This Past Weekend - Part 3, Sunday...

Sunday morning was not much different to Saturday, up early to go fishing only to find the wind already blowing. Not a problem though as Mum was already awake and sitting up in bed, reading. We turned on the TV and tuned into the Japanese F1 Grand Prix which was just about to start. I didn't even know that Mum liked F1...go figure. She's a bit like Steph when it comes to sport..."oh, for fuck sakes, sport on the telly again", so it was a pleasant surprise to be able to watch the race with her. And what a race it was...just as I thought the German fuckwit was about to go and win another race, with 6 laps to go, the Ferrari engine goes and blows up. Disgust on Mum's part, as she's a "Schumie" fan (I thought she had taste), but cries of elation and punching of the air on my part. Yes, I support Alonso. There's just something about that square German jaw that makes me want to punch shit out of it... Today, we decide to shower and get ready earlier than Saturday and go and have breakfast at the same place we had lunch the day before. After breakfast and buying the newspaper for Dad, we arrive at the hospital right at opening time. To cast a little more light on Government hospitals in SA, let it suffice to say these are places you don't want to end up in when you come out to for the World Cup in 2010 (if it happens). To give you a small example, Mum had to take a towel through for Dad, as the hospital "does not supply towels to patients" (straight from the ward sister's mouth). Anyway, he's getting treated and that's the main thing... Dad's in fine spirits when we get there, except for the fact that he'd had the nurses making a racket again. I told him I think it's cultural...SA blacks have a tendency to speak loudly, but this is to let you know they are there and not sneaking up on you to steal your stuff or assault you. I notice on the digital machine above the bed that Dad's blood pressure is more or less normal, but that his heart rate is up by twelve beats from the day before. I ask the sister about this and she says it's a good sign. The heart is beating faster because it can as it is a little less restricted than the day before. A good sign indeed... Apparently Dad will still be in the hospital for a couple of more days, more for observation and rest than any special treatment, but I'd rather have him there for that period so that he can continue convincing himself that his smoking days are over and his lifestyle is changing for good. Some friends of my folks arrived while we were still there and it was during that time that I decided that things were looking up, that Dad was getting better and Mum was handling the situation, that I was going to drive home after leaving the hospital. If I had been in any doubt as to either of those reasons, I would have stayed on longer. As it is right now, I'm happy with the progress of both parents, so I'm happy with my decision to come home to my life up here in Joburg. The drive home, however, was not without mishap. The road was busy, with more trucks and heavy lorries than I ever remember seeing travelling between Durban and Joburg on a normal, "non-holiday", weekend. The accident I witnessed though, had nothing to do with lorries. I was about 175km from home and it had been dark for about 30mins. About 100m in front of me was a Nissan bakkie (pickup) and I moved into the righthand lane to overtake it. As I got into the lane, I heard a loud bang, saw a puff of dust from under the Nissan, and reslised that he'd had a tyre explode. The driver must have stood on the brakes (wrong thing to do in the circumstances) as he lost control of the car. It swerved in front of me, first left then right, upon which the righthand wheels dug into the road and the car rolled twice, straight across my path. Doing about 140km/hr, I stood on my brakes, while trying to watch what's going on and reach for the hazard lights switch at the same time to warn other drivers behind me. I noticed in my rear view mirror that other drivers had also switched on their hazard lights and were slowing down. The Nissan came to a halt, about 50m ahead of where it had started rolling, half on the fast lane of the highway and half on the grass verge between the opposing sides of the highway. I managed to stop without hitting anything, or being hit from behind, and pulled onto the grass shoulder with my full beam lights on to show what was happening in front of me. I noticed a child, perhaps 5yrs old, jump through the open hole where the windscreen had been, run across the highway onto the grass, an adult get up and run from the middle of the highway onto the same piece of grass as the child and grab hold of the boy. I saw another adult drag an elderly lady from the road and lay her down on the grass in front of my car. In total, there were five adults and two children in the bakkie, and each one of them had some form of injury except for the driver who was shaken, but unhurt. I grabbed my phone and jumped out of the car, remembering that I'd passed a police car about a minute before all the drama unfolded. I ran back up the way I'd travelled, waving at passing cars to slow down and move to the lefthand side of the highway. The policeman had stopped about 50m back from my car, and turned on his blue roof lights. When I got to him, he was already on the phone, calling for assistance. BELIEVE IT OR NOT, the policeman and I were the only ones to stop and offer any form of assistance to these people. To all the others who had stopped behind me and witnessed the carnage, and had carried on without at least offering to help, FUCK THE LOT OF YOU!! My car was still parked just before the accident scene, with hazards flashing a warning to oncoming motorists, but was quite ineffective when you are working in otherwise pitch blackness. The policeman had no charged batteries for his torch (fuck knows what he'd been doing with them) and no form of attracting attention other than a luminous strip on his overcoat. While he waved the overcoat to get cars to move to the left, I ran back to my car and grabbed a hazard triangle (compulsory in bakkies, as they should be in ALL vehicles) and started waving that at the oncoming cars. We were about 100m up the highway from the scene, and, needless to say there were some absolute fuckin' arseholes coming at us without reducing their speed. On two occasions, cars passed us doing more than the speed limit and one of them missed the Nissan by mere millimetres (I thought he was going to plow into the Nissan and complicate things more) and just carry on without even touching his brakes, while the other one saw the accident at the last moment and almost lost control of his car while trying to swerve out of the path of the Nissan. FUCK YOU TWO, AS WELL!! Happily, nobody connected the Nissan or any other person at the scene. An elderly man, a passenger of the Nissan, had been in the road picking up belongings just seconds before the speedsters came past us. If he'd been there seconds later, we would have had another accident. I offered a bottle of water, the only sustenance I had with me at that time, to one of the female passengers to offer to the rest of the victims while we continued slowing traffic. We managed to create enough of a backlog of cars so as to slow the entire highway down to a crawl, getting everyone to move across to the left. Needless to say, there was also a considerable amount of "rubber-necking" going on as people tried to see what was going on as they passed the accident scene. The first of the paramedics arrived within 15mins or so of the accident happening, and immediately the lady paramedic took a look at the elderly woman, who had been propped up by (what I assumed to be) her family, her back against the legs of one of the other female passengers. The elderly lady had considerable head injuries and I saw the paramedic feel for a pulse on the jugular vein, then lie the old lady down, so I fear the worst for her. I can't confirm it, but I think she died at the scene. An ambulance arrived, as did an Emergency Medical Services person from the toll company who control that piece of the highway. I asked him if he needed anything from me, but was told that they just needed my contact details in case there was an inquiry (I expect that, if the old lady did die, I might be getting a call for a statement). After that, I gave my details to the policeman with whom I had been directing traffic, and he said thanks for my efforts. As I got back in my car and reversed from the scene, a doctor was putting a stethoscope to his ears to check for a heartbeat on the old lady, but I don't know what the outcome was. The lady paramedic also came up to my window and said thanks for my assistance and I told her I'd given my details to the other two guys if they need me. As there was nothing else I could do, I got back onto the highway and immediately phoned home to tell Steph that I'd be a little later than expected. She said that she'd expected me to be home already, but was glad that I was okay and on my way. I got home about an hour later than expected, but unharmed... A weekend, as I'm sure you'll agree, I don't want to experience again...

This Past Weekend - Part 2, Saturday...

As we were only going into the hospital at around 10h30, I woke up early to see if I could do a bit of fishing (of course I took my rods down, just in case I got some time), but the wind was up earlier than I was, blowing from the North East and not good for throwing flies. Instead, Mum and I pottered about around the house, had a cup of tea and a slice of toast to keep us going until after we'd been to see Dad, when we'd go and have a decent lunch somewhere. Around 10h30, we got the car out of the garage and headed into Port Shepstone hospital. Dad was propped up in bed, a pillow supporting him, with all sorts of sticky pads stuck to various parts of his chest and shoulders and a couple of them leading cables to a digital machine above the bed. He was in surprisingly good spirits and I know this cos he crapped all over me for driving down to be there. We chatted about how he felt (okay, considering), what sort of a night he'd had (noisy nurses in the ward), and what the prognosis from the doctor was. As I mentioned previously, the doctor has told him he is never to smoke again, or he will die. I can tell by his tone of voice that he will now give it up for good though. Dad is not usually scared by medical problems and they are usually seen as an inconvenience, but this time is different. He is not scared, but is angry at himself for getting to be in this state. What was that about hindsight? Dad has always been of the opinion that, when he goes, it will be sudden. This episode, however, has given him new food for thought. He's also had enough time alone in the hospital, so far, to think. He's stated that he has now given up smoking (even said he wasn't craving one after two days of not having had one), is going to change his diet (we joked about going out shopping and top of our list is carrots - Dad hates carrots) and is going to try and get some exercise, even if it just means walks on the beach (something that hasn't been done in a while since Pandora couldn't manage it). I hope, for all our sakes but especially for his and Mum's, that he keeps to his word. Anyway, at about noon, the nurse told us in a roundabout way that we had to leave and we went and had lunch, followed by grocery shopping. That afternoon was spent in fron of the TV, watching the Currie Cup rugby semi-finals where both the teams I wanted to win (Sharks especially) lost. The final is going to be a humdinger though, going by the semi's performances. That evening, we had "Stovies" for dinner (years since Mum made them - for those who don't know, it's a Scottish dish of boiled potatos with ham and veg on the side) and sat down to watch a series drama called "The Commander". It's an English police drama and is quite good. During the commercial break, I switched to the TV guide and noticed that Scotland was playing France in the Euro 2008 qualifiers. "Oh, shit", I told myself, not expecting a favourable result. Much to my surprise, when I switched over with about three minutes left on the football clock, I saw that Scotland had gone one up...ya fuckin' dancer!! We happily watched the end of the game (Mum is as staunch a Scotland supporter as I am) and then watched the end of the drama. With not much else on the box for the rest of the night, Mum ended up dozing off on the couch and then went to bed around 9:30pm. I sat up for a while longer, watching the final qualifying round for the Japanese F1 Grand Prix, then went off to bed around 11:30pm...

This Past Weekend - Part 1, Friday...

