Fly Fishing is a funny sport...

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

A joke from my wee sis, Angela...

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

Just how many times can one man be misinterpreted?

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

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

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

Little ducks and skidmarks...

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

Stand up and identify yourself, fuckwit...

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

I've increased my friendship with someone...

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

So Now I'm Sitting in Groningen...

somewhere in the north of The Netherlands. And, happily, I've been corrected in not calling the country "Holland". That, in fact, is the name of one of the seven provinces, from whence the sea farers ventured off into the vast blue unknown in days of yore, some ne'er to return having been eaten by sea dragons and the occasional cannibal...but I digress. Switzerland was great, amazing how so many other cultures have influences there. We were subject to only two of them though. In Zurich, we had the German influence, while in Lugano we had the Italian. It's all very confusing when you're in the country. Travel from one side of the Alps to the other and you're talking a different language, expriencing a different way of working, different levels of service, and so on. Anyway...that was then, this is now. And right now, it's 11degC and drizzling outside. Lugano was warming up quite nicely, trees blossoming everywhere. Late yesterday, when we arrived in The Netherlands, it was sunny but cool. Pleasant. As the evening wore on, while we were driving up from Amsterdam to Groningen (just over an hour at light speed, or at least, Arjan speed) it got a little cooler and some cloud moved in. But then again, as the song goes, "Always take the weather with you"...cos there's fuckall you can do about it. Luckily I bought a decent raincoat in Zurich. I'm not quite sure what's happening over the weekend, but knowing Arjan, it'll be interesting and that's the main thing, though I'm quite happy to be bored too. We took a short walk through the town centre earlier today, and it reminded me very much of the little towns all over Europe...not too many cars, picturesque little parks with quaint old buildings, friendly people. Speaking of which, the Dutch have a quaint way of greeting each other. If you were anywhere else in the world and someone shouted "Hoi!" at you, you'd either wonder what you'd done, or punch the knob in the face. Here, though, it's a friendly way to greet someone, and it's done by everyone ranging from toddlers to geriatrics. I think it's great... Anyway...I'm ignoring my hosts, who are great people, so I'll leave you all with a friendly "Hoi!" and speak to you soon...

There's been a couple of funny things on my trip...

that I forgot to mention in the previous posting. The first one occurred on one of our many tram trips in Zurich. We were on our way back to the hotel after another pleasant night out. In the back of the tram car was (unfortunately for him as the brunt of this story) a black guy in slightly rasta clothing. He was sucking away merrily on a beer (one of the strange things about Switzerland is that they don't really fron upon public drinking) and as we settled into our standing positions (as the tram was full) he pipes up and says "Are you a racist? Are you a racist?" I was shocked at how he had picked on me to ask this question. I just ignored him, not sure if he really was talking to me, but again he piped up, "Are you a racist? I'm a racist, you know." Quietly to my colleagues, I said "That's nice. I'm glad for him" and left it at that. Not long afterward, he got off the tram, muttering away to himself, still sucking on the beer can. I said to Arjan that what I should have done was go up to the rasta and, in a quiet but menacing voice, say to him "I'm from Johannesburg.....What do you think??" The second funny thing, perhaps insulting to some Scotsmen (though I find it funny), is that Switzerland produces their own brand of whisky, but they call it "Swissky". I shit you not... Apparently it does not have the same maltiness, or peatiness, as real Scotch, but it's a true single malt Swissky. So far, I've been scared to try it and bought it more for its entertainment value than its taste, but I guess I'll have to open it one day...

Ich Bin in Suisse...

