My parents live on my brother Abrie's farm near Hazyview. That's about 400km from Joburg and I'm going there tomorrow.
Initially the plan was to rustle up the usual suspects and go as a group ... my brother has a backpacker facility on the farm. After initial excitement about the prospect my so-called friends began cancelling on me ... but all was fine ... The back-up plan was that my sister Emily and her kids would go ... then Emily cancelled yesterday.
A visit to my elderly parents is really long overdue ... I was last there two years ago ... so I decide I will go alone and book a ticket to the somewhat pompously named Kruger International outside Nelspruit in the Lowveld. The last time I was there it looked more like the Kruger Backwater, but that was some time ago and things change ... sometimes for the better ... one can only hope.
With the main leg of my trip taken care of I phone my brother Abrie to hear if he'll come and fetch me ... no problem ... farmers are always looking for an excuse to go to the nearest big town.
Now it's time to train my considerable intellect on the vexing problem of getting to the airport from my house ... I am loathe to ask one of my so-called friends to take me and averse to spending a fortune on a real taxi ... that means public transport in the form of minibus taxis...
When I faced with the same problem coming back from Oyster Bay I even wrote a blog about the lack of public transport to and from OR Tambo International ... your gateway to the nearest traffic jam ... but that was before I knew about the only 'real' public transport here.
A kindly reader then sketched the route for me and said a trip to the airport should come in below R20 if you know where you are going ... So once again I'm faced with a three-leg voyage before I can embark on the second leg of my real trip.
First I have to get to Park Station in Joburg Central ... from there I must take another taxi to Kempton Park and from there another one to the airport. I'll start out early....
Now Hazyview is somewhat of a tourist destination itself. In itself it has all the charm of a gigantic but poorly planned shopping mall, but there are more types of accommodation to suit every pocket and people use it as a base-camp to explore the many natural delights of the Lowveld about which I will write at length once I am there.
Where am I going with this blog? That is my more immediate concern ... my view has indeed become very hazy about that. I could swear I had a point when I started out... seems to have deserted me ... I'll just publish and be damned .... and such a poor piece on top of Rian Malan's must-read piece of earlier today... I'm shooting myself in the foot. What the hell maybe inspiration will hit me in Hazyview .... and then again not ... the locals call it Lazyview in the Slowveld...
Welcome to Rachel Tolton... and Hazyview.
Showing posts with label Oyster Bay. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Oyster Bay. Show all posts
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Fouriesburg and a taxi nightmare
Fouriesburg is a dusty three-bar town in the Eastern Free State. You will notice that I base my tourism on the number of bars in a town. If you can count them it is my kind of a place. Fouriesburg has few attractions as town in itself, but it is situated in one of the most beautiful corners of South Africa. It lies between magnificent sandstone formations at the foot of the Drakensberg (Maluti in seSotho) mountain range, about 8km from Lesotho and about 30km from the much more (too) touristic Clarens.
My friends John and Amanda have a weekend house here, so the Oyster Bay crowd, with some new additions in the form of Charli, Hannah and Carol decamped from Joburg for the weekend. For future reference I decided to name everyone here. They are : Jan (previously called the Laughing One), Madelein (previously the Laughing One's Chick), Vince (Writer), George (Fridge Guy), John (Lawyer), Amanda (no previous mention) and me. Charli debuted on my fist blog as the Wannabe Lawyer.
For the outdoors enthusiast Fouriesburg has much to offer. From rock-climbing to horse-riding, day walks, scenic drives ... you name it. Since I'm not much of an outdoors enthusiast myself I quickly ran out of possible things that the typical outdoors enthusiast might be interested in. But there is more outdoors here than you could reasonably shake the proverbial stick at, or in my case wave a wine glass at and I'm sure that there will be something for everyone.
Incidentally, the road between Fouriesburg and Clarens is one of the most beautiful in the country and the world perhaps. For more things to do in Fouriesburg see my guide about things to do in Oyster Bay.
As we speak, my friends are busy engaging with the outdoors. They invited, nay pleaded with me to come along but I said no. I pointed out to Jan that my time is no longer my own and that I have to satisfy the thirst of my 13 blog followers first and not be tempted by the lure of excursions into the mountains on foot. I must admit that I am running out of excuses for not going on these walks. I think last time I feigned a pain in the knee ... I was shot through it remember!
Anyway I walk enough in Joburg, not having a car and being reliant on public transport and taxis to get around.