Friday started as most Friday's do...up about 7am, shower, shave, shampoo, shit, (no shag this time), shumshing to eat, schlepp off to the office... All was going well until Mum phoned at around 11h50, and I could hear straight away there was something not right. Turns out, my Dad had had a "mild" heart attack. What I could get out of her didn't tell me much as she was understandably weepy and distressed. I asked her if I needed to be down at the coast with them (about 6.5hrs drive) to be with them. Typically, as a colleague later put it, Mum said that it wasn't necessary. For the time being, I left it at that. At about 12h30, I phoned Mum, who had just arrived home, still in a state, for an update. At about 7am that morning, Dad had got up, done all the usual stuff and complained about a sore chest, saying that it was "worse than the night before" when it was thought to be gas, or suspected shingles. Dad had a doctor's appointment already set up for 11am, so they weren't too concerned at that time. By 8am, however, Dad said that he couldn't take the pain any more and Mum would have to take him to the doctor right then. Off they went, and once there, the doctor told him he'd suffered the "mild" heart attack, gave him a nitro tablet to melt under his tongue and immediately had him hospitalised at Port Shepstone (about 30mins from home). Mum had stayed with him right up until when she'd phoned me with the news, just after he'd told her to go home as there wasn't anything she could do except stress him out further. Stress him out? Imagine what she was going through... In between the phone calls, I'd been questioning myself about going down to be with them and had almost decided not to, due to the cost of the travel (things are tight since the build). It was at that time that I could have slapped myself for being so selfish. What if things were worse than I'd been told? What if I was putting a cost on not seeing my Dad alive again? I cursed myself and immediately told Mum that I'd be down later that day, that I would drive down, leaving the office immediately and hitting the highway after getting home to pack a few things. After letting Steph know what was up, and telling our Illustrious Leader as I was leaving the office, I went home to pack. The drive took me about six and a quarter hours, uneventful, except for thoughts running through my mind about what the future might hold and again berating myself for initially being so selfish. I arrived at Mum's at 8:50pm, about 10mins earlier than I'd expected to be there. Usually Mum greets me/us with a little wave and a smile as we drive in through the gate, but this time she didn't and I could see on her face in the glare of the headlights that she was taking strain. While I let the diesel engine run for a couple of minutes to cool the turbo down, I held Mum who started sobbing quietly, then we went inside. I poured us both a stiff single malt, sat her down and told her to tell me the whole story. Now that I was there, I could put a picture of events together and ask some questions. It appears that the doctor has told Dad that he is extremely lucky to have had this "mild" heart attack and that it was brought on by his excessive smoking (at one point, a few years ago, Dad was known to have regularly smoked 90 cigarettes on an 8-hour shift...you work out the math on that one!). Due to the smoking, he has had severe hardening of the arteries, to which the doctor has told Dad it will never get better but will get worse and will kill him if he carries on. Needless to say, Dad has vowed to quit and so has Mum. Ironically, in the week leading up to the attack, Mum and Dad had both been cutting down on their smoking with a view to quitting altogether. Anyway, Friday ended up with Mum in better spirits (she only had one drink so it wasn't that). I think it was because I was there, had spoken her through the day's events, reassured her as much as I could, and we'd put a plan of sorts to carry out on Saturday...into the hospital (visiting hours between 11am and 12pm) to see how Dad was progressing, and some retail therapy for her (even if it was only groceries). So, at around 11pm, we decided to call it a night...

For Want of a More Challenging Fishing Experience...

I've decided that, unless we got to a trout resort, or Steph needs a few trout for the freezer, from now on I'm going to target one of South Africa's best fighting fresh water fish, the Yellowfish. I'm a member of a forum, Fly Talk which, though based in SA, gets subscribers from all over the world and where one can exchange all sorts of information fishing related. On the forum, I posted a brief note asking the members where their favourite sites on the Vaal River would be to catch these sought-after fish (which are taken on Catch And Release only), from which I was referred to another bloggers site, Yellows On Fly. It's an interesting site, full of valuable information and maintained by Keith Wallington who is obviously more of a fanatic about catching "Yellows" than I am (for the moment anyway, or at least until I catch my first lunker). I'll add the link to my list down the side for anyone who cares to pop in there now and then...

"Someone finally said it..."

This is a transcript of an email that was sent to me, not my own writing. Obviously it was written by some rightwing yob in the USA, but he/she raises a few valid points... {start quote} There is some truth to all of this.... Someone finally said it. How many are actually paying attention? There are African Americans, Mexican Americans, Asian Americans, Arab Americans, Native Americans, etc. And then there are just Americans. You pass me on the street and sneer in my direction. You call me "Whiteboy," "Cracker," "Honkey," "Whitey," "Caveman" and that's OK. But when I call you "Nigger", "Kike", "Towelhead", "Sand-nigger", "Camel Jockey", "Beaner", "Gook", or "Chink" you call me a racist. You say that whites commit a lot of violence against you, so why are the ghettos the most dangerous places to live? You have the United Negro College Fund. You have Martin Luther King Day. You have Black History Month. You have Cesar Chavez Day. You have Yom Hashoah. You have Ma'uled Al-Nabi. You have the NAACP. You have BET. If we had WET (White Entertainment Television) we'd be racists. If we had a White Pride Day you would call us racists. If we had White History Month, we'd be racists. If we had any organization for only whites to "advance" our lives, we'd be racists. We have a Hispanic Chamber of Commerce, a Black Chamber of Commerce, and then we just have the plain Chamber of Commerce. Wonder who pays for that? If we had a college fund that only gave white students scholarships, we'd be racists. There are over 60 openly proclaimed Black Colleges in the US, yet if there were "White colleges" that would be a racist college. In the Million Man March, you believed that you were marching for your race and rights. If we marched for our race and rights, you would call us racists. You are proud to be black, brown, yellow and orange, and you're not afraid to announce it. But when we announce our white pride, you call us racists. You rob us, carjack us, and shoot at us. But, when a white police officer shoots a black gang member or beats up a black drug-dealer running from the law and posing a threat to society, you call him a racist. I am proud. But, you call me a racist. Why is it that only whites can be racists? There is nothing improper about this email. Let's see which of you are proud enough to forward it. {end quote} Jump up and down, shout foul, or whatever you want to. There is some validity to the above...go on, admit it...

I'm having issues right now...

on a personal level with my boss and, as a result, am feeling quite depressed. Not suicidal, I hasten to add, but thanks for thinking like that. Such is my depression that I have abstained from posting anything for a while due to a total lack of interest in writing anything more than reports for my customers and responding to the flood of emails in my Inbox on a daily basis. Rest assured, however, that I do still pop into my regular blog-buddies' sites now and then, read their latest offerings and post the occasional comment. You lot will be the first to know what comes of my relationship with my boss and when I eventually surface from the fug of this melancholiness.

Human Nature, Religion, Culture Clashes and Terrorist Plots...

