It's been a busy time of late...

so I haven't posted anything for a while. As it is, I've thought "fuckit" and am breaking into my work schedule to vent a little blog (makes it sound like I've gone for a dump). Cuzzin Ross will be glad to hear I got rid of the old "donkey" I was driving and have now replaced it with a new pickup. I couldn't resist it...I'd actually gone to a dealer expecting to view a nice Isuzu, but when I got there I noticed that it was an automatic...something the Americans and old people like to drive, but not me (Ow..ow..ow...okay, I'm sorry). But just two cars away was a 2004 Ford Ranger 2.5l SuperCab, and only just under 13,000km on the clock. And all this for just ten grand more than I bought my Toyota. Sounded like the very thing for me. The lady dealer, a young, sweet, naive Afrikaans "bokkie" (a nickname the Afrikaners give their light-headed girlfriends) fluttered her eyes at me and asked "How can I do you in?" Not quite what you'd ask a prospective client, but friendly at least. We sat and chatted about the Ford for a while, then I got her to give me a trade-in estimate on my car, and said "Okay, let's go for a test drive." To say I was impressed, not because of what I was driving until that point, but by the mere fact that I could be in 5th gear with the airconditioner on, got me hooked. I said to the dealer that I think we should "do the deed", from which it was my turn to get a strange look ("Like, is he serious? What did he actually mean?") and we ended up swapping signatures on pieces of paper. I am now the proud owner of a new Ford (reminds me of an old SA joke... the trailer-trash of SA used to be known as 1-2-3 folk, which meant 1 litre brandy, 2 litre coke, and a 3 litre Ford). Last night, on the way back from Action Cricket and copious amounts of beverage of all types and colours, I decided to see what my new car could do. And it impressed me again...it's marked to 180km on the clock and that's exactly what I took it up to. Fuckin' brilliant... On the house scene, building is progressing slower than desired (which is nothing unusual for the building trade worldwide) and I estimate we are about a week and a half behind schedule. The project manager's project management skills are, to say the least, sucky. He had a copy of the plans two weeks in advance of the start of the build, so one would imagine he would start ordering things like door and window frames, bricks, sand, and so on.........not. Things come to a grinding halt while the bricklayers are waiting for deliveries, and it's just dragging things out. So I gave him a piece of my mind yesterday...funny how that got things happening again. All of a sudden, we have a half dozen bricklayers, door and window frames, and enough sand piled on the pavement for the arabs to want some of it back. And today, for the first real time this season, it's started raining...so I guess the build is going to be delayed...again. Take care, y'all...

Hearing is easy...

it's the listening part that's difficult. Here's some of the tunes I've been listening to lately... Depeche Mode - Ultra Depeche Mode - Songs of Faith and Devotion Green Day - American Idiot (September's over guys, time to wake up) Bloodhound Gang - Hooray for Boobies Macy Gray - On How Life Is Just Jinger - All Comes Round (SA band - great stuff) Bell, Book & Candle - Read my Sign Bloodhound Gang - One Firce Beer Coaster Pearl Jam - Vitalogy Cold Play - X & Y Hope you guys enjoy some of these tunes too...

There actually was a real CNUT...

and it turns out he was an English king, reigning between 1017 and 1035. A number of you may know that my Cuzzin Ross has a blogspot called CNUT. I was always under the impression that it was a play on another word, spelled with the same letters (go figure it out for yourselves) in the same vein as FCUK is used in the fashion world. Turns out, the real Cnut was a "colorful" character himself... On my browser, I inadvertently typed in CNUT and hit enter without selecting the rest of the expected URL and was surprised to see the response...try it, it'll probably link you to the same text I found...otherwise click on the "English King" URL above...

Devastated...

We found out just the other day that the amazing fly fishing retreat we went to in August, Verlorenkloof, burned to the ground in a huge veld fire. And it wasn't just the croft we stayed in either, it was most of the twenty crofts in the complex. To think that we were there just three weeks before, and that it's going to take a couple of years to rebuild, is just mind-blowing. Even worse is that it happened on their own 9/11... The Verlorenkloof website has a series of photos, taken by one of the residents, of how the fire started and spread. Scary stuff...I've seen veld fires over the years, but nothing like this. Sad to think of how it looks now, and even sadder to think that I didn't get any photos last time cos I was daft enough not to have taken a battery charger...