The last minibus taxi I took was straight out of Stephen King. It had no tread on the tyres, and only the right front brake pad seemed to be working, but the driver made no allowance for this fact at all when it came to the speed he was driving at.
It was also raining and every time the driver braked, it would slide across two lanes to the right before coming to a standstill. When we almost smashed into the back of an oblivious police van, most passengers interrupted their fervent prayers to loudly voice their concerns ... this included me .... the atheist.
I still maintain that minibus taxis converted more people to prayer than any number of missionaries ever could. They are probably the most religious places in South Africa.
After the police van incident most passengers got off when the taxi stopped next. I followed suit and took a municipal bus ... which happened to come along at the right moment. Nobody knows exactly when or where these things run, but they are there. After the taxi it was a pleasant experience. The driver took my R6 without issuing a ticket and I did not mind.
This morning just before waking up I dreamt that I was on that taxi again ... but when I wanted to get off, the driver told me with a grin: "This is like the Hotel California. Once you get on ... you can never get off."
I woke up in terror.
Next time I will blog about a taxi user's etiquette.
My friends John and Amanda have a weekend house here, so the Oyster Bay crowd, with some new additions in the form of Charli, Hannah and Carol decamped from Joburg for the weekend. For future reference I decided to name everyone here. They are : Jan (previously called the Laughing One), Madelein (previously the Laughing One's Chick), Vince (Writer), George (Fridge Guy), John (Lawyer), Amanda (no previous mention) and me. Charli debuted on my fist blog as the Wannabe Lawyer.
For the outdoors enthusiast Fouriesburg has much to offer. From rock-climbing to horse-riding, day walks, scenic drives ... you name it. Since I'm not much of an outdoors enthusiast myself I quickly ran out of possible things that the typical outdoors enthusiast might be interested in. But there is more outdoors here than you could reasonably shake the proverbial stick at, or in my case wave a wine glass at and I'm sure that there will be something for everyone.
Incidentally, the road between Fouriesburg and Clarens is one of the most beautiful in the country and the world perhaps. For more things to do in Fouriesburg see my guide about things to do in Oyster Bay.
As we speak, my friends are busy engaging with the outdoors. They invited, nay pleaded with me to come along but I said no. I pointed out to Jan that my time is no longer my own and that I have to satisfy the thirst of my 13 blog followers first and not be tempted by the lure of excursions into the mountains on foot. I must admit that I am running out of excuses for not going on these walks. I think last time I feigned a pain in the knee ... I was shot through it remember!
Anyway I walk enough in Joburg, not having a car and being reliant on public transport and taxis to get around.
The last minibus taxi I took was straight out of Stephen King. It had no tread on the tyres, and only the right front brake pad seemed to be working, but the driver made no allowance for this fact at all when it came to the speed he was driving at.
It was also raining and every time the driver braked, it would slide across two lanes to the right before coming to a standstill. When we almost smashed into the back of an oblivious police van, most passengers interrupted their fervent prayers to loudly voice their concerns ... this included me .... the atheist.
I still maintain that minibus taxis converted more people to prayer than any number of missionaries ever could. They are probably the most religious places in South Africa.
After the police van incident most passengers got off when the taxi stopped next. I followed suit and took a municipal bus ... which happened to come along at the right moment. Nobody knows exactly when or where these things run, but they are there. After the taxi it was a pleasant experience. The driver took my R6 without issuing a ticket and I did not mind.
This morning just before waking up I dreamt that I was on that taxi again ... but when I wanted to get off, the driver told me with a grin: "This is like the Hotel California. Once you get on ... you can never get off."
I woke up in terror.
Next time I will blog about a taxi user's etiquette.
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Oyster Bay wrap-up, meeting Jack Parow and public transprt at OR Tambo International
WARNING: THIS WILL BE ABOUT AS RAMBLING AS MY TRIP BACK FROM OYSTER BAY.
The Fridge Guy, George, the Writer Vince's Chick, Adri and I left Oyster Bay at 5:15 in the morning to get to the Port Elizabeth airport in time for their 8am flight. Mine was scheduled for 10am so I was in good time.
At 6am we could be observed fixing a flat tyre in the rain. Nevertheless we still got to the airport in time for their flight and I had time on my hands to reflect on the time in Oyster Bay so I compiled a mental list of 10 things to do when in Oyster Bay.
