Friday, March 27, 2009

A Woman's Poem...

He didn't like the casserole,
And he didn't like my cake.
He said my biscuits were too hard,
Not like his mother used to make.

I didn't perk the coffee right,
He didn't like the stew.
I didn't mend his socks the way his mother used to do.

I pondered for an answer,
Looking for a clue.
Then I turned around and snotklapped him...
Just like his mother used to do.

Thursday, March 26, 2009

Another reason...

for not having completed the Mpame trip report is that I, as of last night, joined the volunteer-based National Sea Rescue Institute (NSRI).

I have volunteered my services to help wherever possible, including within the next few weeks, becoming part of their sea crews who take part in rescues of boats and people in distress in and around the Kommetjie area near us.

So now, I might have some other new material to write about in upcoming postings.

I met some of the crew last night, mostly youngsters either just finished school or, in one case, busy with matric this year. There are one or two "oldies" in the crew but they form part of the land-based support team. I, being in possession of all my faculties and still reasonably able to go to sea and swim a few metres, have volunteered to be on the boat crews. I'll have some courses and training that I will have to complete over the next few weeks, but I should be able to take it all in my stride.

The way I see it is that I have more seafaring experience right now than a couple of the youngsters put together and can hopefully put it to good use.

I will be based at Station 26, Kommetjie, about 10mins drive from us and the closest base to home.

Don't Panic...

the report from the Mpame trip, and photos, is in the creation phase and will be published as soon as possible, or as soon as I can get a break from the client workshops...

Stay tuned...

Some days...

Friday, March 20, 2009

Banking crisis - a word of caution!!!!

If the global crisis continues at the present rate, by the end of this year only two banks will be left operational....the Blood Bank and the Sperm Bank!

And before you know it, these two will merge, and the whole place will be full of bloody wankers.

Monday, March 16, 2009

A new career in the offing...

My baby has started a website of her own, with a view to doing professional photography as a career.

So, if you're in the UK (or want to pay for her flight to take your pictures in Zanzibar), and want some really great photos of the family, friends, or an event (wedding, christening, etc), look her up on the website mentioned below.

Good luck, darlin' have a keen talent there.

Wednesday, March 04, 2009

A Sports Star in the Making...

is "Sat Nav Tonetti", the son of a friend of mine (and my sister's best friend) from schooldays. I remember Kyle as a snotty little boy, but he's growing up to be quite the heart throb by the looks of his photo on the blog site linked below.

Kyle has shown promise at various sports, with cricket and rugby his favourites, and he has now been chosen to represent Ireland at the Dubai Rugby Sevens World Cup, which starts on Thursday.

Apparently Kyle has a poor sense of direction, from which the team gave him his nickname.

I saw Kyle play cricket a couple of years ago when I visited Ireland and I'm led to believe he will represent them at international level there one day too.

In the meantime, rugby is in season in the northern hemisphere and again, Kyle has been tipped to represent Ireland at the fifteen-man verison of the game too, I suppose depending on how he fares at the sevens game. I seem to recall he plays at fly-half, but he will battle to get a place in the full team seeing as the current team is playing so well.

The Irish team has set up a blog for the sevens tournament, and if you're so inclined, you can follow it here. I know I'll be watching the games if I'm working from home, and I'll be rooting for Kyle and the Irish lads unless, of course, they play against Scotland or Souf Efrica.

Good luck, the Oirish...

Monday, March 02, 2009

Jeremy Clarkson is a twat...

of note. His article, below, shows how ignorant he is of the fear gripping "Johannisburgians" (as he puts it) as they go about their daily lives in suburbia. He, on the other hand, saw nothing wrong with life in Shit Towne which, he openly admits, he saw from the backseat of a chauffeur-driven vehicle, the driver of which was armed which should have given him an inkling of just how dangerous the city is.

Well, guess what, Jeremy? Next time you want a trip to the real "Johannesburgia", contact one of the locals, one who has been carjacked and robbed at gunpoint by a spineless carjacker, had a shot sent in through her window for no reason other than to take a life cheaply, spent ten days worrying whether those same arseholes had shot her dog that was in the back of the car at the time, who had to go through numerous counselling sessions because of the incident (or lack thereof, as you may see it). Or contact someone who has lost a family member or friend to burglars or carjackers (it's no longer a case of "I knew someone who knew someone who...", rather it's now a case of "Last week my wife/husband/friend..."). Just pick up a phone book and, at random, phone the first name your nose-picking index finger stops on. That's how many people have been affected by the "lack" of crime in "tranquil" Johannesburgia...

From The Sunday Times
March 1, 2009

I dare you to visit Johannesburg, the city for softies.

