Not, I will not carrion comfort
Despair not feast on thee
Not untwist, slack they may be
These last strands of man in me
and cry I can no more
GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS (1844 - 1889)
Yesterday I had occasion to recall those words by one of my favourite English poets.
At about 2pm my connection went AWOL. I rebooted and rebooted to to the point of despair. I was fearing that something serious was wrong. Something serious going wrong almost invariably lead to spending serious money and that is something I am seriously trying to avoid at the moment.
Then I recall that some Arabs recently opened an internet cafe not far from where I was sitting and I run to them for help. These Arabs turn out not to be fully Arab, but Magrehbians from Morocco. They are very friendly and we speak French, something that I like because I do not often get to do it here.
I remember that I have met the owner of the establishment, Moustapha, at another bar/restaurant earlier this year. Moustapha says he is actually French and he assigns one of his underlings, Hisham, to attend to my problem.
Hisham spends quite a bit of time on the problem and does not seem to be making much headway which leads me beyond mere despair to raw panic, because he indicates that the problem might lie with the phone that I use as modem, because his phone works as a modem.
After some more time that I spend on the pavement smoking and reciting Hopkins to myself, Hisham comes with good news. The problem lay with my USB cable. He offers to replace the errant cable with a secondhand one that he happened to have at hand and that seemed to be working. What do I owe him for his time? Nothing. For the cable? Nada. For the excellent Marrakesh coffee I had while waiting? Niente, rien. Hisham and Moustapha know how to gain a loyal customer. I am now sitting in their establishment writing this.
ASIDE: There is a crazy guy who walks the streets of Melville aimlessly. He does not beg or do anything but walk the streets. Today he just took some time out of his busy schedule to come and laugh at me for a longish while.
There is a lot of investment going on in Melville at the moment as people try to position themselves to make a buck out of the Soccer World Cup. Apparently Melville has been named as one of Joburg's entertainment areas for the event. Moustapha hit the sweet spot with his IT Corner idea and I thought it would fail when I heard what they planned.
The place is bristling with more laptops and lattes than one would be wanting to shake an espresso at. The coffees and the laptops are operated by all ages, creeds and colours ... I mention colour only because there is a pierced, tattooed Goth girl in a rather disturbing black, purple and pink dress who is just ... disturbing.
Fortunately I put on my glasses to take a closer look and see stuff protruding from her nose. It looks like snot but in fact it is another piercing thing, but I am very sensitive about stuff like that and I return my gaze to my laptop to focus on the task at hand.
That happens to be to tell you more about Melville.
Further up the road (the entertainment area of Melville actually consists of one street, 7th Street) a French woman from Lyon opened a French restaurant that I thought would work. It did not. It is still going but just barely and she is aging by the day. Her idea was to introduce specialities from Lyon to the South African market. This did not go down well with the gourmands of Joburg. Their idea of French food is firmly rooted in Paris and they would not be tempted by anything from Lyon where they have never been.
The woman fortunately realised her mistake and adapted the menu to become more of a neighbourhood eatery rather than an upmarket restaurant. I just had the hake and chips there and it was excellent value for money at R39. I wish her well.
BREAK IN TRANSMISSION: I had to go and do some urgent networking with (former) TV journalist Mike Cadman. I thought he would have the international media contacts that I so badly want to pitch for as a World Cup surround sound stringer. But Mike is now writing a book on the looming water crisis in South Africa and in his own words " sort of getting out of being a street hack" and he can't really help me. So we just have a beer or two together and he does give me networking leads.
Melville is to a large extent a microcosm of South Africa. A melting pot of everybody. I just came from dinner with friends at a Japanese sushi bar and with an excellent teppenyaki (their spelling ) chef. He and everybody else there are all Chinese.
My favourite networking spot is a Portuguese restaurant run by Afrikaans lesbians.
But more importantly, like South Africa itself, Melville is always hurtling headlong into disaster but somehow always manages to pull itself together and make a dramatic U-turn right on the brink of the abyss.
That was that for today.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
A note on editing problems
Since I'm doing all of this on the fly there is a risk of editing problems. I cannot on DAMN WINDOWS VISTA do something in another application and copy and paste to the blog. So I run a spellcheck but that is what I can do. If the spellcheck does not pick the problem up it goes unnoticed like: "I see the sagging of the face". It should have been the sagging of their faces.
