Paul's Final Ride...

 On Sunday, 16th February, a group of seven of us set out on a 65km-ish mountain bike (MTB) ride at 06h15. It's a ride that changed the lives of everyone in the group, and even more people on the outside of it.

We left the local bike shop on time, slowly warming up cold muscles. The group consisted of mostly local riders who have known each other for some time, except for a German tourist, Falco, and Paul (pictured second and first from right respectively). Paul had joined the group just two days before. It would be his second ride with a local group, the first being just the day before. Paul and his wife had recently relocated from Johannesburg to Wilderness, and he was just getting back into MTB cycling after their move.

The ride was progressing smoothly, at a sedate pace, with the group in a jovial, relaxed mood, enjoying the outdoors and the light exercise.

Paul made the observation that we were riding the same type of bike and we started chatting, eventually getting onto families and what his wife does for a living. She is doing her Phd in art therapy for dementia patients. It immediately piqued my interest because, as you now know, M has dementia/alzheimers and we spoke of how he would mention it to his wife and I would discuss it with the care facility manager where M is admitted about how it could be a mutually-beneficial relationship.

Once we got to the top of Hologram Hill, a climb of about 6km, we turned left onto Seven Passes Road and shortly after that, right onto the Beervlei Road. The real trail ride was about to begin.

The trail turned from gravel road to single track, winding down a narrow path through wet grass and over slippery rocks. This was why we ride our MTB bikes!! After a kilometre or so, we came out at a clearing and a valley, through which one of the local streams flows, where we stopped off to admire the scenery, have a quick snack for some new energy, and just swap some general chit-chat about the ride. Everything was progressing smoothly.

On the other side of the stream, the long grass forced us to push our bikes about 100m up the hill, but that was over quickly and we soon began riding again. The path wound along contours with the occasional incline or decline giving a bit of a change of pace.

Pretty soon, we came to the end of the trail and turned left onto the Bergplaas Road, which would take us back to Seven Passes Road and from there down the notoriously steep T-Shirt Hill and eventually back to Sedgefield.

Sadly though, Paul never came back with us.

About 200m up the hill, Paul was on his own off the front, about 50m ahead of two others. I was a further 50m behind them. Suddenly, I saw Paul stand up on his pedals and then crash and roll over onto his back. My immediate thought was that he had slipped on a loose rock and come down hard.

When I got to him, the two ahead of me were trying to release Paul's clipped-in shoes from his pedals, but I could see that this was more than merely a fall as Paul wasn't moving. A quick assessment indicated that he may have had a heart attack. We found a pulse and put him into the recovery position, but soon that pulse faded away and we could not detect any breathing.

From that moment on, we sprang together as a team. We were in an area with poor mobile phone reception, so one of us went over the hill to act as a relay for calls and messages, as required. One of us got on the phone to emergency services to request an ambulance. The other four of us began CPR, taking turns between pumping Paul's chest and giving oral breathing. Basic medical training I had had in the NSRI came back to me, and at first I had reservations about breathing direct mouth-to-mouth without the use of a screen, but this was a guy's life we were dealing with, so it was a no-brainer.

"A" was on the phone to EMS and getting very frustrated at their lack of reaction. This was because they wanted to know what Paul's medical aid number was, what his ID number was, and stupid details like that, all which could have been sorted out later. Priority should have been about despatching an ambulance to our location. Eventually he got it through to them that we were in the middle of nowhere and we had none of those details. Paul had even left his phone in his car back at the shop so we didn't have any contacts for him. In the meantime, we were still giving CPR. Once you start, you cannot legally stop, until the person either comes round or is declared dead by a medical attendant/paramedic/doctor.

Falco had contacted his wife, who is a paramedic, and she confirmed that we were doing the correct compression to breathing ratios. She also immediately got into her car and raced to our location to assist, but she would be about 20mins away at least.

Finally, ONE HOUR after we got hold of EMS, the first ambulance appeared over the hill. And not only did we get one ambulance, we got THREE arriving within minutes of each other. The Vodacom 112 Emergency Control Room is fucking useless!!

The paramedics assessed the situation and took over, putting Paul onto oxygen and a heart monitor, but after a couple of minutes took the decision to "make the call". Paul was declared dead on scene.

It was really then that it hit us what had just happened over the last hour or so, and the emotion poured out of us in many different ways. We had all just met this guy and this would be the last time we saw him too.

There were the usual self-recrimination emotions in the group ("did we do enough?", "could we have done more?") but we were assured by both Falco's wife and the paramedics that we had indeed done all we could have. One of the paramedics asked me what I had seen and when I explained it, he said that they call this type of incident a "widow-maker", where nothing is apparently wrong, but the next moment the person is gone.

Some time later, when we confirmed that we were not required on scene anymore, the team decided we would complete the ride back to Sedgefield, about 30km away. The ride was completed in reflection and near-silence, with an air of disbelief hanging over us like a dark cloud.

Falco suggested we stop off at the local brewery and toast Paul's life and bid him our final farewell. That done, we were making our individual ways home and "S", the bike shop owner, stopped to say that he was heading to the airport in George. Paul's wife was in Joburg on business, due back that afternoon, and would no doubt wonder why Paul wasn't there to collect her.

S had retrieved Paul's phone from his car, but was legally not allowed to unlock it even to check for an emergency contact. He didn't know how he was going to get hold of Paul's wife and I said the only way was to answer the phone when she called to find out where Paul was. In the end, that's exactly what happened, while S was still 5mins from the airport. Falco's wife had gone with S to the airport and between them, had to break the devastating news to her. I don't envy them for having had to do that.

This last weekend, I did a solo ride on the same route we took that day, partly to clear my head from things happening around me and gather some thoughts, but also to stop off and pay my respects at the scene. What I found there was very touching. One of our group, I suspect Falco as I cannot find anyone else who might have done it, had erected a simple cross (even though Paul was Jewish) and written "RIP Paul. 16.2.25 Thanks for the ride. From the 6 of us..." and listed our names below one another.

I sat a few minutes, recounting that day, said a final few words to Paul, and continued my ride. It turned out to be one of the best rides, solo or group, that I've had in a long time. Peaceful, even serene, but it helped me sort out an issue I had been dealing with, and I'm thankful for that.

This coming weekend we are doing a memorial ride to the scene. S has had a small plaque made which we will mount, probably on a tree next to the scene. It will probably be our last visit for the purpose of remembering Paul, but every time we go past there in the future we will remember that fateful day, say hello to Paul and hope he is riding a bike wherever he is. He clearly loved riding.

R.I.P. Paul...

Look after yourselves out there, folks...

On a lighter note...

 ...my cracked/broken rib may just be badly bruised.

