I spend the whole morning trying to do just two things .... to connect to the internet to check my flight times and make up my mind about how I'm going to get to the airport. Last night I decided to go by 'public transport' ... minibus taxis.
This morning the idea seems slightly less appealing... It would involve a lot of walking and I have a Level 3 on the Baboon Scale hangover. It is also quite warm I realise when I go outside to leave for Nuno's where I know my internet connection would work. Up to then I spent two hours trying to go online without success.
Then to confuse and frustrate me even further Charles Moore phones to tell me two things ... Firstly that he counted 169 flags on cars on his way to work ... this is fantastic news ... my flagging campaign is clearly taking off ... remember a mere two or three weeks ago when we began our survey we counted only 64.
However Charles reckons that this jump in flags had nothing to do with me ... but rather with the fact that Bafana Bafana won their game against Colombia 2-1. The Star's headline reads: Delighted fans ignore chaos. And by the sound of it I was right again. It was a cheerful shambles with all of South Africa's idiosyncrasies on display .
'Ticket checkers' taking tickets and disappearing with them ... to sell on .... taking bribes to let some people in faster ... and at the wrong entrances and in general making sure that the seating arrangements inside the stadium became 'a cheerful shambles' and clearly despite this and the mammoth traffic jam to and from the stadium counted for nought ... a good time was had by all although it is reported that the vuvuzelas were deafening ... I will do a full blog on that South African idiosyncrasy soon.
The second thing Charles tells me is that he is trying to organise one of the work minibuses to take me to the airport ... but he can't guarantee anything ... This third option throws me completely ... 'public transport' ... private taxi ... or waiting for Charles ... and still I have no real idea when my flight is ...
So then I pack three longjohns, a pair of jeans, shampoo, toothbrush and perfume head for Nuno's ... oh yes and my laptop with power supply this time.
At Nuno's I establish that my flight is at 3:30pm. I ask the darkie waiters about taxi transport to the airport and they give me the lowdown ... which sounds slightly complicated ... but I'm ready to go ... Having plenty of time I have a breakfast and drink a cleansing beer. I am on holiday after all.
Then I begin arguing with myself. "I have the money to pay for the taxi and not having a car saves me a lot of money every month. Think down-payments, insurance, petrol and general maintenance," says one part of my brain.
"You are just lazy and/or afraid to leave the comfort zone of the one taxi route you use," says the other part.
It's a hung parliament and I am called upon to make a decision. I go with the latter view ... It would be the most interesting option ...
I begin walking and only then look at my watch and realise that I have to be at the airport an hour before departure ... Life made up my mind. I turn on my heel and phone Levi ... my regular taxi guy ... he wants R350 for the trip and we settle on R300 because I'm his 'customer'.
On my way to the airport I remember why I wanted to write the blog about going to Hazyview yesterday... I was because my brother Abrie threatened to come and fetch me with his micro-light in Nelspruit ... I did not speak to him again since ... so I'll just have to wait and see what form of transport the last leg of my trip would be... And I guess forgetting about it while writing yesterday's blog was extreme denialism ... But just In case ... I'm at the airport in Joburg now and knocking back two double gin and dry lemons... My plane is due now
Showing posts with label Baboon Scale. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Baboon Scale. Show all posts
Friday, May 28, 2010
Monday, March 29, 2010
The Baboon Scale
In the late 70s or early 80s PJ O'Rourke visited South Africa as part of his series Holidays in Hell. He listed all the problems facing apartheid South Africa and asked rhetorically what South Africans did in the face of such seemingly insurmountable obstacles. His answer: "They drink."
South Africa today faces equally daunting prospects.
Unemployment runs at anything between 24% or 45%. That is depending on whom you ask. The official rate is 24.3% but nobody really believes that number. In my own view it is closer to 35%.
Education is in a shambles after a disastrous dalliance with so-called Outcomes Based Education.
Skills levels amongst most of the unemployed are basically non-existent, meaning that they are unemployable.
After a vigorous drive to 'transform' the public service through affirmative action most of the middle management of the service are often found incapable of writing an actionable letter. This means that service delivery often grinds to a mushy halt exactly where policy is supposed to take effective shape.
Crime and corruption is rampant if not actually out of control.
Infrastructure is decaying faster than it can be fixed.
Julius Malema, HIV/Aids and other diseases.
That is to mention only a few of the problems that I can think of off the top of my head on a rainy Monday morning.
So what do South Africans do in the face of all of these problems? They drink.
This is a country where the previous minister of health drank her liver to hell, skipped the waiting list and got a new one which she then proceeded to drink to pieces again.
Here anti-hangover cures are regularly advertised on national TV and hard liquor is sold in plastic satchels to make it easy to smuggle into sporting and entertainment events.
It is also a country with a scientific scale to measure hangovers: The Baboon Scale:
Level 1: A feint dullness of the senses experienced mostly by non-regular drinkers after they had one glass of wine too many the previous night. Hardened drinkers cannot even remember when last they had a level 1. Should it occur to them they are likely to call in sick.