I wish I was one of these people...

a "Trench Inspector". I kid you not. A fucking Trench Inspector, how laughable is that? We are into Day 4 of our build and have been waiting for the aforementioned gentleman to come and inspect the foundation trenches before the builders can lay the foundation concrete. He eventually arrived at 10h30 this morning and promptly left two minutes later, having taken one and a half of those minutes to walk through the house to the trench and back to the front gate. In the other thirty seconds he was here, he introduced himself, admired our pool, looked into the trenches and grunted "okay" in the builder's general direction. We waited three days for that, and I don't even want to know what he charges for his services. I could be a fucking millionaire... Imagine if the Allied and Hun troops had to wait for a Trench Inspector in WWI? They would have called it quits and fucked off home for a drink and to watch the game on telly...

Day 1 of the Build...

went pretty well, with the builders about half a day ahead of schedule. This is because they were able to lift the old patio a while lot quicker than they expected, partly because it was so old, but mainly because the previous builder had done such a shitty job. This view shows the patio area before the foundation dig started.




This view shows the foundations partly dug at the end of Day 1. As I type this entry, the guys are just finishing off the rest of the trenches. Thankfully, they haven't hit anything worse than a few roots from the old trees. I wish it was over already so that I could be sitting at my new pub, with a cold beer in hand.

How do you like my pussy...

cat and our two dogs? I thought it was time I introduced our pets, as they share a large part of our lives. Katie is a long haired Norwegian Forest (I never heard of them before we got her either). We got her from our local vet who was looking for a home for her. She'd been rescued by a family and was found in such a shocking condition that she had to be shaved to get all the knots out of her hair (a shaved pussy, imagine that.....enuff said). Bonnie is a Wei- maraner, originally bred by Austrian royalty to hunt wild cats (and not rabbits as we were told by the breeder when we got her). It's no wonder that the cat keeps her distance from Bonnie, whose pupils dilate to the max every time she sees the cat. She's my dog, obedient, faithful, quiet... unlike Duke, a Dober- mann, whose litter was specially bred as family dogs. He certainly is that, as the neighbour's kids just about have to go home for a shower every time they come over to visit when Duke is finished licking them. He's a powerful dog, not knowing his own strength at times (he even gave Steph a couple of cracked ribs once when he knocked her over). He thinks he's the "big pisser" in the house and he likes to have power games with me to try and prove it...doesn't always do what he's told, ignores commands, and so on. Otherwise we get on okay, but he's Steph's dog. One day I'll post a nice pic of Steph and then everyone can get to know her too...

It's been a while...

so goes a line in the Staind song, and it's been a while since I had the time (or inclination) to post a blog entry. In the last week or two, I've been for a new job interview (and shortlisted for a 2nd interview next week), worked my arse off in the garden after the trees were taken out, worked my arse off in the orifice (as I like to call it, compared to office which sounds so drab), finished making a frame for a mirror that Steph wants to put in one of our bathrooms, been in endless meetings at work, and...and...and... But best of all, was my birthday on Wednesday 31st (and no, I'm not telling how old). To me it was just the day after Tuesday, but it was made special thanks to Steph, not only for the gifts she gave me (not necessary, but really appreciated), but also for flying my mum up from the coast for a surprise visit. I was working from home (as I do regularly) and had popped out to drop a friend off at the bus station (she was going to visit her father who, coincidentally, also shares the 31st as his birthday, though he's a FEW years older than myself) and found it strange when I got home, that Steph's "Pose-mobile" (Peugeot 206CC convertible, pose factor 10) was parked in the garage. Stranger was the fact that I had also been on the orifice instant-messaging system with a colleague earlier, whom Steph had said she was going to meet for coffee, who had told me that she hadn't seen Steph all day. I saw Steph sitting under the thatch next to the pool and suddenly one and one made eleventeen and I knew that she had arranged for someone to come and visit. I walked into the garden, looking up at the upstairs window, expecting to see the visitor there, but there was no-one. Turns out, my mum was actually hiding behind the pool table and jumped up singing "happy birthday to you, you were born in a zoo..."...thanks for the compliment mum. To cut a long story short, mum was with us until Sunday morning, we had a blast while she was here, and I dropped her off at the airport in the Pose-mobile (driven like the 2L motor should be driven - white-knuckled - mum must have thought I was trying to get rid of her). We're going to go down this weekend so that we can see dad as well (cranky old git that he can be, he's still great to sit and have an intelligent conversation with, and we go fishing and drinking together), and to do some salt water fly fishing too. We'll take the Pose-mobile down so that it'll take us a mere 5hrs or so, instead of the usual 7hrs in my pickup. Looking forward to going down to the coast again. Anyway, that's me...hope everyone else is healthy...