It’s the least frightening place on earth, yet everyone speaks of how many times they’ve been killed that day

Jeremy Clarkson

Every city needs a snappy one-word handle to pull in the tourists and the investors. So, when you think of Paris, you think of love; when you think of New York, you think of shopping; and when you think of London – despite the best efforts of new Labour to steer you in the direction of Darcus Howe – you think of beefeaters and Mrs Queen.

Rome has its architecture. Sydney has its bridge. Venice has its sewage and Johannesburg has its crime. Yup, Jo’burg – the subject of this morning’s missive – is where you go if you want to be carjacked, shot, stabbed, killed and eaten.

You could tell your mother you were going on a package holiday to Kabul, with a stopover in Haiti and Detroit, and she wouldn’t bat an eyelid. But tell her you’re going to Jo’burg and she’ll be absolutely convinced that you’ll come home with no wallet, no watch and no head.

Jo’burg has a fearsome global reputation for being utterly terrifying, a lawless Wild West frontier town paralysed by corruption and disease. But I’ve spent quite a bit of time there over the past three years and I can reveal that it’s all nonsense.

If crime is so bad then how come, the other day, the front-page lead in the city’s main newspaper concerned the theft of a computer from one of the local schools? I’m not joking.

The paper even ran a massive picture of the desk where the computer used to sit. It was the least interesting picture I’ve ever seen in a newspaper. But then it would be, because this was one of the least interesting crimes.

“Pah,” said the armed guard who’d been charged with escorting me each day from my hotel to the Coca-Cola dome where I was performing a stage version of Top Gear.

Quite why he was armed I have absolutely no idea, because all we passed was garden centres and shops selling tropical fish tanks. Now I’m sorry, but if it’s true that the streets are a war zone, and you run the risk of being shot every time you set foot outside your front door, then, yes, I can see you might risk a trip to the shops for some food. But a fish tank? An ornamental pot for your garden? It doesn’t ring true.

Look Jo’burg up on Wikipedia and it tells you it’s now one of the most violent cities in the world . . . but it adds in brackets “citation needed”. That’s like saying Gordon Brown is a two-eyed British genius (citation needed).

Honestly? Johannesburg is Milton Keynes with thunderstorms. You go out. You have a lovely ostrich. You drink some delicious wine and you walk back to your hotel, all warm and comfy. It’s the least frightening place on earth. So why does every single person there wrap themselves up in razor wire and fit their cars with flame-throwers and speak of how many times they’ve been killed that day? What are they trying to prove?

Next year South Africa will play host to the football World Cup. The opening and closing matches will be played in Jo’burg, and no one’s going to go if they think they will be stabbed.

The locals even seem to accept this, as at the new airport terminal only six passport booths have been set aside for non-South African residents.

At first it’s baffling. Why ruin the reputation of your city and risk the success of the footballing World Cup to fuel a story that plainly isn’t true? There is no litter and no graffiti. I’ve sauntered through Soweto on a number of occasions now, swinging a Nikon round my head, with no effect. You stand more chance of being mugged in Monte Carlo.

Time and again I was told I could buy an AK47 for 100 rand – about £7. But when I said, “Okay, let’s go and get one”, no one had the first idea where to start looking. And they were even more clueless when I asked about bullets.

As I bought yet another agreeable carved doll from yet another agreeable black person, I wanted to ring up those idiots who compile surveys of the best and worst places to live and say: “Why do you keep banging on about Vancouver, you idiots? Jo’burg’s way better.”

Instead, however, I sat down and tried to work out why the locals paint their city as the eighth circle of hell. And I think I have an answer. It’s because they want to save the lions in the Kruger National Park.

I promise I am not making this up. Every night, people in Mozambique pack up their possessions and set off on foot through the Kruger for a new life in the quiet, bougainvillea-lined streets of Jo’burg. And very often these poor unfortunate souls are eaten by the big cats.

That, you may imagine, is bad news for the families of those who’ve been devoured. But actually it’s even worse for Johnny Lion. You see, a great many people in Mozambique have Aids, and the fact is this: if you can catch HIV from someone’s blood or saliva during a bout of tender love-making, you can be assured you will catch it if you wolf the person down whole. Even if you are called Clarence and you have a mane.

At present, it’s estimated that there are 2,000 lions in the Kruger National Park and studies suggest 90% have feline Aids. Some vets suggest the epidemic was started by lions eating the lungs of diseased buffalos. But there are growing claims from experts in the field that, actually, refugees are the biggest problem.

That’s clearly the answer, then. Johannesburgians are telling the world they live in a shit-hole to save their lions. That’s the sort of people they are. And so, if you are thinking about going to the World Cup next year, don’t hesitate.

The exchange rate’s good, the food is superb, the weather’s lovely and, thanks to some serious economic self-sacrifice, Kruger is still full of animals. The word, then, I’d choose to describe Jo’burg is “tranquil”.