Bare wit me.
Bare wit me.
I am devoid of ideas so I look at the newspapers and tell an old joke about a rich black guy in Ventersdorp.
Predictably the inflamed racial tensions in Ventersdorp where Eugene Terre'blanche was murdered make front page news across the board.
The Star's headline is: "'Killer' given hero's send-off". Daily Sun leads with: "COOL IT!" and a subhead that reads: "Cops step in as rival groups scuffle outside murder court!" Well there you have it ... the news.
The Daily Sun is Africa's biggest newspaper with a circulation of 560 000 buyers daily. Multiply that by about 7 and you get the readership. I always maintain that if you want to really know what is going on in South Africa outside the predominantly white urban suburbs, where people drink cafe latte and complain about crime, you have to read Daily Sun.
It tells the stories of the majority of the people of this country and what stories they have! Here are some samples from today's edition.
"Free beef meals" on page 2 is about a cow being struck by a car in a hit-and-run incident in Mabopane, north of Pretoria. No sooner did it hit the ground than it was slaughtered by residents.
"Residents armed with knives, pangas and axes began to cut chunks from the dead animal and took the meat home for an Easter Monday feast!"
The cops and the animal welfare organisation the SPCA tried to stop the carnage but "the people chased them away". Nobody was going to get between them and a piece of fresh meat.
Then the page 3 lead: "ONE-NIGHT STAND DAD!"
"He believes he has more than 25 children ... but he has never seen any of them! because this huge family were all fathered with different women - on one-night stands!
"I will recognise my kids," said the lonely father with the big family. "If they bite the nails of their left hand, they are mine!"
Now Tshepo Senyane (49) wants his kids back. He says old age has caught up with him and he is no longer handsome ... and his picture confirms this.
Then there is a story about a fire "eating" a church and so on.
The letters page gives Terre'blanche short shrift, with most writers being of the opinion that he got what he deserved and the question of racism is hotly debated, but solely from the perspective that it is the exclusive preserve of whites against blacks.
In fact the newspapers depressed me even further so here is my old joke about a black guy in a bar in Ventersdorp:
So this black guy walks into an all-white bar in Ventersdorp and despite the grumbling of the farmers collected there he proceeds to order himself a double Johnny Walker Black. He takes it in one gulp and declares loudly:
"I have R30 million in the bank, I drive a Porsche, Ferrari and a Merc SLK 500 and I only fuck white women!"
The grumbling among the farmers gets distinctly louder but nobody does anything.
The black guy orders another double and repeats his statement with special emphasis on the only fucking white women part.
Once again the grumbling increases in pitch but nobody does anything.
The black guy repeats the performance again and when he realises that he will not get more than grumbling out of the farmers, he pays up and leaves.
As soon as he is out of the door one farmer pipes up with: "Well if I was that rich I would also only fuck white women."
Cheers for today.
The Star's headline is: "'Killer' given hero's send-off". Daily Sun leads with: "COOL IT!" and a subhead that reads: "Cops step in as rival groups scuffle outside murder court!" Well there you have it ... the news.
The Daily Sun is Africa's biggest newspaper with a circulation of 560 000 buyers daily. Multiply that by about 7 and you get the readership. I always maintain that if you want to really know what is going on in South Africa outside the predominantly white urban suburbs, where people drink cafe latte and complain about crime, you have to read Daily Sun.
It tells the stories of the majority of the people of this country and what stories they have! Here are some samples from today's edition.
"Free beef meals" on page 2 is about a cow being struck by a car in a hit-and-run incident in Mabopane, north of Pretoria. No sooner did it hit the ground than it was slaughtered by residents.
"Residents armed with knives, pangas and axes began to cut chunks from the dead animal and took the meat home for an Easter Monday feast!"
The cops and the animal welfare organisation the SPCA tried to stop the carnage but "the people chased them away". Nobody was going to get between them and a piece of fresh meat.
Then the page 3 lead: "ONE-NIGHT STAND DAD!"
