Fly Fishing is a funny sport...

for some people anyway... I'd seen an advert in a local fly fishing mag for Elgro Lodge (no website, sorry) on the Vaal River, about an hour's drive from home, and decided to go down for a bit of Yellow Fish-ing (instead of trout) for a change. We're going to Dullstroom this coming weekend anyway, so I'll do the trout thing then... Steph, in her infinite wisdom, asks the youngest son of her ex-sister-in-law if he wants to come along. Josh is, I think, about twelve years old and a likeable, chubby, little lad so I agree, even though I don't know where he's going to sit in the pickup as it's only designed with two front seats and with two large toolboxes where the back seats usually are. We compromise on the seating by taking one of the boxes out and sticking in a few soft cushions, and Josh is happy enough with the arrangements. We leave Joburg at about 09h00 (a little late for my liking) and head for Potchefstroom (named after a Boer leader, Andries Hendrik Potgieter). I'm not sure why "chef" is in the name but I think he liked having barbecues. The third part of the name, "stroom" is a translation of the English "stream" and, yes, it is next to something swampy that looks like a stream (probably was a nice little eco-habitat until the local township polluted it over the years). Anyway...I digress... So we head into Potchefstroom after about an hour and a half's travel, looking for the road that the "lodge" people gave us over the phone the day before. Nada...niks...nothing... So I phone them up again, asking for clarified directions (yes, a man actually asked for directions...what was I thinking??) and get a new set. Eventually, I find the road they tell me to take and head off into the lunchtime sun. After 22-odd kilometres, we hit a dead-end. I start swearing, mindless of the twelve-year-old ears in the back. Back on the phone again, and this time they give us the number to the "owner" of the lodge (turns out he's one of the rangers - yeah, I know Jen...probably couldn't find the back of the net either, just like the rest of the team). He tells us we're about 45km off track, and gives us the actual route to the place. A half hour later and I introduce myself to Greg, our map expert and resident game ranger as opposed to footbal player. "You're the guy that got lost and phoned, aren't you?", he asks, probably thinking to himself "What kind of man phones for directions...huh?" We have a look around the place, he explains the set up and the facilities, and it looks like a really nice place for a fishing visit. You could even hold a conference for 70 people, according to Greg. I'll take his word for it... I get the fly gear together, rod set up and into the waders. Then I set up Josh's rod and wander off into the afternoon sun for some alone-time on the water. Although the sun is shining and there's only just enough breeze about to mess your cast around, the water is freezing...17deg according to my trusty dive-computer-cum-satellite -tv-receiver-wristwatch-thingy. Cold by any account... I'm casting about for a couple of hours when I decide to call it a day, having fought the current for long enough. We've had quite a bit of rain over the last few months so the river is flowing stronger than usual and that's maybe taken the fish off the bite (that's my excuse for not catching anything and I'll stick to it). I'd picked up a stick earlier that I'd used to feel my way around the rocky river bed. Just as well, as the water was dirty and I couldn't see deeper than about six inches (no, I didn't stick my willy in it to see how deep it was...anyway, I wouldn't have been able to see the other three inches of it if I had). At one point I leaned on the stick a little too hard to keep my balance and ended up breaking off the bottom foot or so of it, so it made it a little more difficult to wade my way back to the bank. In my infinite wisdom, I'd decided to take a shortcut back to the water's edge and found that the going was a little easier...until I got to a large rock which I had to wade around. Not thinking, and not poking my shortened stick at it either, I stepped off the rock...and up to my fuckin' chin in icy water. I'd heard about guys falling in in their waders, which filled up rather quickly and put them in a spot of bother, so you can imagine how quick I moved to get back onto the rock. Not fast enough, apparently. I got seen. I look back to the bank and Steph's pissing herself laughing, quietly but still pissing herself, and Josh (who was sitting on a small jetty) has his head hanging between his legs. I can see him chortling away as well. To cut a long story short, I got back to the bank, changed into some dry clothes I'd brought along (just in case) and sat down to have a drink. Josh tells us that all he heard was "Oops" and then I disappeared for a bit. I saw him looking down, trying to keep it to himself as, he told us later, he wasn't sure whether or not he was allowed to laugh at what had happened. General laughter, at my expense, all round...even on the way home, Steph looks round and Josh is just about bursting at the seams trying to keep his laughter to himself. Little bastid... We eventually got home at about 19h30, after dropping Josh off who first told his mum about the near-drowning then that he hadn't caught anything but it was worth the trip. A nice hot shower, a cold single malt, and a movie on telly (National Treasure, with Nicholas Cage)...a good day out, all told... I think we'll go back there in summer next time...just in case I decide to go for another swim...

A joke from my wee sis, Angela...

In an email from my sister this morning was this joke...I enjoyed it, thought you lot might as well... A married couple is lying in bed one night. The wife is curled up, ready to go to sleep, and the husband turns his bed lamp on to read a book. As he's reading, he periodically reaches over to his wife and fondles her fanny. He does this a few times, but only for a very short interval before returning to his book. The wife gradually becomes more and more aroused assuming that her husband is seeking some encouragement she gets up and starts stripping in front of him. The husband is confused and asks, "Why are you taking off your clothes?" His wife replies, "You were rubbing me downtown. I thought it was foreplay." The husband says, "No, not at all. I was just wetting my fingers so I could turn the pages in my book."

Just how many times can one man be misinterpreted?

