When you hear the beep, it will be....

16....30...exactly, and time to go on holiday. Actually, it's only 15h00 just now...fuckin' clock must be slow. Travel, rum, fishing, sleeping, eating, reading, rum, single malt, fishing, bungee, scuba diving, rum.... Get the picture? Chances are that I won't be posting anything in the next couple of weeks, but as soon as I'm back in Stressland, I'll let you know... Take care, y'all...

It's amazing to see...

how the different personalities and talents of people come out when they have a forum such as a blog at their disposal. We all have our different reasons for using our blogs, but what I've seen so far is that some use it: - to vent anger, distrust, and many other hard emotions at issues such as politicians, bad service, cost of fuel and so on. - to write poetry, showing their softer emotions. - to rebel against the establishment, telling of conquests and daring escapades evading the police forces and the law. - to show an often hilarious side, with comedic content which would make some of the more recognised "comedians" shut up in shame at their own, sometimes plagiarised, work. - to tell of family life, extolling their children's achievements, their relationships, their extravagances and sometimes, their mistakes. - to stay in contact with friends, relatives, and readers whom they have never met, but one day might hope to. - to send a message out "into the ether" in the hope that someone will have a look, see something they like, and begin an online relationship from there. - as it was originally intended, as a public online diary to keep track of everyday events and happenings. There'll be a few more reasons why each of us use our blogs, but some, as I'm sure most of us do, use it as a combination of the above...

Aunty P asked how we were doing...

in an email, so I thought I'd give everyone an update (cos you're all special to me.... ;-) We're doing just fine, or as fine as you can be when you're building. Believe me, building is a stressful exercise and should not be undertaken lightly. For instance, to build, you need to: a. Be out of your fucking head; b. Be single, so that you have absolute say over the finishes; c. Be allowed to kill or torture people and animals (errant builders, loved ones, dogs, etc); d. All of the above. Anyway, here's a photographic progression of events... Phase 1 - Foundations






Phase 2 - Walls






Phase 3 - Walls completed - next to cut the dormer window out of the old roof






Phase 4 - Walls AND a new roof!! (believe it or not, the roof tiles are actually the same original colour - grey - it's just the weathering and pollution that have turned them to shite brown)






Aside from that, we are looking forward to our upcoming holiday and I've given the builder the two weeks or so between now and then to finish and get the hell out of my life. I'll keep you all posted...

A great time was had by all...

