other unmentionable (yet preventable) disease. I have my family, a loving mother, father, brother and sister, daughter, and friends whom I can call up and ask how they're doing, what they're up to, how their lives are going, or to send them a gift on a "special occasion". There are, on the other hand, those out there who don't have anyone in their lives, no-one to speak to and with no-one wanting to speak to them, alone and lonely, no-one to hand them a gift to unwrap and see the smile on their face. I'm sitting here (supposedly working) in my house which is currently in a state of upheaval while we have an extra lounge added to increase our style of living, with a partially-leaky roof over my head (due to the ineptitude of the builders), but I have a roof over my head at night to shelter me from storms, heat and cold. Meanwhile, somewhere in the world, there are those that live under bridges, shelter in cardboard boxes in shop doorways, or tin shacks in overcrowded townships, even those that don't even have that. I have a car that I can get into, drive to do whatever I have to, yet there are those who have to walk many kilometres to carry water back to their homes, to be repeated daily. I can pick up a book, look at the insert and decide if it's "worth reading", yet there are those that cannot read or write. I can walk to the fridge, powered by electricity, take out something to eat or drink, yet there are those who still light up their homes by candlelight, those that don't know what the hell a fridge is. I have a job, as frustrating, mundane or unexciting as it may be at times, that pays my water and lights bills every month, allows me to buy my groceries, pays for my car and fuel, extends the roof over my head, keeps my health (and gut) in shape, buys my books to read, and countless other privileges I could mention. There are those that don't have a job, or one that enables them to barely scrape a living above the bread line. So, why do we wait for "special occasions" to reflect? I don't know, but the main thing is to reflect...and be eternally thankful for what we have. I am... So also, to respond to Lee and Jenny-May's postings, there are special people that, even though I may never meet them, I know have enriched my life by our interaction and I am privileged to have that. You two ladies are two such people...thank you.

What would you do if you had the means...

to give everyone one wish? I was reading through some of my regular blogger's pages and there's a common theme to them (for some strange reason or other). Every one of them either has, or wants to, travel. That would be my gift to everyone who has the desire to see somewhere different than the four walls in which they live. Think carefully about it, pick a spot in the world you would like to see, here you go, here's your ticket to ________. I've had the privilege to travel quite widely, most of which has been done within the boundaries of South Africa (in fact, I've seen more of SA than most locals have..top to bottom and left to right, right around the coastline). I've also been to Dallas and Florida in the States, twice seen the southern part of Ireland from Dublin to the West Coast (fantastic), Zurich and the Alps in Switzerland, Canterbury in England, my home country Scotland (small enough to travel around it in one day, which we did...Edinburgh to Inverness, down past Oban and Sterling to Glenrothes and back to Edinburgh in 16hrs), Lagos in Nigeria (way different to anywhere else you might go), Mozambique from the southern SA border up to Inhambane (500km north of Maputo - wonderful beaches), and Dar es Salaam in Tanzania (arse-end of the world, that was). My greatest trip, however, and I have mentioned it before, was sailing from Durban to Zanzibar, for which I still need to blog the diary, as promised. I'll get round to it one day. So...in the words of {nnggggggg} Microsoft, "Where do you want to go today?"

Ok, so it's time...

to create a new posting and let the world know it hasn't got rid of me yet... The only reason I haven't put anything out recently is that things are extremely busy on this side of nowhere. Work is keeping me going through the day, to such an extent that, by the time 17h00 comes around I resolve to switch the laptop off until the following morning unless there's something urgent to complete. And that's from starting anywhere between 08h00 and 09h00. On top of that, there's meetings to attend and, as usual, they're not always the best use of one's time. On the home-front, things are at a virtual standstill on the building of the lounge, with the project manager always full of excuses as to why there are delays. To you lot out there who are considering building, or adding to your homes, put penalty clauses into the agreement. Hindsight is wonderful... Consider the photo to the left of this paragraph. It's a photo of my 19yr old daughter's back, or at least the new tattoo on it. As much as it's a nice picture and the artist has some talent, she really hasn't gone into this with any forethought of future consequences. Yeah, I know it's her body and her life, and, and, and, and all the other arguments, but she's only 19 and has a future ahead of her in which she can never be certain how body art will be received. Yeah, I know companies are not supposed to discriminate on the basis of loads of things, but face it, that's in an ideal world. She has a full career ahead of her and if someone senior sees it, it will probably be used against her at some point. And yes, she knows I'm disappointed in her for not thinking further ahead and going on impulse. Maybe I am an old fuddy-duddy at 43, but I have the benefit of age and experience. Incidentally, I have two tattoo's, one of Taz on my left shoulder and one, taken from the Scottish Rugby Union website of a thistle in the shape of a rugby ball, on the back of my right calf...both of which are unseen in normal workwear. The last two weeks have been an absolute alcoholic blur. It all started when my best mate (and brother I wished I'd had) Al, arrived from Houston as guest speaker at a seminar I hosted. He's been here a few times before, but this is the first time from the States. In previous visits, he'd been based in the UK, and he'd only had to endure a "normal" overnight flight. This time it took him almost two days to get here. Flight BA55 arrived at 07h00 or so, and after we'd sorted out a problem with Al's ATM card (wish the USA would get on the same systems as the REST of the world), we headed out for a breakfast, getting there at 10h30 and, you guessed it...the mail plane had flown over already so the bar was open. That was the start of a long Saturday, ending at about 21h30 or so when Al couldn't keep his eyes open any longer, and which somewhere in the middle included me getting my head shaved in support of Cancer Day. The following morning we were up early for a 2-hour drive to the seminar venue, Bakubung Bush Lodge in the heart of the Pilanesberg National Park (where we took daughter Tami and Cuzzin Ross earlier this year). After a couple of sessions, it was off for a game drive where we saw, mostly the "usual suspects" but also a lone male lion. The Pilanesberg had had a very bad bush fire a few weeks ago where a number of elephants were badly burned, some dying from their wounds, and the park rangers had left one of the carcasses for the scavengers to feed from. According to the ranger on our drive, it explained why this particular lion had been seen in this area for a while. Following the drive, we had an African Drumming Experience team building set up for the delegates, during and following which more alcohol was drunk, with the last of us retiring at about 02h00. Needless to say that on the Monday morning none of us were feeling too strong and the morning sessions went off very quietly. By lunchtime, everyone had started to wake up again, as Al had begun his presentations. He's a remarkable presenter and can keep you listening to him for hours. Being from Belfast helps too, as the Irish from that part of the world don't always know when to shut the fuck up. In his case, though, it's a good thing. For the afternoon, we'd arranged a game of cricket for a bit of sport, with yours truly acting as the impartial umpire. A fun time was had by all, with a couple of minor injuries caused by delegates throwing themselves around the tennis court we were playing on. Following that was another game drive and another few beers, though by 21h30 everyone had remembered the previous evening's "injuries" and retired to bed. Tuesday saw a couple of wrap-up sessions, following which Al and I went to de-stress in Manyane, another of the Pilanesberg camps, which is the same camp we went to in May. Too many beers and Captain Morgan 'n' Cokes later, we decided to call it a day. On Wednesday evening, back in Johannesburg, we ended up having dinner with Al's boss who was also in the country, but on holiday (his wife is from SA). Again, too much alcohol and another late night. We were supposed to go to Action Cricket on the Thursday night (and regular readers will know what that does to me), but the game was cancelled so Al and I sat at home and had a little barbecue by ourselves...and more alcohol... Friday saw us in the office for a few hours, followed by another dinner with Al's boss and a couple of other friends...and more alcohol... Needless to say that, after all that boozing, none of us surfaced until after 10h00 on Saturday and all we had to do was some shopping for curios for Al to take back to the States. He was under threat of divorce if he didn't bring back a pair of oven gloves with an African pattern on them, and knock me over and spank my ass with a rough plank if we didn't find a pair of gloves exactly the same as he had back home. Oven gloves may be a strange thing to take back from Africa for someone, but the original pair had been burned recently and Mrs Al really liked them (as he says, if she didn't have them, she'd end up burning her hands taking th TV dinners out of the oven - Al is the chief cook in the house). As is customary with our farewells, that evening it took us all of two seconds to say good bye (neitherof us like long goodbye's) and for Al to go belting off to get through customs in time to do some more bargain hunting before the two-day flight home. and it really is a bargain out here for visitors from the States and the UK as the exchange rates are so much in their favour (ZAR6.7 and ZAR12.4 to the dollar and pound respectively just now). Saturday, Sunday, Monday and Tuesday ended up being nice and quiet at home, just the two of us with perhaps only a sundowner for a drink, but Wednesday was another story. You guessed it...Action Cricket night!! Staggered in at somewhere around midnight, ravaged the missus (she loves it when I'm on the Captian Morgan 'n' Coke) and passed out sometime soon after. Thursday, as we had missed the game the previous week, ended up being a repeat of Wednesday, except for the ravaging part (too fucking knackered) and ended up getting to bed about 22h30. Somewhere through the haze I remember that we set up a game of golf for this coming Thursday...must get hold of the guys to find out more details. We expected to have a quiet Friday evening, just the two of us, but the neighbour's kids came over for a couple of hours while mum and dad went off to a work function (granny let them down on the babysitting). It ended up being not too late a night, with the kids' folks picking them up around 22h30...and very little alcohol. Saturday, however, was another story. After pottering around the garden and cleaning up the caravan for a few hours (we're going camping this weekend at a place Mbizi), we went to the wedding of two of our friends. Let me tell you that red wine and single malt scotch DO NOT MIX!! That was probably the worst hangover of my entire fucking life and Sunday was spent vegetating on the couch after a haggis and fried egg sandwich. Anyway, that's what I've been up to over the last few weeks, just in case you wondered. And, oh yes, Wednesday night is Action Cricket again...anyone got a spare liver? Take care, y'all...