"He believes he has more than 25 children ... but he has never seen any of them! because this huge family were all fathered with different women - on one-night stands!
"I will recognise my kids," said the lonely father with the big family. "If they bite the nails of their left hand, they are mine!"
Now Tshepo Senyane (49) wants his kids back. He says old age has caught up with him and he is no longer handsome ... and his picture confirms this.
Then there is a story about a fire "eating" a church and so on.
The letters page gives Terre'blanche short shrift, with most writers being of the opinion that he got what he deserved and the question of racism is hotly debated, but solely from the perspective that it is the exclusive preserve of whites against blacks.
In fact the newspapers depressed me even further so here is my old joke about a black guy in a bar in Ventersdorp:
So this black guy walks into an all-white bar in Ventersdorp and despite the grumbling of the farmers collected there he proceeds to order himself a double Johnny Walker Black. He takes it in one gulp and declares loudly:
"I have R30 million in the bank, I drive a Porsche, Ferrari and a Merc SLK 500 and I only fuck white women!"
The grumbling among the farmers gets distinctly louder but nobody does anything.
The black guy orders another double and repeats his statement with special emphasis on the only fucking white women part.
Once again the grumbling increases in pitch but nobody does anything.
The black guy repeats the performance again and when he realises that he will not get more than grumbling out of the farmers, he pays up and leaves.
As soon as he is out of the door one farmer pipes up with: "Well if I was that rich I would also only fuck white women."
Cheers for today.
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
Monday, April 5, 2010
A song by a buffoon kills a buffoon and revives a dying organisation
Often in history seemingly insignificant events have larger and equally often catastrophic consequences.
In his powerful novel The Master of Petersburg JM Coetzee describes the impenetrable stupidity and denseness of the young leader of the revolutionary movement in the city as being that of Baal. I could unfortunately not find the exact quote on the net. But Baal was the stone god of the Philistines and nothing describes Julius Malema better.
I have been trying to make light of the buffoon Julius, but events over the weekend are forcing me to look at this stone god of the Philistines a bit deeper. If my discourse becomes incoherent forgive me, but that is the power of the man. He addles the minds of his supporters and detractors alike. So let us look at him as far as is humanly possible.
He was duly dragged to court about this blatant hate speech which is forbidden by South African law. A High Court interdict against the singing of the song was also duly obtained. So far so bad, but then things got worse.
On Saturday Eugene Terre'blanche, the leader of the white supremacist Afrikaner Weerstandbeweging (Afrikaner resistance movement) a small and largely irrelevant grouping, was murdered on his farm. The motive for the murder was apparently a dispute with one of his farm labourers over an unpaid wage of R300 (about 30 Euro). The alleged killers were a 21-year-old and a 15-year-old.
Now I have no connection with the buffoon Terre'blanche or his silly organisation. As I said they were a largely irrelevant part of the South African political landscape. A remnant of the 'old South Africa' that would have disappeared by themselves in a couple of years.
However, now Baal and his song and the murder have put them back on the road to recovery. The reason for this is that most white South Africans, especially Afrikaners (Boers), have rural or farming roots. I myself have elderly parents living on a farm and I am often worried about their security.
At the same time there has been a continuing series of very violent attacks on farmers, especially the elderly, ever since the hold on power by whites began slipping. That was in the middle to late 80s and not with the release of Nelson Mandela in 1990.
So the 'historic struggle song' as the ANC wants to defend it in their appeal against the ban on the singing of it touched a very raw nerve indeed and the consequences are yet to be seen.
Meanwhile Malema has been singing it at Mugabe's Zanu-PF rallies, saying the court interdict did not apply there. Baal dressed in full Zany-PF regalia.
But to conclude. South Africa has been on the the brink of the abyss many times since the release of Mandela and somehow sanity always prevails just when most people think that everything is lost. Let us live in hope that it would do so again and that Baal would be sidelined by the organisation that keeps him relevant.
In his powerful novel The Master of Petersburg JM Coetzee describes the impenetrable stupidity and denseness of the young leader of the revolutionary movement in the city as being that of Baal. I could unfortunately not find the exact quote on the net. But Baal was the stone god of the Philistines and nothing describes Julius Malema better.