I'm moving a little easier, which would not be possible if the rib was broken.

This afternoon is Barefoot Bowls, a bi-annual event at our local sports club. For the first time, I am participating in one of the teams. If any of you know lawn bowls, it involves lots of bending up and down to roll your "marble" to the other side. A broken/cracked rib would be extremely painful with all the bending one has to do during a game.

So we'll see later how comfortable, or not, it is.

Hopefully it'll be okay as I'm due on a memorial bicycle ride on Sunday. Maybe the lead-up to that will be my next long posting. Stand by...

Look after yourselves out there, folks...

I've made a few tough decisions in my life...

 ...but this was by FAR the toughest, and most emotional, I've ever had to make. I never want to make another decision like it.

It changed lives, that's how tough.

Back in late 2020, my Missus (name reserved, we'll call her M for this purpose - not her real name initial) was diagnosed as having early-onset dementia/Alzheimers disease. At the time, M was 58, so it was very early onset as it usually only affects people in their later years. The reason we had the tests done was to ascertain if it was something like this, or PTSD as a result of numerous abuses and situations from her earlier life (details I'm not going to go into here, but were probably contributing factors, according to the doctors).

The symptoms between PTSD and Alzheimers can often be confused, except that PTSD can be successfully treated in many instances. Alzheimers, on the other hand, cannot be treated. There is NO CURE!  It is a horrible disease that affects the cognitive functions of the brain, and includes memory loss, an inability to think logically, increased anxiety levels and eventually leads to the brain causing other complications. The most common cause of death in Alzheimers patients is aspiration pneumonia, and not the brain shutting down as is more commonly thought.

Myself and a few other friends had noticed a change in M a couple of years earlier, when she became quite verbally aggressive towards myself, picking fights unnecessarily and accusing me of all sorts of things, none of which were true. At the time, she was going through menopause, so I attributed it to that. How wrong I was.

Over the coming years, we could see other changes in M, like she was withdrawing from conversations in social events, struggling to identify simple items (basically couldn't identify anything with a noun), losing quite a lot of weight even though she has a healthy appetite, losing coordination and thought processes. The ladies at her pilates class called me one day and said she was driving erratically and I had to stop her from driving altogether. From then until the time she stopped going to classes, I would drive her there, then go for a cycle for the hour of her class and be there to take her home when the class was over. Even her actions in class were erratic according to the ladies, but they enjoyed having her bubbly personality there so didn't mind that she would sometimes get lost on exercises or burst out in a giggle fit when she was trying to do something. They are all wonderful people who loved and treated her as if she was "one of the girls".

Just five years ago, M was an intelligent, creative home cook who enjoyed all sorts of cooking and baking, but the advancement of the disease really hit home one day when she was in the kitchen making a simple spaghetti bolognaise, and couldn't remember what to do. After more than an hour of her floundering around, I had to take over and finish preparing the meal. From that day, about two years ago now, M didn't cook another meal, didn't even boil a kettle. And on that day, I started not only preparing meals for all of us, but also performing all the household chores that M used to do (I'll call them the "typical" chores that women traditionally perform) because she could no longer perform simple tasks that most of us take for granted.

From the following day on, I had to set out M's clothes for the day, get her showered and dressed (even tell her that her shirt was on backwards, such were the details of what she couldn't do anymore), make breakfast and settle her down on a couch from where she would watch whatever channel (typically CNN, for some unknown reason) was on the TV until someone changed it. I even had her screaming at me one day because she got so frustrated at not remembering how to use a TV remote control.

Physically, there is absolutely nothing wrong with M. Until recently, we would go to our local athletics club every Wednesday, walk 3km and sit with the folks afterward for a couple of drinks. Sometimes, M would get confused and want to jog the course, but I had to rein her in and slow her down. One of her habits is mimicking people around her. If they ran, she wanted to run. The same with walking. Sometimes she confused the two, went out walking and came back jogging, or vice versa.

Late in 2024, as further progression of the disease, M became incontinent at night. Early one morning I woke to her lying on her back, waving her arms like she was making snow angels, except that she was lying in her own urine. And over the following weeks, it got progressively worse to such an extent that I had to put her to bed in adult diapers.

From there, our day typically started at 5am, where I would clean M off, wash her in the shower and  get her redressed, then back into bed with a cup of coffee, whereafter I would go for a short cycle to help with my dealing of the situation. I would usually get home after about 2hrs, to find her still in bed sometimes looking at a magazine or paging through a book she was trying to read. Once I'd showered after my ride, I would help M get dressed as well, as described earlier. Talk about "rinse and repeat".

That was until mid-January 2025, when I made the toughest decision of my life.

I had been talking to a couple of people in the "care" business and they suggested that it might be time, for both our wellbeing, to either get a carer for M or consider admitting her to a care facility. I looked around at what our options were, and considered what I thought would be the best course of action for us, but especially for M's continued care.

I have to mention here that I was not only looking after M at the time, but also my 81yr old mom (who has COPD/emphysema) and my 11yr old Nephewmonster (another sad story), as well as trying to look after myself through it all. I'm not ashamed to admit that my mental health was taking a serious knock as well. Between what was happening with all the personalities in the house, in equal blame, I must say, I was becoming more and more stressed, really only having my cycling to vent my frustrations and keep me grounded.

Considering that M's condition was only going to get worse and she would eventually need 24hr care support, I couldn't bring a carer into the house as it would not only complicate matters (M can only recognise and remember about four people) but it would delay the inevitable move to permanent care.

So on 22nd January I made the heartbreaking decision to admit M to a local care facility.

The range of emotions I went through, and still go through, is staggering. I knew it wasn't going to be easy, but I was not ready for how hard it was, and still is. Even sitting here now, there's a lump in my throat just thinking back. I went to meet with the care facility manager, who listened to my story, waiting for me to speak while I choked back words and emotions, even tears.

By the end of the relatively short meeting, she decided that M might be a case for their facility and would come to the house with one of her nursing sisters to meet and talk to M to confirm. Needless to say, they agreed that M was a "prime candidate" for their care, and we began discussions around when the move would take place.

At around 10am on 31st January, I packed a small suitcase according to a list of instructions from the facility, sat M in the car and took her to "her new home". Needless to say, she was unaware of what was happening, despite me trying to explain it to her in detail. The disease just does not allow her to understand anything remotely as complex as this.

We sat with the ladies at the facility, chatting all the while, allowing M to get to know them, after which M was taken through to a large room that has a rectangular table in the centre. Around the table were about a half dozen other patients, all with varying levels of the disease, all having been there for some time already.