how often is it that one of these leads to, or influences, one or more of the others? More and more often, as it seems. It's a foregone conclusion that with the spread of people through the world, often as a result of wanting a better life for one's self or family, that sometimes as a result of intolerance and countless other reasons, there are eventually going to be differences springing up between people and nations. And rather than handling them properly through honesty, deliberation, tolerance, understanding, and an acceptance of each other's differences and staying "out of each other's faces" to the benefit of everyone, the differences escalate into disagreements and violence, sometimes localised but in the case of recent events international, to the detriment of people, property and cultures. Disclaimer: Before you read the next paragraph, be sure that this is not a(nother) literary attack on the USA, though they are used as an example and these are all my own ramblings... Let's face it, everyone knows (though may not be prepared to admit) that the "war on terror" is a not-so-veiled excuse for getting George W's troops in to put puppet governments in countries that have the natural resources the USA needs to carry on its existence as the "most powerful nation on earth". Actually, I remember reading somewhere that the USA probably has more oil reserved under its own territories than in all the countries their troops are currently deployed in. The problem is that the USA wants to use everyone else's before its own so that it can be seen as even "more powerful" and can have everyone kissing their ass for the resources, and so bring the world to "embrace" their version of Western culture (also known as the "American Dream"). Global slavery, I'd call it...but back to the topic at hand... Take the recent spate of international attacks and bombings on civilians and holiday makers as the first example. Many people around the world are under the impression that large numbers of these bombings and killings are because of religious reasons - because that's the impression you may get from listening to the media and other influences they may be receptive to. Not so...I believe they are cultural with religion being used as an excuse. In many instances, local politics is the reason behind attacks on innocent populations and tourists, with the attacks carried worldwide by the ever-hungry media giving the attention to the perpetrators of the violence that they want. That's the attackers' cowardly way of trying to bring about change in their country, claiming that their Governments are not listening to their demands (maybe that's part of the problem assholes, stop demanding things and start working together toward achieving them through peaceful means - it is possible, I believe) and so it is perceived that violence is part of the culture in those countries. As the second example, take Iraq, where terrorists/freedom fighters want the Western Forces out of their country (and who can blame them, we all want sovereignity for our motherlands) because they do not want the western culture and means of government instilled in their people and want to live their own culture (which includes religion and government). The Iraqi fighters are also prepared to do anything to achieve the withdrawal of the western forces, including killing their own people in these attacks. Popular dissatisfaction is growing in Iraq and no matter how much PR the Western forces throw at the problem, there will be no peace in Iraq until the troops are deployed elsewhere and the culture is allowed to return to an Iraqi culture. Eventually, Iraq will become another Vietnam for the Western forces and there will be no "winners", only losers, the people of Iraq. I say leave them to their culture and if it doesn't look or sound nice to Westerners, so what? It's theirs and nobody should be trying to influence/change it, except themselves. The same goes for the Western culture. As the third example, the recent "war" in the Middle East is another example of the mix-up between culture and religion. Again, it's not religion, but a cultural battle raging to the detriment and destruction of Lebanon and its people...as if they haven't had enough war in their recent past. In this case, Hezbollah wants to destroy Israel and the Israeli culture, with religion as one of the reasons. Take the wars that have raged in that area over the last few millenia and they've all been fought over the same reasons with culture at the heart of it all and religion used as the excuse. That's something that's always baffled me...religions are supposed to spread the word of peace and harmony among men, yet it's often at the heart of many a disagreement between those same men...go figure. Two weeks ago, in the UK, there was almost another Jihad against the West. And for what? The simple, ridiculous, reason that one of the Pakistani cricketers was perceived to have tampered with the ball. No religion involved there, but for some people sport is a part of their culture, my partially-adopted South African culture included. All because that daft fuckin' Darryl Hair (the centre of more cricketing controversies in his short umpiring career than Ian Botham in his entire playing career) decided to lay down the laws of the game in a rush of blood to the head with no definitive proof. He was perfectly entitled to enforce the rules, I hear you say, and I couldn't agree more. It was just the way that it was done that caused the furore and almost led to another culture clash. The latest to come out of the UK is the Government admitting that it may have made some mistakes regarding its immigration policies. I couldn't agree more with them. As I mentioned earlier, sometimes people want a better life for themselves and their families, and often that means moving to a different country (my family included in that, as we moved to SA from Scotland in 1969). You cannot blame people for wanting better lives, it's part of human nature, but then those people should be prepared to embrace all the good things about the culture they are moving to. Unfortunately, religion comes into it again though. Take any Westerner who wants to go to a predominantly Moslem country and they are required to live in compounds (in many instances) and their freedom of movement is severely restricted. This is not only an infringement on basic human rights, but it is ascribed to religious requirements. If this is the case, then how much of an uproar do you think there would be if the predominantly Christian countries suddenly created compounds for Moslems (or any other religion for that matter). In short, it's nothing short of cultural racism, blamed on religion. I guess one also has to look at what makes up a "culture" and the use of the term. Human nature is one of the prime ingredients. The influences of people on others causes influences in the culture of that country, city, and hell, even down to street level. In fact, taking it to the extreme, even down to individual home level. My home culture is different to every other home around us and it's partially due to influences from the neighbours. Some of them we are very good friends with, others we greet on the odd occasion we pass each other in the driveway or on the street. Human nature and culture has dictated whom we will and will not socialise with, and our respective cultures are affected accordingly. In other words, there are many different ways to interpret "culture". It goes without saying that religion makes up part of a culture too. The differences between Christianity and Islam, to name but two religions (though there are many similarities between them), are many. Christians are/were traditionally seen by the Moslems as infidels, and vice versa the Moslems are/were seen as babrarians by the Christians. Archaic terminology perhaps, but these are/were terms used by the different cultures in which these religions are/were dominant. We all have our ideas of what culture means to us. For me, aside from human nature and religion, it's things like language, government, skin colour, sport, love for the motherland, caring towards your fellow man and not just countrymen (something sadly lacking in SA, but that's another posting), law abidance, politics, tolerance for other human beings and their differences, culinary "peculiarities" (take spinach for example, that's peculiar, and not in my culture), style of housing, customs, habits, humour, curios (the Hairy Haggis is a prime example of Scottish "culture" where we try and convince the world that this is the edification of some poor little creature that we like to eat, which inhabits the highlands of our beautiful country), fauna and flora of the country (most countries have a national flower and animal - SA has the Protea and the Springbok, Scotland has the Thistle and fucked-if-I-can-remember-what-the-animal-is, probably beaver). My list is by no means comprehensive, but you pick it and somewhere it fits into the cultural make-up of a nation and its people. Sadly, each culture also has its nasty side too. SA is a prime example of that where a few arrogant white politicians tried to impose apartheid on the population (no colour mentioned there as it affected all colours in one or other way, even to this day). Religion can also be a nasty due to the above reasons of having caused more wars than any other cultural trait in history. There are many lessons learned from history where cultural differences caused hostility and wars between nations, clans, and even family members, but somehow the human race seems to keep repeating these mistakes. Personally, I embrace all the positive things not just about SA and Scotland, but about the human race itself and I try to "stay out of the face" of other people and not antagonise them but understand them and come to agreement with them and agree to disagree on issues. And that makes up my "culture"...what makes up yours?

Before Max gets all happy...

handing out another toilet seat, let me assure him that I'm busy working on a piece and expect to post it sometime soon. Right now, I'm off to the weekly meeting, otherwise known as a good excuse to waste an hour and a half drinking coffee...

Ah don'd no ow bud Ah god de flu...

ad ah reellee don'd no ow, cos ah wuz inn de zun de ole wikend pintin de gade. Ride dnow ah god de sniffels, ruddy doze, zore troat ad watry ayez. Ah tink ah'd be bedder off in mah bed bud ah god sum wurk ah huff te fennesh. Mebbe ah'll god te mah bed lader...{ahchoo, shniff}...

For want of something better to write just now...

we had a nice peaceful weekend. In case you're remotely interested...which I doubt, so why am I even going to go into this? Ah fuckit, you're here so you may as well read on... On Friday afternoon I dropped Max off at the Renault dealership to pick up his old wagon with the new gearbox and played my new old-school rock CD all the way back to Makro to buy a bottle of Single Malt scotch. Bands like Lynyrd Skynyrd, Allman Brothers and the like rang loud in my ears all the way down the highway (yes, Bachman Turner Overdrive are on the CD as well) and I pulled up to a strange look from the car guard, something to the effect of "Eish, get some new toons, honkey". I ignored him, then ignored his request to look after my car (I've ignored every one of them since some bastard car guard who wasn't at his post - or had been bought off - caused my car to be stolen a couple of years ago. I only had one payment left on it and it would have been mine, all mine, I tell ya!!) Anyway, into Makro and I found what's turned out to be a pleasant 10yr old Islay Single Malt from the distillery called Finlaggan. It sounds Irish to me, but I'm guaranteed by the splurb on the box that it's 100% Scotch. Tastes good too, not too peaty, and after the first sip, becomes quite smooth. Hell, if it wasn't 10h20am, I might be forced to have a wee dram right now, but then you'd all think I had a drinking problem too, which, without sounding defensive, I haven't...so there. I also picked up my free, inscribed, Johnnie Walker ice bucket compliments of a promotion they had last Christmas. Yes, that's right, it's taken eight months to deliver it, despite my occasional email query to the organisers regarding the whereabouts of said bucket. Now I have it in my possession, the only disappointment to it being the chip in the glass I noticed when I took it out of the box at home. No doubt caused by the inscriber... I tuned into the TV sports channels to see what was happening, in anticipation of the upcoming Sharks game at 19h00. Steph called to say we'd been invited round to friends for a braai to tan some chops on the grid and, no doubt, have a coupla drinks too. So, with Chris being a rugby supporter too, I agreed to the invitation. And a bloody good game it was too. The weather reminded me of the 1995 World Cup game, at the same stadium, between SA and France, where it pissed down for the entire 80mins. This was no different and made for some great running rugby, players passing the soapy ball between them like dirty kids in the mud. In the end, the Sharks ran out 16-6 winners, and the captain of the opposing Western Province applauded the victors on their handling skills in the wet. The braai was good too, there's nothing like a piece of meat off the grid to get the salivary glands drooling. On Saturday morning, the gardener arrived just short of 08h30, about a half hour earlier than usual and I think he thinks that, because I asked him to come a half hour earlier the week before, that he has to come earlier every week. I'm not going to correct him, as it's coming into summer and there's going to be plenty for him to do. This weekend, however, I had him slapping a layer of anti-rust over the front palisade fencing as I ground the old paint off ahead of him. Judging by the progress we made, it's gonna take us a while to do the entire fence as we only managed one side of the driveway. Next week, he's going to start painting over the anti-rust stuff to make the fence look all new again, and I'll carry on scraping the rest of the fence. At 14h30, I sat down to watch the Springboks get another rugby lesson from the All Blacks. I think it's time that the Springbok team was fired. Not the management, as Jake White is perfectly capable of putting together a winning side, but the skills and attitude of some of the players leaves a lot to be desired. After ten minutes, the Boks were ahead on the scoreboard and that's when it became very clear that they were going to lose. South African teams have a bad habit of sitting on their laurels when they go ahead early, thinking that they can now keep the "psychologically demoralised" opponents at bay for the remaining 70 minutes and retain their two point lead. As for attitude, there are a couple of players that should not even be playing club rugby, never mind international. How dumb do you have to be when, at just over five feet in height, you throw a punch at the biggest opposing bloke on the field? And it's every fuckin' game he plays, that he tries it on with the biggest no-necked fucker on the field. I'm speaking of Bolla Conradie, Western Province scrumhalf, luckily not playing this time, but it happens time and time again. Another one, Enrico January, the scrumhalf for the Lions does exactly the same thing. Maybe it's a scrumhalf thing, I don't know, but they shouldn't be on the field. Anyway, another lesson learned for the Boks (how many lessons does it take to learn something, for fuck sakes?). That evening, we went out to dinner and a show, as an early birthday present to me (before you ask, it's the 31st) from Steph. I was a little sceptic about what the show would be like, but it turned out to be a great evening. Two "camp" blokes on two baby grand pianos, tickling the ivories and amusing the audience with their humour, "A Handful of Keys" was well worth the evening out. They had a solid two hours on stage, with only a brief 15min interval in the middle, and played every genre of music you can think of. Their "piece du resistance" was a 15min-long medley of tunes spanning more than 100 years of music, consisting of 117 snippets, all perfectly in time sequence (from what they told us)...absolutely brilliant, with humour thrown into the mix as well. Unfortunately, yesterday was their last show so I can't even recommend it to anyone. I'm not sure if the show is just moving theatres or if it's being closed down, but I hope it's the former. My Sunday was spent sloshing anti-rust onto the main gate across the driveway. It took me a whole six and a half hours!! The gate is perhaps only 4m wide, but it has intricate circle patterns and nooks and crannies that are very difficult to get into with a paintbrush. I decided to do it myself for two main reasons, the first being that I'd ground the old paint off the day before and any more rain would have just brought back the rust. The second reason is the aforementioned gardener. He has a side job painting apartments and houses, but the rate at which he painted the palisade on Saturday made me feel that he was just fucking around and the quality of his work isn't that good. I decided that, as the gate is the centrepiece of the fence and, if needed, the fence can be repaired cheaper than the gate, I would do the gate myself. I might even paint it next weekend too, just to make sure it gets done properly. Anyway, gate done and a couple of small odd jobs done around the house before dark, I showered and had a scotch to celebrate my hard work, followed by another sumptuous dinner by Steph and a TV movie, "Flight of the Phoenix" on satellite. Not a bad movie, but one which can be left to the bottom of the rainy day pile. Basically, it's about a group of American oil-riggers in Mongolia (I didn't know they had oil either) whose well gets shut down by the company, who then pile on board an airplane which crashes into the Gobi desert after flying into a sandstorm, who then build another plane out of the remains of the crashed one, who then manage to fly off into the sunset just as smugglers' bullets fly around their ears. In my book, the only good scene was when the designer of the new plane, who turns out to be a 'plane designer by trade albeit of model airplanes, blows out the brains of one of the smugglers the good guys had captured while the rest of them were squabbling about how he was going to be a drain on their already low water supplies and what were they going to do with him. No emotion, the guy walks over, picks up the army issue revolver off the table and pulls the trigger. Problem solved... After the movie, I watched a bit more telly while Steph toddled off and had a bath then retired to bed, having an early rise. I wandered off to the land of nod at around midnight, arms and head slightly sunburned from the last couple of days out in the sunshine, contented. Hope you guys also had a good weekend...