1) Take good friends along. That is unless you yearn to be very much alone.
2) Braai a lot, be it fish or meat. Add good friends and wine and you won't believe how much you will enjoy Oyster Bay.
3) Relax ... there is not much else to do. If your idea of relaxing is to take long walks on semi-deserted beaches with soft white sand, Oyster Bay is the place to be.
4) Go and enjoy the splendid view from Bar-Nic-Les over a long tall cool one. Take friends along or make new ones there, but not when they are watching rugby.
5) Go to St Francis for shopping and lunch at Christie's Catch. Eat the hake and chips and buy the fresh catch of the day to braai later.
6) Take scenic drives and walks around St Francis and Oyster Bay.
7) Read a book or talk shit to your friends (highly recommended).
8) Relax (see 3)
9) Relax (see 3 and 8)
10) Relax (see all of the above)
That was the Oyster Bay wrap-up, no on to Jack Parow.
Until last week Wednesday I had no idea that their was a creature in existence who went by the name of Jack Parow. Then I chanced on an interview with him in the 1Time airline's in-flight magazine. Just by the way 1Time is my budget airline of choice in South Africa. They are always friendly and on time and as much as is possible with a budget airline, fun to fly with.
So then I learned that Jack Parow was an Afrikaans rap star of sorts. I don't like rap and dis not think Afrikaans even lent it to that genre. Jack tried, but failed to convince me otherwise in the magazine interview. I shrugged and forgot about him by the time I started reading the next article which I cannot remember what it was about.
Then on Friday around the lunch table Jack came up for discussion again and I was surprised that my friends (same age and older than me) knew about him and were even able to quote his lyrics. After my initial surprise, I forgot about Jack again until Saturday during half-time of the Sharks game when Nic the barman (Bar-Nic-Les geddit?) played Jack's current hit "Cooler than you or me" or something like that.
The song, if you can call anything by a rapper a song, mocks the self-satisfied middle-class people 'who have made it' in their own minds. The very types sitting in the bar and irritating me by filling the air with their impotent testosterone dregs. I immediately became a fan of Jack Parow as I saw their discomfort in the face while listening to the track.
Then while waiting for my flight, who should walk in but Jack Parow himself. I invite him to join my table and he accepts graciously. Unfortunately it is almost boarding time for me and I just have time to tell him how I became his oldest fan and he thinks that it is 'cool'. He also reminds me that we live in a small country then my flight is called.
On the flight my hopes to score a lift into town from one of my fellow passengers fade fast. The lady next to me is reading an Afrikaans Christian self-help book called 'n Doelgerigte Lewe (A goal orientated life) and she is going to Pretoria anyway.
On arrival in Joburg I momentarily believe that my incredible run of luck was continuing as someone taps me on the shoulder and calls me by my name. His name is Luke and he was one of my clients from the time I managed a gay bar in Melville. He says his sister is coming to fetch him and maybe she could pick me up as well.
It turns out that the sister is also going to Pretoria first, so I decide to investigate the public transport from the airport into Joburg. The short result of my investigation reveals that there is none. The long result is exactly the same.
I spot the shuttle service of a hotel chain and decide to book a room in one of their branches near Melville, take the shuttle and disappear at the hotel entrance. Alas, the shuttle only operates between their airport branch and the airport.
Then I take an un-metered taxi for a negotiated R300. He wanted R350 but immediately agreed when I offered R300, making me regret that I did not 0ffer R250 as an opening bid. And that is how I got back to Melville where I am happy to be back in my natural habitat
The Fridge Guy, George, the Writer Vince's Chick, Adri and I left Oyster Bay at 5:15 in the morning to get to the Port Elizabeth airport in time for their 8am flight. Mine was scheduled for 10am so I was in good time.
At 6am we could be observed fixing a flat tyre in the rain. Nevertheless we still got to the airport in time for their flight and I had time on my hands to reflect on the time in Oyster Bay so I compiled a mental list of 10 things to do when in Oyster Bay.
1) Take good friends along. That is unless you yearn to be very much alone.
2) Braai a lot, be it fish or meat. Add good friends and wine and you won't believe how much you will enjoy Oyster Bay.
3) Relax ... there is not much else to do. If your idea of relaxing is to take long walks on semi-deserted beaches with soft white sand, Oyster Bay is the place to be.
4) Go and enjoy the splendid view from Bar-Nic-Les over a long tall cool one. Take friends along or make new ones there, but not when they are watching rugby.