Would you eat something that looked like this?

There's a stream not far from the house and a while ago I'd seen some barbel (catfish) swimming around in it, so today with nothing better to do and fed up sitting in front of the laptop working on a presentation for an upcoming seminar we're hosting, I took my fly rod down. After looking around the river for a while, not seeing a rise, I went back upstream and saw a pool where there were some fish rising. That was all I needed to get me to put the rod together (a 9-weight saltwater rod - those fish would break my 5-weight rod, I reckoned) and move the car back closer to the pool. First I tied on an orange "booby" fly (a dry fly that floats with the aid of sponge for eyes....dunno what it's supposed to look like). Nothing happened after a few minutes so I tied on a fly called a "Yellow DDD" and had a few casts. No luck...so I tried a fly called a "half-a-chicken", a big black thing with red tail streamers which is supposed to be good for barbel. Again, no luck after a few casts. This time I thought I might try an imitation grass hopper, called a "Joe's Hopper". A few casts and I had a few chases, but only after I noticed that they were chasing it after it "plunked" onto the surface....it looked like the noise was attracting them. So I waited for a rise and splashed the Hopper right next to it. Next thing I know, the line straightens and a barbel takes off like a fucking freight train. It took all the loose line I was hanging onto, about 3 or 4 metres, and then carried on going, taking about another 3 or 4 off the reel which was screaming like a banshee from the drag. I managed to get the fish under control, brought it in a bit, it took a couple more runs and started swimming upstream, so I followed it from the bank. After about 10 minutes it tired, and I managed to get it to the bank but there was no way I was going to pick that slimy thing up. Luckily it was so tired it just flopped about a bit and I tried to get the fly out its mouth with some long-nose pliers, but the knot snapped as I tried to twist the hook out. Judging by the look of the fly, it was buggered anyway, so I didn't try any more to get the fly back and guided the fish back into the stream. Not before I got some pictures of it though...... ;-)))) Even while I was fighting it, I had one hand on the rod and managed to get the digital camera out of my fly vest pocket to take a couple of pictures. Then when I got it to the bank, I took a couple more. I reckon the fish was between 4 and 5 kilograms......have a look at the pictures and judge for yourself. On top of which, the leader I was using was rated 2.5kg breaking strain...so it was a good fight and result. The thin red circle to the left of it's mouth is where I highlighted the fly, still in the fish's mouth. After that, I had to tie on another leader cos the barbel tried to wrap me around some debris in the water and frayed it, so I also tied on another grasshopper imitation from my fly box and tried a while longer. Turns out, the hook on that version was very weak (it was actually a number 10 trout hook) and bent straight on two subsequent takes that I had. Ah well....... It turned out to be quite an interesting afternoon and I'll probably do it again sometime that I need a break..... ;-))))

I wish these builders were more constructive...

than they have been until now. What should have been a 6-week project to build the new lounge is dragging on and on and on... Today, however, they should be starting to take out the upstairs Dormer window to patch the two roofs into each other. Until now, we've been lucky (unlucky, the farmers would say) to have not had any rain, but Chicken Licken's Luck says that as soon as you don't have a roof over your head, something will fall on it.

It's been a busy time of late...

so I haven't posted anything for a while. As it is, I've thought "fuckit" and am breaking into my work schedule to vent a little blog (makes it sound like I've gone for a dump). Cuzzin Ross will be glad to hear I got rid of the old "donkey" I was driving and have now replaced it with a new pickup. I couldn't resist it...I'd actually gone to a dealer expecting to view a nice Isuzu, but when I got there I noticed that it was an automatic...something the Americans and old people like to drive, but not me (Ow..ow..ow...okay, I'm sorry). But just two cars away was a 2004 Ford Ranger 2.5l SuperCab, and only just under 13,000km on the clock. And all this for just ten grand more than I bought my Toyota. Sounded like the very thing for me. The lady dealer, a young, sweet, naive Afrikaans "bokkie" (a nickname the Afrikaners give their light-headed girlfriends) fluttered her eyes at me and asked "How can I do you in?" Not quite what you'd ask a prospective client, but friendly at least. We sat and chatted about the Ford for a while, then I got her to give me a trade-in estimate on my car, and said "Okay, let's go for a test drive." To say I was impressed, not because of what I was driving until that point, but by the mere fact that I could be in 5th gear with the airconditioner on, got me hooked. I said to the dealer that I think we should "do the deed", from which it was my turn to get a strange look ("Like, is he serious? What did he actually mean?") and we ended up swapping signatures on pieces of paper. I am now the proud owner of a new Ford (reminds me of an old SA joke... the trailer-trash of SA used to be known as 1-2-3 folk, which meant 1 litre brandy, 2 litre coke, and a 3 litre Ford). Last night, on the way back from Action Cricket and copious amounts of beverage of all types and colours, I decided to see what my new car could do. And it impressed me again...it's marked to 180km on the clock and that's exactly what I took it up to. Fuckin' brilliant... On the house scene, building is progressing slower than desired (which is nothing unusual for the building trade worldwide) and I estimate we are about a week and a half behind schedule. The project manager's project management skills are, to say the least, sucky. He had a copy of the plans two weeks in advance of the start of the build, so one would imagine he would start ordering things like door and window frames, bricks, sand, and so on.........not. Things come to a grinding halt while the bricklayers are waiting for deliveries, and it's just dragging things out. So I gave him a piece of my mind yesterday...funny how that got things happening again. All of a sudden, we have a half dozen bricklayers, door and window frames, and enough sand piled on the pavement for the arabs to want some of it back. And today, for the first real time this season, it's started raining...so I guess the build is going to be delayed...again. Take care, y'all...

Hearing is easy...

it's the listening part that's difficult. Here's some of the tunes I've been listening to lately... Depeche Mode - Ultra Depeche Mode - Songs of Faith and Devotion Green Day - American Idiot (September's over guys, time to wake up) Bloodhound Gang - Hooray for Boobies Macy Gray - On How Life Is Just Jinger - All Comes Round (SA band - great stuff) Bell, Book & Candle - Read my Sign Bloodhound Gang - One Firce Beer Coaster Pearl Jam - Vitalogy Cold Play - X & Y Hope you guys enjoy some of these tunes too...

There actually was a real CNUT...

and it turns out he was an English king, reigning between 1017 and 1035. A number of you may know that my Cuzzin Ross has a blogspot called CNUT. I was always under the impression that it was a play on another word, spelled with the same letters (go figure it out for yourselves) in the same vein as FCUK is used in the fashion world. Turns out, the real Cnut was a "colorful" character himself... On my browser, I inadvertently typed in CNUT and hit enter without selecting the rest of the expected URL and was surprised to see the response...try it, it'll probably link you to the same text I found...otherwise click on the "English King" URL above...