fur de laste week... Or at least that's how I imagine it might be said, anyway... On assignment in Switzerland this time, a week in Zurich and then a week in Lugano (on the Italian border), doing the same sort of thing I did in Luxembourg recently. Things are going good, on the work side anyway. On the personal side, it's difficult to be away from home for such a long period, but each passing day brings me one day closer to coming home so I'm okay with that. Unlike the last trip, the flight over was nice and quiet, no problems. I ended up sitting next to some South African guy who was coming over to Germany on business. I couldn't figure out what he did for a living but it sounded like it was something in the motor industry. Once he found out I worked for IBM, he automatically assumed I knew all about everything to do with computers and kept asking questions. Luckily I could answer most of them truthfully, but for others I could bullshit my way out if without any difficulty. After all, I'm a consultant and I tell lies for a living... I didn't get much sleep on the flight, which is pretty much normal, but I reckon I got about three hours in total. Enough to keep me going when I landed, which was the main thing. The trip into Zurich on the train was boring as the scenery is just buildings on all sides, but luckily the trip wasn't very long. Actually, the taxi that I took to the hotel from the station (Hauptbahnhof, as it's called here) took me, I reckon, about half way back to the airport alongside the very tracks I'd just come in on... I arrived at the hotel just after 8am and ended up sitting in the hotel lobby for about three hours while they got my room ready. If I'd taken it earlier, they would have charged me per hour until the check-in time....not sure IBM would have paid for that, so I didn't bother. At 3 minutes past eleven, I got my room key and went up to freshen up and unpack some clothes, after which I took off for a walk along the river which is about 500m from the hotel. I bought a falafel (schwarma thing) for lunch, took a walk along the river and sat down on the bank to eat it. Even though I was sitting in bright sunshine, I still had a jersey on as the wind is quite cool due to the snow on the mountains (which, as you know, are not that far away). I found a tram that was going into town, so I bought a ticket from a machine, forgetting that the traffic drives on the wrong side of the road here compared to us. It turned out that I bought a ticket for the tram going the wrong way...ah well. In the end, I thought fuckit, I've bought a ticket for the distance so I'm getting on the tram to town and if I get stopped by a conductor, I'll put on my best Scottish accent and plead ignorance. Luckily, I didn't have to and I jumped off at the hauptbahn. From there, I took a walk to the lake, jumped on a ferry like we did three years ago on our holiday (damn, but time flies) and took a short trip around the lake. Halfway through the trip it started raining and there was some small hail too, so everyone ended up indoors. As I was on my own, I ended up standing the rest of the way, freezing my butt off. Luckily I had a jersey in my bag and my beanie which kept me warm-ish. How about this fuckin' pervert, showing his willy to an eagle, of all things? After the boat trip, I took another tram back to the hotel, sat down on the bed and fell asleep without even knowing it. I don't even know how long I slept for, but it couldn't have been more than a half hour and I was woken by Arjan and Lex knocking on the door. Apparently they had tried to phone my room, but I didn't even hear it ringing. We took another trip back into town on the tram, walked around a bit but everything was closed because of Easter Monday holidays. After a while, we walked back toward the hotel (a couple of km's, which in the black shoes, gave me blisters), found a little Italian restaurant open and had some dinner, after which we walked back to the hotel and said goodnight. Needless to say, it didn't take me long to fall asleep. Even still, I woke like I hadn't slept at all. We were up around 07h30, had breakfast and took a tram into town and the office, which is on the tram route which was nice and convenient. We had a couple of interviews, took some notes, made some initial findings and then called it a day, even thought it was already around 16h30. Back to the hotel on the tram to get changed, and back into town on the tram again for dinner. This time we found a whole sidestreet full of restaurants, across the river from the train station, with everything from local food to Italian and American diners. We sat in a little German Bierhalle, had some nice food and a couple of beers, then made our way back to the tram and the hotel. Up at around 07h00 as we had an earlier interview, had breakfast and took a tram into the office. It's so easy to move around here as the public transport system is so good and easy to use. Had a couple of interviews, plenty of strong (also free) coffee, then called it a day, again around 16h00. On a tram to the hotel, changed and back on the tram into town. This time we ended up walking around the same sidestreet as the night before, trying to find a waterproof jacket for me...luckily we did, cos as we found a place, it started raining. The credit card system the shop used was excellent as the amount I bought the jacket for not only showed up in Swiss Francs, but also on the screen the amount was in SA Rands too. We need technology like that... Anyway, we ended up back at the station for the evening food market like we had a few years ago, had some curry, some bratwurst, and a couple of beers with some local smelly cheeses...yum. We ended up back at the hotel at around 10pm, had a quick beer in the pub and headed off for bed. Again we were up around 07h00, had breakfast and jumped on the tram to the office. A busy day, even though we only had two interviews, they were intensive.Today, we finished just after 2pm, so we walked down to the lake, had a bratwurst on a roll, then sat down to make some notes from the interviews. Back to the tram and the hotel, changed into jeans, and back into town to the food sidestreet. This time we had dinner at a little nouveau cuisine Italian restaurant... nice food, but too small with their portions for the ridiculous prices. The entire meal, with one bottle of Chianti between the three of us, came to 120 Francs...about R600!!! I literally had two medium prawns, and four or five small pieces of fish on my plate, with a side dish of spinach that I let Arjan and Lex eat...not worth the price. But we didn't know when we sat down, so it's just bad luck... Back to the hotel, a quick beer in the pub and off to bed. Up at 07h20, a quick shower and shave and breakfast, then onto the tram into the office. Being Friday, it's quite relaxed here, but we were still in tie and jacket. It warmed up quite a bit since I arrived, so we didn't need our coats. Lex went off to Milan to meet his wife, something to do with them having met twenty years ago and celebrating an anniversary. Milan is not too far from Lugano, so he's due to arrive on Sunday evening on the train. Arjan and I went into the food sidestreet and ended up at a Dutch-themed restaurant just a door away from the Bierhalle we were at the other day. This time we both had some Kassler ribs, boiled potatos and sauerkraut... really nice...and a couple of beers to round it off. After that, we ended up back at the hotel, a quick beer in the pub to discuss the strategy for Saturday's roadtrip to Lugano and then went off to bed. Got up around 07h30, showered, had breakfast by which time the rental car had arrived, finished packing and climbed into the car for the couple of hours to Lugano. We stopped off at a little place called Altdorf that Arjan had visited a couple of years ago with the family, took the cable car up to the top and sat and had a coffee at the little restaurant. I thought we were going to take the cable car back down again, but then Arjan said we should walk. Looking at the road, I thought it wasn't a bad idea and that maybe I'd see some snow. It took us around 5mins to get to the top in the cable car, and the walk was expected to take (according to the information boards) about 2hrs to walk down. In reality, it took us two and a half hours, through some of the most scenic, but demanding (sometimes almost vertical), trails I have ever seen. At times, we had to stop cos Arjan, as fit as he is, also felt the strain and a couple of times my legs were vibrating due to the protesting muscles. And today, I'm paying for it...I can hardly move my legs without feeling like I'd just had a 50km run. Going up and down stairs (of which there are plenty in Lugano) is absolute hell and I jokingly curse Arjan every step I take. Lex has just arrived from Milan, says he had a great time. We've just been chilling out for a couple of hours, having been for a walk around the town to see some of the sights. Today was a nice chillout day, as we only had breakfast around 9am, then we walked around a bit, sat at our favourite pub on the piazza (we found the favourite pub as the first thing we did when we got here) and tonight we'll go and have some dinner somewhere. Lugano is so different from Zurich as it has a very strong Italian influence whereas Zurich has a German culture. Everything here is said and advertised in Italian, so it doesn't feel like we're in Switzerland anymore. Anyway...just thought I'd give you an update as to what I've been up to, and attach a couple of photos so you could see a piece of the place. Just before I came down to update the blog on the hotel wireless network, I got my laundry back, and for 5 undies, 6 socks, 1 jeans, 1 jersey and 3 t-shirts, it cost 168 Francs...if my calculation is correct, about R1,008!!!!!! IBM is going to shit itself when I put in the claim for this...but then again, how do they expect us to exist on the shitty per diem allowance they give us? Stay well, y'all...

I just realised I hadn't finished boring you all...