An interesting blog I found...

that might interest some of you folks especially Stuart and Ross who, I know, do quite a bit of reading. Perhaps you've already been there... Joe wrote a comment on one of JennyMay's postings and, not having seen "Joe" before, I went to look at what he was all about (profile view, blog view, etc). Looks like he's got some really interesting stuff going on his sites about movies and books. Joe's Reviews The Edinburgh SF Bookgroup The Woolamaloo Gazette Judging by his profile, Joe certainly has excellent taste in music, so I'm sure his taste in books (also, seeing as he's a bookseller by trade) is just as good...

Yes, I'm still here...

shivering under the latest cold weather onslaught, but still alive and well. In response to Max's comment recently (and before I get another chunty seat award) I thought I'd better let you know in advance that I'm busy working on another novel-length posting, this time about cultural and religious differences. I think it's going to be a little controversial, but what the fuck, it's my blog and my opinions...coming soon to a posting near you. As for the last week or so, we went down to my folks on Wednesday morning for a few days R&R and, I hoped, some fishing. Salt or fresh water, I wasn't cared. Wednesday had been a public holiday, so we only had to take two days leave to get five off, including the weekend. We took Bonnie down with us, one of our Weimaraners, as she and Duke (the Dobermann) seem to be having a difference of opinions these days. It recently cost us almost R2,000 to have a wound fixed on her side caused by the big brown fuckwit after he had bitten her in some or other altercation. We also took down a couple of lounge couches for my folks, who had said they wanted them as they (the couches) weren't quite fitting in with the rest of our decor. Getting the couches onto the back of the Ranger was another story. I had to take the canopy off after hoping I might be able to get them in without having to lug the 100-odd kilogram weight on my back and onto some trestles. Anyway, it gave us some space to put our gear in between the couches, which I laid one upside down on top of the other. Naturally, the fishing stuff went on first. All this was done at 04h30 in the morning as, if I'd done it the night before, the car would not have gone back in the garage due to the length of the couches sticking over the back of the Ranger. I don't go to gym at the best of times, but doing some serious exercise at 04h30 in the morning was just fuckin' ludicrous. Good riddance to the fuckin' couches, I say. I took out the two large toolbox-thingies that take the place of a backseat in the Ranger and got Bonnie's bed settled in. This is the first time she'd be on such a long trip and, though she loves going in the car, we weren't sure how she'd take the extended time in the cramped space. Huh...she slept the entire fuckin' way, like she was part of the grey carpet. We got on the road at just after 06h00, an hour later than I'd wanted to, but when you have to pack and repack things to get two women into the car (Steph and Bonnie) things can take a little longer than anticipated. The road was nice and quiet, though we'd expected there to be a bit more traffic due to the "lemming run" that usually takes place to the coast on these breaks. We stoppped off about 200km from home to fill up (just in time, as I put 83l into an 85l tank) and let Bonnie have a runabout. A quick toasted sarmie and a coffee later and we're back on the road. We stop off again in the Drakensberg, about half way to the coast, for another "piss parade". From there onward, the weather deteriorated, in typical coastal weather for this time of year. From about fifteen feet inside KwaZulu Natal it started raining. A mist-like sort of rain, not enough to use the wipers, but enough to soak into the couches on the back. Luckily, I'd put a couple of sheets of plastic on the back and I'd covered the gaps as best I could. We stopped at the folks place at just after 2pm, right in the middle of a downpour. Thankfully, there was a carport that I could leave the Ranger, and couches, under until it passed. So it was, that I had my first beer of the trip...lovely and cold, Windhoek Lager. Rheinheitsgebot at its best. We let the weather clear a bit and got the couches and luggage unpacked and settled down for the afternoon as the weather was shite. Cool and rainy, the whole afternoon. I was glad to see the folks were a lot less heavy-hearted after Pandora's burial, and we had been a little hesitant in taking Bonnie so soon after it, but they took care of her like she was their own, not that I'd expected anything less. The folks pampered her, treated her like they'd done with Pandora for the 16-odd years that they'd had her, and they'd done it with gladness in their heart, no sign of their previous sadness. That was, at least, until I showed mum the little obituary I'd written for Pandora. Mum shed a few tears, but then went back to her old self again. On the Thursday morning, we took Bonnie for a run (read "walk") on the beach to see what her reaction to it would be. At first, she was a little hesitant as she had not seen crashing waves and such a huge sandbox before, but she took to it like a fish to water. Running up and down the beach, up to her backwards-facing knees in the water, over and under rock formations, she had an absolute ball. That morning, we walked further along the beach than I had ever gone in all the time my folks had been living there. We must have done a total of about 8km and eventually turned around once we started feeling hungry. The weather that day was blowing a gale and so there was no fishing to be done. On Friday, the weather was nice again, with the wind having dropped overnight. We took Bonnie for another walk along the beach and I bought a fishing licence at the post office (fuckin' ripoff - now we have to pay to amuse ourselves on the beach too). Once back at the house, after breakfast, I got the fishing gear together and took a hike down to the rocks in front of the house to wet some line. There'd been a family of fisherfolk further along the beach earlier, who had had a pickup from a Garrick (large sportfish, just what I was after), so I tied on a large "plug" (a fish-shaped piece of weighted plastic with a couple of treble hooks attached in strategic places, designed especially for catching Garrick) and threw it a few times. On one cast I got a slight tangle and when I eventually got it undone, found that my line was broken. Before I realised what had happened, I'd let go of the loose end and it was "bye bye plug". Pissed off, I tied on a large spoon (a heavy fish-shaped piece of lead with a couple of treble hooks attached in strategic places, designed for catching large gamefish) and threw it in a few times. Same story as the plug, the line tangled and the spoon got snagged on a rock, the line snapped and I thought "fuck this, it's getting expensive" and decided to call it a day. Later I found out that the line was rotten, as it had been on the reel for at least five years...time to replace it, expensive lesson learned. By then, the wind had picked up again and dad and I chilled out for the rest of the day, waiting for their car to be delivered by the fuckwit servicemen who had taken four days to service the BMW (never buy a Beamer, I say). Mum and Steph had gone shopping, for lack of something more interesting to do. When the car eventually arrived, around 4pm, dad signed it off and we had to take it for a test drive along to the new pub for a beer. I hesitate to call it a pub, but it's the best they can do in a small place like the caravan park where it's located. It's more like a big room that someone built a counter in one corner of, stuck a fridge in, put up a few beer advertising posters, and called it a pub for the locals to frequent and the OAP's to hold their bingo on a Thursday morning. Worst of all, it had a couple of the local "boneheads" hanging off the counter, not-my-cuppa-tea-type-folks, but they were interesting enough for a couple of hours of personal amusement. At about 6pm, we staggered off home in the shiny Beamer, to face a Vindaloo curry that Steph had "knocked together". Excellent, as usual, tasty enough to make any good Charo's eyes water and nose run in culinary delight. It was so good that dad got possessive about the leftovers and froze it so that he could have it at a later date. On Saturday, we got up early-ish (about 7am) as I'd wanted to go and throw a fly line in the lagoon to see what lurks there, but the wind had got up again during the night and it wasn't conducive to that sort of fishing. Instead, we took a last walk on the beach, this time in the opposite direction from the previous mornings as the wind was from the other side. Bonnie was now very confident in the new environment and ended up chasing crabs around the rock crevasses while we picked up Cowrie shells off the sand. After breakfast and a shower, we got packed up and the car loaded. We'd decided to come home on the Saturday to have a day at home to chill out and do some things around the house before going back to work on Monday. Our washing machine was in the process of packing up (Steph has had it for about 14yrs) so we brought back my old top-loader that I'd loaned my folks a couple of years earlier and I loaded that on the Ranger. In addition, dad had decided that he didn't want the old freestanding bar counter on the verandah, and "traded" us that and the three chairs for the couches. Dad's strange like that...if you give him something, he has to give you something in return otherwise he feels like he "owes you". So, luggage, washing machine and new bar counter strapped down, we loaded Bonnie into the Ranger again (you should have seen her face when we were packing, you could have sworn she thought she was getting left behind) and we hit the highway just after midday. This time we knew Bonnie didn't want to get out as often as we'd expected her to on the way down, so we journeyed home a whole 90mins less than we'd gone down in, only stopping once for fuel and a second time for Steph to go for a leak. It's always good to get down to the coast, but it's just as good to get home again to settle down into comfortable surroundings. Right now, I'm working on a presentation for a client I'm trying to sell a whole bunch of consulting to, and later (even though it's probably around 10deg outside) I'm off for a bit of night fishing...fly fishing for trout this time. A good social evening out with a bit of fishing, a bit of drinking, but a whole lot of chilling out that happens every third Wednesday of the month. Hope you're all well out there...

Time for a Laugh or two...

might as well, the rest of the world just fuckin' depresses me...

The SA Government is in denial about crime statistics...

so maybe this is a good time to start taking notes, cos it's gonna get ugly...(What's that I hear? Ah yes, it's Aussie saying "Give us the World Cup" again...)... Apologies for the quality of the pic, but click on the image to enlarge it a little...