Devastated...

We found out just the other day that the amazing fly fishing retreat we went to in August, Verlorenkloof, burned to the ground in a huge veld fire. And it wasn't just the croft we stayed in either, it was most of the twenty crofts in the complex. To think that we were there just three weeks before, and that it's going to take a couple of years to rebuild, is just mind-blowing. Even worse is that it happened on their own 9/11... The Verlorenkloof website has a series of photos, taken by one of the residents, of how the fire started and spread. Scary stuff...I've seen veld fires over the years, but nothing like this. Sad to think of how it looks now, and even sadder to think that I didn't get any photos last time cos I was daft enough not to have taken a battery charger...

I wish I was one of these people...

a "Trench Inspector". I kid you not. A fucking Trench Inspector, how laughable is that? We are into Day 4 of our build and have been waiting for the aforementioned gentleman to come and inspect the foundation trenches before the builders can lay the foundation concrete. He eventually arrived at 10h30 this morning and promptly left two minutes later, having taken one and a half of those minutes to walk through the house to the trench and back to the front gate. In the other thirty seconds he was here, he introduced himself, admired our pool, looked into the trenches and grunted "okay" in the builder's general direction. We waited three days for that, and I don't even want to know what he charges for his services. I could be a fucking millionaire... Imagine if the Allied and Hun troops had to wait for a Trench Inspector in WWI? They would have called it quits and fucked off home for a drink and to watch the game on telly...

Day 1 of the Build...

went pretty well, with the builders about half a day ahead of schedule. This is because they were able to lift the old patio a while lot quicker than they expected, partly because it was so old, but mainly because the previous builder had done such a shitty job. This view shows the patio area before the foundation dig started.




This view shows the foundations partly dug at the end of Day 1. As I type this entry, the guys are just finishing off the rest of the trenches. Thankfully, they haven't hit anything worse than a few roots from the old trees. I wish it was over already so that I could be sitting at my new pub, with a cold beer in hand.

How do you like my pussy...

cat and our two dogs? I thought it was time I introduced our pets, as they share a large part of our lives. Katie is a long haired Norwegian Forest (I never heard of them before we got her either). We got her from our local vet who was looking for a home for her. She'd been rescued by a family and was found in such a shocking condition that she had to be shaved to get all the knots out of her hair (a shaved pussy, imagine that.....enuff said). Bonnie is a Wei- maraner, originally bred by Austrian royalty to hunt wild cats (and not rabbits as we were told by the breeder when we got her). It's no wonder that the cat keeps her distance from Bonnie, whose pupils dilate to the max every time she sees the cat. She's my dog, obedient, faithful, quiet... unlike Duke, a Dober- mann, whose litter was specially bred as family dogs. He certainly is that, as the neighbour's kids just about have to go home for a shower every time they come over to visit when Duke is finished licking them. He's a powerful dog, not knowing his own strength at times (he even gave Steph a couple of cracked ribs once when he knocked her over). He thinks he's the "big pisser" in the house and he likes to have power games with me to try and prove it...doesn't always do what he's told, ignores commands, and so on. Otherwise we get on okay, but he's Steph's dog. One day I'll post a nice pic of Steph and then everyone can get to know her too...

It's been a while...

so goes a line in the Staind song, and it's been a while since I had the time (or inclination) to post a blog entry. In the last week or two, I've been for a new job interview (and shortlisted for a 2nd interview next week), worked my arse off in the garden after the trees were taken out, worked my arse off in the orifice (as I like to call it, compared to office which sounds so drab), finished making a frame for a mirror that Steph wants to put in one of our bathrooms, been in endless meetings at work, and...and...and... But best of all, was my birthday on Wednesday 31st (and no, I'm not telling how old). To me it was just the day after Tuesday, but it was made special thanks to Steph, not only for the gifts she gave me (not necessary, but really appreciated), but also for flying my mum up from the coast for a surprise visit. I was working from home (as I do regularly) and had popped out to drop a friend off at the bus station (she was going to visit her father who, coincidentally, also shares the 31st as his birthday, though he's a FEW years older than myself) and found it strange when I got home, that Steph's "Pose-mobile" (Peugeot 206CC convertible, pose factor 10) was parked in the garage. Stranger was the fact that I had also been on the orifice instant-messaging system with a colleague earlier, whom Steph had said she was going to meet for coffee, who had told me that she hadn't seen Steph all day. I saw Steph sitting under the thatch next to the pool and suddenly one and one made eleventeen and I knew that she had arranged for someone to come and visit. I walked into the garden, looking up at the upstairs window, expecting to see the visitor there, but there was no-one. Turns out, my mum was actually hiding behind the pool table and jumped up singing "happy birthday to you, you were born in a zoo..."...thanks for the compliment mum. To cut a long story short, mum was with us until Sunday morning, we had a blast while she was here, and I dropped her off at the airport in the Pose-mobile (driven like the 2L motor should be driven - white-knuckled - mum must have thought I was trying to get rid of her). We're going to go down this weekend so that we can see dad as well (cranky old git that he can be, he's still great to sit and have an intelligent conversation with, and we go fishing and drinking together), and to do some salt water fly fishing too. We'll take the Pose-mobile down so that it'll take us a mere 5hrs or so, instead of the usual 7hrs in my pickup. Looking forward to going down to the coast again. Anyway, that's me...hope everyone else is healthy...

I'm a Lumberjack and I'm okay...

but that's as close as I get to the contents of Monty Python's famous song. I had to cut down a couple of trees at the weekend, as we'll be building a new lounge out the back of the house (basically straight out into the garden from the French doors) in a couple of weeks time. Now I understand just how fit the professional lumberjacks are...on Monday morning I could hardly move. Everything hurt...my hands were raw, my back felt like I'd slipped a disc, and my arms and legs were covered in scratches from branches. The two BIG trees next to the house are the ones I took out...a pity they had to go but they were pests and the roots would interfere with the new foundations. I estimate they were about 31yrs old, each, going by the number of rings I could count on the bases.

What if your words could be judged like a crime?

On the way in to the office the other day, I was listening to the song "What if", by Creed and it got me thinking about some of the stuff I read on some of the blog sites. The piece that came to mind was the last line of the song, which forms the title of this posting. We've all seen and read in the past about terrorist and paedophile rings that have come under scrutiny and the arrests from content of websites and the information in emails, by the authorities around the world, and rightly so. But...What if these authorities took it to another level and followed up on everyone that put something on their blog about alcohol or drug (ab)use, wife/husband beating, theft, or other such misdemeanours? Is the content of a blog sufficient to arrest and convict someone? What about privacy or the freedom of speech issues? The lyrics from the song are available from the Creed site at this link...read them...thought-provoking...

It's been a hectic couple of weeks...