with our holiday happenings...so here's more to keep you enthralled. Saturday 4th March ================== Up at about 09h00, there's still power so there was no need for us to have kept hot coffee in the flask before bedtime. Ah well, you can never tell when it's going to go off... I slept on my back the whole night as it is really uncomfortable to lie on my sides. When the skin creases, it's like fire through the folds. And as I was on my back, I must have been sleeping with my mouth open as I have a sore, dry throat to boot. Gittin' auld be a terrrribal thang, ah tell ya... We go for a walk through a part of the Knysna forest, called Diepkloof Forest (Deep Cliff). Some of the trees here are hundreds of years old, and some of the rarest species in the country. A large number of Outeniqua Yellowwoods, as well as Real Yellowwoods (I don't know the difference either) and Ironwood trees are found on the walk, which is on a raised boardwalk so that you don't fall on your arse and sue the nice people running the place. It's all over in about 20 minutes though, as the village idiot on the front gate didn't tell us that they had blocked off part of the walk for maintenance on the boards. It must have cut out about two thirds of the total distance that could normally be walked. Ah well, it was nice and cool in the forest and I took some nice pictures of a brown stream flowing through it (caused by the natural pigments in the leaves and tree bark leeching into the water, and not by erosion, pollution or a township for a change). We wanted to stop off at a local crafts market on the way back, but didn't make it in time as, unbeknownst to us, the market is only held between 8am and 12 noon. We got there at 12h15, just as everyone is packing away. Instead, we go down into a little arts and crafts village on the outskirts of town, where Steph wants a look around a place called "Old Nick's". It is a real, old time jailhouse, converted to a house, then converted to a crafts shop. Right alongside it is a weaving mill, with a working old-time loom going full pelt. It's amazing to see how those old mechanical things could make something as fine as a cotton sheet, but it does. This one has been adapted slightly in that it now runs on an electric motor instead of people-power. The little spool that holds the cotton that is literally chucked back and forth by steel arms, I learned, is called a shuttle. Both ends of it are even shaped like the cockpit of that big steel thing the Americans throw up into the sky every now and then too, so I guess that may be where they got the name from. After buying a few bits and pieces, we head in towards town and pick up a steak for a braai (barbecue) tonight, just the two of us on the verandah and another bottle of wine presumably. Passing by a signboard showing the way to the beach, I remark to Steph that we should go and try "The Lookout" pub down there sometime for lunch. She says "why not now?" and with a swift ninety degree turn of the steering wheel, I think "why the hell not?" Between us we order a bluecheese salad, and a basket of calamari and chips, and two sideplates to share the fare between us. Yum... Back in the flat by 16h00, it's time to just chill out a bit, do some reading and listen to some more "new" music. Due to the long lunch, we have a later than usual dinner. Rump steak, mash, veg and gravy...yum. We sit and read our books until about 23h00, and I turn on the telly for the first time since we got here. There's an Eddie Murphy movie on, The Distinguished Gentleman, which we sit and watch for something else to do for a change. At least, I watch it, Steph carries on reading. Eddie's not my favourite actor and, if I could, I'd shove that stupid laugh of his up his arse. Maybe then it would sound funny. Bed time around 01h30, our latest night yet. Sunday 5th March ================ I check my watch on the bedside table and...Wow...it's after 10h30. A solid 9 hours sleep, sunburn and all. The sunburn is still tight to the touch and having a shower is like having 40 grain sandpaper scrubbed all over your wiggly bits (I imagine). Steph has to dry my back off as I still can't reach around there. We have a tasty "Bubble and Squeak" brunch and I settle down to copy more music and watch the cricket in the background. SABC3 is showing the one day game between SA and the Aussies (not "Ozzies" as I was originally going to write - can you imagine 11 Ozzy Osbourne's running around on a big field?). So far, it's a split game, but SA still have to bat. Ok, so I've just finished copying the last of the 56 of Stan's CD's that I fancied. Do I feel bad about pirate-ing so many albums? Lemme think about it a second...no. Why not? Cos the record companies are the ones really ripping off the artists, not the guys that occasionally copy a CD. It's not often I do it anyway, it's more of a case of opportunity knocks. In any case, I have over 500 original titles in my collection at home, so it's not as though I don't do my bit for buying original titles as well. SA lost the cricket by 24 runs. While it may sound like a close game, it was pretty one-sided as the Aussies knew the SA tail-enders couldn't keep up the slog they were on. The 5-game series is now 2-1 in favour of SA. The rest of the day passes by uneventfully, reading and listening to music. We also watch a bit of telly, a nature program about a local guy who rehabilitates leopards, lions, and now Tigers, back into the wild. Some of it you can see is staged, but most of the footage is unrehearsed. We also watch an episode of "My Family"...British humour at its best, I think. And with not much else on the idiot-box, we decide to go beddie-byes and read a while. About ten minutes is all I can handle and I start nodding off, so it's time for shut-eye. Monday 6th March ================ Awake at 08h00, expecting the maid to ring the doorbell like a Swiss Cowbell concerto at any moment, but she only arrives around 08h30. It's a magnificent day and, as it's to be our last in Plett before we move on up the coast, we get dressed and at about 09h30 go for a walk on the beach. As the sunburn is still a bit painful, I kept my shirt on and draped a beachtowel over my shoulders to keep the rays off my tender, pink, body. This time we walk left as we hit the beach, towards the Beacon Isle Hotel, which is a 5-star square block built on a chunk of rock right on the sea's edge. Any closer to the sea and your feet would be wet. It must have taken about a half hour to get down there and we found a nice shady spot to sit and watch the sea. We were so close to the water that spray would get blown across us now and then, keeping us nice and cool, as the ambient temperature must have been around the +30deg C mark. Watching the sea, we can see a Cape Fur Seal at play, about 200m offshore. He's having a ball, wallowing around, turning his belly skyward and then diving, probably on the hunt for a meal. There's also a few noisy seagulls close to us, screeching (or whatever it's called that seagulls do) at us to throw them a morsel of the subs that Steph prepared before we left the flat. We're back at the flat at around 12h00 and after a nice cold shower, I go and sit on the verandah lounger to read a bit. At the moment I'm reading a book I picked up in Edinburgh at the Rosslyn Chapel, called "Twisting The Hiram Key". In short, it's by the co-author of the earlier book, "The Hiram Key", who joins the Freemasons and subsequently writes this book exploring the spirituality side of the Craft. After about 10 minutes, I'm nodding off again, not that it's a boring book, but due to the fresh air from the walk. I don't sleep long though, as the maid's done with her work and out the door with a "Byeeeeeeee medem". I read a few more pages and Steph says it's lunchtime. A good, tasty, salad of chickpeas, celery, sliced smoked chicken, peppers, tomatoes, cheese and some spices. Always a good meal... Later on we might take a walk on another part of the beach, but we'll wait for the temperature to drop a bit first. Tonight we'll eat out somewhere so that we don't have the dishes to contend with on our last night in Plett, and we have to pack too... And at this point, is where the power supply to my laptop decides to pack in. I came back to find the laptop strangely dead, even the battery had run out when the AC adapter went on the frizz. So I didn't even have enough time to shut the machine down properly. Luckily I'd saved the text file I was creating with the story of the holiday so I could still copy it to the blog. What I can leave you with, is that we went up to Port Alfred the following day to investigate a business opportunity (which we've subsequently decided not to go for as it required a lot of investment with not much return to live on). We stayed at the resort where the opportunity was, for free, even though we insisted on paying for the night. Nice people, are Rob and Frieda, self-made millionaires...no wonder he could afford to buy that farm (fuckin' massive, it was). The following day we drove up to my folks in Mtwalume, in the Kwa Zulu Natal province (about 70km south of Durban), stayed a few days there so that we could catch up. Dad and I went out for a deep sea fishing excursion and caught quite a few fish with me catching the largest, a 4kg Rock Cod (great to eat). With us was also the brother of a friend of the folks, an Englishman who was used to fishing for pike with a large chunk of metal in place of bait, so I don't think he was too impressed with the smelly squid and sardine bait we were using. He even got the girlfriend of the boat skipper to put his bait on the hooks for him, believe it or not!! Anyway, it was a great day out for Dad and I, one I enjoyed thoroughly. Dad is a great fisherman, and it was good to rub it in that I'd caught more than he did...for a change. After a few days, we drove back to Johannesburg, settled back in at the house with a Sunday to spare, before going back to work on the Monday morning. Sadly, I believe, two weeks is not sufficient for a decent holiday and in the future we'll take at least three weeks. At least it was good to get out of Jo'burg for a bit.