I'm a Lumberjack and I'm okay...

but that's as close as I get to the contents of Monty Python's famous song. I had to cut down a couple of trees at the weekend, as we'll be building a new lounge out the back of the house (basically straight out into the garden from the French doors) in a couple of weeks time. Now I understand just how fit the professional lumberjacks are...on Monday morning I could hardly move. Everything hurt...my hands were raw, my back felt like I'd slipped a disc, and my arms and legs were covered in scratches from branches. The two BIG trees next to the house are the ones I took out...a pity they had to go but they were pests and the roots would interfere with the new foundations. I estimate they were about 31yrs old, each, going by the number of rings I could count on the bases.

What if your words could be judged like a crime?

On the way in to the office the other day, I was listening to the song "What if", by Creed and it got me thinking about some of the stuff I read on some of the blog sites. The piece that came to mind was the last line of the song, which forms the title of this posting. We've all seen and read in the past about terrorist and paedophile rings that have come under scrutiny and the arrests from content of websites and the information in emails, by the authorities around the world, and rightly so. But...What if these authorities took it to another level and followed up on everyone that put something on their blog about alcohol or drug (ab)use, wife/husband beating, theft, or other such misdemeanours? Is the content of a blog sufficient to arrest and convict someone? What about privacy or the freedom of speech issues? The lyrics from the song are available from the Creed site at this link...read them...thought-provoking...

It's been a hectic couple of weeks...