5) Go to St Francis for shopping and lunch at Christie's Catch. Eat the hake and chips and buy the fresh catch of the day to braai later.
6) Take scenic drives and walks around St Francis and Oyster Bay.
7) Read a book or talk shit to your friends (highly recommended).
8) Relax (see 3)
9) Relax (see 3 and 8)
10) Relax (see all of the above)
That was the Oyster Bay wrap-up, no on to Jack Parow.
Until last week Wednesday I had no idea that their was a creature in existence who went by the name of Jack Parow. Then I chanced on an interview with him in the 1Time airline's in-flight magazine. Just by the way 1Time is my budget airline of choice in South Africa. They are always friendly and on time and as much as is possible with a budget airline, fun to fly with.
So then I learned that Jack Parow was an Afrikaans rap star of sorts. I don't like rap and dis not think Afrikaans even lent it to that genre. Jack tried, but failed to convince me otherwise in the magazine interview. I shrugged and forgot about him by the time I started reading the next article which I cannot remember what it was about.
Then on Friday around the lunch table Jack came up for discussion again and I was surprised that my friends (same age and older than me) knew about him and were even able to quote his lyrics. After my initial surprise, I forgot about Jack again until Saturday during half-time of the Sharks game when Nic the barman (Bar-Nic-Les geddit?) played Jack's current hit "Cooler than you or me" or something like that.
The song, if you can call anything by a rapper a song, mocks the self-satisfied middle-class people 'who have made it' in their own minds. The very types sitting in the bar and irritating me by filling the air with their impotent testosterone dregs. I immediately became a fan of Jack Parow as I saw their discomfort in the face while listening to the track.
Then while waiting for my flight, who should walk in but Jack Parow himself. I invite him to join my table and he accepts graciously. Unfortunately it is almost boarding time for me and I just have time to tell him how I became his oldest fan and he thinks that it is 'cool'. He also reminds me that we live in a small country then my flight is called.
On the flight my hopes to score a lift into town from one of my fellow passengers fade fast. The lady next to me is reading an Afrikaans Christian self-help book called 'n Doelgerigte Lewe (A goal orientated life) and she is going to Pretoria anyway.
On arrival in Joburg I momentarily believe that my incredible run of luck was continuing as someone taps me on the shoulder and calls me by my name. His name is Luke and he was one of my clients from the time I managed a gay bar in Melville. He says his sister is coming to fetch him and maybe she could pick me up as well.
It turns out that the sister is also going to Pretoria first, so I decide to investigate the public transport from the airport into Joburg. The short result of my investigation reveals that there is none. The long result is exactly the same.
I spot the shuttle service of a hotel chain and decide to book a room in one of their branches near Melville, take the shuttle and disappear at the hotel entrance. Alas, the shuttle only operates between their airport branch and the airport.
Then I take an un-metered taxi for a negotiated R300. He wanted R350 but immediately agreed when I offered R300, making me regret that I did not 0ffer R250 as an opening bid. And that is how I got back to Melville where I am happy to be back in my natural habitat
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Being a SeWammba about 20km from his destination
My friend The Writer admonished me sternly that I should try to be a focused writer rather than be a somewhat meandering bloggist in my writing. I took his advice to heart. So here goes.
My friend the Canadian Pep Talk Man admonished me sternly that I should not call myself an uWammba in isiZulu, but rather use the SeSotho word for a self-employed white Afrikaans middle-aged man with a BA degree, SeWammba. I took his advice to heart so here goes.
I am a SeWammba sitting at Dirkie's Diner in Jeffreys Bay some 120okm from my natural habitat, Melville. I came here specifically because it is known as an Afrikaner holiday enclave so I wanted to study my own people in their natural habitat. So far so bad, there are not many of them in evidence and with nobody specific to talk to I will tell you all I know about Jeffreys Bay.
I think I have already done that here above, but I will add that it apparently is a world-renowned surfing paradise and that the ribroll I had at Dirkie's Diner was worth the R40 that I am going to pay for it, but just barely. I am also drinking a reasonably priced (R11) Merlot/Shiraz blend from Swartland Winery.
But I am meandering. Here I am as a SeWammba in Jeffreys Bay. I got here by taking a plane from Joburg to Port Elizabeth. I originally wanted to spend the day in Port Elizabeth because it markets itself as "The Friendly City". I wanted to see just how friendly it was exactly. I studied for my BA degree in the town, but have not been back much.