which, aside from writers block, is why I've neglected posting anything, or reading up on my regular blog bud postings. Up until last Friday, I was putting together a presentation to a potential client, which caused me untold stress cos I'm not the most relaxed speaker in front of a crowd. And here I was, presenting to a group of senior bank officials on Operational Risk and how it related to corporate governance and business continuity issues. Okay, too much information for some people, I know, so I'll leave it there save to say I was my usual nervous self and ended up reading a load of the slides verbatim (priceless advice I received from a mate at action cricket). It went okay and the customer decided that it was a whole pile of information to digest, but they'd like to get together in a couple of weeks to talk some more. Sounds good to me. That was Friday morning... Straight after a chat with a colleague and a bit of breakfast, I sped off home to get changed into more comfortable attire as we were heading off for a long weekend of fly fishing, chilling out, drinking and all the other things that go along with such a weekend. At around 2pm, we hit the highway, with friends in hot pursuit in their own pickup, as they'd be coming back a couple of days before we did. After a 3hr drive, we arrived at the reception of Verlorenkloof Crofts, (pronounced "Fir Looren Kloof") where we checked in. A croft is the last thing I'd call this place...mansion or palace would be more like it (the picture on the front page of their website belies the size of the place). The house slept 10 people at a time, two rooms with double beds and the other three with singles. Our nearest neighbours were 200m away and we had virgin African bush all around us, five trout dams and a coursing river within 5mins of the front door (or from any of the six entrances to the house for that matter). The first night was spent drinking around the outdoors logfire, a little chilly cos it's still winter here, swapping general chit chat...guys talking fishing and cars, ladies talking pilates exercises, kids, shopping and other girlie stuff. All in all, a nice peaceful evening and total destreesor. First thing on Saturday morning, Chris and I took a quick scout around the fishing dams and river, a quick breakfast and then off down to the Reception area so that we could watch the All Blacks giving the Wallabies a rugby lesson. It's amazing how a bit of fresh air can knacker ones self. And the weather was fantastic, belying the fact that winter is still here...easily mid-20C temperatures. Mind you, some more drinks around the fire didn't help either, but it was the best night's sleep I'd had in a long time. Awake and refreshed, it was off to the dams, for some one-arm exercise and to teach Chris how to cast a fly, not that I'm the most adept but I'd had one lesson and had been fishing a few times so could pass some of my experience along. After a couple of hours, back to the house for brunch and a midday read before some more fishing in the afternoon. I went away with the intention of finishing a book that Cuzzin Ross had given me when he was here on holiday (Catch-22 by Joseph Heller) but, instead, found a copy of Len Deighton's "MAMista" and ended up finishing it by Tuesday afternoon. More in a future posting about Catch-22... Sunday evening was, again, spent around the fire, swapping stories and pouring drinks for each other. And another glorious night's sleep... On Monday morning, Chris and I again went down for some more fishing, but Chris still didn't catch a fish. That afternoon, after lunch, Chris and Marcelle left for home and Steph and I were on our own for a couple of nights...some quality time we deserved. Actually, to put the whole trip into perspective, Steph took me away for the trip as an early birthday present, and Chris and Marcelle came along cos we had so much space to spare and cos we've become quite good friends (Marcelle is Steph's pilates teacher). So Steph and I spent Monday afternoon and night in each other's company, chilling out, having a few drinks around the fire, chatting. As she put it, not a bloody TV in sight. I noticed a few clouds scudding across the night sky and remarked that it looked like a cold front arriving. How right I was. Tuesday morning, we awoke to find that winter had returned and the mountains around us were swathed in a carpet of cloud. That's where the pictures accompanying the piece come in. I took along two cameras, figuring that we could both use one each, as we'd probably not be in the same place as each other all the time. The only problem was that I hadn't taken along the battery charger and all the batteries were flat, with none available at the little shop...so we had to use Steph's camera phone for at least a few pics, though the images don't do the scenery justice. Ah well, teach me another lesson, won't it...? So, in reaction to the weather, we froze our butts off at the dams for a while and then decided to spend the rest of the day in front of the indoors coal fire, reading and chilling. That's when I finished MAMista...not bad, except that all the main characters die in the end, very unusual for a Deighton novel. The way he described the lovers dying made me choke, emotionally. Read it for yourself. Anyway, I did a little work on my laptop and Steph did a little studying, whereafter we spent some more time in front of the coal fire until it was bedtime. Steph had tried a little flycasting on Tuesday morning, and was determined to better Chris and actually catch something on Wednesday. Unfortunately, that didn't happen, but I can say that I believe she casts a fly better than he does, so maybe she'll keep at it and we can do something else together in addition to our other activities. In the end, I totalled five trout, of which I returned the smallest of about 300gm. My largest fish was 1.1kg, with two others of about 600gm each and the fifth touching on the 500gm mark. Not a bad haul, with us taking the two larger fish home, and giving the other two to Chris and Marcelle to eat at some later point. Marcelle took a photo of the largest fish, so if I get a copy of it, I'll post it at a later stage. Reluctantly, we left Verlorenkloof at around 11h00, headed to Lydenburg for a quick breakfast and then hit the road back to Shit Towne (or Johannesburg, as it is more commonly known). By the time we arrived home, it was just before 4pm and there was just enough time to get changed and head off for the action cricket finals. We came in third in the cricket, but as usual, winners at the drinking afterward... All in all, a great "weekend", very relaxing and good to get some casting practice in again. A big thanks and "I love you" to Steph for the present...

Whether or not anyone cares...

I'm still around. It appears that a serious writers block has hit not just myself, but about every one of the blogs that I regularly read. So, for want of something better to write about, here's another joke... A 2nd grade teacher asks her class to use a sentence with the word "definately" in it. Young Suzie puts up her hand, and at the teacher's request, gives her answer, "The sky is definately blue." To which the teacher replies, "Nice try, Suzie, but it's not always true as the sky can sometimes be grey when the clouds come over. Nice try though." Johnny then puts up his hand and asks "Miss, does a fart have lumps?" and the teacher replies, "No, Johnny, it doesn't.". "Well, in that case" says Johnny, "I've definately shit myself." Have a great day, y'all...

Agnostic I may be, but I enjoy a good laugh...

and I can laugh at just about anything, even religion... An agnostic was taking a walk through the woods. What majestic trees! What powerful rivers! What beautiful animals!" he said to himself. As he was walking alongside the river he heard a rustling in the bushes behind him. He turned to look and saw a 7 foot grizzly charging towards him. He ran as fast as he could up the path. He looked over his shoulder and saw the bear was closing in on him. He looked over his shoulder again, and the bear was even closer. He tripped and fell on the ground. He rolled over to pick himself up but saw the bear right on top of him, reaching for him with his left paw and raising his right paw to strike him. At that instant the agnostic cried out: "Oh my God!" Time stopped. The bear froze. The forest was silent. A bright light shone upon the man, and a voice came out of the sky: "You deny my existence for all of these years, teach others I don't exist, and even credit creation to a cosmic accident. Do you expect me to help you out of this predicament? Am I to count you as a believer?" The agnostic looked directly into the light, "You're right. It would be hypocritical of me to suddenly ask you to treat me as a Christian now, but perhaps you could you make the BEAR a Christian?" "Very well," said the voice. The light went out. The sounds of the forest resumed... And then the bear dropped his right paw, brought both paws together, bowed his head and spoke: "Lord, bless this food, which I am about to receive from thy bounty through Christ our Lord Amen."

Music appears to be on the mind...

of a large number of bloggers that I read. So here goes with a list of what I've been listening to recently...my taste varies right across the spectrum from the Classics to Grunge Rock, some of those two right after each other. This list is from the collection I keep in my car. The name(s) in brackets behind each are my favourite tracks from the albums. Alter Bridge - One Day Remains (Burn it Down) Melissa Etheridge - Skin (Lover Please) KT Tunstall - Eye to the Telescope (Black Horse and the Cherry Tree) Live - The Distance to Here (Run to the Water, Sun, Voodoo Lady, Where Fishes Go) Evanescence - Fallen (Haunted) Creed - Weathered (Weathered - probably the best of the latest rock bands that doesn't exist anymore - the title track describes me to a "T") Stone Temple Pilots - Core (Creep) Creed - Human Clay (What If, Beautiful, With Arms Wide Open) Five for Fighting - America Town (Easy Tonight, Superman, Jainy) Marilyn Manson - Lest we Forget (The Beautiful People, Tainted Love, The Dope Show, The Nobodies, (S)aint) Linkin Park - Meteora (Don't Stay, Somewhere I Belong, Faint, From the Inside, Numb) Prime Circle - Hell, Crazy World (Let me Go, Hello, As Long as I am Here, My Inspiration, In my Head) Metallica - Metallica (Enter Sandman, Sad but True, The Unforgiven, Wherever I May Roam, Nothing Else Matters, Of Wolf and Man) Collective Soul - Dosage (Heavy, Slow, Run) I'll post some of the other stuff in my collection sometime...