which, aside from writers block, is why I've neglected posting anything, or reading up on my regular blog bud postings. Up until last Friday, I was putting together a presentation to a potential client, which caused me untold stress cos I'm not the most relaxed speaker in front of a crowd. And here I was, presenting to a group of senior bank officials on Operational Risk and how it related to corporate governance and business continuity issues. Okay, too much information for some people, I know, so I'll leave it there save to say I was my usual nervous self and ended up reading a load of the slides verbatim (priceless advice I received from a mate at action cricket). It went okay and the customer decided that it was a whole pile of information to digest, but they'd like to get together in a couple of weeks to talk some more. Sounds good to me. That was Friday morning... Straight after a chat with a colleague and a bit of breakfast, I sped off home to get changed into more comfortable attire as we were heading off for a long weekend of fly fishing, chilling out, drinking and all the other things that go along with such a weekend. At around 2pm, we hit the highway, with friends in hot pursuit in their own pickup, as they'd be coming back a couple of days before we did. After a 3hr drive, we arrived at the reception of Verlorenkloof Crofts, (pronounced "Fir Looren Kloof") where we checked in. A croft is the last thing I'd call this place...mansion or palace would be more like it (the picture on the front page of their website belies the size of the place). The house slept 10 people at a time, two rooms with double beds and the other three with singles. Our nearest neighbours were 200m away and we had virgin African bush all around us, five trout dams and a coursing river within 5mins of the front door (or from any of the six entrances to the house for that matter). The first night was spent drinking around the outdoors logfire, a little chilly cos it's still winter here, swapping general chit chat...guys talking fishing and cars, ladies talking pilates exercises, kids, shopping and other girlie stuff. All in all, a nice peaceful evening and total destreesor. First thing on Saturday morning, Chris and I took a quick scout around the fishing dams and river, a quick breakfast and then off down to the Reception area so that we could watch the All Blacks giving the Wallabies a rugby lesson. It's amazing how a bit of fresh air can knacker ones self. And the weather was fantastic, belying the fact that winter is still here...easily mid-20C temperatures. Mind you, some more drinks around the fire didn't help either, but it was the best night's sleep I'd had in a long time. Awake and refreshed, it was off to the dams, for some one-arm exercise and to teach Chris how to cast a fly, not that I'm the most adept but I'd had one lesson and had been fishing a few times so could pass some of my experience along. After a couple of hours, back to the house for brunch and a midday read before some more fishing in the afternoon. I went away with the intention of finishing a book that Cuzzin Ross had given me when he was here on holiday (Catch-22 by Joseph Heller) but, instead, found a copy of Len Deighton's "MAMista" and ended up finishing it by Tuesday afternoon. More in a future posting about Catch-22... Sunday evening was, again, spent around the fire, swapping stories and pouring drinks for each other. And another glorious night's sleep... On Monday morning, Chris and I again went down for some more fishing, but Chris still didn't catch a fish. That afternoon, after lunch, Chris and Marcelle left for home and Steph and I were on our own for a couple of nights...some quality time we deserved. Actually, to put the whole trip into perspective, Steph took me away for the trip as an early birthday present, and Chris and Marcelle came along cos we had so much space to spare and cos we've become quite good friends (Marcelle is Steph's pilates teacher). So Steph and I spent Monday afternoon and night in each other's company, chilling out, having a few drinks around the fire, chatting. As she put it, not a bloody TV in sight. I noticed a few clouds scudding across the night sky and remarked that it looked like a cold front arriving. How right I was. Tuesday morning, we awoke to find that winter had returned and the mountains around us were swathed in a carpet of cloud. That's where the pictures accompanying the piece come in. I took along two cameras, figuring that we could both use one each, as we'd probably not be in the same place as each other all the time. The only problem was that I hadn't taken along the battery charger and all the batteries were flat, with none available at the little shop...so we had to use Steph's camera phone for at least a few pics, though the images don't do the scenery justice. Ah well, teach me another lesson, won't it...? So, in reaction to the weather, we froze our butts off at the dams for a while and then decided to spend the rest of the day in front of the indoors coal fire, reading and chilling. That's when I finished MAMista...not bad, except that all the main characters die in the end, very unusual for a Deighton novel. The way he described the lovers dying made me choke, emotionally. Read it for yourself. Anyway, I did a little work on my laptop and Steph did a little studying, whereafter we spent some more time in front of the coal fire until it was bedtime. Steph had tried a little flycasting on Tuesday morning, and was determined to better Chris and actually catch something on Wednesday. Unfortunately, that didn't happen, but I can say that I believe she casts a fly better than he does, so maybe she'll keep at it and we can do something else together in addition to our other activities. In the end, I totalled five trout, of which I returned the smallest of about 300gm. My largest fish was 1.1kg, with two others of about 600gm each and the fifth touching on the 500gm mark. Not a bad haul, with us taking the two larger fish home, and giving the other two to Chris and Marcelle to eat at some later point. Marcelle took a photo of the largest fish, so if I get a copy of it, I'll post it at a later stage. Reluctantly, we left Verlorenkloof at around 11h00, headed to Lydenburg for a quick breakfast and then hit the road back to Shit Towne (or Johannesburg, as it is more commonly known). By the time we arrived home, it was just before 4pm and there was just enough time to get changed and head off for the action cricket finals. We came in third in the cricket, but as usual, winners at the drinking afterward... All in all, a great "weekend", very relaxing and good to get some casting practice in again. A big thanks and "I love you" to Steph for the present...

Whether or not anyone cares...