I wasn't allowed to go through with them so that I couldn't disturb what they were doing and how they introduced M to the folks. Instead, I was told that that would be a good time for me to leave so that they could start getting M settled in. The settling in process would be a lengthy one and I would not be able to visit M for two weeks, which they told me was average/normal.

The walk back to the car was like walking through a waterfall with tears blurring my vision. I got in the car and sat for a long time bawling my eyes out, blaming myself for deserting M, guilt and frustration burning into my mind. Those feelings have not gone away. I'm not sure they ever will. The memory of that day certainly never will.

Here I am now, living comfortably at home with all our earthly possessions, but M isn't here to enjoy them as well. We built the household together, gathered "stuff" together, made a lot of decisions together, changed our lives together. No more though. How fucking unfair is that to us? How fucking unfair is that to M? Granted, M is comfortable in the facility, where they are wonderfully caring people, and most of her needs are catered for, but it isn't "home". Where she should be.

A number of people, including the facility manager, have told me to "make a new life" for myself. There are times I struggle to deal with that thought. M and I have been together for 25yrs. You don't just give up on 25yrs and "make a new life". Not in this case anyway. Or am I wrong?

Never fear. I'm not about to take a jump off a ladder or take a long swim straight out to sea. I'm stronger than that. I will deal with the complexities of this life-changing sequence of events. I might even "make a new life" for myself. Time will tell.

Look after yourselves out there, folks...

I need to follow some new Bloggers...

 ...as all the folks I used to follow (links on the righthand side of this page) have stopped writing, which is a pity as they are all fine writers.

Such is life. Life gets in the way of living.

Look after yourselves out there, folks...

On another note...

 I've cracked a rib. If my 13th rib wasn't floating before, it is now.

On this morning's ride, we had the option of taking a rough path around a locked gate, or going over the gate. Guess which one I chose...

Lifting the 17kg bike isn't the problem. Putting it down can be, as was the case today.

I hoisted it over my head easily, positioned it over the gate, and when I put it down didn't anticipate the gravitational pull quite as well as I should have.

As soon as the bike came level with my body, I realised too late that my ribcage was positioned over the top of the gate. As the bike came down, the gate pushed my rib up and I felt a slight, but firm, pressure and a jolt of pain. "Fuck", I thought. I knew what I'd done, because I'd done it on a Sea Rescue boat a few years ago.

It didn't feel too bad on the ride and I completed it without anyone even knowing that I'd done myself a nasty. Only when I got home and the body had cooled down a bit did I feel the need for an anti-inflammatory tablet.

I guess I'll be on those for a couple of days then. And try to not bend up and down too much, because that's when the rib says "Remember me, ya dumb fuck?"...

Look after yourselves out there, folks...

It's been an interesting start to the year...

 Well, interesting is one way of putting it...

The year actually got off to a hectic start. A bit of cycling, some walking followed by some drinking, lots of bicycle maintenance, NSRI duties on the Pink Buoys around Sedgefield, to name a few things.

My bike riding is going from strength to strength, I think. When I can get on the bike. Which is not as much as I would have wanted. But then, life has a habit of getting in the way of the more enjoyable things. I've been averaging about 200km a week between the road and mountain bikes, which isn't bad considering where I was sitting just four years ago. On the couch.

In Cape town, I had been well on my way to being a fat bastard. I'd ballooned to 106kg, my heaviest weight ever. And I was tired of it. So I bought a bike. Cycling, as big as it is in Cape Town, was not the best place to do it though. Unless you got in the car and headed for the Durbanville Hills, you were going to be riding mostly in traffic. Not pleasant, I can assure you, even though Capetonians are quite considerate of cyclists for the most part.

Then we moved to Sedgefield, three and a half years ago. I sold the hardtail bike, upgraded to a "couch", a Trek Top Fuel5 dual suspension and never looked back. To date I have logged over 10,000km on this bike.

Then just over two years ago, I was looking for a new challenge in cycling. I bought another bike. A road bike. Talk about a totally different experience, a dimensional change from mountain bikes. These things are built for the speed junkies, so long as you can handle the jolting on our crappy South African roads. And, in addition to the mileage on the MTB, I've put on almost 10,000km on this bike too. There is something exhilarating to be said for doing 80kmph down a hill with nothing but the side of a matchbox of rubber and some lycra between you and a nasty road rash.

The difference in experiences between the bikes is like the proverbial chalk and cheese. The MTB is used for building strength and handlebar control, while the road bike is more for speed and endurance. I love them both, for those exact reasons.

Our athletics/walking/running club, Sedgefield Striders, reopened in mid-January as is the norm after the December holidays. It's true what they say about this club...it's a drinking club with an athletics problem. But what a great bunch of people. Always ready for a laugh, friendly, helpful and considerate. And on the first Wednesday of the month we usually get our biggest turnouts because that is Braai Night. The club supplies the fires and the members bring their own food and utensils. On top of which, our parent club, the Sedgefield Sports Club, has a cash bar where the cheapest booze in Sedgefield is available. A win/win combination on a Wednesday.

The school year also got off to a start in mid-January. "The school year? I thought you were retired?" I hear you say. Yes, I thought so too, until eighteen months ago when my brother decided to take a jump off a ladder and take his own life, leaving me to look after his then 10yr old, now 11yr old, son. That's another sad story though. The boy's mother deserted them about 7yrs ago and my brother did what he could to raise the lad, but in my opinion failed dismally.

The boy's discipline has improved a lot, but was abysmal at the time. He had pretty much been left to his own devices, constantly eating what he could get his hands on (just about everything bad), playing PG18+ Xbox games, bingeing on TV shows and movies (also mostly PG18+), and doing just about what he wanted to. He was 87kg in body weight, which is more than I weigh currently.

On that, I mentioned I weighed 106kg in Cape Town. I'm down to 83kg. "Hmmmm", you might think. "23kg...that's not bad." Actually, it's mind-blowing when you think of it another way. 23kg is FORTY SIX (yes, 46) blocks of butter. Put those next to each other and see what you think then.

But, back to the boy... He has dropped something like 18kg in weight, is cycling quite strongly, and is getting out a whole lot more than he used to. I took away the PG18+ games and movies, installed parental controls on his phone and tablet (including restricting his daily usage of both to a fraction of what he was used to) and have succeeded in a large part with installing discipline in the lad. I know there are times he hates me for it, but that's because he hadn't been subjected to much of it a couple of years ago. I'm okay with being the "bad uncle" because it's for his own good. One day he'll hopefully realise it.

He's doing okay at school, but is lazy when it comes to putting in additional effort on projects and tests. It's going to bite him in the ass if he doesn't buck up before the upcoming exams, and he has been told so on numerous occasions. Again, one day he'll hopefully see why I have been driving him to studying harder. Again, it's for his own good...not mine.