I usually sit and watch Sky News in the morning before I leave for the office (just so I can wait for the traffic to open up a bit). So this morning, George WB and Tony B come out marching like two tin soldiers in perfect time and give a press conference in Washington around their "mistakes" in Iraq. Then George W comes out with another fuckin' doozie of a quote... Talking about Sadaam, he says "Wanted dead or alive - someone in the East must have...ummm...misinterpreted that somewhere" Give me fuckin' break, ya knob... (Does that mean all the sheriffs putting up the posters of gunslingers in the Wild West were also misinterpreted?)

A poet and he doesn't even know it...

that's our Max, also known as "Wreckless" to some. I'm sitting in the office, reading through some blogs (during my lunchbreak, I assure you) and happen to be on Max's mate from Richards Bay's blog, SeamanRbay, when I page back to Max's blog and hit the refresh button. Up comes the page, with a new poem as the first article, written just after Max has had another bitching session with the ether (otherwise known as IBM) where everything just disappears into a big blue hole. Earlier today I asked Max in a comment to one of his postings where his latest poem was, as we hadn't seen one for a while. And fuck me if there wasn't one waiting for me when I refreshed the page. Some of you may have seen some of his poems previously, but this is one you just have to read...it is his most powerful yet. As I mentioned, I'm sitting in the office, and as I read this piece of art I get a tear in my eye, I kid you not. It is both provocative and evocative, true to each and every word. Perhaps Max has just hit on the reason why I'm still here after 37 years...my soul is owned by Mama Afrika.

Little ducks and skidmarks...

On Cuzzin Ross' blog is a posting about what some of his side of the Douglas family look like in various outfits. His Momma, my Aunty P, has threatened to post a photo of said Cuzzin in his youth in a "lovely little blue suit with ducks on it". I thought I'd add to the interest by posting a photo, for the ladies, of him on his holiday in Africa last year (fuckin' hell, it's a year ago already)... It was a balmy Mozambiquan evening and we'd all gone for a wander along the beach. Ross decided he was going for a swim... Enjoy girls...

Stand up and identify yourself, fuckwit...

I posted something a while ago, so long I can't even remember when it was and will have to go and search my archive. It appears someone read that comment and took exception to it. I'm not sure where from as he/she used the Anonymous feature in commenting, but I took exception to the comment and thought I'd put it back on the blog whence it came. Here's what I wrote on the posting: "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?" And here's the comment I got in my email inbox: "Really? REALLY? Because I wasn't quite sure if the above was an oxymoron or are you really trying to convey that the killing of thousands of innocent people based on some f*cked up belief system is commendable? Violence is NEVER the answer. You want America to pull out of every country it is in....Fine, let's be done with it. And America, remember when South Africa needs aid, remember that they are anti-America and as such do not need your help." Here's today's reply to the above: Read the comment properly, asshole! Do you see anywhere that I'm condoning violence of any kind? I posed a question...rhetoric, but open to comment. "Oxymoron"? The only "moron" is you for not reading the posting in the context it was supposed to be. In my opinion, the violence in question comes from a push-back against the proverbial big bully (the USA) trying to enforce its (to use your own words) "fucked up belief system" on the country in question. Take your pick of countries, there are a few that the USA are in, that they shouldn't be and for a multitude of reasons including, but not limited to oil, other natural resources and good old paranoia. Yes, the USA should pull out of these countries, but it's not likely to, not any time soon anyway. Be honest to yourself (and the rest of the world) and say that you don't think the USA should be pulling out of countries they have no right to be in in the first place. How fucked up would that be?? And before you think I hate Americans, working for an American company I actually know quite a few of the aforementioned and there are some of those who are wonderful people. {sigh}...the shit I have to put up with sometimes...

I've increased my friendship with someone...

whom I used to rather think of as a colleague or acquaintance, but now am also glad to be able to call him a friend. I am glad that we met, albeit through work, and to find that we share a whole lot more than just being consultants for Big Blue, including a taste for fine beer, music, grand scenery, conversation on various diverse topics, as well as accepting each other as individuals. He has also made the last two weeks away from home bearable. Having been in Switzerland and Amsterdam for this time has, while it has been good travel-, career- and friendship-wise, also helped me re-appreciate the people and things I have waiting for me back home. At the same time I met his wonderful, sometimes wacky, family and want to thank them for opening up their home, and lives, to me as a total stranger: Nelly, thank you for the warmth of your home, your assistance with translating my mispronounced Dutch into something intelligible for the kids, as well as inviting me into your home at only the word of your husband who met me but once previously. Silke, thank you for helping me with some Dutch when I was in difficulty (Silke speaks English, better than my Dutch). Though sometimes a little on the quiet side, you are the rock that your brother and sister (and mum and dad) know they can depend on. Your knowledge, for your years, is quite amazing. Nils, thank you for not treating me with utter ridicule when I couldn't understand what you were trying to explain. Enjoy the rugby ball, and I'm sure we'll throw it around again sometime when you come and visit (then we'll see about taking you to a real rugby match, depending on the season). Lastly, but certainly not least, Maritt, comedienne of the family and though the smallest and youngest, has one of the biggest hearts of someone so young. Thank you for your patience with this big ole dumb Scotsman and your explanations of Dutch words I couldn't understand and for playing "Mastermind" with me. You really are a good player. Remember to save up your Euro's so that you can come and vist sometime soon. To the whole family, Steph and I would love to have you come out and spend some time with us. Our home is open to you, any time you like. Thank you once again...Hoi! This is, I'm sorry to say, the only family photo I have of my friends, but I like it. Left to right is Arjan, Silke, Maritt, Nils and Nelly.