unless, of course, you were me that had to dig the car out of the mud...but more of that just now... As mentioned previously, we were off for a weekend of sun, single malt and slinging of fly lines. Well, there was none of the first, plenty of the second, and it wasn't so much fly lines that were slung as it was mud. The weather, although I got a little sunburned around the gills due to the occasional sun ray reflecting off the water, was bloody horrible. The rainfall in Dullstroom, this January, was double the rainfall for the whole of 2005!! And it reflects in the water table which is so high that walking on the garden sounds like you're walking in a marsh. On top of which, the trampoline hole at the house was so full of water that if you jumped on it, it was like (I imagine) the upward shower from a bidet. But let me start from the beginning... Friday afternoon, we arrived in Dullstroom at about 6pm, and sat down for a coffee at "The Flying Dutchman". "Flying Crotchman" would have been more approriate...damn place was full of poop-shooters, arse-bandits, bonty-bashers, or whatever else you want to call them. Needless to say we sat down for our coffee and left at our earliest convenience when Jackie phoned to say they'd arrived in town. The house, owned by Jackie and Stan, is magnificent, I'm sure you'll agree by the photo. Probably around 30yrs old, plenty of character to it and a place we'll definately be going back to. Friday night, we all went round to some other friends who were staying at Millstream, a fly fishing resort (I mentioned in previous posts too). Lots of good red wine and single malts later and we headed off for the house, sated. A couple more newly-found single malts and it was bedtime around 01h00. A good evening, to be sure... Saturday morning, the alarm screamed at 06h30 and I was ready to get up to go fishing. Steph told me to reset it for 07h00 and I thought it was a better idea than getting up. The extra half hour would do me good. It felt like five minutes... 07h10 and I'm showered, cup of coffee in hand, sitting staring out over the large, soggy, garden waiting for Stan to surface so that we can go back to Millstream for some anticipated fishing. Huh...he eventually staggers through at around 09h00 and by the time he's finished faffing around, we eventually get in the car at about 10h00. A couple of hours later, we'd caught absolutely bugger all, except as we found out later, sunburn to our faces and arms, and around 13h00 we joined the rest of them at a little restaurant called "Fibs" (name comes from the - supposed - lies fishermen tell about the size of the one that got away). A couple of beers later and we're off back to Millstream and it's only Stan that gets a trout. I have a couple of chases, but nothing more than that. The scenery around there is simply amazing...we saw two fish eagles, herons, some wild buck that run wild around the resort, and countless other creepies and crawlies. Then the trouble started... At about 18h00, we decide to pack it in for the day and head back to the car to get rid of the waders and rods. On our way out of Millstream back to Dullstroom (about 6km in total), Stan brings out my little aluminium water bottle which was filled with...Johnny Walker red label. So we start swigging straight out of the bottle, and by the time we get back to town there's about nothing left in it, and we decide to stop in at the Dullstroom Inn for another quick one. On the way out, Stan tells me which road not to go due to the deep mud, but I think "Ahfuckit" and promptly head off in that direction. The first deep puddle is no problem, engage Difflock and through we go. The second, however, was another story altogether. As we're going through, I feel the wheels dig in up to the axles and my sphincter contracts, right about the time the car comes to a wheel-spinning halt. No way back, no way forward, we're like a big white hippo in the middle of its mudpool. Two hours later, with much rocking of car and digging with shovels, with four black guys and Stan up to their elbows and knees in stinking brown mud, I call out to them to leave it until morning. I was the only clean one among them, having watched from the clean safety of the drivers window...after all, someone had to sit in the car and dig the wheels in further, why not me?? So we head back to the house, to the amusement of the ladies who by this time had been sitting watching from the porch, wine glasses in hands, so that we could get cleaned up and ready for dinner. A fine dinner it was too, followed by loads more red wine and 12yr old single malt scotch. Another late night... A glorious morning on Sunday and at 07h00 I'm up and out the door, shovel in hand, hoping the water had drained sufficiently to allow me to drive the car out of its watery parking spot. Not bloody likely... Unbeknown to me, there had been more rain during the night followed by more water run-off into the mudpool. After about an hour and a half, I told Lewis (gardner, house-boy and all-round gopher) that I'd had enough and we'd call a tow truck. As it turns out, we didn't have to as we were able to call the owner of one of the local restaurants (who just about pissed himself laughing when we told him of our predicament, saying that it was common for this time of year), who came around with his big Toyota Land Cruiser and, at the second attempt, managed to drag the Ford out of the hole. Nice guy though...didn't want anything for coming around, except for us to go to his restaurant sometime for breakfast. Stan says the food is shite though, so maybe we'll go around sometime just to repay the debt. Anyway, I expected the worst under the car, thinking I would have to have the propshaft serviced and could see the greenbacks flying out my wallet. As it was, it had already cost me two hundred bucks in donations to the black guys who tried to dig the car out. But I was pleasantly surprised. The car had only gone deep enough for there to be about three inches of mud up the diff, and the entire chassis, including the propshaft and exhaust, were in showroom condition. Only the wheels were covered in quick-set brown cement, and the body had a few handprints over it where the guys had been pushing on it. By this time, we were ready to pack all our belongings into the cars, and head to a little coffee shop for lunch. And a reasonably fine meal it was too...but with none of the beer and single malts, as I had a three hour drive back home ahead of me. We arrived back home around 18h00, myself a little tired from the overindulgences of the nights before but more relaxed than I have been in some time. Definately worth the trip, sunburn, hangovers, and the embarassment of burying the car...that Johnny Walker's a bastard... Hope you guys also had an eventful weekend...