Stand by for another episode soon. Look after yourselves out there, folks...

Firstly, am I in the right frame of mind...

 ...for writing?

Yes, I think I am. I, and a lot of others, don't easily open ourselves up to discussing things going on in our lives. Mostly though, it's us guys. We think we're bullet-proof, that things don't affect us as much as the next person.

That, friends, is probably only true in a very small percentage of people. I've learned that the hard way, and in particular in the last couple of months.

One way that a lot of people do to express feelings and sentiments is through writing. I think I'm one of those. Just the other day I verbally expressed an apology to a friend to whom I hadn't been very considerate (which is, I think, very unlike me) and, although I rehearsed what and how I was going to say something, I changed it in my head so many times beforehand that it came out as a shadow of its former self. So I think I probably cocked it up a bit. In the end though, she accepted my apology, so perhaps I didn't do too bad.

Should this friend ever read my blog, unlikely as she doesn't even know I have one, I hope she knows that I'm still beating myself up about the whole story. Maybe I'll relate it in a posting...then you'll see what I mean.

Anyway... the song went "I'm in the mood for dancing..." so I'll change it slightly to "I'm in the mood for writing..."...

Look after yourselves out there, folks...

Yet again, it's been a while...

 ...since I posted anything on this blog, or in fact, posted any ramblings of any sort on any social media platforms, except the occasional witty remark on FB or IG.

Life gets in the way of a lot of things. Even life.

A lot has happened since my last post which was, I think, back in 2021 around about COVID time.

So I'll try and create a few smaller, more meaningful entries to try and catch up. Also, smaller postings will be brought on by other memories.

Stand by...

My Covid Diary...

 ...or How I Beat The Dreaded Lurgy...

For those of you that read my Bataan Death March post (it's right before this one, so you shouldn't have missed it), you would know that I was infected by the Covid-19 virus while on the march.

Let me tell you straight off the bat. This is not a "fun little virus", like herpes or something (I believe), to get. In fact, you should do what you can to avoid it, even if it means hijacking a little island somewhere in the centre of the Pacific Ocean for yourself and wiping out the rare pygmy tribe inhabitants to keep yourself safe.

Since the "hype" started around the virus, and through a little bit of research (Google actually CAN BE your friend when it comes to finding things out), I made up my mind not to get the vaccinations. My immune system is sound and I do not have any of the "co-morbidities" that deceased victims were suffering from. Even after my illness, I stand by my assertion of not getting vaccinated. Anybody else that wants to get their vaccinations is welcome to them. It is your choice.

But, let me give you a bit of insider information on this infection and the symptoms you may experience if you get it. I have heard that there are some basic, shared symptoms (cough, fever, etc), but your experience may be very different to what mine has been.

I started taking little text notes on my phone while I was lying in bed, already somewhere around Day 10, so what you see here is an extrapolation of those notes. 

Firstly, I estimate my infection was already underway while on the Death March, so I have worked the estimates back to there.

Tuesday 27th May - Day 1 to 3 - Short, dry coughs, increasing in regularity as the days went on. I put this down to over-exertion on the march, but if I had known better, possibly would have pulled out of the march at the next escape route.

Friday Day 4 - Evening - Continued coughs, fever and shivers for about 2hrs

Saturday Day 5 - Continued coughs, slight shivers in the evening only

Sunday Day 6 - Violent coughing, severe nausea

Monday Day 7 - As above

Tuesday Day 8 - As above

Wednesday Day 9 - As above

Thursday Day 10 - As above, took Covid test and was found positive (variant not mentioned on the results). Began meds treatment (more below)

Friday Day 11 - As above, puked once after taking meds. Took more straight away

Saturday Day 12 - As above, with lots of dry retching during the day. At night, heavy puking after meds. Heavy sweats and fever

Sunday Day 13 - Woke up okay. Can taste coffee. Ate muesli

Monday Day 14 - Night sweats again. Back sore from pulled muscles due to dry retching. Coughing hurts like fuck. Eating not an issue now

Tuesday Day 15 - Didn't take the MyPaid tablets...no night sweat as a result. Slept well. Good appetite today

Wednesday Day 16 - Had a good sleep, no night sweat, still slight wet cough. Can smell the coffee from the kitchen

Thursday Day 17 - Slept well, even though taking pain meds for the sore back. Appetite back to normal. Ate half a bag of Liquorice Allsorts

Friday Day 18 - Slept well. Still hurts like fuck to cough. Ate a whole bag of Liquorice Allsorts while watching TV

Saturday Day 19 - Back pain easing a bit. Still taking only one pain tab for the backache. All other medication is finished

According to the Covid test results, I don't have to re-test myself after ten days of self-isolation. Fine by me. I actually do feel like the virus has left, but will still give it a couple of days before I start doing little things around the house again. and then I will also give myself another week or two before getting back on my bicycle. I still feel a little short of breath, even after climbing down just 15 steps to the ground floor of the house and back.

My doctor, whom I met for the first time when I went for my test, saw all the indications that I was positive and, without waiting for the result, put me on a course of drugs:

- Ivermectin - 3 tabs daily - actually a treatment for roundworm, but has shown great results against Covid

- Ecotrin - pain and inflammation (basically, Aspirin, so beware of this one if you are allergic)

- Prednisone - cortisone base for other meds

- Alcophyllex cough syrup

- Azithromycin - antibiotic used to treat chest infections

- MyPaid pain meds

On the medication, as stated I am a firm believer in Ivermectin as the drug treatment of choice for anyone that gets the virus. All the literature on the drug is positive and results of tests are published. There are no "secret agendas" with the drug as it has been around long enough for us to understand any and all side effects, of which there appear to be remarkably few. And the results are obvious within about four days of beginning treatment.

Initially, I assumed that the fevers I was getting were as a result of the virus. It wasn't until a couple of days later that I realised I was getting them shortly after taking the MyPaid capsules, even during the day. These things were supposed to be countering the fevers, and yet I was getting them FROM the capsules. Once I stopped those, the fevers stopped.

According to the World Health Organisation (WHO) - yeah, I know, can you actually believe them? - Covid does not respond to treatment by antibiotics, so why would I be given the Azithromycin?

Also, why give me two types of pain meds (Ecotrin and MyPaid)?

As for the Alcophyllex cough syrup...that stuff is 18% ABV, higher than a glass of wine and half as strong in alcohol content as a tot of whisky. It actually takes your breath away when you try and gargle with it. Again, why? There are many other non-alcohol-based cough syrups, one of which I highly recommend and typically the only one I take.