"Not everything humankind does...

is motivated either by the spirit of competition or the will to win." One of my hobbies/passions is Fly Fishing and the above quote comes from the author of the Last Cast column in one of my favourite magazines, The Complete Fly Fisherman. The quote rings too true in my case as, not being the most experienced fly fisherman, I more than often like to get out and just survey my surroundings and the people enjoying the sunshine with me. More often than not, my version of fly casting involves beating the water to a froth, scaring more than just the fish away. But Sunday was different. Steph wanted to do a bit of studying, so I decided to get out of the house, lest I get implanted onto the couch watching the Formula 1 Grand Prix (the replay of which I ended up watching late night and getting to bed around 1am anyway). And what better way to get out of the house, without involving the lawnmower, than to go fly fishing? Over the last few years, I'd noticed a trout farm called Footloose, not too far from home yet closer than Dullstroom, the mecca of South African fly fishers, and decided to pay them a visit. There were a few cars in the car park (where they were supposed to be) and I could see a few dams through the fence. The only thing that put me off at first were the shouts and noises of children...this is supposed to be a quiet, reflective sport. "What the hell," I thought, "I'm here. Let's go and have a look." I paid my thirty Rand entrance fee, had a chat with the Indian manager at the desk (what's come out today, which dams are trout waters or not, and some general chit chat) and walked through the main gate. "Fuck me," I thought. "I've walked into a fucking children's birthday party." There were about forty or so kids running around, some fishing with floats and a pasty bait, some just running about. Instinct, and a quick survey of the five dams in front of me running parallel to the entrance, told me to head for the far righthand dam where there was no-one in the immediate vicinity. A nice quiet place to start from, to get used to the rod, the weight of the line and fly, have a few practice casts, see what happens, sit down and let the frothy water calm down again. I worked the dam for about and hour or so, remembering the text message I'd received from Steph on my way out, to "have fun and bring some nice fish for dinner" (was that a threat of "bring home some trout or don't bother coming home at all", or what??). I tried everything in my bag, floating and sinking lines, dry and wet flies of all shape, size and colour, even a different weight rod. Nothing. Damn, I was going to have to move to another dam, up to where the screaming banshees were running around also beating the water to froth. Ah, well... I decided to move to the topmost dam of the five, which gave me the perfect spot to survey the rest of the farm, as it is situated at the top of a hill. I sat down for a few minutes, had a drink of water and rested my already aching casting arm. Again, for about another hour, I used everything in my fly-casting quiver, again with the same results. I sat down again, had another drink of water and a chat with another fly fisherman who had had the same results as I had. He described the tactics he had used, and I told him mine, and we wished each other good luck. After a good rest, I remembered a piece of wisdom scribed on the back of a packet in which I had bought some new flies. In short, it said that if the water was murky to try the brightest fly in your box. I opened my black box of flies, had a quick survey and picked out what turned out to be the smallest fly in my limited collection. It is a green nymph fly, consisting of nothing more than a gold bead, some brown fluff and bright green wire tied to a number 10 hook. As you can see by the photo, it is just over 10mm long and, in all honesty, I didn't have much confidence in it. Being a wet fly, I changed back to the sinking line, shortened my leader to about 2.5m and sent the nymph swishing through the air. After a few casts, I thought some more about what I was doing and figured that, with the nymph being as small as it was, I had to slow down my retrieve and let the fly bounce along the bottom of the dam. Fuck me if that wasn't the right thing to do! Within ten casts, I landed four fish of which three were trout and one was a smallmouth carp (when I hooked this fish I thought I'd got into a monster trout, it took off like a rocket). I also lost another trout which I estimated to be around the 1kg mark, a real beauty. By this time, darkness was approaching and the fish had gone off the bite, so I decided to return home, extolling my increasing experience in this wonderful pastime, of which my father is still one of the masters. Needless to say, I had to phone my folks and let them know how I'd fared, and just to hear the slight jealousy in my father's voice. We ate two of the three trout last night, and they were delicious. Getting back to the quote at the start of this blog, "not everything humankind does is motivated either by the spirit of competition or the will to win"...but triumph does generate a different kind of enjoyment and everyone enjoys winning now and then.

This is fuckin' brilliant...

this Google Earth package is. Do yourself a favour. If you have a decent download speed, or are on broadband, download the application from Google Earth (the file is about 20MB in size). Once you've installed it, you can find everything from a full view of our blue planet, right down to a close-up of the hair on your back. Sometimes the focus on the image isn't all that great, but you can find just about any place on the planet. Just zoom in on a town or building, made easy by the controls on-screen. Here's a rough idea of what I'm talking about...this is a picture of our house in Johannesburg, South Africa. The kidney-shaped pool just up and to the left is ours, at the extreme corner of the property, while the building just below the pin is the house itself, and the building just below that is our double garage leading onto the street...

Oops, I did it again...

another Action Cricket night to remember (I think). Staggered in at 02h00, or thereabouts, after self-inflicted overindulgence at the weekly match. As I got into bed, I remember thinking to myself to remember the rib that got whacked with a ball at superfast pace, but for some strange reason or other that was the last thought in my mind as I sprang out of bed to get ready to come into the office for an all day workshop. Fuckin' hell... I can't cough, burp, laugh (not that a hangover this size is a laughing matter) or do anything that involves sudden movement on the left side of my body, as the aforementioned rib keeps saying "Oi, fucker, remember me?" It feels like I've been playing rugby, on my lonesome, against the entire All Black pack instead of a nice gentlemanly game of action cricket where no-one is supposed to get hurt, except in the name of competition drinking. I think I'm going to beg off this workshop, lest I end up hurling all over my keyboard.

Strange, the things that come to mind...

when you're standing in the shower. Now, before I start, let me expressly and sincerely state that my Steph does not in any way or form, have a big backside, but in fact, looks gorgeous in a bikini and regularly turns heads in her direction. That said, I don't know why but as I was soaping myself this morning, the old conundrum that all men face on occasion, came to mind. A woman asks her man, "Honey, do these jeans make me look fat?" And we all know how many answers there are to that one. But the one that came to my mind (and maybe it's been used before) was "No, your ass does that all by itself." As I said, strange things...

The liver can't be this evil...

for me to have done it two nights in a row? It was Steph's birthday yesterday and to celebrate I took her and five of our friends out for dinner to a dingy little restaurant in a suburb called Melville, on the arty-farty side of town. The place is called the Ant Cafe (no website and, in fact, no phone number either, so you can't make a booking unless you physically go there) and, at best, I can describe it only as being a space between two buildings (basically an alley) that some nutter has seen and said "I can use that space and turn it into a dingy eatery". And he has done just that. A glass shopfront leading from the street belies what you get inside. If the Joburg City Council had to ever walk into the place, they'd shut it down in an instant, not because it's dirty (it's actually quite clean for an alley) but because of the design and structure of the roof. The nutter has taken a hammer and chisel, knocked a few holes about a foot in diameter (at more or less the same height) down the length of the adjacent buildings and stuck some gum poles (some of which are joined in the middle by planks and nails) in the holes. To secure the poles, he's jammed firewood logs around them, making each of the holes look like there's a porcupine sticking its arse out and is joined to the porcupine on the opposite wall by the gum pole. None of the tables matches another, except to say that they are all equally rickety on their legs. What makes it a place-to-be-seen kinda place, I believe, is the little log fire in the middle of the back wall. Being winter here, logs were crackling away, and the whole place was as toasty as a pizza oven. Anyway...it was a pleasant eating experience. The food is purely Italian, pizzas, pastas and the like, all with the right amount of garlic and herbs. Today, I'm working from home. Four beers, four glasses of red wine and two double Johnny Walker (black's) don't mix well and I'm about to go looking for a couple of Anadins to silence the gumboot dancers in my head. I hope the rest of you are having a nice, quiet, day...{groan}...

If I'd known how thirsty I would be today...

I would have drunk more last night. Action Cricket is not healthy for you, particularly for your liver. Something which has always puzzled Steph is how come I always get home anything between 23h00 and 04h00, if a game starts at 17h20 and lasts only just over an hour? Quite a simple answer really. After a punishing game of running around an enclosed arena, trying to hit, bowl, catch or avoid being hit by a fast-moving ball, the only part of your body that doesn't feel any pain is the liver. And for that, it must be punished. After all, why should it be the only part of you that doesn't hurt? It is evil... So to bring it up to similar pain levels as the rest of one's body, copious amounts of alcohol, in many forms and colours, are drunk. Hence, the entire body feels sore the following morning...{groan}...and is the reason for my thirst today.