Leave time is drawing near...

and about time. In a previous posting I bemoaned the fact that (in my eyes anyway) I'm working too damn hard, have had enough of the building going on at home, and needed a holiday. Well, that time is just around the corner. We've decided to go away for two weeks, starting 27th February, to go down to Plettenberg Bay for some serious chilling. I might also be tempted to take down the salt water fly fishing gear. Tempted? It's a fuckin' certainty and will be the first thing I pack on the 26th. We'll also dust off the dive gear and go see if we can find some "raggies" lurking around the Storms River mouth dive sites. And I'll do the bungee jump as well...doubtful that Steph'll do it due to her last experience. As usual, I'll take lots of photos and will publish some of them when we get back.

Gone Fishing...

Off to Dullstroom for the weekend with friends, Jacqui and Stan, for some R&R...and fly fishing... This shot was taken in Dullstroom last March... Take care y'all...I'll be thinking of you when I have a fish at the end of my line in one hand, and a 12 year old single malt scotch on ice in the other... teehee...

While I'm on the sports section...

I stayed up last night to watch the NFL Superbowl. I'd promised myself to do it for years, the only thing stopping me before the fact that it starts at 01h00 local time, and I have work the following day. This year, I thought "Fuckit, I'm watching the game even if it starts at 01h00 and I have work the following day". I had a couple of hours sleep before the start and, at the shrill call of the alarm clock, staggered through to the lounge and turned on the box, just in time to see the team lists coming up. Four hours later, as much as I enjoyed the confusion of the game (due to my average understanding of the rules) and the inane expression written all over Keith Richards' face during their three-song visit on stage at halftime (and Mick Jagger's throwing of a massive pair of bloomers back into the audience from whence they came), I staggered back to bed again, questioning why I had spent the last four hours prone on the couch. As I said, I enjoy the physicality of the game, but have to question how it is that a one-hour long game, excluding the half hour half-time, can be turned into a four-hour drone. With all the stop/start "action", how is it that the athletes can look so exhausted at the end of it all? There's more breaks in the game than in Cuzzin Ross's knees after his bike accident. It's almost as if the entire game is one huge bet to see which of the coaches is going to get doused by the water jug at the end of it all. Next year, I'm going to get some sleep and watch the highlights on ESPN afterwards...they have enough of those to see the entire game spread out over a week anyway. And they call that "football"??? I think not...

Pride comes in various forms...

like, for instance, in the way the Scotland rugby team gave the French a lesson in their own way of playing the great game. Read about it here... I swear, you could have heard me a mile away when the final whistle went...at my shout of joy the dogs went moggy, running around as if someone was trying to break into the house, the birds in the trees outside flew off en masse like the cat was stalking them, and even Steph came in from the garden, gloves covered in dirt, wondering if I'd fallen off the couch and broken my leg. What was broken, however, was the French spirit at the 20-16 result. It's also the first time I've seen us beat someone while we were playing in the white strip. The moment I saw it at the start of the game, I thought "We're fucked...", but the lads sucked up the first two minutes of pressure, then gave the Frogs 78 minutes of it, Highlander-style. Way tae go, ya fuckin' beauties!!!...

I need a fuckin' holiday...

I've had enough of work, builders, traffic, insomnia, computers, barking dogs and any other stress you can think of. As it is, I've developed a rash, not unsimilar to a children's affliction called "Prickly Heat" (another good Scots term for you, Lee) and have a rash down both arms and legs that makes me look like a goddamn prickly pear (hence the name, I suppose). Whether it's from stress or an allergy to cement and plaster dust, I don't know, but it itches like fuck!! I need to get out into the fresh air and do some vegetating, fishing, reading, listening to music and much swilling of Captain Morgan (dark rum, of course) and Coke. I need to not worry about what my diary looks like for the coming weeks cos some arsehole is trying to squeeze another fucking meeting into it. The only proposal I want to hear of is one in which the decision of "which pub do we drink in today" appears. The last time I had any real time off was last May last year, when my daughter and Cuzzin Ross came out to visit. Now that was a great chilling out time!! It's time to put in for some leave. We've already made up our minds to go down to Plettenberg Bay on the Cape south-east coast. How long is debatable, but friends of ours have a place there and have said we can have it for as long as we like. Needless to say, I'll have to do the world's highest bungee jump (again), do some diving and snorkeling, fly fishing and all the other things I mentioned previously. Watch this space for the dates...right now, I've got to be in a teleconference call with the States....{sigh}...