I have been trying to make light of the buffoon Julius, but events over the weekend are forcing me to look at this stone god of the Philistines a bit deeper. If my discourse becomes incoherent forgive me, but that is the power of the man. He addles the minds of his supporters and detractors alike. So let us look at him as far as is humanly possible.
- He does not have the interests of his ignorant followers at heart. Witness to this is his current visit to Zimbabwe where he is openly supporting one of the most deplorable regimes on the African continent, that of one of the last old time despots, Robbert Mugabe. That is despite the fact that South Africa is swamped on a daily basis with refugees from that godforsaken country. The disconnect is complete.
- He preaches nationalisation of everything, including my wallet it would seem (in true African despotic terms) while at the same time enriching himself to the tune of hundreds of millions of Rands with government tenders of which most are under legal and performance scrutiny. The last two bridges one of the companies of which he is a 'director' apparently collapsed shortly after they were built. The disconnect is complete.
- He has a well-publicised penchant for expensive clothing, whisky, cars, houses and such. The disconnect is complete, yet his followers follow.
- For the past month or so this president of the ANC Youth League has been going around singing an old 'struggle' song "Kill the farmer, kill the Boer". He adapted it by replacing "kill" with "shoot". (Note: I can't get rid of the bullet there so just read this as a new paragraph)
He was duly dragged to court about this blatant hate speech which is forbidden by South African law. A High Court interdict against the singing of the song was also duly obtained. So far so bad, but then things got worse.
On Saturday Eugene Terre'blanche, the leader of the white supremacist Afrikaner Weerstandbeweging (Afrikaner resistance movement) a small and largely irrelevant grouping, was murdered on his farm. The motive for the murder was apparently a dispute with one of his farm labourers over an unpaid wage of R300 (about 30 Euro). The alleged killers were a 21-year-old and a 15-year-old.
Now I have no connection with the buffoon Terre'blanche or his silly organisation. As I said they were a largely irrelevant part of the South African political landscape. A remnant of the 'old South Africa' that would have disappeared by themselves in a couple of years.
However, now Baal and his song and the murder have put them back on the road to recovery. The reason for this is that most white South Africans, especially Afrikaners (Boers), have rural or farming roots. I myself have elderly parents living on a farm and I am often worried about their security.
At the same time there has been a continuing series of very violent attacks on farmers, especially the elderly, ever since the hold on power by whites began slipping. That was in the middle to late 80s and not with the release of Nelson Mandela in 1990.
So the 'historic struggle song' as the ANC wants to defend it in their appeal against the ban on the singing of it touched a very raw nerve indeed and the consequences are yet to be seen.
Meanwhile Malema has been singing it at Mugabe's Zanu-PF rallies, saying the court interdict did not apply there. Baal dressed in full Zany-PF regalia.
But to conclude. South Africa has been on the the brink of the abyss many times since the release of Mandela and somehow sanity always prevails just when most people think that everything is lost. Let us live in hope that it would do so again and that Baal would be sidelined by the organisation that keeps him relevant.
Saturday, April 3, 2010
Watching rugby in Oyster Bay
So off to Bar-Nic-Les (barnacles geddit) to watch the Stormers (from Cape Town) against the Western Force (still from Perth).
The bar is filled with mostly overweight Afrikaners and they are pumped up with alcohol and testosterone. A different atmosphere from the one that I am used to in Melville. I remember why I am not overly fond of my own people when they are from a slightly rough background. They remind me ever so much of Julius Malema.
The Stormers lose the match narrowly and I am glad to be out of there. That was yesterday and I wanted to write about it then but my friend the Laughing One is a bit iffy about me using his laptop and I forgot my damn power supply in Joburg, so I am dependent on him. I am sure he thinks I will surf virus-infested porn sites on his computer. I will not, but sometimes one's friends have weird ideas about one.
Last night I convinced him that it depresses me being unable to blog. So today I am using the computer but have nothing to say and forgot what I wanted to say last night when I thought of something brilliant to say.
So now I am blogging off without having said anything.
The bar is filled with mostly overweight Afrikaners and they are pumped up with alcohol and testosterone. A different atmosphere from the one that I am used to in Melville. I remember why I am not overly fond of my own people when they are from a slightly rough background. They remind me ever so much of Julius Malema.