Luxembourg Trip Photos...

Here's a select few of the photos to give you an idea of the place... Luxembourg Cathedral by night











The only decent thing I could find to photograph in Lisboa











Sushi Dinner











One of the Luxembourg bridges by night











One of the best beersin the world...drank a few, I tell you











Hey man, how 'bout a curry, an' all?











House built into the cliff











View from a bridge, of another bridge











If I ever got lost, I would ask for one of these places as a reference point...strip bars











View across the valley











The train station across the road from the hotel (taken from my room window)











Memorial to the Luxembourg war dead It's well worth a visit to this place. The only down side was the weather, but then there's nothing you can do about that, is there?

It's been a long time coming...

and it's Wednesday already, but this is the first chance I've had to post something to let all my peeps out there know that I'm safely back in SA, a little frazzled at the edges due to Air Porra, but nonetheless glad to be home again. My trip started off on Saturday morning, the 25th March. I was at Joburg airport at 10h00, eager to get to see what Luxembourg was all about. Pick up some Euro's and check in at the counter, grab the new Bike SA magazine and head for the lounge and a good strong cup of coffee. Typical of airports, the check-in gate was supposed to be Number 6, but ended up being Number 30, right on the other side of departures. The flight to Lisboa was uneventful, except that just after check-in I find out we're going via Maputo (an hour east of Joburg) and we end up leaving there with a full load at just after 14h30. To put it in perspective, I could just about drive to Maputo from Joburg in the time it took us to get there, get the new passengers on board and for the cleaning staff to haul the trash out. I find I'm sitting next to a SA Porra called Franco who is on his way to Madeira to settle a land claim (sounds like SA, doesn't it?). Apparently he bought a piece of land a while back which was supposed to be 1500sqm larger than his title deed now shows it as. He's confident that it'll be sorted out this time though, as this is his third trip in this matter. The airline food, as usual, is crap but it's that or starve and we're arriving in Lisboa at 23h00 so there's not much chance of getting anything better at that time of night, as I find out later. I watch Zorro on the "big screen" and read some project documents, then catch about an hour's sleep. We arrived in Lisboa at a little after 22h00, I breeze through customs on my EU passport and my long wait begins. I have an 11hr stopover before the connecting flight to Luxembourg. After a half hour or so of TV which I don't understand, but can clearly see that it's The shopping Channel dubbed into Porra, I decide to strap my laptop and hand luggage to my suitcase, stretch out on the chairs and try and get some sleep. I manage about 2hrs until I snore myself awake, which in itself is unusual unless I'm sleeping on my back which I hadn't been (ever try and sleep on airport chairs...?) Anyway...I sit up and wander about the terminal until about 06h30 when I decide to go and check myself in. As I'd picked up my suitcase on the way into Lisboa, instead of going through the transit area, I had to go through normal departures. And guess what? The fuckin' place is packed... I eventually get checked in and end up back in the same terminal area that I'd just spent the last 10hrs in... I decide to grab a McDonalds breakfast and, if anyone knows SA McDonalds, you'll know it's shite, but Porra McDonalds is shiter than shite...believe me. We arrive in Luxembourg at around 16h00 after another Air Porra flight which AGAIN had a stopover, this time in Porto. I take a taxi to the hotel (for which the fare was 27 Euro's), the Meridien on the Place de la Gare (which, translated, basically means the hotel on the street in front of the train station). A reasonable room, but then I'm here on business and not pleasure so I can't really complain. The temperature is about 14degC, which isn't too bad and I decide to go for a walk. It's a nice enough little city, with some really nice architecture and buildings, as you'll see by the photos which I'll attach later when I can get some better upload speed. Only at around 10pm does the rest of the team arrive. They all drove in, one from Belgium and two from the Netherlands. I greet the two dutchmen in Afrikaans who are surprised to hear that they can actually understand what I said, and vice versa. We have a quick "getting to know you" drink and retire for the night, agenda set for the following morning. The project is basically a series of fact-finding interviews, followed by the drafting of a report detailing areas of concern in the recovery status of the bank. We have a gruelling schedule of three, hour and a half, sessions daily and believe me, by the time the end of the day comes, you're knackered. We finish off at about 19h00 after consolidating the findings each day. We decide to try a different meal each suppertime, seeing as there's four of us and four nights in town. The first night we have Italian (Frans's choice), the second seafood (Mark's), the third Indian (Nanette's) and I choose sushi as the last night's fare. Each of the meals had its own special tastes and overall the food was quite good. Mark and Frans decided to have "ink-vis paella" at the seafood night, and if anyone doesn't know what that is, it's a paella cooked in the ink from an octopus (apparently it's one of the most expensive ingredients in cooking). I had a taste once I'd finished my meal as the black paella didn't take my fancy. It actually tastes a little like Scottish black pudding, which surprised me, though I don't think I could have a full meal of it. Best of all was probably the Indian. There ws so much food on the table that, by the time we'd finished, it didn't look like we'd even started. And the naan bread that I had was the sive of a X-large pizza. The sushi was also good, though a little on the expensive side from what I'm used to here in SA. It was also Mark and Nanette's first time eating sushi and they were a little hesitant but they professed to enjoying it. I managed to get some nice photos of the city by night, with some of the buildings and bridges lit up in different colours. On Friday morning, I was due at the airport at 12h00 so Mark and I leave the office at just after 11h00, after saying our goodbyes. A nice bunch of people they were and I'm sure we'll work together again at some point. Needless to say, the flight home was not to be without its problems. The flight to Lisboa was an hour late in taking off and also returned via Porto. Another lengthy stopover there, where we were forced to get off the plane with all our hand luggage and come back 40mins later to the same plane, with additional passengers on board. I didn't mind it too much as it gave me some time to do some shopping and I brought back some Swarowski crystal earrings for Steph, who'd been home alone with the dogs for the past week. We get into Lisboa and I think there's just over two hours to departure to SA which will give me some more time in the duty-free. HA, FUCKIN' HA...I find out that the flight to SA has been CANCELLED!! Not even delayed, just cancelled. Standing in the queue with 50-odd (or is that "50, odd,") other passengers en route to Maputo and SA (yes, we're going back via fuckin' Maputo too) I find out through the hostess who's giving us hotel vouchers that the control tower staff is on strike and they're only pushing through 20 planes an hour instead of the usual 100. So we pile into a bus, get bussed to the Hotel Barcelona (why not the Hotel Lisboa, that's the capital, Barcelona's in Spain??) and checked in. As the kitchen is already closed, we have to walk around the block (about 300m) to the Hotel Zurich who were good enough to keep their kitchen open for us. The meal was so-so, typical of three star hotels, but at least it's a decent meal and not Porra McDonalds. I was tempted to go to the Pizza Hut right next to the Barcelona, but thought I'd rather save my Euro's (everything is multiplied by seven to get to the SA Rand equivalent). Back at the hotel, I grab a shower, but not until after I'd pulled on the SOS string hanging in the bath, wondering what it was for (we don't have such things in our hotels in SA). As I'd pulled it a number of times wondering when the light was coming on, thinking it was broken, the desk staff thought it must be really urgent, so they sent someone up to see if I was okay. Apologies in broken porra, and all was okay. I went for a shower and hit the sack, knackered. In the morning I had another shower and dressed in the same clothes I'd had on the day before. My suitcase, with toiletries bag, had been checked straight through to Joburg. Damn these airport regulations that say you can't take an aerosol deoderant with you in hand luggage. The flight to Joburg, instead of leaving at 11h45, flew off at 13h05 after yet another delay, this time caused by a flight to Luanda leaving late through the same gate we were leaving by. Damned if I wasn't sitting next to a Porra granny with a brat that moaned the entire way from Lisboa to Maputo. But I got my revenge...by the time we got somewhere over Africa the airconditioning in the plane wasn't working effectively and me, in my clothes of two days, started smelling somewhat putrid. In the end though, I couldn't handle the smell of myself so I went into the closet which doubles as a toilet on a plane and did the Superman-rip-your-shirt-open thing, washed under my arms and put on some of that pleasant coconut-smelling hand lotion to try and not be so odorous. It worked for a while but a couple of thousand kilometres later, and it was the same all over again. This time I thought "fuckit" and sat and stank the rest of the way. The hour and a half stopover in Maputo was, to say the least, unpleasant, as we had cleaning crew through the plane at midnight trying to vaccuum under our feet when all we wanted to do was get going again. Some of us really wanted to get home. We also had a hoarde of new passengers come aboard, who were all en route to Lisboa. Our plane was only stopping to refuel and then it was off again, which would make it an alomst non-stop flight of nearly 24hrs for the engines... Take my advice...stay away from Air Porra. As soon as we landed, literally as soon as the wheels hit the ground and we couldn't fall any further, I sms'd Steph to let her know we were in at last. By the time I got through customs and collected my luggage, which to my great surprise had actually arrived with me, she was waiting for me. At home, after saying hello to the dogs, Steph asked if I wanted a cup of tea. "Not me, thanks, I'm going to have a nice big 15yr single malt...I think I deserve it after what I've just been through", was my answer. After that, a good long scrub in the shower and off to bed where I eventually woke in the same position I'd fallen asleep in, 9hrs earlier. It's real good to be home...