On the plane I started talking to the poor guy sitting next to me and he told me he was going home to Plettenberg Bay some 200km down the drag called the Garden Route, which is a rich man's hangout.
He offered me a lift to Humansdorp which is some 20km from where I am supposed to be going, Oyster Bay. Then the lady sitting behind me bought me a gin and tonic when the plane couldn't handle my credit card's chip. I did ask them beforehand if they accepted credit cards and they did reply in the affirmative. She bought me a drink and offered me a lift to Jefffreys Bay which is also about 20km from Oyster Bay. I declined the rich guy's offer of Humansdorp and took the lady's Jeffreys Bay one.
But then I ran into my first ex-wife and she said she would take me to St Francis Bay, also about 20km from Oyster Bay.
My first ex is still thinking of me as a uWammba instead of a SeWammba and I can hardly blame her. I only changed my status today.
We had a rather terse and depressing conversation about my status and my prospects and when she had to stop to put in petrol in Jeffreys Bay I got off at Dirkie's Diner. I do not need to be reminded that I am in the shit and that my prospects are ... iffy.
So I think all things considered that was rather to the point. In case my meanderings confused you, here it is again: I am a SeWammba stuck at about 20km from my destination. Did I mention Dirkie's Diner ... yes I did. That's it then.
My friend the Canadian Pep Talk Man admonished me sternly that I should not call myself an uWammba in isiZulu, but rather use the SeSotho word for a self-employed white Afrikaans middle-aged man with a BA degree, SeWammba. I took his advice to heart so here goes.
I am a SeWammba sitting at Dirkie's Diner in Jeffreys Bay some 120okm from my natural habitat, Melville. I came here specifically because it is known as an Afrikaner holiday enclave so I wanted to study my own people in their natural habitat. So far so bad, there are not many of them in evidence and with nobody specific to talk to I will tell you all I know about Jeffreys Bay.
I think I have already done that here above, but I will add that it apparently is a world-renowned surfing paradise and that the ribroll I had at Dirkie's Diner was worth the R40 that I am going to pay for it, but just barely. I am also drinking a reasonably priced (R11) Merlot/Shiraz blend from Swartland Winery.
But I am meandering. Here I am as a SeWammba in Jeffreys Bay. I got here by taking a plane from Joburg to Port Elizabeth. I originally wanted to spend the day in Port Elizabeth because it markets itself as "The Friendly City". I wanted to see just how friendly it was exactly. I studied for my BA degree in the town, but have not been back much.
On the plane I started talking to the poor guy sitting next to me and he told me he was going home to Plettenberg Bay some 200km down the drag called the Garden Route, which is a rich man's hangout.
He offered me a lift to Humansdorp which is some 20km from where I am supposed to be going, Oyster Bay. Then the lady sitting behind me bought me a gin and tonic when the plane couldn't handle my credit card's chip. I did ask them beforehand if they accepted credit cards and they did reply in the affirmative. She bought me a drink and offered me a lift to Jefffreys Bay which is also about 20km from Oyster Bay. I declined the rich guy's offer of Humansdorp and took the lady's Jeffreys Bay one.
But then I ran into my first ex-wife and she said she would take me to St Francis Bay, also about 20km from Oyster Bay.
My first ex is still thinking of me as a uWammba instead of a SeWammba and I can hardly blame her. I only changed my status today.
We had a rather terse and depressing conversation about my status and my prospects and when she had to stop to put in petrol in Jeffreys Bay I got off at Dirkie's Diner. I do not need to be reminded that I am in the shit and that my prospects are ... iffy.
So I think all things considered that was rather to the point. In case my meanderings confused you, here it is again: I am a SeWammba stuck at about 20km from my destination. Did I mention Dirkie's Diner ... yes I did. That's it then.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Being an uWammba, suffering from Relentless Self-Promotion Fatigue and a Floater
I am an uWammba. That is the isiZulu word for an unemployed white middle-aged man with a BA degree. For a variety of reasons these are not much sought-after qualities in the South African job market. Until last month I was a mere Wammba, I gained the honorific prefix 'u' after a rather nasty disagreement with my boss.
At that point I was a rather glum individual. My prospects seemed to dwindle faster than you can say increased overdraft. The media market in South Africa, where my Wammba skills were still in some demand, is also on a bit of a slippery slope - indeed as it is worldwide - and jobs are hard to come by.