I'm still around. It appears that a serious writers block has hit not just myself, but about every one of the blogs that I regularly read. So, for want of something better to write about, here's another joke... A 2nd grade teacher asks her class to use a sentence with the word "definately" in it. Young Suzie puts up her hand, and at the teacher's request, gives her answer, "The sky is definately blue." To which the teacher replies, "Nice try, Suzie, but it's not always true as the sky can sometimes be grey when the clouds come over. Nice try though." Johnny then puts up his hand and asks "Miss, does a fart have lumps?" and the teacher replies, "No, Johnny, it doesn't.". "Well, in that case" says Johnny, "I've definately shit myself." Have a great day, y'all...

Agnostic I may be, but I enjoy a good laugh...

and I can laugh at just about anything, even religion... An agnostic was taking a walk through the woods. What majestic trees! What powerful rivers! What beautiful animals!" he said to himself. As he was walking alongside the river he heard a rustling in the bushes behind him. He turned to look and saw a 7 foot grizzly charging towards him. He ran as fast as he could up the path. He looked over his shoulder and saw the bear was closing in on him. He looked over his shoulder again, and the bear was even closer. He tripped and fell on the ground. He rolled over to pick himself up but saw the bear right on top of him, reaching for him with his left paw and raising his right paw to strike him. At that instant the agnostic cried out: "Oh my God!" Time stopped. The bear froze. The forest was silent. A bright light shone upon the man, and a voice came out of the sky: "You deny my existence for all of these years, teach others I don't exist, and even credit creation to a cosmic accident. Do you expect me to help you out of this predicament? Am I to count you as a believer?" The agnostic looked directly into the light, "You're right. It would be hypocritical of me to suddenly ask you to treat me as a Christian now, but perhaps you could you make the BEAR a Christian?" "Very well," said the voice. The light went out. The sounds of the forest resumed... And then the bear dropped his right paw, brought both paws together, bowed his head and spoke: "Lord, bless this food, which I am about to receive from thy bounty through Christ our Lord Amen."

Music appears to be on the mind...

of a large number of bloggers that I read. So here goes with a list of what I've been listening to recently...my taste varies right across the spectrum from the Classics to Grunge Rock, some of those two right after each other. This list is from the collection I keep in my car. The name(s) in brackets behind each are my favourite tracks from the albums. Alter Bridge - One Day Remains (Burn it Down) Melissa Etheridge - Skin (Lover Please) KT Tunstall - Eye to the Telescope (Black Horse and the Cherry Tree) Live - The Distance to Here (Run to the Water, Sun, Voodoo Lady, Where Fishes Go) Evanescence - Fallen (Haunted) Creed - Weathered (Weathered - probably the best of the latest rock bands that doesn't exist anymore - the title track describes me to a "T") Stone Temple Pilots - Core (Creep) Creed - Human Clay (What If, Beautiful, With Arms Wide Open) Five for Fighting - America Town (Easy Tonight, Superman, Jainy) Marilyn Manson - Lest we Forget (The Beautiful People, Tainted Love, The Dope Show, The Nobodies, (S)aint) Linkin Park - Meteora (Don't Stay, Somewhere I Belong, Faint, From the Inside, Numb) Prime Circle - Hell, Crazy World (Let me Go, Hello, As Long as I am Here, My Inspiration, In my Head) Metallica - Metallica (Enter Sandman, Sad but True, The Unforgiven, Wherever I May Roam, Nothing Else Matters, Of Wolf and Man) Collective Soul - Dosage (Heavy, Slow, Run) I'll post some of the other stuff in my collection sometime...