The Weather all over the world is really fucked up...

ask me, I know. Last night, really unseasonally, it rained. Not just a little shower, but a full-blown Highveld thunderstorm. And it had been raining most of the day too, which is why I got home early to let the dogs in...poor little fuckers were shivering in their pelts. And what do you know, I come out of a client meeting at 11h00 this morning and remembered that I had to go and pick up my new credit card from the Sandton Post Office (incompetence rules, right?) and I pull off the road just outside the client's premises to phone Steph who will know where the PO is. What happens? It starts fuckin' snowing on my car!!!!!! I kid you not!!! Snow, in fuckin' Joburg. I joked about it last night to Steph's sister, but never thought it might actually happen. There wasn't a lot of it, but enough to sit and watch for a few minutes while it flurried about in the wind then landed on the bonnet and windscreen then melted. The radio also reported light snowfalls in other areas, so I wasn't delusional...just in case you might be thinking that.

Remember my recent posting about the hosting of the World Cup in 2010?

Well, here's a pile of even more graphic reasons not to hold it here. Thanks to Max for the link...scary shit, bro... Why south Africa is Crap Death of Johannesburg Farm Murders Get out of SA This stuff really made me sad. A little more scared as well. It feels as if "it's" getting closer all the time, that it's only a matter of time before someone close to me, or myself, gets caught up in all the murder and mayhem. IF there's a God, spare my loved ones and friends. Take some of the bad guys for a change, will you? Leave us peace-loving, law-abiding, lot alone...

So last week the company thought they could teach an old horse...

some new sales tricks. And let's face it, I'm only a cuntsultant, what do I know about sales, so maybe they could. Max is on the same course and I know he's looking forward to the event as much as I am...which is about fuckall. We have lives outside the company and this course is an(other) inconvenience in our lives. I'm actually on the "standby list", which means that if some of the "real" salespeople can't/won't/don't want to make it, I'll get an email that says I'm a valued part of the sales force and the course will reinforce old principles. Aye, awright then... So I get the email and confirm my place and, purely by chance, although one of our shared managers probably had something to do with it, Max and I end up sharing a bungalow. Excellent...someone I know and trust that will flush the loo after he leaves a big chonky in the pan. I arrive at Lesedi Cultural Village (click on the links on the right of the linked page for more views - we had one of the "Xhosa" guestrooms) at about 2h30pm, a half hour later than we're supposed to be there, true to IBM form and fashionably late. We were told to be there by that time so that they could get the sales reviews out of the way at the lodge rather than doing them back at the office which is the norm for a Monday afternoon. I get seated and end up listening to a pitch by our Business Controls people who are basically the internal policemen of the company. In other words, they assist management in making our lives difficult. By about 4pm the talk is over, or at least it ends due to mass boredom by the attendees (only about 12 of us, instead of the 24 that were expected). We have a coffee and settle back in for the reviews. I have no input to any of them, so again I'm wasting my time. Max arrives a little later so we end up chatting about how much of our time is being wasted and by about 5h30pm they're ready for our business unit reviews. The lodge staff are ready to throw us out by then as they want to set up for the following day, so we rush through the opportunities and head off for our "guestrooms" to freshen up. The "guide" who takes us there must have taken the long way round, cos Max and I cut the time in half when we come back down to the bar. Mind you, it was downhill to the bar, so that might be another reason it was shorter. Anyway, we get to the guestroom and discover it's a quaint little rondavel decorated in the traditional sense as you will see by the links on the website, as above. We drop off our unnecessary stuff and head back with camera and jackets, as there's bound to be some photo opportunities and it's still winter here. We order a beer and I discover that I only have R30 on me, which, as we find out is not even enough to buy two Millers Drafts which turn out to be R17.50 apiece. Fuckin' ripoff, and Max starts throwing his toys out the proverbial cot. So would I have if I'd had to pay for it, but he has all the money and graciously not only pays for the beers but loans me a hundred bucks too (which I've only just remembered to go and give back to him...thanks, Max). Once we pick ourselves up off the floor after finding out the price and paying, we hear that our management has opened a tab at the bar. The barman tells us that he'll try and get Max's money back, but to no avail. His manageress tells us it's paid for already and can't be reversed. More likely, it got reversed and ended up in their pockets. We have a couple of beers and stand around the log fire, keeping warm, having a laugh with some new and old acquaintances. Dinner is plain old 3-star hotel kind of fare, nothing great, but set in a Turkish-styled room (in an African cultural village, go figure) complete with hookahs on the tables that, although stoked, remained unsmoked for the night. What made the evening memorable though was the copious amounts of alcohol drunk by the majority of attendees. Max, on the other hand, only had two beers and two dozen cokes due to an old war wound (he can elaborate). By the time we toddled off to bed it was (I think) somewhere after midnight. Needless to say, after the grub and drink, we're ready to blow off some steam...literally. I go for a pee and Max drops a fart, second in impact only to the Hiroshima and Nagasaki A-bombs. Fuckin' hell...imagine a green cloud, sort of like mist, that you walk into like hitting a brick wall at pace and that's what it was like walking back into the room. Not to be outdone, I reciprocate, and drop one of my own...score: one all. We finish up on the ablutions and climb into our respective single beds (just thought I'd make that clear) and crash for the night, tired but content. Not that I slept much that first night, despite the booze. I can tell you that the first airplane left Lanseria Airport (about 20km away) at 05h45am, the traffic from commuters to Joburg started at around 05h00, and the first cockrel started crowing at about 02h00. It's quieter in the middle of Joburg, for fuck sakes. Anyway, the alarm goes off (as if I needed it) at around 06h25 (Max's) and 06h30 (mine) and we laze about a bit, not wanting to brave the cold floor and preferring to stay under warm blankets. Eventually I decide to get up and showered, only to discover there's no hot water in the taps and worse, there's no fuckin' water at all! So it was time for a canned shower, a quick brush of the teeth and off for breakfast. Max looked resplendent in his cap, worried that he would look like he was having a bad hair day. Me, I don't have much hair to write home about, so I didn't care less what it looked like. Turns out there was a broken reservoir on the water system which caused the shortage. Due to water pressure problems, the lodge fills large plastic tanks situated higher than the camp so that gravity pulls the water down to the rooms and so gives pressure to the taps. No rocket science there, but a simple, cheap solution to a problem. Breakfast is the usual buffet, helping yourself to toast, eggs, bacon, sausages, french toast, beans, and so on. The coffee is great so there's a couple of gallons drunk between us. And so, on to the first day of the course. Most of the other attendees have either arrived during the night or early that morning and we now number the expected 24 people. Yaawwwnnnnnn.....A quick lecture and introduction as to how the course will run and there's a short break for another coffee. The course is to be run by making a series of "calls" on hypothetical clients and colleagues, the roles played by a number of managers within various business units. Some do a great job, others who shall remain nameless, don't do as well and make it quite clear that they'll make it difficult for their callers. Lunch is no different to the day before, again typical 3-star fare, meats and salads, though set in a "shebeen" (as Max says, "look it up" - oh, okay, it's an informal and often illegal pub) sort of surrounding. We end the day's work off by preparing for the following day's "calls" and head off to the log fire after dropping our laptops in the rooms. Max has a shower and professes to be "clean again" but I decide to leave it until before I go to bed. Fuckit, they've put up with my stink for the day, they can endure a few more hours of it. Anyway, we're having a "bush braai" for dinner, so there's going to be a bonfire in the middle of the "boma" (look it up) and typically everyone will smell of fire smoke so I'm not going to bother showering just yet. Dinner is tasty enough, like having a braai in the middle of the bush, a bit chilly due to the wind but warm enough around the roaring bonfire. Plenty of drinks flow again and, as per the previous night, the evening ends with a few Scotches (Johnnie Walker Black Label to be exact). Just before Max and I head for bed, Angie (our guest facilitator from England) asks me how long I've been in the country as I still have my accent and, like Jenny May a while back, asks why I stay here. I tell her to come with me and I take her out of the boma into the dark (don't go there...that wasn't the reason). I then tell her to wait a couple of seconds and then look up. Splashed over the sky above us was a million stars and the Milky Way and I tell her there's one of the reasons. The sky, out of the effect Joburg's lights, is second only to the night sky in Mozambique (ask Ross)...brilliant. Angie says the only other time she saw a sky like that was in New Zealand. I don't know much about that, so I'll take her word for it. Max and I head for bed and I have one of the best showers I'd had in a long time. Hot, and with plenty of pressure in the water, they must have sorted out their reservoir problem. Talking of which, the management of the lodge had decided that, to reduce our "discomfort" a little they would be sponsoring R1,500 worth of booze bill that night...good of them, that was. Mind you, at their prices, it probably didn't go far. I was trying to think what we could do to ensure they gave us double that for the following night, but sanity (or was that sanitation) prevailed and I let it go. That night was Max's turn to toss and turn, but I slept like a log waking just before the alarm went off. Up again early for breakfast, same as the previous morning's, and back into the course. Lunch was set under some trees in the compound, meats and salads the same as the day before. Talk about lack of imagination... PHOTO752 At about 6pm we get herded together to go and watch a "Zulu dance". Typical IBMers, we arrive late and miss the start, but it goes on for about another half hour, three drummers giving the leather hell, female dancers doing the jiggly bit, male dancers doing the war dance stuff. Very impressive, even if you have been here 37 years. In the room was also a crowd of kids on tour from Scotland and they loved it. The whole thing ended with the dancers calling everybody into the middle of the room with them and all dancing together. Me, I'm not much of a dancer to begin with (even after a few drinks) so I sat and watched, and took some photos. From there, it was back to the log fire where we had a tasting of traditional "Mahewu", a beer drunk by the blacks and generally thought to be made of anything from maize, to tree bark, dregs from old beer and wine, as well as the occasional dose of battery acid. I thought it was like tasting the dregs of a wine barrel that had been left formenting for about 20 years, pleasant but with a nasty aftertaste. And so it was on to dinner, the usual 3-star stuff, but this time served in the same area as we had had breakfast until now. I sat down, looking at a plate of food in front of me, ready to dive into it right up until after the first mouthful when I suddenly felt very "naar" (nauseous). I waited a couple of seconds to see if it would go away, but it got worse and I ended up leaving and sitting my arse on the toilet for ten or so minutes, unsure which end my lunch was going to come out of. In the end, nothing happened and I went back to the table, but I couldn't face the meal and even the sight of it made me queasy. I explained to the waitress that it had nothing to do with the food, that it was me that was the problem. We had more course work to do that evening and at about 10pm we decided to call it a night. This time though, it wasn't just a short walk to bed. Due to a booking problem (read incompetence by a secretary) we were to spend our last night in a different venue, about 600m away on the main road running past the village. A short drive away, barely enough time for the engine to warm up and we were in our new digs for the night. This time, Max had his own room and just as well as the rooms had double beds and I didn't want to be the one to tell Princess that I'd slept with her hubbie. The new place was in the process of being renovated and the smell of paint hung fresh as hemorrhoids, smelly and pervasive. The sheets on the bed looked like they'd been bought in a garage sale and had little baubles of cotton all over them. The entire place smelled of raw sewage, which didn't endear it any more, but luckily there was the smell of paint to keep that at bay. After a good night's sleep, considering the new bed and bedding, and a shower we were back at Lesedi for breakfast just after 7am. This time I managed to keep a full plate down, though I didn't feel any less nauseous than the previous night. We started the last of the "calls" at 7h45am and I begged off the course after the last one, so I don't know what the eventual outcome was, though Max should have something on his blog. A quick visit to the chemist later and I found out that it was probably a mild form of food poisoning that I had (remember the Mahewu?) coupled with slight dehydration (remember the Johnnie Walker?) so I got some stuff and went home for a couple of hours sleep and recuperation (remember the late nights?). I woke up feeling a bit better, but a little drained. Friday morning, back into the office and the usual drudgery. So...did I learn anything on the course? Let's put it this way, His Royal Black Highness (read manager) phoned me yesterday to discuss an opportunity I've been working on and he asked me if I'd discovered the "client's compelling reason to act" and "key pain points" and "key decision advisors", to which I almost told him to fuckrightoff cos he'd obviously just heard the terms for the first time too, so I guess I did learn something. I also learned that the selling method and tools they use are just more "compelling reasons" to never go into sales in this company...