At the time, I was just thinking "give me medication...get rid of this virus", but now I would seriously re-think the list of medication before taking the above list again. If it were up to me and, in the end it is, this is all I would take:

- Ivermectin for the virus

- Lennons Borsdruppels for the cough and post-nasal drip

- Disprin for fever and pain

There is only one person that I would ever wish Covid on, and that would be Jacob Zuma. That prick deserves every bad thing that is coming his way, including the HIV-positive jailmate called Bubba.

For the rest of you, I truly hope you never get the virus. If, however, you are like me and in the wrong place at the wrong time and get it, I hope you come through it with as little impact and physical suffering as possible. Think about your meds, research them and ask the doctor why he/she is prescribing them. The virus is beatable.

Be safe...

The Bataan Death March, or...

 ...How I survived the Otter Trail Hike.

For those who may either not have heard, or know very little about the Bataan Death March, a quick history lesson...The Bataan Death March (BDM) took place in 1942 and entailed the forced march of up to 80,000 American and Filipino POW's by the invading Japanese forces in the Philippines between Mariveles, Bataan, to Camp O'Donnell, Tarlac, a distance of between 96 and 112km. Prisoners were forced to march until they dropped dead. They were beaten when they stopped, often run over by trucks passing the column if they did not move out of the road in time. Japanese soldiers brutalised the POW's, even stealing gold teeth from their mouths when they were still alive. Very few of the Japanese soldiers were tried for what is a crime against humanity, that resulted in the deaths of up to 26,000 POW's.

My point is this: the BDM was a forced march, pretty much like the Otter Trail hike. You start at one end, and you have no option but to push on to the other end, which is five days away (coincidentally the same duration as the original BDM was). Neither of these marches were pleasant. Hiking is supposed to be a pleasant experience.

Day 1 (4.8km): Spirits were high as we left Sedgefield to be dropped off at the Storm's River departure point. The six of us had our packs packed to the gills, hoping we had everything we needed, knowing that if we didn't have it when the bakkie left us, we technically "didn't need it". A quick group photo, and off we went into the forest, heading for the ocean and our first hike over ocean-rounded boulders and rocks.

Although it was a short hike on the first day, the terrain was tricky and still took us a few hours to complete due to an obligatory stop at the point where a waterfall falls almost directly into the ocean. Incidentally, there are only two such places like this in SA, and I have now been to both of them. The other is in the old Transkei, near Coffee Bay. There are only 19 of these type of sites worldwide.

It is going to be very tricky to show the route that we took, seeing as photos cannot really do justice to elevations and angles of terrain. Let it suffice to say that, in five days of hiking, there was perhaps an area the size of a snooker table that was flat. The rest of the trail is constantly up and down steep hills. Pathways are mostly steps placed in the form of a log pole anchored across the pathway to make sure hikers have a firm foothold, and to reduce soil movement and erosion.

Our evening meal was a braaied steak, which we had packed frozen that morning, on a fresh breadroll. Not a king's fare, but a decent meal for a hike. And we each had a second steak for the following night too. Temperatures would be cool enough to make sure the meat didn't spoil.

Nights are spent in log cabins. Comfy, clean, well-maintained by SANParks staff on a daily basis. There are "escape routes" down which these people come to perform their jobs, often not being seen by hikers. The escape routes are there in case someone wants to bail out of the hike. The route ends on high ground, where dodgy mobile reception is found, and you can call a number given to you at the start of the hike. A ranger bakkie will come along and collect you, then take you back to the closest SANParks office where you can be collected. None of us bailed, though to be completely honest, it did cross my mind on the second last day. More on that later.

Day 2 (7.9km): Up at 7am, which will be our normal rising hour for the hike. My leg muscles are sore, as there is a big difference between hiking and cycling muscle groups. I am not used to this. Our routine over the next mornings remains the same as well, up at 7am, coffee and rusks, hike until an agreed point, then stop for breakfast. As the slowest of the group, I volunteer to leave camp first on all days and, in fact, at all stops as well as I don't want the group to have to wait for me.

Every day begins with a hike up a steep hill. Most of the trail is through forested areas, with few sections open to the blue sky. I reckon about 90% of the hike was walked in the shade. Not one of us was in the sun long enough to get sunburned.

Every day ends with a steep downhill section. All of the camps are built at sea level, right off the rocky beaches.

In between, there are uphills and downhills. And then there is more of the same. It never ends. Just when you think you are getting to the top of a hill, some bastard has put another up- or downhill in your path. Even in the constant shade of the trees, you sweat constantly. Hats are used mostly to wipe sweat from your brow, or to protect your head from overhead tree branches.

The paths are, for the most part, very well marked as you cannot miss the steps. Those same steps though, make the trail very difficult. On areas where there are no log steps and you can walk your own pace length, it is easier, but the steps are unevenly spaced in both height and depth. Imagine being on a stepping machine in a gym for five constant days and on a random step program, and that's pretty much the definition of the trail.

By the end of Day 2, my legs are hurting bad, and I think it can't get much worse. Hmmmm...

There are water tanks at all camps, which feed cold water showers and provide "safe" drinking water.

I developed a slight cough, not giving it too much thought as I thought I had perhaps over-exerted myself a bit.

Nights are cold and, unfortunately the wood supplied by SANParks is damp, so we battled to get a fire going. In the end, we prevailed, using my steel mess plate as a fan for the flames.

Day3 (7.7km): Deep Heat is a wonderful thing. Do not leave home without it. I can hardly move this morning and steps are an exercise in agony, especially going down. Between my thighs and my calves, each step is protested verbally by myself and it takes me a while to warm up my legs for the coming day. My little cough has got slightly worse now, but I still don't think much of it, still putting it down to over-exertion over the last couple of days.

As usual, when you get a gap in the trees, the scenery is magnificent. The ocean has been booming its presence since we stepped onto the trail on the first day. It will be our constant companion throughout the hike, becoming deafening on the last night.

A moment of introspection, balanced on the edge...

Sadly, a large chunk of the trail was recently obliterated by a wildfire. At the start, SANParks folks told us it was a "controlled" fire, but the evidence points otherwise. If we wanted to hike the burned section, we had to sign another indemnity. Alternatively, we could call them on the escape route and they would send a bakkie to take us around the burned area. We signed. About half of today was spent walking through a barren, blackened and grey wasteland, ashes blowing around your feet and into the air by the constant sea breeze. The intensity of the fire was such that it even burned away a large number of the pole steps and has left this section of the trail open to soil erosion. On a positive note, there are already signs of green shoots coming through the ashes at some points. Fire is a necessity in rejuvenating some of Africa's flora, unfortunately.

I can only imagine the terror that some hikers might have experienced on the day that this fire came down to the Day 3 overnight camp. The photo does not do justice in showing just how close it came to the camp itself. Luckily, all that got damaged were a couple of water tanks and pipes that fed the camp, all easily replaced.