In a typical South African response to the crisis I went to my favourite restaurant and started to drink and speak to random strangers about my dilemma. I was truly a lost soul which is a difficult position for an atheist to find himself in.
Among the strangers I spoke to, were two journalists from Belgium. The woman, it had to be the woman, saw my pain and after listening to my wide and truly comprehending analysis of South Africa, she commissioned two stories from me for the princely sum of 600 Euro.
She also convinced me of the need for more insightful stories about South Africa in Europe and the world at large. Something a bit different than the normal gloom and doom that is the staple of international news coverage of the place.
That is when my career as relentless self-promoter started. I made it my mission to promote me and my skills, presumed talents and whatever to a new person every single day. I started accepting random strangers as my friends on Facebook, indeed inviting them to direct more people to my blog. I accost anyone I see in my favourite restaurant who looks vaguely foreign or media related and ask them to help me find contacts overseas so that I could write for them.
That was about three weeks ago and I went at the task at full throttle. Today I am suffering from Relentless Self-Promotion Fatigue Syndrome (RSPFS). I keep on promoting my blog on Facebook, but that is all I have energy for today.
The Laughing One suggested I write a blog and in fact it is the highlight of my day to do it.
Anyway today is sort of unseasonably cold and miserable and I had difficulty dragging myself out of bed as the RSPFS had me in its icy grip.
Then I had to get up to go to the crapper and that is where my problem with the floater started. The damn thing just would not go away. I eventually got rid of it on the seventh flush and that is when I realised again one must hang in there until the right wave comes along for you.
So here I am back to relentless self-promotion.
Tomorrow I am flying to Port Elizabeth ... I bought the ticket when I was still a mere Wammba. The Laughing One, the Fridge Guy, the Writer, the Laughing One's Chick and me spent a memorable holiday in Oyster Bay in the Eastern Cape over December and decided to do a bit more of the same over Easter.
I shall write from a coffee shop or bar in Port Elizabeth tomorrow while waiting for the Laughing One to come and pick me up to go to Oyster Bay where he has a house.
At that point I was a rather glum individual. My prospects seemed to dwindle faster than you can say increased overdraft. The media market in South Africa, where my Wammba skills were still in some demand, is also on a bit of a slippery slope - indeed as it is worldwide - and jobs are hard to come by.
In a typical South African response to the crisis I went to my favourite restaurant and started to drink and speak to random strangers about my dilemma. I was truly a lost soul which is a difficult position for an atheist to find himself in.
Among the strangers I spoke to, were two journalists from Belgium. The woman, it had to be the woman, saw my pain and after listening to my wide and truly comprehending analysis of South Africa, she commissioned two stories from me for the princely sum of 600 Euro.
She also convinced me of the need for more insightful stories about South Africa in Europe and the world at large. Something a bit different than the normal gloom and doom that is the staple of international news coverage of the place.
That is when my career as relentless self-promoter started. I made it my mission to promote me and my skills, presumed talents and whatever to a new person every single day. I started accepting random strangers as my friends on Facebook, indeed inviting them to direct more people to my blog. I accost anyone I see in my favourite restaurant who looks vaguely foreign or media related and ask them to help me find contacts overseas so that I could write for them.
That was about three weeks ago and I went at the task at full throttle. Today I am suffering from Relentless Self-Promotion Fatigue Syndrome (RSPFS). I keep on promoting my blog on Facebook, but that is all I have energy for today.
The Laughing One suggested I write a blog and in fact it is the highlight of my day to do it.
Anyway today is sort of unseasonably cold and miserable and I had difficulty dragging myself out of bed as the RSPFS had me in its icy grip.
Then I had to get up to go to the crapper and that is where my problem with the floater started. The damn thing just would not go away. I eventually got rid of it on the seventh flush and that is when I realised again one must hang in there until the right wave comes along for you.
So here I am back to relentless self-promotion.
Tomorrow I am flying to Port Elizabeth ... I bought the ticket when I was still a mere Wammba. The Laughing One, the Fridge Guy, the Writer, the Laughing One's Chick and me spent a memorable holiday in Oyster Bay in the Eastern Cape over December and decided to do a bit more of the same over Easter.
I shall write from a coffee shop or bar in Port Elizabeth tomorrow while waiting for the Laughing One to come and pick me up to go to Oyster Bay where he has a house.
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