Day 53 – Friends of Friends

“Measure a friend by how far they will drive, without question, in the middle of the night to help you in a crisis.” Chandler

Just about everyone I know has a facebook account or profile, some more than one.

I also know a few people, and kids are excluded here, who refuse to take part in probably the greatest evolution of connectivity ever seen so far. People who jealously guard their privacy and have a very healthy cynicism of big corporatism and big brother. People who have something to hide. People who think that by them not having a facebook profile means they will be recognised by their peers as one who swims upstream, one who goes against the established order of things. The irony of these last few words is that unless you have a profile you won’t be recognised because no one will see your efforts in being different, no one will even think of you.

Just about everyone I know measures their standing and their pecking order by how many hundreds of ‘friends’ they have. I use the term ‘friends’ lightly. Up until quite recently I valued my past relationships with people that I shared a history with; but having facebooked for some years now has made me realize that, with the exception of the important people in my life who I share an ongoing relationship with – this is my disclaimer people!  - for some perhaps this is not reciprocated or felt.

Like you, facebook has allowed me to connect with some people that I knew from decades ago, people that were in my life at that time but have not been ever since. Initially I was intrigued by what they have been up to. But not anymore. I’m actually not interested in most of their stories. Most of them are mundane anyway. And I’m definitely over their pathetic status updates every few minutes. I don’t care. Does it show?

Us ‘friends’, we’re probably not going to get together for a social drink or meal, we probably will never speak over the phone. I probably won’t meet you at the airport when you fly in, you probably won’t stay at my house. And I don’t expect any of these things from you either. But…if we do meet and we actually get along still, in the flesh, then fantastic and I look forward to a great relationship with you.

I started this today thinking more along the lines of the complexity of facebook (and of course for the self important twats who tweet, the complexity of twitter). Have you ever stopped and applied a bit of brain power to just how friggin complicated the facebook programming must be. I am B.C. so I have neither idea nor any inclination to understand how it’s done. What I do know is this, somebody I went to primary school with decades ago, can link up with me from the other side of the world and in a few minutes can see pictures of my kids, of me and of my last camping trip, can see a complete list of people that I know, can see what interests me, what my favourite movie is, what I read, what I do, where I went to school and what on-line games I play. I can find out the same about him / her, using their contact / friend list I can link up with their mates and mates of their mates.  I can use my profile to tell the world via my status – either just to my friends or friends of my friends – what I had for breakfast, what I’m going to do today, what the weather is like, what the surf is like and what I’m going to have for dinner. I can declare my love to my wife, my family and when I’m drunk to my mates.  I can check into places so that you know where I am and I can see where you are. I can like pages that represent my personality and my taste. I can see what you like.

But I can’t smell you, I can’t see you laugh, I can’t see your tears. I can’t catch a lift with you, we can’t chat over a beer, we can’t stand round the fire together. There is a certain distinctive irony in the term ‘social network’. Just my thoughts.

Until tomorrow.

Day 52 – Warm Beer & Headbutts

And so the wall from East to West will be built, dividing families but creating jobs and much needed prosperity to the poor, but not poor enough to not be able to afford a beer and a packet of crisps, council housed masses.

Or the English could just invade the northern territories, like they did all those years ago raping and pillaging the villages, drinking the whisky and just claim national rights over them. But they won’t because that action definitely won’t endear them to the politically correct sect within the soon to be Untitled Kingdom.

Imagine the scene of the English armies in their rumbling Challenger Two’s and their Typhoons doing seventy up the motorway (ok the Typhoons might be going a bit quicker) to take on the canny Scots at Hadrian’s wall. Every mile or two there will be a barrage of high visibility jacket clad policemen checking their tank’s insurance and license disks and behind them, perhaps a mile or two back, will be the millions of newsmen and photographers looking for the scoop and claiming war correspondent status at the press club.

Body armour clad soldiers bursting into sleeping houses, scaring the shit out of innocent but nevertheless Scottish civilians, in search of Highland Gold, preferably single malt. The revolting Scots deserve it they will reason. They have bought this upon themselves, they have chosen to speak Scotlish over our mother tongue, they have on occasion beaten us on the battlefields of….Wembley and even but more rarely on the hallowed grounds of Twickers. The bastards snigger at our warm flat beer and flat caps while they chug McEwans and headbutt each other. And if that’s not bad enough they have offended our homophobic sensitivities and stolen our tourists through their Edinburgh festival. This Scottish lot need to be a taught a lesson.

And so the advance of the English military machine will advance but only for forty hours a week, anything over that is overtime. They will advance between tea times and the compulsory stop for lunch. The red topped rags will headline ‘GENERAL TAKES IT IN THE REAR’. Sky News will debate this for days, images will loop and expert after expert will hold sway over the television succumbed masses. And still the advance north will continue. At Newcastle, the now primed for battle soldiers of the Queens Own will hand in their ammunition and weapons in case someone gets hurt and they will proceed with caution in single file, watching their step and tied together with a boy scouts toggle in case someone gets lost.