In South Africa we live in HEAVEN...

We HEAVEN got petrol, we HEAVEN got wek, we HEAVEN got a cure for eds, we HEAVEN got honest polteeshuns, we HEAVEN got honest pleesmen, we HEAVEN got lektriek and we HEAVEN got brite fewcha, And we HEAVEN got an ansa to de problems eida... Eish!!

Ok, so now that I sort of have some time...

I'm going to bore you with what I've been up to for the last week or so. I'll start on Friday last week, which turned out to be a long, hard, day. It was Steph's birthday (45 years young in man-speak, or 21 in woman-speak) and she'd told me (on numerous occasions previously) that all she wanted as a gift was for me to paint the bedroom (something I'd been threatening to do for a while as it's one of my renovation projects anyway). I had also started a week prior to that, organising a surprise party for her, inviting the "usual suspects" as well as a few other good friends (Max and Princess, Paulo and Teresa). All was set for it, I had planned my day almost down to the last minute, as I usually do. On the Wednesday, I'd gone to our local Pick'n'Pay (Tesco's in the UK) and ordered three large platters of snacks (fucked if I was going to stand and make up loads of snacky sandwichy things myself) and made a list of everything else I needed to buy like crisps, dips, peanuts, desserts, that sort of stuff. I was expecting about 14 or 15 adults and a few rugrats. Anyway, come Friday morning, I'm up reasonably early (7am) and dressed without showering as I usually do (alarm bell number 1 for Steph). I have a cup of coffee, a slice of toast (alarm bell number 2 as I don't usually have breakfast) and I hover around between feeding the dogs, watching Sky News and wandering in and out of the kitchen where Steph is preparing her lunch for work (alarm bell number 3 as I usually fire up the laptop around 8am if I'm working from home). I had anticipated starting the bedroom at around 8am, or 8h15 at the latest, but Steph was slower in getting out of the house than usual and I finally got going just short of 9h30. A quick recalculation of the schedule in my mind and I got into the garage for some tools. Talk about "Extreme Makeover - Bedroom"...which is exactly what it was. When I finished at 15h30, I had: - Removed the curtains from the rails and packed them onto the study floor - Packed all the bedding onto the study floor in a knotted bundle - Packed all the crap from under the bed into the cupboards where it should have been in the first place - Moved the chest of drawers into the passage outside the room - Shouted at Duke, barking at the passing people, to "shut the fuck up while you can still do so voluntarily" - Moved the two large bedside tables into the main-en-suite bathroom - Dismantled the bed and stacked it against the bedroom cupboard - Removed the artwork from the walls - Filled the holes in the walls - Filled the gaps between the cornice and walls with acrylic cement - Found the tins of paint (that we'd bought about a year earlier) in the garage cupboard - Mixed the paint with the new whisk that I'd bought on Wednesday (just attach it to a variable speed drill and it's like working in a paint shop) - Found a substitute colour for the ceiling as one of the smaller tins we had bought had disappeared - Painted a thick coat on the cornice so that I would only have to do it once - Rolled two coats on the ceiling - Painted, with a brush, around the window and door frames - Rolled on two coats of paint on the walls (without any noticeable splashes on the carpet) - Got rid of all the paint materials and tools - Vaccuumed the carpet - Reverse-engineered the bedroom furniture and reassembled the whole lot I then got in the car, unwashed except for my hands, and went and picked up the snacks and bought the other goodies and some coldrink, beer and scotch. With a bit of difficulty in getting the snack platters back to the house in the Ranger (trying to drive with one hand while stopping them from sliding all over the place in the back), I eventually got home and unpacked the lot at which time Steph comes home and says "Ok, what's going on? Where's the dinner you're supposed to be cooking for me?" She then sees the platters on the table, which I'd moved against the wall to open up the floor and says "Oh fuck, you've arranged a party." "Yes dear, I say" and she immediately goes into catering mode as I "hadn't thought about the kids" that were coming. Actually I had, and if they weren't allowed to drink beer or scotch, too bad. There was plenty of coldrink and I'd asked everyone to only bring their alcoholic drinks along. Everyone was under strict orders not to bring a gift as Steph didn't want any. Into the kitchen went Steph, preparing a large pot of homemade soup, especially for the kids and whomever hadn't had time to have dinner and wouldn't be sated by the snacks. I set about tidying up the place, shoving more junk into cupboards and behind couches, bringing in some firewood for when I would be told to show off the new fireplace. Once I was satisfied that everything was ready, around 18h30, I went for the S,S,S,S,S treatment (shit, shower, shampoo, shave, shumshing to eat - only S that was missing from that lot was Shag, but then there wasn't much time before people were supposed to arrive. It would have to wait.) About ten minutes after I get dressed and my first drink poured, Paulo and Teresa arrive...early for a change. Then it was like a floodgate opening with everyone else arriving within a space of 10 minutes...brilliant, cos then I didn't have to keep running in and out of the house to open the gate. As is usual with our group of friends, everyone brought Steph a gift and she appreciates every one of them. We had a great time, great music in the background, a load of drinks floating around (judging by the floor the following morning) and a load of catching-up conversation as we had pretty much ignored our friends since starting the building of the lounge. Everyone was holed up inside the house, except for the smokers who ventured outside on occasion, as it is still winter here and pretty chilly at night. The fireplace was a huge hit, with a few friends stating that they either wish they had one, or were going to install one. Steph took a few of the ladies in to look at the newly-painted room, and all were suitably impressed at how quickly it had all gone. I had to apologise to a few of the guys who told me that they would now be expected to perform the same miracle in their own homes. By around 23h00, the die-hards were the only ones left and we were all huddled around the fireplace, onto the single malt scotch for a few of us, the rest sticking to their red wine or beer. I brought out the absynthe for a couple of the ladies who professed to it being quite nice (no, Cuzzin, I didn't tell them the alcohol content) and who were interested when it turned white after pouring a little water into it. Steph apparently told everyone, at odd occasions through the night, that she had never seen me so tired. Little fuckin' wonder, considering what I'd been through that day. In all honesty, I can't say that I'd felt that physically tired in a long time...mentally tired, yes, as my job consists of sitting behind a laptop or in meetings, but not physically. Just short of midnight, the last of the guests leave and we start tidying up. Only clearing away the bigger stuff, I tell Steph to leave the floor for morning. At around 10am, I finally decide to clamber out of bed as I was alone anyway. Staggering through to the kitchen for coffee, I find a note that Steph had left for me. She'd taken the dogs to the vet for booster injections and a joyride in the Ranger. No mention of the floor, but I see that it hasn't been mopped. Ah fuckit, I think to myself and find the mop and bucket outside the back door. Halfway through the clean, Steph and the dogs arrive home and she makes some French Toast for breakfast, my favourite. Another cup of coffee, and I feel totally useless for the day. Steph's off to meet up with some friends, so she leaves me to vegetate on the couch watching the Springboks get an absolute fuckin' hiding (49 - 0) from the Aussies. I end up dozing off on the couch trying to get rid of a mild headache (not sure what that was from :-) Saturday evening passed uneventfully, and we had a nice quiet evening. On Sunday morning, we were up reasonably early (8am) having breakfast on the patio, watching and listening to the birds on the feeders. We then had to go off to the airport to meet some other friends (ex-pats) who had arrived the week before from Switzerland and had been spending the last week with family in Port Elizabeth. They were en route to Mauritius for a week and, when we'd met them the Friday they'd arrived, we'd brought some of their unneeded luggage back to the house to keep for them. Today, we had to exchange cases so that they could take their "warm weather holiday" gear with them and leave the "cold weather holiday" suitcases with us at the house. They arrive back this coming Saturday, will stay with us for the night and we'll have a lunch for some of their old friends on Sunday before dropping them back at the airport on Sunday evening for their flight home. Back to the boring story...At about 12h30, Scott and Trevor arrive at the house as we'd arranged to go to the Glasgow Rangers / Mamelodi Sundowns football match. The 'Gers were on a short pre-season tour and, little known to me, had also played the previous day in Bloemfontein, about 350km from Johannesburg. They'd won that game, against Cosmos, two goals to one, and we were expecting the same result for the Joburg game. Ha fuckin' ha...'Downs were all over Rangers, who were playing in an unusual change strip of white shirts and red shorts, obviously not having had the time to wash the blue strip from the night before. In the end, Rangers lost two nil, and a deserved beating it was too. We hadn't a fuckin' clue, giving away a blatant penalty in the 20th minute right in front of the referee, and a second goal about 5mins into the second half. Sundowns could have scored a few more, as they were catching us with the long cross from the right wing to the centre, every time. It almost looked like Rangers had fielded a team of kids, judging by the size of the players and the youthful look on their faces. What made the game worse was the fact that the organisers had decided not to sell beer in the stadium, or even on the premises. We were gobsmacked. Personally, yet another reason not to have the World Cup here in 2010. Can you imagine getting tens of thousands of thirsty football fans here and telling them "sorry, no beer"?? There'll be a fuckin' riot to pale the Sharpeville riots of the 70's into insignificance and we'll have to declare another public holiday because of it. And that's just because of the riots from the Scots and Irish supporters, never mind the rest. So, three 500ml Cokes later, bladder bursting, and with Aberdeen (also on tour with Rangers) also getting a 2 - 0 beating from Cosmos, we get back in the car and head home. A good, though alcohol-free, day at the ballgame. What's left of the weekend passes seated in front of the telly and Monday rolls around too soon again. Quite a weekend, huh?? The only thing interesting thats happened through the week, so far (and aside from the sadness of Pandora's passing), is that yesterday I told my boss (one of them anyway, I actually have three) that I'm fed up doing what I'm doing for the pissy little salary that I get every month. I'm doing the job of a Principal Consultant (basically developing the consulting business in a sales role) which is a grade higher than I am at the moment and a higher salary level. I also found out my salary is toward the bottom of my grade's range, and the 3% increase I got this year (again) for the amount of effort I'm putting in (as a "2 performer", which is only beaten by a "1 performer"), doesn't help my morale. I also had an internal interview with the manager of our Systems and Technology Group for a position he has open, and by the sounds of things, he wants me to start tomorrow. Good news for me, cos I can now tell my manager (the one I had the discussion with) that I could be outta there before he can say "revenue", which is all he fuckin' thinks about. The STG manager is someone I would far rather work with, having worked for him before. Essentially, the new job will be starting up a new training section for the STG division, getting in some skills to perform technical education for clients and IBMers, and maybe even doing some lecturing myself. Not something I can do at present, as my technical skills need refreshing, but I have a strong technical background and can do some quick catch-up. It'll be quite a challenge, but I'm up to it after 5yrs of consulting. So...now that you all know what I've been up to, don't you wish I would write more often and not have to write these novels? Hope everyone is well...