Level 2: Non-regular drinkers think of calling in sick after having three glasses of wine too many but they still go to work where you can often find them at the coffee machine saying: "Never again". Regular drinkers feel on top of their game.
Level 3: Non-drinkers call in sick. Regular drinkers go to work thinking: "Never again" but not saying it.
Level 4: Non-drinkers go to hospital and hardened drinkers think of calling in sick. They then take their favourite anti-hangover cure and go to work where they spend a lot of time around the coffee machine saying: "Never again".
Level 5: This is the last level where one can even think of pretending to be functional. Only the most hardened drinkers would go to work and then only for half a day. All other people call in sick.
Level 6: Hardened drinkers call in sick and most other people go to hospital.
Level 7: Hardened drinkers go to hospital. Other people are still there after the previous time.
Level 8: Hardened drinkers wake up and hope they are dead. Other people wake up and they are dead.
Level 9: Hardened drinkers wake up and they are dead.
So there you are ... the Baboon Scale to measure babelas or hangovers, of which I am the proud inventor.
That brings me somehow back to Julius Malema. The problem with Julius is that he would have been funny if he was not so dangerous with his populist crap he feeds to the uneducated masses. He reminds me of a young Hitler or Mussolini. In fact he will turn a Level 2 hangover or babelas into a Level 4 or 5 if you think about him too much. This is exactly what is happening to me now. So I am logging off to go and have a lie-down.
South Africa today faces equally daunting prospects.
Unemployment runs at anything between 24% or 45%. That is depending on whom you ask. The official rate is 24.3% but nobody really believes that number. In my own view it is closer to 35%.
Education is in a shambles after a disastrous dalliance with so-called Outcomes Based Education.
Skills levels amongst most of the unemployed are basically non-existent, meaning that they are unemployable.
After a vigorous drive to 'transform' the public service through affirmative action most of the middle management of the service are often found incapable of writing an actionable letter. This means that service delivery often grinds to a mushy halt exactly where policy is supposed to take effective shape.
Crime and corruption is rampant if not actually out of control.
Infrastructure is decaying faster than it can be fixed.
Julius Malema, HIV/Aids and other diseases.
That is to mention only a few of the problems that I can think of off the top of my head on a rainy Monday morning.
So what do South Africans do in the face of all of these problems? They drink.
This is a country where the previous minister of health drank her liver to hell, skipped the waiting list and got a new one which she then proceeded to drink to pieces again.
Here anti-hangover cures are regularly advertised on national TV and hard liquor is sold in plastic satchels to make it easy to smuggle into sporting and entertainment events.
It is also a country with a scientific scale to measure hangovers: The Baboon Scale:
Level 1: A feint dullness of the senses experienced mostly by non-regular drinkers after they had one glass of wine too many the previous night. Hardened drinkers cannot even remember when last they had a level 1. Should it occur to them they are likely to call in sick.
Level 2: Non-regular drinkers think of calling in sick after having three glasses of wine too many but they still go to work where you can often find them at the coffee machine saying: "Never again". Regular drinkers feel on top of their game.
Level 3: Non-drinkers call in sick. Regular drinkers go to work thinking: "Never again" but not saying it.
Level 4: Non-drinkers go to hospital and hardened drinkers think of calling in sick. They then take their favourite anti-hangover cure and go to work where they spend a lot of time around the coffee machine saying: "Never again".
Level 5: This is the last level where one can even think of pretending to be functional. Only the most hardened drinkers would go to work and then only for half a day. All other people call in sick.
Level 6: Hardened drinkers call in sick and most other people go to hospital.
Level 7: Hardened drinkers go to hospital. Other people are still there after the previous time.
Level 8: Hardened drinkers wake up and hope they are dead. Other people wake up and they are dead.
Level 9: Hardened drinkers wake up and they are dead.
So there you are ... the Baboon Scale to measure babelas or hangovers, of which I am the proud inventor.
That brings me somehow back to Julius Malema. The problem with Julius is that he would have been funny if he was not so dangerous with his populist crap he feeds to the uneducated masses. He reminds me of a young Hitler or Mussolini. In fact he will turn a Level 2 hangover or babelas into a Level 4 or 5 if you think about him too much. This is exactly what is happening to me now. So I am logging off to go and have a lie-down.
Friday, March 26, 2010
Boys night in Melville
Last night was boys' night. Now these normally sedate affairs were instituted by me, the Laughing One and the Lawyer mainly to get away from our girlfriends/wives for one night a week.
To begin with the three of us sat pensively staring into our beers and went home satisfied with the peace and quiet the moment afforded us. Normally quite early too, say at about 9pm at the latest. Three middle-aged men taking time out. That was then and that was good.
Since then we have been joined by the Writer, the Fridge Guy, the Poet, the Photographer, the Wannabe Lawyer (a woman to boot!) and things took a turn for the worse. Suddenly witty conversation became expected and jokes flowed faster than the booze. So don't ask me what the damn witty conversation was about. I cannot even remember how I got home!
So there we were ... eight middle-aged white people having fun (I suppose it was fucking fun because we repeat it every Thursday) in what the British and European media love to describe as one of the most dangerous cities in the world ... Johannesburg , South Africa.