Day 4 (13.8km): Or in my case, almost 16km...

Insert the usual morning routine here: Deep Heat, coffee, rusk, pack the pack, bid safe trails to the group and leave camp for the nearest uphill on the opposite side of the camp stream.

Due to the wildfire, the route coming out of the camp this morning was not well marked. SANParks have been quite lax in remarking some of the burned trail. And being right at the start of the day's trail, one would think it would have been prioritised. Once you get onto the trail past the burned section, it's a breeze.

James and I left camp just after each other, me first as usual. I got up to a point where a crossroads appeared, a path leading off to the left towards some water tanks, one to the right which was a dead-end after a few metres, and a concreted road heading straight up the hill. I had a quick look about, couldn't find a trail path, so made the decision to head up the hill, hearing loggers up at the top and thinking I might get some directions from them. When I say this hill is built on at least a sixty degree angle, I am not exaggerating. AT LEAST!!

About three quarters of the way up, James hails me and I wait for him to catch up. A rest is always welcome. He is convinced we should have turned off before the crossroad, but I don't recall a pathway leading away in his direction. We see the other group (there is always two groups of six hikers on the same piece of the trail on any day) below us, milling about and then they disappear in the direction of the water tanks. We decide to follow suit and head downhill again. See if you can judge the angle on this photo for yourself.

As we get back to the crossroads, a team of SANParks maintenance crew shows up, having driven down the hill in their bakkie. We ask directions and get shown a small, badly marked path leading off to the left about 100m further down the hill from where we met them. No wonder we didn't see it, as it is in the burned section of the route. Anyway...lesson learned.

As usual, I trail behind and James saunters off on his own. Eventually the whole group gets together at a rocky point for breakfast, where we also see whales breaching out at sea. The scene is quite spectacular.

This being the longest day on the trail, also had the added "bonus" of us needing to cross the Blaauwkrantz River, and we have needed to time our crossing with the low tide. Luckily, we know from the planning stages, that low tide is just after 13h30, so we will have plenty of time to get to the river and through it before the ocean returns. It is slightly trickier than normal though, as it is neap tides, and the tide is not as low as normal. We each make our plans on how to get our packs across dry, but I don't think any of us made a completely dry crossing. Personally, I was doing well, heading for a gulley and an easy scramble up the rocks...until I put a foot into a hole that was surrounding a rock, went down face first, banged my knee on said rock and came up with a slightly damp pack and a bruised ego. Luckily nothing critical got wet and a short spell in the sun dried most of the wet stuff. Other team members weren't so lucky and got a bit wetter than I did.

After lunch, it was pack on the back again, and up the next hill.

Leaving first, I fully expected everyone to catch me quite quickly, but I didn't see another team member until ten minutes after I got to the campsite for the night. And I actually felt quite good physically. That, however, didn't last long.

Literally an hour after arriving in camp, I suddenly started to shiver uncontrollably. I didn't feel cold, but I donned my warm clothing, even jumped into my sleeping bag to get warm. It didn't help. Between us, Brian and I decided I might be a little dehydrated and he mixed me a liter of isotonic energy drink. I lay on my bunk a while, sipping occasionally, and eventually the shivering subsided. Was that all it was? No, but more about that later.

At dinner time, I helped Brian to make up our last evening meal, Toppers and Smash. Nutritious and tasty, but not a meal to be repeated on a regular basis. Following that, we all sat around the campfire, relating stories about ancestries. Based on physical features (Dupuytren's Contractures), we discovered that Brian, James, Neville and myself all have Viking blood. Dupuytren's is a hand-me-down genetic condition from the Vikings, which causes growths on the tendons (predominantly) in left hands to constrict and pull the pinky finger towards the palm of the hand. Look it up, it's fascinating. Actually, it's not, so don't.

As it was our last night, we finished off what alcohol we had left on us. In my case, it was the hip flask of Laphroaig 10yr Triple Cask single malt scotch. We toasted each other on the achievement of getting through the trail, though I suspect there were perhaps one or more than just myself that was trying to answer the question "Why?" though I don't believe any of them will admit it.

Day 5 (10.8km): Extended from the original trail end by a full 4km...

Dawn broke bright and early. We were all amped to be finishing off the trail and were all speculating what we were going to do first when we got to the end. Between hot showers, beer and pizza, those were the most popular choices.

But first, another fuckin uphill out of camp.

Surprisingly, perhaps because the muscles were now "getting used to this", it wasn't too difficult to get to the lookout point in the photo. Perhaps it was the thought that today it was going to be all over.

The trail was a relatively short stretch over a plateau, nice and easy walking, in the sunshine and warm air. Just a nice little pick-me-up that we all needed.

All of a sudden you get to a gate and sign that reads "no day visitors past this point" for people walking in the opposite direction. That's when you realise you are nearing the end. A steep and tricky downhill leads you onto a wide beach, other holidaymakers and beachgoers doing their thing, looking strangely at the six of us with massive packs on our backs. If only they knew what had been in those packs compared to what they saw!

From entry onto the beach, it is still a full 6km hike, over the beach and along a winding, shaded bush path. More shade. One last stream crossing as a final challenge, and then the exit gate is ahead of you. Done and dusted.

After that, it was a case of waiting for SWAMBO to collect us in the bakkie. Needless to say, she got lost and ended up at the old collection point. SANParks really have to update their website with the new coordinates. Almost two hours after we stopped walking, the bakkie arrived, and we took a trip into the little town of Nature's Valley for a cold beer and a slice of hot pizza. Neither have tasted that good, before or since.

One of the ladies on the other group asked me at some point whether I would do it again, to which I truthfully responded "I don't have a Bucket List, but this trail is definitely on my Fuckit List". I will never do another hike like it, ever again. I'm not ashamed to admit it, but this "hike" almost broke me mentally and physically. Still, the human body is a remarkable thing and, for whatever reasons, I pushed through to the end and came out a little wiser, a little fitter, and as it turns out, a whole lot sicker than expected.

Remember that little cough and those shivers I had endured over the last couple of days? One of the group had self-diagnosed himself as "free of his Covid-ness" literally days before the start of the hike. Problem was, he wasn't, and now the entire team has been infected with the virus..............More on that in another posting soon.

In the meantime, here are a few more photos...

Fuck this for a laugh...

 Anybody that says they enjoy moving house is talking PLAIN FUCKIN LIES!!! Lies, I tell you!!

It is possibly the most stressful thing, short of a family death, to ever hit you. Or maybe it's just me. Yeah, nah, yeah....it's not just me.