Not much to smile about...

in the Douglas family today... Mum's faithful little Fox Terrier, Pandora, was "put to sleep" this morning. In a joint decision taken by mum and dad, it was decided to put her out of her misery. Pandora was almost 17 human years old, had a form of canine Alzheimer's Disease, and just wasn't as mobile and alert as she will be remembered as being. Naturally, the folks are cut up about it and Steph and I feel their sadness too, as we currently have four of our own animals, and have buried a few in our short number of years together. It's always a sad occasion, and this is no different, even if it is justified as being humane. Pandora now has her own private place under the big tree in the front garden where she can continue to chase the monkeys away from the birdseed. RIP, old girl...

On the lighter side of SA...

Barry Hilton is one of SA's best comedians. I saw him in a show a few years ago and can still remember being stitched up in my seat with laughter. Here's one of his skits... Dof people should have to wear signs that just say, "I'M DOF." (SA slang for stupid) That way you wouldn't rely on them, would you? You wouldn't ask them anything. It would be like, "Excuse me... oops, never mind. Didn't see your sign." It's like before my boeta and I moved. Our house was full of boxes and there was a Pickfords truck in our driveway. My neighbor comes over and choons, "Hey, you moving?" "Noooit bru. We just pack our stuff up once or twice a week to see how many boxes it takes. Here's your sign!" A couple of months ago I went fishing with a mate of mine, we pulled his boat into the ramp, I lifted up this big whiting and this idiot on the ramp goes, "Hey, you catch all those fish?" "Nooit cuzzi. Talked 'em into giving up. Here's your sign." I was watching one of those animal shows on the Discovery Channel. There was a guy inventing a shark bite suit. And there's only one way to test it. "Alright Jimmy, you got that shark suit on, it looks good... They want you to jump into this pool of sharks, and you tell us if it hurts when they bite you." "Well, all right, but hold my sign. I don't wanna lose it". Last time I had a flat tyre, I pulled my car into a petrol station. The 'pomp jockey' walks out, looks at my car, looks at me, and I SWEAR he choons, "Tyre go flat?" I couldn't resist. I said, "Nooit Baba. I was driving around and those other three just swelled up on me. Here's your sign." I was trying to sell my 'jammie' about a year ago. A guy came over to the house and drove the car around for about 45 minutes. We get back to the house, he gets out of the car, reaches down and grabs the exhaust pipe, then says, "Jislaaik, that's hot!" See? If he'd been wearing his sign, I could have stopped him! I learned to drive an 18 wheeler in my days in the 'mag'. Wouldn't you know I misjudged the height of a bridge. The truck got stuck and I couldn't get it out no matter how I tried. I radioed in for help and eventually a local cop shows up to take the report. He went through his basic questioning... ok.. no problem. I thought sure he was clear of needing a sign...until he asked "So..is your truck stuck?" I couldn't help myself. I looked at him, looked back at the rig and then back to him took my sign off and chooned, "No. I'm delivering a bridge. Here's your sign." I stayed late at work one night and a co-worker looked at me and chooned, "Are you still here?" I replied, "No. I left about 10 minutes ago. Here's your sign." Anybody you know in need of a sign today? Send this to all your chinas! The next time someone says something dof, you can ask them: "Where's your sign?"

An Enemy of the State? Me? Possibly...