Ever had a finger in a dyke?

What a tosser I can be, especially with a drill in my hand. I am in the final stages of revamping a guest bathroom, as in having totally stripped the room, bought all the fittings, installed a new ceiling and down light, plumbed in some new pipes, laid what felt like 50,000sqm of tiles (but was only 10sqm), put in a new bog (shiny black, so as not to see the skidmarks), painted window frames and fitted a new folding door (which I cut and installed myself). I was in the process of drilling a hole for the towel rail, which fits below the new cast-aluminium basin, with all my senses telling me not to do it when, you guessed it...I put the drill through one of my newly-plumbed copper pipes. Bastard!! First instincts was to put my finger over the hole, primarily with the desire to stop myself from getting absolutely fucking soaked, but also to gather my thoughts of what to do next. Ever felt like the little Dutch boy (or was it a girl?) with his/her finger in the dyke wall? I did... (had to add in "wall" otherwise it might sound sexist) So, five seconds later, I had to sprint outside to shut off the mains, all the while water pissing over my new tiles. With the water shut off, I had to figure out what to do next, and decided I had no other option but to destroy two of my new slate wall tiles so that I could fix the hole. Imagine how pissed off I was when I found that I had just nicked the pipe and had the hole been 3mm to the left I would have missed it completely and my towel rail would now be sporting towels instead of the dent from when I threw it against a wall in utter disgust. Anyway, I had to cut and re-plumb a new pipe, cement in the hole I made to get to it, re-cut and tile the two I had taken off, grout the spaces and repaint the marks on the wall. I have since drilled the holes again and will be fitting the basin and towel rail in the next day or so. Live and learn...take the knocks...measure the gaps first next time...

Following the NASA "washing machine"...

crashing into the meteorite, did you hear? There's a Russian astrologist who is sueing NASA for 150,000 pounds, as she claims the impact changed the orbit of the meteorite, and she now has to go and change all her astrological predictions... Just confirms my suspicion, that all astrologers are "out there" (somewhere)...fuckin' looney...

Religion is a killer...

and we've all seen the evidence over hundreds of years but perhaps choose to ignore it. The Christian Bible is full of killing in the name of a God. Perhaps the Koran and Talmud are too...I don't know about them. The point of this posting is to answer all those people over the years who have asked me how I can be an agnostic, not believing in a "higher power". They give me their reasons for believing in their Gods. I give them 3,500 in the USA, and now 50+ in the UK, reasons for not...

In the aftermath...

of the London bombings I, as so many will, condemn these cowardly acts in the strongest means possible to me. It got me thinking of a conversation Cuzzin Ross and I had while he was here on holiday recently, where we were briefly debating the difference between terrorist and freedom fighter. Last night I came up with an answer...my answer... A freedom fighter believes in a cause and fights for it on his/her OWN territory (land, country, whatever). A terrorist, on the other hand, takes that same "cause" to SOMEONE ELSE'S territory, causing death and destruction in a land that does not belong to him, in which he has no rights whatsoever. Yes, there will be arguments from the fundamentalists that what the USA, UK and their allies are doing in Iraq and Afghanistan amount to terrorism but, I believe, the war against those forces should be fought in those countries. How many of their own kind have these "freedom fighters" injured or killed? Leave the innocent, peace-loving, public alone.....bastards...

Training Journal - Part 4 - Returning to Durban and the Academy,...

we spent a great deal of time sailing around Durban harbour, refining yacht-handling skills, each of us, in turn, acting as skipper and getting the rest of the crew to tack and jibe the boat in different directions depending on the wind direction and shipping in the channel. It was great fun. The crew was a great bunch, mostly youngsters ten to fifteen years younger than myself. We had varsity dropouts, a farmer, an American (specially out to do the course as the Rand/Dollar exchange rate made it cheaper to fly out here and do the course than just do the course over there), a cruise-ship dive instructor on holiday, and of course my ex- and myself...a real melting pot. But we all had something in common...a love for the ocean and the desire to increase our chances of survival on it. We spent a good few nights braai-ing (barbecue, in the rest of the world) and getting pissed. A few of us would have a joint...myself excluded from that as I never head much of a desire to try it. We learned a lot about each other and made up our minds as to who we would treat as closer friends, and those we would just remain on terms with. Generally, though, we had a great time together. At the end of the month's training, we had to sit exams, both practical and theory. The theory exams revolved around what we'd learned from the books, while the practical revolved around tieing of knots (within time limits for each) and plotting routes on charts (not maps, as some call them). There were only one or two failures in the class, from what I can remember, but the main thing was that I passed quite well. As a result of that, and my handling of situations on the yacht (perhaps my age had something to do with it as well), I was told that if I ever wanted a career in sailing, that I would be welcome to join the Academy on the staff. I would have to continue with the studies that enabled me to become an instructor, but after that, I would become one of them. The temptation was great, but at the time I had other things on my mind, including the opportunity to take a brand-new 37ft Catamaran, Ocean Trader, out on sea trials to Richards Bay with the possibility of crewing her to Zanzibar on the adventure of a lifetime. My next few entries will relate the sea-trials and the problems we encountered, and the entire journey to Zanzibar, straight from the journal that I kept on the way up, including some photos and drawings...

Thanks to Cuzzin Ross...

I've been able to determine, by reading the information on the screen properly from My Statcounter stats, where people have been checking my blog from. Some of the places and/or countries I've had hits from include: Skien Norway, London England, Edinburgh Scotland, California USA, multiple unknown places from the USA, New York USA, Virginia USA, Sheffield England, Maidstone England, Grays England, Las Vegas USA. I'm pleasantly surprised to see that there are also some repeat offenders/readers. The only thing now, is for these people to let me know (anonymously, if they prefer) who they are and/or where they're form, or if they have their own blogs that I can have a look at and to refer some of them from my own. I look forward to hearing from you all...

What would NASA do if...

the "washing machine-sized impacter" they just crashed into a comet millions of miles away from Earth, managed to change the orbit of the comet and sent it on a collision path towards us? The comet is supposed to be half the size of Manhatten Island in New York so it'll probably cause quite a bit of damage (read, total annihilation of mankind and the entire planet). Yeah, I know it's a remote chance...but what if? Would it be funny? Ironic? Moronic? You decide...

Training Journal - Part 3 - To mould us into a team...

and show us how to be co-dependant, we were sent on an overnight trip, straight up the coast, to Richards Bay. Before this trip, I was last in the town twenty years previously, for a friend's 21st birthday. We had a great time. He on the other hand, didn't see anything past 9pm. As is usual at these sort of things, we mixed him a "Mickey Finn" and everything went into it, with orange juice for a little colouring. It was amazing to see the blood drain from his face as he downed the tankard-ful and topple over, head first, into a box of presents...out cold. Alarm and panic were written all over his dad's face and he enquired what we'd out into the drink. When we told him, he ranted at us for a while for putting in "white" spirits (vodka, gin, cane, and so on) as our mate had an allergy to them, which caused him to pass out instantly. Hell, we didn't know... Half an hour later, finished spewing his guts in the garden, we put our mate to bed and partied on his behalf. Thinking about it now, that might have been the night my daughter was conceived, but I doubt it as I passed out too...guess where? Yup, on the job... Anyway, back to Richards Bay. The town has grown enormously in twenty years, from a small town dependant on the sugar and paper industries in the area, to one of the largest coal export terminals in the world. South Africa's coal is, apparently, some of the best grade to be used in the generation of power from fossil fuels. The town is now clearly established as a small city, with multiple large industries and a wonderful small craft harbour, where we moored the Chinook. (The first picture in Part 1 was taken in Richards Bay) Sailing up the coast at night is a daunting task. At times, we were no more than a couple of miles offshore and you are constantly aware that if you err in your navigation, or nod off on beat, you might just end up beaching the boat, injuring crew or worse. At times, we could even hear the pounding of the waves on the rocks, and it made us re-check our compass heading...every time. I heard about 2 years ago that one of the training yachts from the Academy, newly bought when I'd signed up, had sunk directly off Richards Bay after hitting an object, presumably a submerged container. Luckily, no-one was hurt and the entire crew was airlifted by the National Sea Rescue Institute. Dawn over the Indian Ocean is an amazing sight to see, with the sun creeping up over low-lying morning clouds, remnants of the mixing of warm day, and cool night, air masses. As we neared the harbour entrance, we furled and stowed the sails and switched to the diesel engine, also known as the "donkey". An hour after getting permission from the harbour master to enter port, we were standing in hot showers, still swaying to the motion of the sea in our unbalanced ears and after breakfast, it was time for a drink. As all the Academy boats are "dry" until they are moored, it was time to get a bit wasted even though it was only around 10am, barely opening time.