As some may know, we are moving to Sedgefield on the Garden Route as we sold our house in record time. Literally less than a day. We listed the place on the Friday afternoon, buyers walked in on the Saturday morning, and said "We'll take it." Because of the weekend, they had to wait until the Monday to sign the OTP document, we signed it on the Tuesday when we received it from the estate agent. Done and dusted.

Since the day after we signed the papers, I have been packing boxes, selling some stuff on local FB and Whatsapp groups, getting rid of stuff that we either do not or never had a use for. And I am being absolutely ruthless about what we keep, to the extent that I am selling off old camping gear that is still in reasonable nick, my ENTIRE CD collection of around 500 albums (when was the last time you listened to a CD?...be honest), old dive gear (haven't dived in 13 years), household items where I've thought "WTF did that come from?", gotten rid of old papers from the filing cabinet (will probably get rid of the cabinet too), and am currently cleaning out my garage.

I have already driven away one bakkie load of recycling, one load of old wood off-cuts ("might need that six inches of 2x4 some day"), and I have a second load of recycling (old bits of plumbing and electrical leftovers from over the years) waiting to go. I would have driven it away today, but I tweaked my back lifting a crate yesterday (Doh!!).

I have had people in giving me quotes for removals. Fuuuuuuck, it isn't cheap! It cost us about R20k to move to Cape Town thirteen years ago (+- 1,500km) and it is going to cost just under R30k to move the 465km to Sedgefield next month.

Oh yes, I didn't mention that. The move is on or about the 14th May. I want us out a week before the transfer date is due, which is the 21st May. And, I have just realised, today is exactly five weeks until we move out of Sunnydale. Fuuuuuuuuck.......shit got real!!!

On top of our move, Mum sold her house on the same day that we listed ours. Some big property developer from Witbank came in, saw her place, and said "I'll pay cash for it", then walked out and waited for the papers to sign. It must be nice to have a loose one million rand and change lying around. I've obviously made some bad career choices in my life.

Mum wants to spend her last years "back hame" in Scotland. So, with Dad not being with us, I have been the central point of contact for Mum's move as well. Even worse than doing my own, as Mum is in KZN and understands SFA about selling houses and what needs to be done. Stands to reason, as they bought that house cash about twenty five years ago and Dad handled it all.

What is actually insanely fuckin stupidly ridiculous about Mum's move is that she is taking her trusty Jack Russell, Bruce, with her. Taking the dog isn't insanely fuckin stupidly ridiculous, I would expect nothing less of any of our family when it comes to their animals, rather the cost to do so is. I kid you not when I say it is going to cost R32,000 just for the dog!!!!! More than moving my entire household and motorbike to Sedgefield!!!!! Now I definitely know I made some wrong career choices in my life.

Anyway...I better get back to my boxes...

Take care, y'all...

Chat over, next please...

 We listed our house for sale on Friday 5th March, sometime around midday, and by 17h00 that day, the agent had already had three queries from potential buyers. Wow.

But wait, let me go back a bit...

The agent in question had sent out a small ad on our local Whatsapp group on 27th February stating that she was looking for a place for a client that had X, Y, Z as its configuration. I looked at the ad and thought "Hmmm...that's our house." So I contacted the agent directly, sent her a list of features of our house and said we were interested in selling. As some of you may know, we have been planning a move to Sedgefield for a while now. We made an appointment for the following day for the agent to come around and take a look.

To say the least, she was impressed. She immediately sent the features off to her client and asked if they were interested to which she got a quick reply in the affirmative. We then arranged for the agent to come back on Thursday 4th March with her team to do some photos and drone footage so that they could list it on Property24.

The potential buyer wanted to come around on Saturday 6th to take a look at the place, but I declined as I was having the There Is Always Beer (TIAB) drinking team around so that I could show them how to brew beer and it was going to be an all day event. I did, however, make the viewing appointment for Sunday 7th March, to see if they were interested, which they were.

The young couple came around, Ooooh'd and Aaaah'd at the place, made positive comments about a bunch of things and actually said they would be getting back to us soon.

On Friday 5th, the house was listed, and today, 9th March, the agent will be coming around with an Offer to Purchase from the couple who came to see the house. So, from listing to signing, a very short period of FOUR DAYS!!

Exciting times ahead. Now I just have to find us a place in Sedgefield that we can move to...and I will have to do that sharpish...

I can't feel my face when I'm with you...

 ...because you're a dentist.

That's how I feel right now. Broke a tooth last week and had to have it checked.

Turns out, the tooth has been filled a couple of times already and it was about time it broke.

Now I have two follow-up appointments to have it reamed and capped. C'est la vie...

Time to have the chat...

 ...with the cottage tenant.

We have been planning on moving to the Sedgefield area for quite a while now, but today we had the estate agent in to take photos and some details for the listing on the property websites.

The agent wants to put a "For Sale" board on the pavement so now I need to have the uncomfortable chat with the cottage tenant to tell her we are putting the place up for sale.

Wish me luck...

For the Apologists...

In the past couple of years there have been calls for all sorts of people and organisations to apologise for things done or said by other people or organisations, some of them from centuries ago. Most recently, and perhaps most popularly, the whole BLM movement.

Give me a fuckin break...

I'm by no means an angel and, unproudly, did some shitty things in my youth (nothing THAT serious though) that requires an apology to one or two people, but nothing on the scale of what some are asking to be done on an international level.

Fact of the matter is, if people and nations would stop being shitty to one another, there wouldn't be a need for anyone to apologise. Like:

• If, two hundred-odd years ago, people had used and hired their own local labour instead of slaves, BLM and other such organisations wouldn't exist. Stop slavery. It still exists today.
• If people didn't lie to each other, nobody would get emotionally hurt.
• If people didn't hurt people, emotionally or physically, nobody would be depressed or physically maimed or killed.
• If people didn't cheat on their spouse, families would be happy. Society would be a more moral place.
• If people bought and sold goods, services and resources at a fair price, rather than try to get them by unfair means or practices, economies would thrive. Poverty would be a minor problem, rather than the major issue it is today.
• If people didn't steal from anyone, most of our crime would disappear. And many of our prisons would be empty.
• If people didn't talk about someone behind his/her back, again, nobody would be emotionally hurt.
• If people didn't think bad thoughts about another person, our own thoughts and consciences would be clear.

Fact of the matter is, one day your words or actions will come back to bite the ass of either you, someone close to you, or your entire nation and somebody is going to want an apology (and compensation) for whatever it was, even if it was two hundred years later than the deed. Don't fuck around now, prevent the backlash later.

To the apologists demanding apologies for events that happened hundreds of years ago, fuck off. It's history. The deeds were wrong, but that is how the world worked back then. We've moved on, hopefully we've learned from that history for the better, but we are no longer in the same state as we were back then.