The Stormers lose the match narrowly and I am glad to be out of there. That was yesterday and I wanted to write about it then but my friend the Laughing One is a bit iffy about me using his laptop and I forgot my damn power supply in Joburg, so I am dependent on him. I am sure he thinks I will surf virus-infested porn sites on his computer. I will not, but sometimes one's friends have weird ideas about one.
Last night I convinced him that it depresses me being unable to blog. So today I am using the computer but have nothing to say and forgot what I wanted to say last night when I thought of something brilliant to say.
So now I am blogging off without having said anything.
Thursday, April 1, 2010
Thoughts about Julius Malema in Oyster Bay
I was thinking about beginning this entry with the astonishing news that Julius Malema said something sensible like: "Former white public servants should return to the service to speed up service delivery." However I realised that such a weak April Fool's joke would be spotted immediately.
That is enough thinking about Julius. I can already feel a deadly dullness creeping into my brain.
So I made it to Oyster Bay at about 8pm last night after I left my home at 8am. I was picked up in Jeffreys Bay by the Laughing One, His Chick and his two lovely daughters, the Very Clever One and the One Who Will Be Famous.
But before I get to Oyster Bay some last thoughts about Jeffreys. I did eventually meet some Afrikaners there. When they heard I was a journalist all they wanted me to write was ha the death penalty should be restored to curb violent crime.
I am all for the death penalty. If nothing else it will reduce the prison population and our prisons are fairly overpopulated. Will it will deter crime? The jury is out on that score and passions are likely to become inflamed on both sides of the divide on the issue so I will leave it alone.
So back to Oyster Bay. It is a gem of a place with only about 250 houses, a small convenience store and one bar. Perfect for getting away from it all. So perfect that we had to drive to St Francis Bay to do grocery shopping.
St Francis is a another picturesque rich man's hangout. A pretty girl in Jeffreys once remarked that St Francis is where Afrikaners go to speak English to each other. And St Francis is indeed as English as Jeffreys is Afrikaans. Although I did meet a Darkie businessman in Jeffreys who wanted to buy a property there. He said the town was changing and that many Darkies invested there. I did not see any other evidence of this, so I had to take his word for it.
Here in Oyster Bay we are keenly awaiting the arrival of the Writer an his Chick and the Fridge Guy. Tonight we will braai a delicious fish, a Geelbek I think, and have our witty conversations that nobody will remember tomorrow.
I will do my best to remember some of it. The Fridge Guy just arrived so that is me for today.
That is enough thinking about Julius. I can already feel a deadly dullness creeping into my brain.
So I made it to Oyster Bay at about 8pm last night after I left my home at 8am. I was picked up in Jeffreys Bay by the Laughing One, His Chick and his two lovely daughters, the Very Clever One and the One Who Will Be Famous.
But before I get to Oyster Bay some last thoughts about Jeffreys. I did eventually meet some Afrikaners there. When they heard I was a journalist all they wanted me to write was ha the death penalty should be restored to curb violent crime.
I am all for the death penalty. If nothing else it will reduce the prison population and our prisons are fairly overpopulated. Will it will deter crime? The jury is out on that score and passions are likely to become inflamed on both sides of the divide on the issue so I will leave it alone.
So back to Oyster Bay. It is a gem of a place with only about 250 houses, a small convenience store and one bar. Perfect for getting away from it all. So perfect that we had to drive to St Francis Bay to do grocery shopping.
St Francis is a another picturesque rich man's hangout. A pretty girl in Jeffreys once remarked that St Francis is where Afrikaners go to speak English to each other. And St Francis is indeed as English as Jeffreys is Afrikaans. Although I did meet a Darkie businessman in Jeffreys who wanted to buy a property there. He said the town was changing and that many Darkies invested there. I did not see any other evidence of this, so I had to take his word for it.
Here in Oyster Bay we are keenly awaiting the arrival of the Writer an his Chick and the Fridge Guy. Tonight we will braai a delicious fish, a Geelbek I think, and have our witty conversations that nobody will remember tomorrow.
I will do my best to remember some of it. The Fridge Guy just arrived so that is me for today.
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