Now make no mistake Joburg, Jozi, Joeys, whatever you want to call it is not for the fainthearted. I was once shot through my knee at 4:17am ... in my bed. So what. Shit happens and with the best trauma surgeons in the world on 24h call my knee was fixed up in no time whatsoever, I do not even have a damn limp to solicit sympathy with. I always have to force the little trauma into a conversation and since I don't have a fucking limp people look at me as if I am making it all up. They shrug and start talking about something else like hot cross bun recipes.
Anyway I still love the much-maligned Joburg, as I prefer to call it. In my vast travelling experience I only found one city that I prefer to it and that was Paris. But Paris is not for the poor. Since I happen to be damn poor Joburg is where I prefer to live.
The people are open-minded and friendly. That at least holds true in my suburb Melville. A true village in a big city. A bit like Soho, Greenwhich and Montmartre in their own ways. So I lie. I do not live in Joburg, I live in Melville. I resent leaving Melville which is probably a good thing because I don't have a car.
Since Joburg is a business centre (and the only so-called World City in Africa) people here are forced to network and be open about stuff. I picked up all the above people in bars and restaurants in Melville. I hate them because I can hardly think straight after last night's boys' night. My hangover measures a full 5 on the Baboon Scale (of which I am the inventor and on which I will expand on in my next blog if I remember to do it).
But back to Joburg. Apart from the friendly people the place is also full of trees. In fact it is the largest man-made forest in the world. I mention that because I like trees and I am always impressed by the number of them here where there were only one or two about a 100 years ago. No you will not catch me hugging a damn tree! I like them like I like the sea. Sort of nice to look at. Many trees mean many birds so if you are a birder bring your binoculars next time you visit Joburg.
Apart from people, trees and birds Joburg also offer a vast array of other attractions like museums, parks and shopping malls which I cannot say much about since they are outside Melville and I have never been to them. But I have it on good authority that they are splendid and well worth a visit.
I think this is enough blogging for one day. So to conclude last night was boys' night ... oh yes the damn Wannabe Lawyer gave me a lift home because I was a bit unsteady on my feet and had my laptop with me. One must not be stupid in Joburg ... like anywhere else.
To begin with the three of us sat pensively staring into our beers and went home satisfied with the peace and quiet the moment afforded us. Normally quite early too, say at about 9pm at the latest. Three middle-aged men taking time out. That was then and that was good.
Since then we have been joined by the Writer, the Fridge Guy, the Poet, the Photographer, the Wannabe Lawyer (a woman to boot!) and things took a turn for the worse. Suddenly witty conversation became expected and jokes flowed faster than the booze. So don't ask me what the damn witty conversation was about. I cannot even remember how I got home!
So there we were ... eight middle-aged white people having fun (I suppose it was fucking fun because we repeat it every Thursday) in what the British and European media love to describe as one of the most dangerous cities in the world ... Johannesburg , South Africa.
Now make no mistake Joburg, Jozi, Joeys, whatever you want to call it is not for the fainthearted. I was once shot through my knee at 4:17am ... in my bed. So what. Shit happens and with the best trauma surgeons in the world on 24h call my knee was fixed up in no time whatsoever, I do not even have a damn limp to solicit sympathy with. I always have to force the little trauma into a conversation and since I don't have a fucking limp people look at me as if I am making it all up. They shrug and start talking about something else like hot cross bun recipes.
Anyway I still love the much-maligned Joburg, as I prefer to call it. In my vast travelling experience I only found one city that I prefer to it and that was Paris. But Paris is not for the poor. Since I happen to be damn poor Joburg is where I prefer to live.
The people are open-minded and friendly. That at least holds true in my suburb Melville. A true village in a big city. A bit like Soho, Greenwhich and Montmartre in their own ways. So I lie. I do not live in Joburg, I live in Melville. I resent leaving Melville which is probably a good thing because I don't have a car.
Since Joburg is a business centre (and the only so-called World City in Africa) people here are forced to network and be open about stuff. I picked up all the above people in bars and restaurants in Melville. I hate them because I can hardly think straight after last night's boys' night. My hangover measures a full 5 on the Baboon Scale (of which I am the inventor and on which I will expand on in my next blog if I remember to do it).
But back to Joburg. Apart from the friendly people the place is also full of trees. In fact it is the largest man-made forest in the world. I mention that because I like trees and I am always impressed by the number of them here where there were only one or two about a 100 years ago. No you will not catch me hugging a damn tree! I like them like I like the sea. Sort of nice to look at. Many trees mean many birds so if you are a birder bring your binoculars next time you visit Joburg.
Apart from people, trees and birds Joburg also offer a vast array of other attractions like museums, parks and shopping malls which I cannot say much about since they are outside Melville and I have never been to them. But I have it on good authority that they are splendid and well worth a visit.
I think this is enough blogging for one day. So to conclude last night was boys' night ... oh yes the damn Wannabe Lawyer gave me a lift home because I was a bit unsteady on my feet and had my laptop with me. One must not be stupid in Joburg ... like anywhere else.
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