What a bureaucratic fuckup...

but at least it's over... Now all I have to do is pack my case and get my hairy Scots butt to the airport on time tomorrow. I'm flying off to Luxembourg, for a week, on business. Unfortunately, I have to fly Air Porra and will have a 9-hour stopover in Lisbon airport before I get to the comfort of a warm bed in my Luxembourg hotel. I'm off to help the guys in Europe on a project involving a large bank and an outsourcing deal we made with them. The project team is investigating the recovery status of the systems and processes (ok, I know you're bored already, but bare with me a bit) as we (IBM) will be responsible for recovering their systems in the event of a disaster. For us to do the recovery effectively, we need to know how critical their processes and systems are before the bank starts losing money, as well as what systems they have in place so that we can build a recovery strategy around the requirements. I'll be in Luxembourg from Sunday afternoon until next Friday, when I'll be flying out at around 14h00. The fuckup mentioned earlier revolved around the process we have to follow and the approvals we have to gain before we can actually book our flights. Believe me, you never want to have to go through this lot. My final approval came through at 16h30 this afternoon, also partly due to another fuckup with my AmEx card (that's another long story altogether). Luckily the travel agents we use are pretty good in these situations so I got my ticket issued just after 17h00. So for the next few days, I'll be swapping cold, rainy weather for more really cold, rainy weather if the Luxembourg weather report is anything to go by. Take care, y'all...speak to you soon... PS...look out for the Air Porra plane flying overhead...you'll recognise it by the hair under the wings...

Thursday 2nd March...More rain and power cuts...followed by serious sunburn...