or at least I might just be, once any South African football fans read this posting. I don't actually have the time to write this, but it all has to do with an article in the local newspaper, The Sun, and other reports this morning. I've wanted to write a piece debating the issue of whether or not the 2010 World Cup should be held in SA. The tabloids pre-empted my posting, so I thought I'd better give it an airing. As you can read from my rantings below, I think not....read on... The reports are that FIFA was supposedly considering (which they have denied in other reports) pulling the plug on the 2010 World Cup due to be held in SA, citing lack of infrastructure (particularly around public transport), lack of accommodation, crime levels, and the HIV pandemic. It is also reported that the festival should be given to Australia as the next choice of hosts. Ask any green-and-gold-blooded South African (not me, I'm blue-blooded Scots) and it all smacks of a smear-campaign by Australia (typical of the rivalry between the two countries at rugby level), I know, but I believe there is a strong case in supporting giving it to the Aussies. Let's start with the list of reasons given by the reports, listed in reverse order for emphasis: 4. Accommodation - This, I believe, is one of the lesser points of concern around the whole WC. SA successfully hosted the 1995 Rugby World Cup and had thousands of overseas visitors for the event. Some were lucky enough to get hotel rooms and tour packages, but other more adventurous fans actually took to the web in search of rooms to rent in private houses. The SA public in the cities that hosted games made an absolute fortune in renting out their sparerooms and homes for the event. Therefore, I say, accommodation will not be an issue (hhmmmm...wonder if we can get a couple of those scantily-clad Brazillian ladies upstairs?) 3. The HIV Pandemic - Undoubtedly, a huge concern for the world, never mind only SA. The country has a very high infection rate (I forget the actual statistics, but it's somewhere around 50% of the population, I believe. Not the highest in Africa, but getting there). And in four years time, when the WC is due to be held, who knows what the infection rate will be. A means for keeping the infection rate down a bit over the duration of the tournament would be for the Pomms, some of whom I believe like "a little dark meat now and then" (it's in quotes, Stuart, as I've heard it being used by an Englishman before) is to keep their fuckin' dicks in their shorts!! Somehow, not a compelling reason to take the WC away on its own, but definately a reason for concern. 2. Third World Transport System - In my opinion, this is a top reason and shold be joint number one of this list, but to avoid confusion and using decimal points, it gets second place. The public transport system here is not only a joke, it is also almost non-existent. The newspaper reports called it "third world" and that's the funny part of it. I've been to other parts of Africa, considered third world by the rest of the planet, that had better transport systems than we have here. Public transport in SA consists of fiercely inadequately bussed routes, some of which go nowhere near the main business centres (or the stadiums, for that matter) and that run on timetables that make Edinburgh's busses seem as though there's five running each second to your very destination. The other "formal" mode of transport is the minibus taxi. Find just one of these that is not a deathtrap and I'll guarantee you it's just been stolen from some executive transport company guy who hasn't yet had a chance to report it stolen. Reports in the past have said that some of these things run on "cardboard for brakes", have "vice grips in place of steering wheels" and have more cracks in their windows than a busload of butt-flashing Glaswegian teenagers (that's my observation). These things have a daily occurrence of deaths and injury, mostly to the passengers and not the drivers, as well as innocent drivers and passengers in other vehicles. A recent report stated that there was a taxi stopped for speeding on a highway, which was registered to carry 12 people, but had 24 crammed into it. (The Queen song "Death on Two Legs" comes to mind...). The picture above shows 13 adults, 1 child and 1 billy-goat standing outside the taxi (probably waiting for another to come along as this one had broken down next to the road). In another recent case, 13 teachers were killed when their bus went off the road. The condition of the roads are not to blame for the deaths as we have some of the best tar I've ever driven on...it's the fuckwit drivers, as can be seen by the cartoon attached below (from the Business Day, without their permission). Minibus taxi drivers in SA are the worst drivers in the world. They have an absolute and total disregard for any other road user except another minibus driver. They speed on all roads, bobbing and weaving in between peak-hour traffic, cutting other road users off at any and all times they can. They drive in lines in the emergency lanes of motorways (I once counted 26 of them in convoy in the emergency lane on the M1, at full speed, with not a cop in sight). They jump red traffic lights at any and all occasion, regardless of whether there is oncoming traffic in the opposite direction, especially when said traffic is queueing up on the exit from the intersection as it's then easier to squeeze into the jam. In the event of a traffic jam going in the same direction as they are, they will move into the oncoming traffic lane and scream along at full speed until an oncoming car forces them to consider getting back onto their own side, not even bothering to ask the offended driver, not even bothering to look into the said driver's eyes to see the hate he has for the fucker. At a T-junction, they will make it look like they are turning off to the left at the intersection only to take the intersection, make an illegal turn into the traffic coming out of the incoming flow around the islands and back into their original flow, thereby bypassing having to wait in the queue to get through the traffic lights. In a two-lane right turn at an intersection, they will make a third, sometimes fourth lane to push into the stream trying to take the right-turn, often taking the turn before or after the light has turned red for their normal lane. They stop wherever and whenever they like, either to pick up or drop off, their passengers (who must be nervous wrecks by the time they've endured a trip) often stopping just metres from a bus/taxi stopping zone, specially removed from the traffic flow for that exact purpose. On roads where there is a dirt shoulder, they will take to the sand, bumping along through the potholes that there inevitably are, not a care in the world for their passengers or their belongings. I once witnessed a taxi that had obviously not been serviced in a while, which, while travelling along the M1 north, had lost the back axle and wheel. Yes, the entire axle had come out of its shaft and, still attached to the wheel, had gone bouncing along the peak-hour highway. How it didn't cause another accident, is beyond me. Anyway, the taxi had been pushed into the middle emergency lane and its axle was left standing, as proud as a good hard-on, next to the damaged minibus. Forty minutes later, I passed by in the same direction as the taxi had been travelling, only to see that the taxi had disappeared. I can only surmise that the axle had been refitted to its shaft and the taxi had been driven away. These guys don't use the tow truck system which "normal" road users use in emergencies. They just fit the pieces back together and take it to some kangaroo mechanic at the side of the road, of which there are quite a few, who "fixes" it. Enough on the taxi's...you get my point, I'm sure... Now the rail system. It is an absolute nightmare, with the timetables even worse than the busses' and the recent three month-long security guard strike, where at least a dozen non-striking security guards were thrown from moving trains to their deaths, did nothing for their image. The carriages are in an appaling state, seats torn and slashed, piss, spit and booze splashed all over, and graffiti inside and out reminding one of the images of the New York "El" carriages seen in movies. There is also a project underway at the moment, called the "Gautrain" (an abbreviation of the province name "Gauteng" and "Speed Train"). This high-speed railway is supposed to join Pretoria CBD to Joburg International Airport and Sandton (an affluent area of Johannesburg). Initially, it's reputed to cost about R4.6 BILLION to build, but knowing the corruption and escalating foreign exchange rates, it's likely to cost double that...that's going to be over USD$1 BILLION!!! According to the fact sheets, there will be seventy thousand jobs created, but someone should tell these idiots that that is a short-term view. Rather tell the people how many long-term jobs will be created (probably about a tenth, if we're lucky). The fact that there's not been much construction to date (aside from a few holes drilled to determine rock quality, some of which have punctured public water supply pipes) leads me to believe that there's not a snowball's chance in hell of this new fuckin' white elephant being finished by 2010, let alone 2009 by which it is supposed to be tested and commissioned for use by an estimated "104,000 commuters per day" between Joburg and Pretoria. Even to now, there's still debate going on as to the final route the rail is supposed to follow. Enough on that subject though, you can read about it yourself at this link (if you have the time to waste, that is). As you can see, I believe transport is a compelling reason to give it to the Aussies. 1. Escalating Crime Rate - "Escalating"??? Well, actually, it's not escalating...IT'S ALWAYS BEEN THIS FUCKIN' HIGH, MORON REPORTER!!! You've obviously been believing the government statistics again, haven't you, ya twat!?! Every day we hear, read, and a great deal of us see, the crime going on in what could otherwise be a fantastic country to live. Every day we turn on our tellys and radios to see and hear about murder, rape, theft, corruption, injury and mayhem in and around the country's borders. As I mentioned earlier, about a dozen non-striking security guards were thrown from moving trains by, allegedly, striking security guards. We have all either experienced, or heard of, policemen and public officials taking bribes. We even have an ex-Deputy President who was up on a rape charge (acquitted, but not convincingly) and is now up on corruption charges in a seperate case. We have cash-in-transit heists just about every other day, the latest of which though thwarted by police resulted in the death of four policemen to automatic gunfire, as well as the death of eight of the wannabe heisters (in total, 19 cops have been gunned down in the first six months of 2006, 91 were killed in 2005, and 107 in 2004 - The Mail & Guardian). Yesterday's Sunday Times reported that it was Zimbabwean forces responsible for a series of violent crimes (does this mean that our police force is inadequate? Yes, but it also means they are incompetent). We hear about kids that are robbed of their cellphones and bicycles, sometimes violent enough to end in the death of the child. We read, some of us know or have experienced ourselves, of the hijacking of cars from our very driveways by armed thieves patrolling peaceful neighbourhoods. On occasion, we hear gunshots going off in the middle of the night as some poor bastard tries to scare off robbers trying to steal from his home where his family are sleeping. Today, we have a self-confessed drug addict who killed her grandfather and aunt, claiming she was "chosen by God" to be a "living example of the Bible's Book of Revelations" (Independent Online - IOL). News24 reports that "Violent crime worries Nqakula" (our so-called Minister of Safety and Security - it better do, fuckwit!!). A farmer is accused of killing an 11 year old boy (News24). Three travellers complained to the SA Airways that their baggage had been tampered with and were told that the "SAA are not responsible for valuable articles" (does that mean that all luggage is valuable?) - The Beeld. "Lovers quarrel ends in tragedy" - Sunday Times (a man was arrested after shooting his girlfriend following a domestic tiff). "90 nabbed in Hillbrow raid" - Sunday Times (Police have arrested 90 people, 28 of them illegal immigrants, during a weekend operation in Hillbrow). Enough on the "escalating" crime rate...again, I'm sure you get my point. Here's another couple of personal reasons: 1. The 2010 World Cup Bid Management Team - It's reported this morning that the CEO of the team has "laughed off" reports that the WC will be taken away from SA. If only the ignorant bastard would read this posting, maybe he'd be laughing out his arse. There's an absolute bunch of arseholes running the bid team, all of whom I believe are only in it for the personal financial reward and nothing to do with bringing the largest sporting spectacle to the country. Read the article here... 2. The Police Force - useless, incompetent, undertrained bunch of aresholes, not fit enough to look after my house let alone the fuckin' country. Yes, they may be undermanned, but that is not the chief cause of their incompetence. For one, they just don't give a shit! Cops are expected to lay their lives on the line in defence of the public in times of jeopardy. Not our fuckin' lot...they take a bribe, then fuckoff and buy the wife/girlfriend/both a nice little present in exchange for a shag. There's more corrupt policemen in SA than, I believe, the entire European police forces combined. Get stopped at a roadblock, perhaps pissed out of your brains (a common occurence in SA is drinking and driving), plead poverty/stupidity/ignorance and you'll be asked "Well, what can you do for me then?" That's your cue to slide a R100 note out of your wallet along the window ledge of your car towards the cop and watch it disappear faster than Bill Clinton's cigar. You will be waved on your way, with a stern warning something along the lines of "Straight home, now". Talking of incompetence, cops and taxis...cops are more likely to stop a Mercedes or BMW driver for not wearing their seatbelt or talking on their mobile phone while driving, than stop an overloaded, unroadworthy, taxi from possibly hurting or killing innocent passengers...go figure. Enough about the cops...you get my point, I know... 3. Lawlessness of citizens - Undoubtedly a contributing reason to the corruption of the police force, but here there are also many things the public do but are not supposed to. You name the law and some arsehole, somewhere, will be breaking it. Why? Cos he knows he is not going to get caught by the incompetent police force. And on the off-chance that he is caught, he could probably smooth talk and bribe his way out of his mess. Even the only southern African member of FIFA, from Botswana (African nonetheless), was recently fired from FIFA for selling his personal WC tickets on the black market to fans at more than three times the official proice. People, in general, just don't give a fuck. Not about other people, the laws they're breaking, the hurt, embarassment, anger and irritation they cause other people...nothing. Life is cheap in Africa, and always will be. And there's a price on everything, even life. 4. Service ethic in SA - In most places, you actually can't complain about service as there just isn't any. And it doesn't matter where you go, government offices, restaurants, police stations...you name it. In a restaurant, complain about service and you will get treated with the contempt the fly in your soup deserved. You are not allowed to complain and, if you do, your waiter will take the plate away, fish the fly out of the soup, spit in it and stir it in, then bring back the same plate to your table (perhaps with a fresh breadroll so that it looks different)...and he will smile at you all the while. Go into a government office and you will stand in a queue for hours on end, with people pushing in front of you to be served, regardless of the number on your or his ticket (if the ticket system even works). Heaven help you if you have to go into a police station for help...as in the recent case of a young girl who had, allegedly, been raped and crawled into a police station. They didn't believe her and left her sitting on a cold bench for hours. Even some hospitals couldn't give a shit about the very people they are supposed to be serving. Another rape victim was left on a gurney in a passage for hours before she was seen by a "doctor" (a large number of whom were imported by the government - at great expense to the taxpayer - from places like Cuba where they couldn't make a living in their own countries. My head hurts after all this ranting and raving, so I'm going to stop as I'm also getting pissed off just thinking of it all... In summary... If you want to see our crime rate increase ten-fold, or the first WC in history be an absolute fuckup, then just hold the tournament in SA. Incidents of assault (armed or not) and theft, incompetence, bad service, lawlessness, road deaths and injuries, corruption and general bad-feeling toward the entire African continent (not just SA) will sharply increase as the tourists flock into the country. And with the world media focused on the country due to the tournament, imagine the number of reports that will come out. Each and every incident will be scrutinised to the n-th degree and embellished by zealous reporters looking to cash in. And the entire world will see the reports. And the entire world will laugh at the image of SA being ripped apart. And the entire world will look on in horror as the first WC on African soil is exposed as a farce. And the entire world will blame FIFA for having not given the tournament to the Aussies. I say give it to them now, FIFA, before you make the biggest mistake of your useless fuckin' lives...