Post-World Cup babelas and Murphy on Monday, but I foil him on Friday.

The post-World Cup Monday arrives in a big blue icy blotch and that man Murphy seizes on my post-World Cup babelas to turn my mild depression into a deep one.

Charles told me the previous evening already that he aimed to pack two episodes this week and I'm not thrilled at the prospect, but early Monday morning we are on our way to work. We notice the flags are coming down from the cars and share our regrets that the whole thing is over.

There are reports of xenophobic violence in Cape Town and elsewhere. The Minister of Police assures us that this is misleading as it was in fact just normal criminality. I sigh. Fucking normal criminality!

The World Cup is clearly over and the criminals and everybody else are back at work ... rather as glumly as I am, it would seem.

The reason that I'm at work so early on a Monday is the two episodes and I'm keen to get stuck in. There's a lot to be done, especially translations from English to Afrikaans. Because we always struggle to get enough Afrikaans content I spend a lot of time translating the voice-overs of essentially English inserts into Afrikaans.


Megan and Natalia both send me scripts to translate for this purpose. It is about shark nets and Megan assures me it is a short voice-over translation. In the past Megan has sent me so-called 'director's scripts' which are the rough drafts. So on the instruction of Mr Murphy, I open the one from Natalia first.

It is much longer than the one sent by Megan, But the kindly Mr Murphy assures me that it is so because it is more complete and therefore it is the correct one for the translation. To add some credence to his assertion the opening voice-over is indeed by Andre our Afrikaans anchor.

I get stuck in and can be observed in the stuck-in position for the next six hours ... when a technicality forces me to go and consult with Megan who then informs me that I should not be translating THAT one, but other one. There are indeed two inserts about shark nets.

I thank the good Mr Murphy for his kind damn advice and assures him that his job was indeed well done and that he may now leave the room and need not return any time soon. I use less than flattering terms, but for my sensitive readers I shall spare you the details. I went in early to try and get on the front foot and after eight hours I find myself on the back foot. I sigh and get on with the correct translation.

On our way back home, Charles tells me that he always looks for the positive in any situation but he fails to find any in my wasted day. Always looking for the positive myself, I point out to him that at least I learnt some new names for sharks. The tiger shark is not the 'tierhaai' as one would have expected, but rather the 'skaamhaai' which would translate into 'shy shark'. Charles remains unconvinced that gaining this bit of knowledge was worth the wasted six hours and so am I.

On Tuesday things begin running smoothly in the absence of Murphy and the rest of the week sees me stuck in the stuck-in position. I did, however, take time to make my peace with Vince on Tuesday night, so all is well, but it soon becomes apparent that we would not be packing two episodes in one week.

Still, on Friday I go in to continue work on the next episode, only to be told that I needed to translate the voice-over for the shark net insert as a matter of urgency because there was not enough Afrikaans. Yes indeed ... the same one that I aborted on Monday. I sigh and pray that I did not discard it completely.

It turns out that I got rid of Murphy just in time on Monday because it is still there. I give Murphy the finger and get stuck in ... thinking to myself that I am indeed lucky. It does not happen to many people that they can foil Murphy on a Friday, normally his most active day.

This bolsters my confidence to the extent that I borrow Charles' car and go and visit my lovely second ex-wife Amanda and her longtime boyfriend Daan in Pretoria. I spend a splendid Saturday afternoon and night there and return home now to write this piece as another part of my 67 minutes for Madiba ... to make my three readers' life better ... one can only hope.

Happy birthday Madiba and may there be many more. It would be too much for you to die while the post-World Cup babelas is still biting.

Meanwhile I wonder why nobody comments on my blog. I see people posting the most inane shit on Facebook like: "I'm SOOOoooo hungry!" and they get 37 comments.

I write a sort of well-crafted piece and not a squeak ... not even from my three readers. I sigh and say aloud to myself: "Myself, I sometimes wonder why I bother?" Myself replies with a shrug : "What else would you be doing?"

This altercation is just about to get ugly when one of my three readers, Mark Morrison phones to say that we should go and have lunch. I leave it there and and leave this here with a belated joke: Why did the dyslexic gay guy come to the World Cup? To blow a Zuluvela of course!