"Not everything humankind does...

is motivated either by the spirit of competition or the will to win." One of my hobbies/passions is Fly Fishing and the above quote comes from the author of the Last Cast column in one of my favourite magazines, The Complete Fly Fisherman. The quote rings too true in my case as, not being the most experienced fly fisherman, I more than often like to get out and just survey my surroundings and the people enjoying the sunshine with me. More often than not, my version of fly casting involves beating the water to a froth, scaring more than just the fish away. But Sunday was different. Steph wanted to do a bit of studying, so I decided to get out of the house, lest I get implanted onto the couch watching the Formula 1 Grand Prix (the replay of which I ended up watching late night and getting to bed around 1am anyway). And what better way to get out of the house, without involving the lawnmower, than to go fly fishing? Over the last few years, I'd noticed a trout farm called Footloose, not too far from home yet closer than Dullstroom, the mecca of South African fly fishers, and decided to pay them a visit. There were a few cars in the car park (where they were supposed to be) and I could see a few dams through the fence. The only thing that put me off at first were the shouts and noises of children...this is supposed to be a quiet, reflective sport. "What the hell," I thought, "I'm here. Let's go and have a look." I paid my thirty Rand entrance fee, had a chat with the Indian manager at the desk (what's come out today, which dams are trout waters or not, and some general chit chat) and walked through the main gate. "Fuck me," I thought. "I've walked into a fucking children's birthday party." There were about forty or so kids running around, some fishing with floats and a pasty bait, some just running about. Instinct, and a quick survey of the five dams in front of me running parallel to the entrance, told me to head for the far righthand dam where there was no-one in the immediate vicinity. A nice quiet place to start from, to get used to the rod, the weight of the line and fly, have a few practice casts, see what happens, sit down and let the frothy water calm down again. I worked the dam for about and hour or so, remembering the text message I'd received from Steph on my way out, to "have fun and bring some nice fish for dinner" (was that a threat of "bring home some trout or don't bother coming home at all", or what??). I tried everything in my bag, floating and sinking lines, dry and wet flies of all shape, size and colour, even a different weight rod. Nothing. Damn, I was going to have to move to another dam, up to where the screaming banshees were running around also beating the water to froth. Ah, well... I decided to move to the topmost dam of the five, which gave me the perfect spot to survey the rest of the farm, as it is situated at the top of a hill. I sat down for a few minutes, had a drink of water and rested my already aching casting arm. Again, for about another hour, I used everything in my fly-casting quiver, again with the same results. I sat down again, had another drink of water and a chat with another fly fisherman who had had the same results as I had. He described the tactics he had used, and I told him mine, and we wished each other good luck. After a good rest, I remembered a piece of wisdom scribed on the back of a packet in which I had bought some new flies. In short, it said that if the water was murky to try the brightest fly in your box. I opened my black box of flies, had a quick survey and picked out what turned out to be the smallest fly in my limited collection. It is a green nymph fly, consisting of nothing more than a gold bead, some brown fluff and bright green wire tied to a number 10 hook. As you can see by the photo, it is just over 10mm long and, in all honesty, I didn't have much confidence in it. Being a wet fly, I changed back to the sinking line, shortened my leader to about 2.5m and sent the nymph swishing through the air. After a few casts, I thought some more about what I was doing and figured that, with the nymph being as small as it was, I had to slow down my retrieve and let the fly bounce along the bottom of the dam. Fuck me if that wasn't the right thing to do! Within ten casts, I landed four fish of which three were trout and one was a smallmouth carp (when I hooked this fish I thought I'd got into a monster trout, it took off like a rocket). I also lost another trout which I estimated to be around the 1kg mark, a real beauty. By this time, darkness was approaching and the fish had gone off the bite, so I decided to return home, extolling my increasing experience in this wonderful pastime, of which my father is still one of the masters. Needless to say, I had to phone my folks and let them know how I'd fared, and just to hear the slight jealousy in my father's voice. We ate two of the three trout last night, and they were delicious. Getting back to the quote at the start of this blog, "not everything humankind does is motivated either by the spirit of competition or the will to win"...but triumph does generate a different kind of enjoyment and everyone enjoys winning now and then.

This is fuckin' brilliant...

this Google Earth package is. Do yourself a favour. If you have a decent download speed, or are on broadband, download the application from Google Earth (the file is about 20MB in size). Once you've installed it, you can find everything from a full view of our blue planet, right down to a close-up of the hair on your back. Sometimes the focus on the image isn't all that great, but you can find just about any place on the planet. Just zoom in on a town or building, made easy by the controls on-screen. Here's a rough idea of what I'm talking about...this is a picture of our house in Johannesburg, South Africa. The kidney-shaped pool just up and to the left is ours, at the extreme corner of the property, while the building just below the pin is the house itself, and the building just below that is our double garage leading onto the street...