Guess what? It's raining when we wake up and it's been raining for most of the night...It doesn't last long though, and by 09h00 the sun is out and we decide to go for a walk on the beach. We hit the sand and decide to turn right, which will take us down towards the long headland that runs west to east. It's actually part of the Robberg Nature Reserve and takes us the better part of an hour to walk the estimated 3km until we can't go any further. The sea literally cuts you off from climbing the rock face and going into the reserve, so there is actually little need for the "Keep Out" signs anchored on the rockfaces every 50m or so. The weather, although there was a howling south-westerly wind blowing that blasted our legs with whipped-up sand, was quite warm and we were walking without shirts on. I was in my boardshorts and Steph in her nice two-piece bikini. We sat down on a rock ledge and watched all the other people on the beach, arriving at the end of the walk with expressions reading something like "Ok, there's a dirty great piece of cliff in front of me. What do I do now?" We must have sat there for a good half hour, baking, not thinking about the heat. I eventually said to Steph that we should go for a swim. It was wonderful. I love swimming in the Indian Ocean, as it is warm but cool enough to ensure you only stay in for about 20mins. Steph stayed in for about half of that, then went back to baking on the rock ledge. While I'm in the water, a Sassenach wades in up to his knees and nervously asked me if there were any sharks about. "Probably", I said, which I don't think eased his fears any, even though he joined me swimming up to chest depth. He was continually looking around, scanning for the tell-tale dorsal fin of a Great White Shark. We Scots just love fuckin' with the Sassenach's minds... I decided I'd had enough and my big brave English shadow followed me out of the water, proclaiming to his fellow sausage-munchers that it was great and they should have joined us. Another ten minutes on the rock ledge and we decided to walk back to the flat, for a shower and a nice cold drink. Halfway back, I decided it was time to put on my shirt, but as I found out later that afternoon, it was already too late. As the day wore on, I turned a darker shade of pink, on all areas that had been exposed to the rays. By the time bedtime came, I could hardly move without some discomfort to my creasing skin. We sat in for the rest of the afternoon, reading, and I not only finished Catch-22, but also got halfway through another shortish book about fly fishing, both of which I'll dedicate a posting to, for varying reasons. It's a little early for dinner, so we'll just have a glass of wine or twenty and, when the fancy takes us, will cook the box of queen prawns we picked up at the Robberg Fishery the other day. The problem is, we don't know if and when the power is going to go off again, and for how long each time. Friday 3rd March Yup, at 20h24 last night, the power went out. Right in the middle of me cooking up the second batch of prawns as there were too many to go into the pan first time round. Not that I minded too much to be honest. I had enough prawns on the first batch to satisfy my hunger,and along with the spicy rice that Steph made, accompanied by a couple of glasses of a good red Cabernet Sauvignon (which could probably use another year or two in the bottle to bring it to its best), it was a fine meal. "Red wine and prawns?" I hear you enquire, incredulously. But anyone who says that you have to have red wine with red meat and white wine with white meat or fish, gets my classic answer. "Fuck off". It's all about complimenting each of the tastes with the other. If I think I'd enjoy a crisp, wooded Chardonnay with a lean, rare, beef fillet, so be it. They're my taste buds and anyone who wants to try and tell me otherwise should remember the classic answer. If you want to follow the media hype about wines or the "experts", do it in your own time and leave me to mine. I sat up reading by candlelight untill 22h30 when the power came back on, and then read for another hour until I couldn't keep my eyes open any longer. It was a book about fishing (surprise!!) called "A Mean-mouthed, Hook-jawed, Bad-news, Son-of-a-fish!", written by a South African Ghillie (fishing guide) called Wolf Avni. He writes regularly for one of the local fly fishing tabloids and I'd seen the book mentioned before, but now that we found it in the flat, I took the opportunity to read it. And what a pleasure it is to read too...a must for any fisherman, but also great reading for anyone who wants a completely different view on a number of things piscatorial. I'll compose a posting dedicated to the book so that if you're not into fishing, you can skip it. Anyway...it's now just after midday and the power has only been back on for about ten minutes, long enough to boil the kettle for a cup of tea and for Steph to get a curry going with the rest of last night's prawns, and some crabsticks for added flavour. The power's been off since thirteen seconds past 8am, indicating that Eskom still haven't sorted out their ineptitude problems. Luckily Steph had been up early and put on a pot of coffee that kept us going until power was restored. Both of us are having problems moving this morning. It wasn't caused by anything strenuous and exciting, I hasten to add. Rather the stiffness was caused by an excess of sun yesterday. I look like one of the prawns I so lovingly cooked last night, a bright rosy red colour, all over my chest and the part of my left leg which had been sticking out of my shorts. What's worse is when you try to bend or crease some part of the red skin and then try and stretch it back to its original position. It feels like it's being stretched using a hot iron like you would do witrh one of those iron-on transfers for the kids' t-shirts. You'd also think that, being in the country for as long as I have, I would have realised I was getting cremated. Actually, I did on the walk back along the beach but the damage had already been caused by then. Ah well, live and learn...it'll all be okay in a day or two and then I'll look like a scaly lizard for a day. We made a reservation for dinner at a restaurant called "Emily's Moon", for 19h00 tonight. Now why would anyone name a restaurant after some old tart's bare backside, I asked myself? Actually, I have no idea who Emily is/was/could be, but the Moon is the oxbow-shaped piece of riverfront that the restaurant's deck looks down over. The setting is fantastic with all the doorframes imported from India, as well as some of the decorative pieces adorning the walls. The only thing I didn't like about the decor was the wall dedicated to dead reindeer and buck species. There must have been at least 20 sets of horns covering every available space on the wall. The horns, I'm sure you'll agree, would have looked better on live deer running around in the wild. We at least have a prime seating, right in front of the log-burning fireplace and going by the rapidly-cooling air temperature as we sit on the deck having a glass of 2003 Langvallei Pinotage (translates to Long Valley), it's going to be the best seat in the house. The food is a bit "noveau cuisine" (read: tiny portions for big bucks), but it's tasty and the two bottles of wine we get through are good too, so it's worth the night out and the bill of R600. A double espresso and a grappa finishes it off quite nicely, then it's back to the flat and a nightcap. Stan had hidden a bottle of 10-year old Ardbeg single malt at the back of his drinks cupboard, but I sniffed it out and had a shot. Gotta get me some of that stuff, man. As malty as a witch's hairy armpit (I imagine) but nice and heavily wooded...just the way I like it. Steph does her usual hypoglycemic party-trick and nods off on the couch, so I finish the drink in silence and then wake her up and we toddle off to grab some uncomfortable sleep. Have you tried seeping with second-degree sunburn? Not fuckin' nice, I tell you...

Wednesday 1st March....what's that big yellow disc in the sky?