Training Journal - Part 2 - When we weren't sailing...

we were in the classroom. I didn't realise there was so much to learning how to competently sail a yacht. We were shown how to tie knots and read the different points of a compass. We learned the names of the different parts of the yacht, from the obvious to the "I wouldn't have called it that". Take a windlass for example...where do you think it goes? Actually, it's used to winch up the anchor. And speaking of anchors, how many different types are there? I'll leave it to you to go and find out...there's a few. We learned the phonetic alphabet from Alpha to Zulu, and even did a course in radio etiquette. We sailed in any conditions, relishing in the warm, sunny days, to suffering in the rainy and windy days. The training was designed to give us experience in any and all conditions. To give us the experience of long distance and night sailing, we did a couple of longer trips straight out to sea and back. This also gave us the practice we needed to read, and stick to, our compasses. No such luxury as GPS for us (though I believe the skippers had one, just in case). On a night trip, we spent our watches glaring into the dark ahead, hoping that there was nothing ahead except open water. Now and then we'd see lights of some distant ship, either longhaul fishing trawlers or merchantmen, heading toward or away from Durban. Now we knew what they were experiencing on their respective ships, though we probably had it worse due to their size and the ability of the larger ships to handle rough seas. Every swell that rolled under us made the hull pitch and roll, and in heavy seas trying to get some sleep in the forecastle was a nightmare. Each swell would cause the hull to thud into the trough, causing masses of water to swish its way down to the stern where the phosphorescence would shine like reflected stars. Seeing the glow was amazing on a calm night...but there's more of that in the Zanzibar journal coming soon.

Training Journal - Part 1 - My Introduction to Sailing...

actually came from my ex-girlfriend. We had both been shafted at our jobs (working for the same company) and were at a loss as to what to do with our "retrenchment packages". She had recently started scuba diving and was browsing through an issue of Divestyle (local SA dive rag) when she points to an article and says "Let's try this". I have a look and, to say the least, was not amused...10,000 South African Rand (about 850 Sterling) to learn how to sail a yacht...I don't think so. I slept on it for a couple of days and couldn't think of anyhting that was keeping us in Jo'burg so we gave the Ocean Sailing Academy a call to enquire about their next course, which luckily for us was starting in a week's time. We drove down to my folks, south of Durban, and left my car there for the month...we wouldn't need it. After registering at the Academy, we were paraded down to the yacht basin to what was to be our home for the next month...Ocean Chinook, was her name. A Levranos26 monohull yacht, gleeming white with red and blue Academy colours and flag, sails furled in anticipation of her next venture onto the briney. Our sister yacht, Ocean Standfast, was moored next to us and there was an equally-intrigued looking bunch standing on the dock at her nose, also trying to decide whether or not this was a good idea... We were given a drill of what, and what not, to do while living on a yacht and were allowed to get to know our fellow swabbies. Too much time has passed since I met them, but I remember there was Sean (ex-farmer from Greytown who decided farming wasn't for him and left his family to pursue a life on the ocean - last I heard, he was one of the Academy instuctors), an American, and apart from myself and the ex-, there were three others. I turned out to be the eldest on our boat and in an informal way, ended up being the first mate. Life was difficult to get used to in the beginning, cramped sleeping quarters in the forepeak, seven bodies to move around and in between, the constant movement of the boat in the harbour with its associated noises and smells. It probably took me a week to get used to it all. Part 2 to follow...

Some memories stick with you...

no matter where you are, what you're doing, or where you're working. As a consultant with IBM, I have the pleasure of being able to work from home if I'm not due in the office or at customers for meetings. The downside to that is that the fridge is just out of vision of where I usually sit and work, in the TV room...but it's there and temptation is great. The upside is that I can turn on the TV, drop the volume so that my concentration is not too affected (sometimes it's hard, being the sports fanatic that I am) and I can merrily type away on my laptop in the comfort of my couch. Right now, I'm doing exactly that...except that the TV is tuned to the Travel Channel and Tall Ship Chronicles is on. The program is a series of hour-long documentaries, diarising the circumnavigation of the globe by a triple-masted barque called the Picton Castle and it brings back memories of my own short, but exciting, sailing career. About five years ago, I got shafted by the management of my old company (cos I didn't want to take a salary cut after the company was sold off to another) and with the settlement I was lucky to get from them (four months worth, after two days short of twenty years continuous service), I ended up doing a month-long sailing course in Durban, South Africa. The course was trying as we had to live in cramped, onboard conditions on the boats we were learning about, but the lifestyle had an appeal that I think can only be equated to by those who are privileged (read, rich) enough to be able to travel at will, or those with no other ties to the "real world" and can thus make the break. To cut a long story short, I ended up crewing a brand new, 37ft catamaran, on its first sea-trials from Durban to Richards Bay, then a few weeks later, sailing it from Durban to Zanzibar on a five-week sailing and diving adventure. The memories of the trip are still quite vivid and I'm going to share them with the rest of the world, like it or lump it. I took a journal along on the trip, documenting a whole range of experiences, emotions and lessons. Look out for instalment episodes...coming soon with pictures!

A moment of introspection...

has made me wonder why my blogs, for the most part, seem to be politically inspired. Is it because I'm as fed up with politics and politicians as the next person? Probably. Is it because South African politics and politicians (or most around the world, for that matter) can't deliver on their promises to make things better for their people? Probably that too. Of all the reasons I can think of for my inspiration though, the one that probably gets my back up most is that DIPLOMACY SUCKS!! It's time that people were alowed to tell political leaders, in a public forum, that they are fucking things up for the rest of us. It's time that the politicians started listening to the real political commentators (and no, I don't include myself in that list) and were held acocuntable for their actions or inactions, as the case may be. It's time for "world government". There should be an international law that, as soon as a new president is elected in any country in the world, he becomes accountable to. The law should make him prosecutable for crimes against humanity, so long as there is proof of his actions. God knows, we'd have enough evidence to put George W, Tony B, Bob Mugabe and countless others away for ten lifetimes each...

Adolf Hitler is alive and well...

and living in Zimbabwe, or at least his son is. Little did Eva Braun know that Addie had a fling with the housekeeper,but the proof is alive and well, living in self-imposed, internationally-financed luxury, in the form of Robert "Bob" Mugabe. And all the while, the Zimbabwean people are suffering increasingly more hardships. Up until now, there have been fuel and food shortages, farm repossessions, and we've all seen the images on our TV's. Then the evidence came out of political harassment, usually just before the so-called democratic elections...people, including the opposition party members, beaten and sometimes killed. The latest to come out of Bob-ville is a video of people being forced to move their meagre possessions, lock, stock and at the point of a barrel, to areas that are reported to be the farms "repossessed" by Bob's murderous lackies in recent years. Some of these farms are 70km away from where the victims are being moved. Here's a link to the story as it appeared on Carte Blanche, on MNet (SA satelite TV station)... The entire episode smacks of the forced movements imposed by the South African government on black South Africans in the 1960's. A priest who is interviewed, is amazed that African leaders are still quiet about what is happening in his country. He also says he thinks it's about time he stood at the wrong end of one of the guns...personally, I don't think he'll last long. As for the African leaders being quiet, I believe that the South African government is doing nothing and will do nothing for time to come, as they owe Bob a debt of gratitude for training, housing and financing the ANC cadres during "the struggle". As long as Madiba (Nelson Mandela) is alive, nothing will be done from this side of the Limpopo River. And, still, the other world leaders are quiet...Why won't George Bush step in? 'Cos there's no bloody oil in Zimbabwe, that's why, and 'cos Bob's escapades keep the world focus off his own...fucking hypocrite...