Oops, I did it again...

another Action Cricket night to remember (I think). Staggered in at 02h00, or thereabouts, after self-inflicted overindulgence at the weekly match. As I got into bed, I remember thinking to myself to remember the rib that got whacked with a ball at superfast pace, but for some strange reason or other that was the last thought in my mind as I sprang out of bed to get ready to come into the office for an all day workshop. Fuckin' hell... I can't cough, burp, laugh (not that a hangover this size is a laughing matter) or do anything that involves sudden movement on the left side of my body, as the aforementioned rib keeps saying "Oi, fucker, remember me?" It feels like I've been playing rugby, on my lonesome, against the entire All Black pack instead of a nice gentlemanly game of action cricket where no-one is supposed to get hurt, except in the name of competition drinking. I think I'm going to beg off this workshop, lest I end up hurling all over my keyboard.

Strange, the things that come to mind...

when you're standing in the shower. Now, before I start, let me expressly and sincerely state that my Steph does not in any way or form, have a big backside, but in fact, looks gorgeous in a bikini and regularly turns heads in her direction. That said, I don't know why but as I was soaping myself this morning, the old conundrum that all men face on occasion, came to mind. A woman asks her man, "Honey, do these jeans make me look fat?" And we all know how many answers there are to that one. But the one that came to my mind (and maybe it's been used before) was "No, your ass does that all by itself." As I said, strange things...

The liver can't be this evil...

for me to have done it two nights in a row? It was Steph's birthday yesterday and to celebrate I took her and five of our friends out for dinner to a dingy little restaurant in a suburb called Melville, on the arty-farty side of town. The place is called the Ant Cafe (no website and, in fact, no phone number either, so you can't make a booking unless you physically go there) and, at best, I can describe it only as being a space between two buildings (basically an alley) that some nutter has seen and said "I can use that space and turn it into a dingy eatery". And he has done just that. A glass shopfront leading from the street belies what you get inside. If the Joburg City Council had to ever walk into the place, they'd shut it down in an instant, not because it's dirty (it's actually quite clean for an alley) but because of the design and structure of the roof. The nutter has taken a hammer and chisel, knocked a few holes about a foot in diameter (at more or less the same height) down the length of the adjacent buildings and stuck some gum poles (some of which are joined in the middle by planks and nails) in the holes. To secure the poles, he's jammed firewood logs around them, making each of the holes look like there's a porcupine sticking its arse out and is joined to the porcupine on the opposite wall by the gum pole. None of the tables matches another, except to say that they are all equally rickety on their legs. What makes it a place-to-be-seen kinda place, I believe, is the little log fire in the middle of the back wall. Being winter here, logs were crackling away, and the whole place was as toasty as a pizza oven. Anyway...it was a pleasant eating experience. The food is purely Italian, pizzas, pastas and the like, all with the right amount of garlic and herbs. Today, I'm working from home. Four beers, four glasses of red wine and two double Johnny Walker (black's) don't mix well and I'm about to go looking for a couple of Anadins to silence the gumboot dancers in my head. I hope the rest of you are having a nice, quiet, day...{groan}...

If I'd known how thirsty I would be today...

I would have drunk more last night. Action Cricket is not healthy for you, particularly for your liver. Something which has always puzzled Steph is how come I always get home anything between 23h00 and 04h00, if a game starts at 17h20 and lasts only just over an hour? Quite a simple answer really. After a punishing game of running around an enclosed arena, trying to hit, bowl, catch or avoid being hit by a fast-moving ball, the only part of your body that doesn't feel any pain is the liver. And for that, it must be punished. After all, why should it be the only part of you that doesn't hurt? It is evil... So to bring it up to similar pain levels as the rest of one's body, copious amounts of alcohol, in many forms and colours, are drunk. Hence, the entire body feels sore the following morning...{groan}...and is the reason for my thirst today.