Hurray!!! The sun's come out...for a while anyway. Woke up at 07h00 to the brightest blue sky in a while and made sure Steph felt me move around in the bed. Mind you, it's that fuckin' big that I had to just about jump on her side to make her feel anything. She was also glad to see the sun and we decided to get up and out before it went behind the clouds again. By about 07h30 we're out the door to go find a spot to fish and walk along the beach, our first opportunity since arriving in Plett. We take the car as the estuary is quite a way from the flat, and park it next to a pub that looks inviting but we'll come back there sometime in the near future, I'm sure. Get all the gear out the back, and it's onto the sand. A short walk around a point at the estuary mouth and I can see the water is flowing fast, seawards on the outgoing tide. Not a good sign as I'd rather have it on the slack or incoming tide (slack tide is the 20mins before and after the tide changes direction). We walk a bit up the sand and I tie on a spoon for Steph to cast on the little rod I bought her recently (so that she doesn't feel left out when I go off fishing). Her first couple of casts are a bit dodgy so I move out of her way in fear of losing an eye, or the jewels. While she's practising, I get my saltwater fly kit set up and tie on a popper, but it's too light and I battle in the slight breeze. I resort instead to move into the channel as the water has dropped so quickly that we can now walk out about 50m where just a few minutes ago there had been a strong flow of water seawards. From where I'm standing, I can see Steph's getting the hang of casting and call her to join me and cast into the main current. It's still flowing fast and there's a lot of loose weed that entangles itself onto our hooks and generally makes the fishing unpleasant. So we decide to pack it up and go and sit on the beach and have a sandwich and iced tea. A tacky substitute for a breakfast, but we're out in the sun, enjoying the warmth for a change so who cares? After a while we decide to move back to the flat and get showered. The power's still on, which is a bonus and we have some fresh coffee and an omelette. Once we're showered, the clouds start moving in again, and I can just tell it's going to rain later. We go for a short drive and look around some of the houses in the neighbourhood. Man, there's some serious money around here. And 99% of the houses are all boarded or locked up, nothing more than holiday places in rich man's land. The size of some of these mansions, sitting quiet for 11 months or so out of the year, is quite sickening. Some people have just too fuckin' much of it... We head out onto the highway, back towards Knysna where we'd seen a couple of roadside stalls that looked interesting, selling all kinds of "indigenous" wares. First stop is a lumber yard and farm store called The Heath, but there's not much to see in the wood section except for some lovely furniture that's way out of our league (someone should tell these people we want to buy their stuff, not pay the month's fuckin' rent). The food section, on the other hand, has a mediocre coffee and a great ostrich sausage roll (for me) and a piece of carrot cake and coffee (for Steph). The ostrich pie tasted a little like haggis, but it's probably just the way they minced the meat and added spices to flavour. Steph has more of my pie than her own cake, and we take the cake with us. The knick-knack shop has some interesting stuff and I find a nice salad server set and cheese and butter knives, with all the handles made of pewter. After that, we head back on the highway again and stop off at a wine cellar...bad move. We come out with a case of wine (about R450 worth), mostly from the Orange River Valley. Really good wines, but we can't usually find them up beside us and when we do, the prices are ridiculous. Our next stop was another lumber yard and these guys had some nice pieces of timber. The piece we both fancied was an Ironwood, lovely veins and some knots which added to the character of the piece. The fact that they weren't cut to square added to the feature of the piece as well. Only problem was...all the Ironwood had been hit by borer worm and there was holes from the worm visible on the surfaces. At least they'd been honest enough to leave them visible, as in Joburg they would have tried to cover them up with wood filler to seal them off. The decision was made that, because of the borer, we wouldn't buy the piece of lumber...such a pity, it was only R1,400, a really good price. There was also a one inch thick piece of Knysna Yellowwood, but I wanted a thicker piece of lumber, so we didn't take that either. Our last stop was at The Potter and yes, they make pottery there. Steph ended up buying what is actually a water jug, as a holder to stand her kitchen utensils in (spatulas, whisk, etc) and a couple of small pieces for her sister's bathroom as a present. She's always buying stuff for her sister when we go on holiday. I don't discourage her from doing this, but it would be nice if her sister reciprocated once in a while. While at The Potter, I noticed a sign on the door, reading "Lift Wanted to Sandton Area for small package. Enquire Rudy - The Potter". Intrigued, I had visions of smuggling diamonds or drugs in a brown-wrapped parcel to Joburg, running from the cops as they chased me down the highway and dirt roads (no fuckin' way I'd be able to escape them on the highway in the van). When I asked Rudy what the game was and did he still want a "runner", he said yes, he was still looking for someone, and when would I be able to deliver his two, five kilogram buckets of olives to Sandton? Huh...big fuckin' let down. Deliver yer own fuckin' olives Rudy. What kind of name is Rudy for a drug dealer anyway? Probably a poofter to boot as well... Anyway...back towards Plett and we stop in to look at a little restaurant called Emily's Moon, which we'd heard about. A charming little place, funky decor, with door frames and artifacts imported from India. We book for dinner on Friday night and head back to the flat. I stop off to see if there's anywhere I can park the car closer to an area of the estuary where the fishing might be easier than this morning and find a couple of promising spots. Must try them sometime. On the way back to the highway, Steph spots two horses in a field, one of them chasing after the car and then rolling on its back in the grass. She says she has an apple for them and we stop. I cut it in half with my trusty, ever-at-hand, Swiss Army knife and one of the beasts just about takes her left hand off when she doesn't feed it with her hand stretched out flat with the apple in her palm. Luckily it misses the apple on its first bite and I manage to shout to her to open her hand, while I shove the camera batteries in and take couple of photos before the horses run off. Back in the flat, it's copying more music (26 albums so far) and a couple of glasses of 2004 Merlot from the wine cellar of Savannah (I never heard of it before either, but it's a tasty wine). Dinner is coming up shortly, roast chicken, potatoes and veggies...mmmmmmmm... No doubt, we'll have a power cut later and have to sit in candlelight to read...or go to bed early for a change...

Tuesday 28th Feb...and so the power cuts begin...

Up at 09h30, thinking of a cup of Java's finest, but guess what? It's still fuckin' raining and there's no fuckin' power in the flat... Eskom is the local, privatised, power supplier to the entire country - basically another monopoly, like the phone company, Telkom - who, according to the local radio station news, "apparently" had a little bit of sabotage at their Koeberg Atomic Energy power plant just outside Cape Town. In their wisdom, and to somehow cover up their own ineptitude in not having a contingency plan, the powers that be have decided to punish the rest of the country by having what they call "load sharing" and shutting down various towns and cities along the coast at various intervals as determined by them, and giving their power to Cape Town. Note that it's called "load sharing" and not "power sharing", as I'm sure the ANC would take exception to that, seeing as they don't want to share power with anyone. Anyway, the power's off and we're not having any coffee. Chances are that the entire Plett's going to be out...which, as we find out later, it is. At about 11h30, we decide to go through to Knysna and see if the power's on there. Thankfully, it is, and we have a great coffee followed by a mediocre lunch of Angel Fish, Calamari and Chips (for me) and Butternut Soup and Health Bread (for Steph). Lunch is had at a place called "Paquita's" on the Knysna Heads, which is the entrance to the natural harbour that is responsible for Knysna's popularity. The Paquita was an old 19th century barque that came in carrying coal, but as she was leaving harbour a couple of months later after taking on some ballast for the return journey to the UK, floundered on the eastern side of the heads and sank. It was speculated that she was sunk on purpose by her Master, as a direct order from the owners to commit an insurance scam due to the age of the old girl. We drive around Knysna for a couple of hours, stopping off at a stall alongside the highway renowned for their cheeses, and pick up some Gorgonzola and some-or-other Italian gouda-type stinky stuff. The Gorgonzola is the best ever...creamy and delicious, just great to take a bite out of and let it melt in your mouth... We also stopped off at a lookout point on the western side of the Heads to take some pictures of the cliffs and just stand around enjoying the scenery. On the way back to Plett we stop off at a timber yard to have a look at the various types of wood they sell to the public. We see a beautiful piece of Cape Beech, speckled like a thrush's breast and the colour of tanned leather. At a price of R2,500 for a three inch think, two metre length, we decide it can stay there a while longer. I wanted it for a bar counter at home, but at least I know how much I should be prepared to pay for a decent slab. Coming into Plett, we decide to look for a little restaurant we were told about by Stan, but in the end we can't find it and, instead, stop off at a pub/restaurant on the shoreline where we see a pod of about fifty dolphins buggering about in the water, splashing their tails and jumping out the back of the waves they've just ridden. As with a woman who commented behind me, I can't get enough of seeing them playing around like that...anyone who has seen them in their natural environment will know what I'm talking about. After a couple of the local "Bosun's Bitter" pale ales for me, and a couple of glasses of Chardonnay for Steph, we head back to the flat where, by now, the power has returned to normal. At least then we were able to cook dinner...a pasta dish with egg tagliatelle noodles, and a parma ham, mushroom and cream sauce to go with it. Another glass of Chard and it's time to write another episode of our holiday for you lot...and copy some more music and have a single-malt or two... With Dave Matthews on the CD player, life is beautiful in Plett...