Basically, stop fucking each other over.

Like we keep telling our two warring cats who cannot walk past each other without one hissing at the other..."Be nice".

For the Covid Sheeple...

 I've modified this post slightly from something I sent a friend recently. An extremely intelligent man and someone I respect, who seems to have lost his logical thought.

As everyone knows, SA went on Lockdown Level 3 from today, 29th December 2020, as there are a large number of people blatantly disregarding the law and not doing the whole social-distancing-no-large-group-gatherings thing. Personally, I'm all for individual choice and wear/don't wear a mask and sanitisation. BUT...it is law in SA that you have to wear a mask in public places (malls, etc) and people are disregarding that (along with who knows how many other laws). As a law-abiding citizen I wear a mask in public places.

My thoughts from my message to my friend after being told my attitude to the virus was wrong...

I agree that this lockdown was expected and predictable. Every one of us in SA thought that. But attitude works both ways. Without pointing finger at anyone, both sides say the other side has a kak attitude. That's human nature. None of us have denied the existence of this virus. We all know it is real. Some of us, however, question the handling of the response. In fact, both sides question the response. Some say regulations are harsh, some say not harsh enough. Again, two sides, both claiming they are right.

Without changing the subject, Brexit is another example of this. Some for, some against, both claiming they are right and damning the other for various reasons, real, perceived, or just plain manufactured.

Do masks help with controlling the airborne virus? To a small extent, yes, but they are not completely reliable. In effect, breathing through a mask not only allows you to still spread your breath in diluted form (but still spread it), it also concentrates what you keep breathing in yourself and probably makes it worse for you. Changing a filtered mask on every single breath would be the only effective way to use a mask. Not going to happen because it is unrealistic.

Government will always be seen to be doing poorly because, again, there are two sides. Some say they are doing well, others that they are failing miserably but, in effect, they are probably somewhere down the middle (aside from decommissioning the Covid wards, which was plain idiocy as they knew a 2nd wave would come).

What HAS got us where we are is a combination of factors, mostly stupidity on some people's part. Whose stupidity, remains to be ultimately seen when this virus becomes run-of-the-mill, like our current flu viruses. And what you will find then is that, instead of both sides learning from it all, one side stands up and says "I told you so".

"Friend B" is right in his confusion, as many/most of us are. Some regulations regarding movement are okay, but others not, even though it is blatantly obvious that some of the latter are ridiculous (malls vs beach is my example)? IMO, government don't have a clue, and they are not learning as we stumble along this rocky road. They are remaining political, refusing to clamp down hard on a population that is keeping them in power. The reality is though, that clamping down as hard as is required, would literally kill millions of people, either through concentration of illnesses or mass starvation.

Cyril's crocodile tears during his speech summed it up quite nicely. He knows there isn't much more he can do before he utterly destroys the country, and he feels it. Fact of the matter is, this virus has to run its course, one way or the other. Until then, there will be two sides to the coin of what must be done or not. Personally, I'm okay to changing my opinion, but show me empirical proof why, don't just tell me I have to.  In the meantime, I say we should agree to disagree on some things.

Dear Unilever...

 I have been a customer of yours for close on 50 years now. Your Marmite spread is, to say the least, delicious when slathered thickly onto a slice of fresh warm white bread and a layer of butter about an inch thick.

But...

It is time to change your jars. Or, specifically, the colour of said jars. What is the point of having a jar the same colour as my beloved Marmite? It makes it very difficult to see just how much there is left in the current jar and I usually run out before I have the next unopened jar in the cupboard. A clear jar is the way to go.

Actually, you need to change the shape of the jar too, please. The current jar with the rounded lipped top makes it very difficult to get all of the Marmite onto the knife and there is usually some left in the neck of the jar. What a waste. A plain, rectangular jar, something with a wide neck, would be perfect.

For my, and no doubt other Marmite lovers, sanity. Please. TIA.

Cycling must be good for me after all...

 ...as I've just put on a pair of jeans to discover that I can tighten my belt by another notch.

A good motivation nonetheless, as I have committed to doing the Karoo To Coast cycle race in September 2021 and also to losing 10kg in body weight before then. I want to get down to around 90kg.

Onward...

Moving, moving, moving...

...is never an easy, or likeable, thing to do.

One of these days we will probably be though. We need to become bond-free. I hate banks because of their really poor reasons for needing a house to be bonded.

Why in hell can I buy a car for R1m and pay it off over five or six years, but I cannot buy a house for the same value but it has to be done over a minimum of 20 years?? Doesn't make sense. Unless you are a bank and because the banks are ripping us off in the long term. People NEED houses, but they don't necessarily need a R1m vehicle.

Anyway...rant off.

As mentioned, the objective is to get us bond-free. This will save us nearly R10k a month in retirement benefits. No pensioner should have to pay R10k a month for a house. Ok, maybe we should have bought the house over a shorter period (10yrs, instead of 20yrs, which would have increased the payments accordingly), or we should have bought something cheaper. At the time, not an option.

I take a daily look at the housing prices in Sedgefield, our chosen area to relocate to. The town is peaceful, relatively free of harsh crime, has lots to keep us occupied (nature, beaches, fishing, cycling and walking trails, etc), and is also close to our very good friends who moved there two years ago. There have been a couple of homes we have liked, from the photos, and we have even taken a trip through there to view a couple of homes with one of the local agents. We even put in an offer on a home which was over-priced and had some off-plan changes made that I used thinking that they would reduce the price because of, but that offer was rejected and some schmuck bought the house knowing that there are changes on the buildings which may cost him a lot of money to rectify.

The one thing I don't want to do is relocate over December. The holiday period is traditionally quiet around the country with people taking a well-deserved break form a hard work year. Well, this year hasn't been too hard on the work front, thanks to Covid, but we need a break from everything else that has happened during lockdown. We need a break from lockdown itself. Many of the moving companies will either be closed down, or will be running skeleton staff who feel they should be on holiday so aren't going to take good care of your stuff. Or they will charge an arm and a leg for moving you, compared to during a normal work period.

The holidays are a time when you just want to unwind, have a few (more) braais, a few (more) beers than usual, and just generally get out of the normal day-to-day way of life. Go to the beach, if you can find one that isn't packed with Vaalies, have a swim, lick an ice cream cone, get a little sunburned (great for your VitaminD intake and Covid resistance).

I will complete the renovations on the house in the next couple of weeks and get an agent in to do an evaluation, from which we will decide when to put it on the market and plan on our own move date.

Until then, braai, beer, and beach...maybe get some fishing in...

Take care, y'all...