Where were you...

during the 9/11 attacks on New York and Washington? Dredging up the past maybe, but I was watching a different perspective of the attacks last night, on Reality TV, which showed the views of professional videographers and not the media networks...way different from each other. These guys had hard-hitting reality, not just the images of airplanes crashing into the towers, or the towers coming down, but images of people's reactions, from all angles (not just elevated views) and interactions with people on the ground. There was even footage of New York in the week following the event. While the attacks were happening, instead of getting the hell out of the way, people were standing around taking photos with their fancy camera-phones as the second airplane plowed into the tower. Some people were even walking toward the towers to try and get a better view or photo. One woman, a professional videographer, was manhandled into a shop by the owner literally seconds before the fallout from the first tower passed. As he pulled her in, she was ranting "What do you think you're doing?" She did, however, have the presence to put the camera down on the counter, facing out of the shop window. Seconds later, a black cloud of smoke, dust and all sorts of shit came billowing past. If she'd been out there, she would have been dead, choked. As it happens, she was alive and ran around for a full five minutes shouting "You saved my life, oh my God, you save my life, thank you, thank you" to the shop owner. Stupid cow... In the days following the collapse of the towers, it was amazing to see the different attitudes coming out, everything from hatred toward other nations and religions, to fear of other Americans. A guy and a girl, unknown to each other when they started ranting and raving at each other, were part of seperate rescue crews at Ground Zero. Both were extremely stressed out at what they had been through and seen (both definately had Post-Traumatic Stress Syndrome) and after 5 minutes of screaming at each other to find out how they were going to get through it all, ended up by screaming "Why are we screaming at each other?" To which they both screamed back "I don't know" and gave each other a tearful hug....sad, pathetic, but also slightly funny in a dark sort of way. Most catching to me though, happened about 3 days after the event, when people started gathering near Ground Zero to leave wreaths and pictures of lost loved ones, when a woman, grief all over her face, sat down on the ground and in chalk letters, scribbled, "The American Flag provokes revolution". She had an insight into something believed by large numbers of people around the world (currently, myself included) and had the balls to voice her feelings. Some of her own countrymen, enraged by what she had written and perhaps blinded by bigotry and patriotism, started to pour water on the writing and erase her work. That part of the show ended up with some twat shouting about how he was prepared to enlist and die for what "they" had done to "his" country and some other tosser throwing back in his face something along the lines of "Why is it your country? It's God's country". {Start of rant} Americans, if you want to make a difference to the world, petition your illustrious leader to get your troops out of countries that are not called "the USA" (oops, that would be ALL OF THEM), expect to trade for much-needed oil (instead of invading those countries for whatever reason), and instead of just cancelling debts to "poor nations", help them to become prosperous by skilling them up to their advantage (not just your own). That way the world would be (more) peaceful...and not so anti-American as it is these days. {End of rant}
Finally, I believe there can be no justification for terrorist (or freedom fighter, depending on your views) violence, but there do come times when people get totally fed-up banging their collective heads against walls, and something snaps...then what other option do they have?

Everybody hates being called this...

but this is my "baby". Her name is Tamlyn, she's almost 19, beautiful, and for someone that age, has a good head on her shoulders. Her boyfriend, Scott, is a nice guy, quiet, also sensible, but really needs to get some drinking practice in if he wants to drink with the big fish...that'll be Ross and I... Perverts beware, I have a shotgun and will come looking for you...

Winter in South Africa and Rosslyn Chapel

Winter has finally arrived here. It's cold (about 13deg C), windy, cloudy and looks like it might rain sometime soon. Sounds like Edinburgh on a nice summer day ;-) Today actually reminds me of my recent visit to Edinburgh, when Cuzzin Ross, his Dad and I went to have a look at Rosslyn Chapel just outside the city limits. It was supposed to be summer, but it was 11deg according to the car computer and there was an icy wind blowing at the time. Gave an eerie feeling to the old chapel... If you're ever in Edinburgh, go and have a look around the chapel...it's quite an amazing structure, coming apart at the seams these days, but work is in progress to restore it. I first heard of it when I was doing some reading on the Freemasons (no, I'm not one, as I am an agnostic and you at least have to believe in a "superior being") and found that the chapel is steeped in Masonic lore and mystery...well worth the visit... I've downloaded some pictures to the Flickr.com website if anyone's interested... External views of the Chapel showing the roof and protective structure Intricate carvings on the ceiling structures The Apprentice Pillar inside the Chapel (Freemason's will know about it) One of the many stained glass windows

Divemaster Dad? Comment ca?

Ok, so why "Divemaster Dad" as the name of my blog? Well, it all began a couple of years ago when I wanted to set up another means of communicating with my daughter, Tamlyn, who lives with her mum in Glenrothes, Fife. I signed up on a site called Faceparty.com and couldn't think of anything else to call it, and seeing as I had introduced her to scuba diving not too long before that, and with my certification at Dive Master, I thought it would be appropriate if not a little in jest (yeah, right....not! I hear the comments). Now you know...

I was warned...

that having my own blog would become addictive..."Hi, my name is Steven, and I'm a blogaholic"...{clapping and comments of "Welcome, Steven" in the background}... Cuzzin Ross did warn me and he was absolutely right on the money. I now look for things to comment on, or things to write about, in my daily life. I'm even considering, as Ross has, buying a little notebook to make notes in regarding things I could write about but I don't think I will cos then it will have become an addiction. I am, however, open to suggestions of topics and the discussion of issues with whomever wants to swap postings and comments...

Thabo Mbeki has a helluva sense of humor...

alternatively, he must be on one of those (alleged) cocaine trips of his. Either way, his decisions need to be questioned... After quite rightly firing his deputy president last week, this week he announces the appointment of his new deputy. Problem with that is that she is the wife to another ex-public servant, who was leader of the National Prosecuting Authority and who laid the initial groundwork that Zuma should be prosecuted for corruption. On top of that, the new deputy's brother is being questioned on his own set of "wrongdoing" charges where oil companies were supposed to have illicitly funded ANC activities. Which brings in a whole new set of allegations of nepotism that could be made against the new deputy as she's the outgoing (due to her promotion) Minister of Mineral and Energy Affairs...

Pay It Forward...

As a few people know, my Cuzzin Ross was out to see us in Africa recently, and from what I've seen and heard it blew his mind. From my perspective, it was great to spend some time with one of the more intelligent members of our family, and be able to show him a tiny piece of this great continent (that might explain why I've been here for 36 years with no immediate intention of going anywhere else in the world). Since he went back, Ross has stated on a couple of occasions that he had a great time out here and wished that there was some way he could say thanks in a meaningful sort of way. His words were enough for me and it was our pleasure having him out here, and I was thankful for being able to use his sleeper couch when I was in Edinburgh recently, but I've come up with a not-so-original way for him to consider paying us back...or is that paying someone else forward? I'm sure a number of us remember the cheesy movie "Pay It Forward" with Kevin Spacey and Hayley Joel Osment? (Just what kind of girlie name is that for a guy anyway - slap his momma) Well, the challenge to Ross is to find someone halfway around the world, get them to take a trip to Edinburgh and show them the best of Scottish culture and scenery...show that person a different part of the world that they might have their own epiphany. I know Ross is up to challenges, so he might just take me up on it...if he doesn't, ah well...his verbal thanks were enough for me anyway...

How many Zuma's does it take...

for South Africans to realise that their government is as corrupt and inefficient as the next? Quite a few, apparently, as the (ex-) Deputy President is not the first Zuma to be scorned by the populace. Ex-Health Minister, Nkosasana Dlamini Zuma, created hell a few years ago by trying to implement a system whereby new doctors would spend some time doing community service before being allowed to practice privately, and her surname was used as the acronym for "Zero Understanding of Medical Affairs". Now, we have another Zuma in the dwang, but this time it's the second-highest ranking office in the country (contrary to some beliefs, God is not second in charge to Mbeki) and for the first time in his reign, President Mbeki has shown some balls by firing him. Now he is to be charged with two counts of corruption following the conviction of Shabir Sheik, who supposedly arranged bribes for the ex-Deputy during the recent arms deal struck between SA and a couple of countries. Incidentally, the first Zuma has been touted as being a possible successor to the second...{groan}...