Tttthhhhhaaaannnnkkksssss Mmmaaaxxxxx......

A little old lady, well into her eighties, slowly enters the front door of a sex shop. Obviously very unstable on her feet, she wobbles the few feet across the store to the counter. Finally arriving at the counter and grabbing it for support, stuttering she asks the sales clerk: "Dddooo youuuu hhhave dddddiilllldosss?" The clerk, politely trying not to burst out laughing, replies: "Yes we do have dildos. Actually we carry many different models." The old woman then asks: "Dddddoooo yyyouuuu ccaarrryy aaa pppinkk onnee, tttenn inchessss lllong aaandd aabboutt ttwoo inchesss ththiickk...aaand rrunns by bbaatteries ? The clerk responds, "Yes we do." " Ddddooo yyoooouuuu kknnnoooww hhhowww tttooo ttturrrnnn ttthe ssunoooffabbitch offffff?" Great joke, bro...

Monday 27th Feb...Plettenberg Bay, playground of the Rich and Famous (and now Steven and Steph too)

Awake at 07h30, wondering what time it was and feeling like I'd only been out for about ten minutes, I turned over and shut my eyes again. That was the best thing I could have done, as I woke again at 10h30 feeling great. I got up and put on the coffee percolator, opened the sliding door to the large patio and breathed in the sea air. The beach is about five minutes walk from the flat and I could hear the smallish waves breaking onto the sand. I put on a CD (more of the music in another posting) and heard a knock at the door. "Fuckit, the maid's here", I thought, and answered the door. In a typical Cape Colored tone of voice, she asks "Where are you?". I felt like answering her in a typical Scots tone of voice, thinking to say "Right fuckin' here, in front o' ye, ya daft cow", but settled on "We were sleeping. It's a long drive from Jo'burg". Avoiding further explanations I disappeared for a cup of beans. Apparently the maid had been knocking on the door since about 08h00 and, getting no response, had gone to chat to one of her chums in between occasionally trying to wake us. I took Steph a cup of coffee and left her to sleep a little longer, had a shower and went back to the lounge to have a look at Stan's music collection. What a fantastic, almost eccentric, taste in music he has. Similar to mine in some ways, but also vastly different in others. So much so, that I'm going to dedicate an entire posting to the music I will have heard (and copied) by the time we leave here. Some of the music is a "must have" for you lot...take notes... Anyway, Steph surfaces and showers at about 11h30 and we go into town for a little shopping, have a look around at some of the beach where I will probably go and throw a fly line to see what happens. There's a fantastic estuary here which looks like it could give up a few nice catches on the incoming tide. Back to the house for a light lunch, copy some more music and get my fly gear ready for tomorrow, weather permitting. It's been raining on and off the whole day and I've vowed that if it doesn't clear up pretty damn quick I'm not coming back to Plett as it's rained on all the previous occasions I've been here. "Come to sunny South Africa...bring yer fuckin' raincoat". A couple of beers on the patio, a great dinner of fresh hake, peas and chips, and it's time for the first single-malt of the day. Yummy... Bed at about 23h30, cos I was trying to get back into reading "Catch-22" again...a whole posting coming up on that one when I finish it...

A Mean-mouthed, Hook-jawed, Bad-news, Son-of-a-Fish...

is not your average book about fly fishing. Written by a Jewish South African, Wolf Avni, it gives you a personal insight into as much about what fly fishing is in SA today, to what it actually could be tomorrow, if the correct attention was given to the sport and the main players in it. The book starts off describing a monster-sized trout, lurking in the depths of one of Wolf's favourite fishing holes...his front garden in the Giants Cup Wilderness Reserve in the southern Drakensberg of SA. But then you only once ever hear about the fish again throughout the entire 160 pages and you wonder if he is not actually referring the title to himself instead of the fish. Certainly there are one or two instances in the book where Wolf uses expletives ("His only fishing rod was a fucked-up, no-name glass-fibre thing with neither spine nor class", or when describing different weight rods, "They both have their uses, and the 1-ounce would be out of place in a surfline, just as an 8-weight would be as useless as tits on a bull when waved around in the trickle of some mountain catchment"), but mostly the writing is about Wolf and his alter-ego "Salmo Nella" who, I believe, may also be based on an actual friend of his. As the cover expounds: "Whether you are a keen fly-fisherman or merely a collector of fine tales and piscatorial literature, Wolf Avni's collection of hilarious and irreverent fishing stories and superb photographs cannot fail to delight you. The sparkling anecdotes range from the factual to the myth of the mean, uncatchable monster with a cult following, after whom the book is named, to droll descriptions of a local hostelry decked out in 'drop-dead-tourist trout motif'. Fisherman's yarns abound, but are entwined with lyrical narrative describing the beautiful environs in which trout fishing streams occur. Leavened by a sizeable dose of self-deprecating humour, this collection of wonderfully written tales will provide hours of entertaining reading." For all you fly fishers out there, if you can get hold of a copy, do it. You'll read it in about six hours or so, but it's six hours well spent. It is published by Struik and the ISBN number is "ISBN 1-86872-098-5". I thought it a great, light-hearted read, as well as a well-aimed cast at some of the fishermen, as well as government and fishing bodies in SA, who might do well to sit up and listen to what the man has to say...