The fiery red haired Scots will of course laugh at the advancing and now weaponless armies to the South. They too will be in single file, for them their roads are too narrow to do it any other way. They will be holding their skirts down with one hand while trying to manage their rifle, their e mail enabled smart phone and pick their nose with the other. Training in this multi tasking would have been forgotten. Interviews given to the marauding and following miles behind in case our war correspondent insurance doesn’t cover it press will only be given in Scotlish, hidden in the words will be secret code that only Scots understand. Those behind enemy lines in England will be encouraged to revolt, “but we are already” they will say!

And so England and Scotland will not go to war. The Scots will keep their highlands, the poms their pebble beaches. They will agree to share the terrible weather. Whisky won’t be made in Milton Keynes, and the Scots won’t be revolting. An unease in the population will continue for generations to come, differences will be obvious, the pitch at Wembley will be destroyed again in the future and they will fight each other in the streets, especially in those streets with pubs in them.

Although it won’t quite be the United it will still be the Kingdom. Unless the Germans stick their nose into it. Then watch how quickly united they become.

More almost but not exactly war stories tomorrow. Until then.

Day 51 – English Whisky

Wednesday next week is the first of June. That will mark five months.

On the first of January this year I took the momentous decision to give up something I really enjoyed. I decided without much forethought that after eighteen years if I wanted to stink I would from now on rather shit in my pants. You see I gave up smoking. And I can honestly say that I have not had a drag or a sneaky one since. The tobacco companies are distraught with my decision and have been courting me very publicly via the press and through their smoke with us and be cool promotions at night clubs. They only made £27 BILLION last year and would really like to make some more next year. £27 BILLION!! Fuck me that’s a lot of money!

In a crowd of ten thousand I will go and stand next to the guy who is smoking. I enjoy the smell, just not on me anymore, and occasionally I let my small mind imagine what one cigarette would feel like. Yesterday was one of those days, I really felt like a ciggie. I even dreamed last night that I smoked one. That is sad I know but unlike others I have not reached absolute sadness levels, smokers are not vilified in my presence. I understand, I often envy them, I sympathise, with their weakness and it has to be said their craving for this vice.

There are a few upsides to not smoking. When you’re driving and now not smoking you don’t have to brush the ash off your clothes when it flicks back inside the open window. You don’t have to go stand outside the restaurant, shopping mall, or office in the pissing rain to get your fix. Your fingers don’t show a yellow tinge which is actually pretty disgusting. You can actually taste stuff and best of this is that you can smell stuff too, like coffee from the other side of the house. And although there are many more benefits, like perhaps your improved health and lower life insurance premiums, you actually keep money in your wallet for much longer.  Ah smoking, the good ‘ol days.

Other news being debated in today’s media warrants my two pennies worth. The Queen – of England in case you’re wondering – is worried about the possible break up of the United Kingdom. This concern stems from the Scots and more particularly their growing support for the Scottish National Party. The SNP wants autonomy for Scotland. I have a solution for both the queen and for Scotland and I plead of you, should you know a Scottish parliamentarian, to implore them to get in touch with me.

The framework of my solution goes like this, and is addressed to the English. It is not politically correct and will upset the tree huggers and probably the Scots.

Build a really big wall topped with electric fencing and razor wire from left to right, East to West across the northern part of England, about where Hadrian did his. Introduce a difficult to get visa system for Scots wanting to visit England and announce that all Scots in England presently should denounce their Scottish ancestry and accept English citizenship or they should leave the country within, say, 24 hours. Also, picket the European Union to not accept Scotland as part of the EU. Ban Scottish companies from trading in the now revised United Kingdom and start making English whisky in Milton Keynes.

And then sit back and watch the fireworks. What a show it will be. The SNP will implode in a heartbeat because even the most stupid of Scot, in his dress, will realize the folly of their patriotic endeavour. To the Scots – and let it be known that I am a fan of your whisky and of your landscapes – dry your eyes and grow up! There are bigger things to worry about. You get the benefit of your relationship with the English so know your place in the pecking order.

Since the World Cup in South Africa last year I have been more in tune with the goings on with FIFA. And only because they came here and bullied our pathetic government, even succeeding in temporarily changing the taxation laws, allowing them to take their ill gotten gains with them to their tax haven. And now, FIFA and its top knobs are embroiled in a corruption scandal. What a fucking surprise! Do those that make unpopular decisions – the corruption investigators - live in a friggin dream world or is it only because they didn’t get any of the booty. Why did it take so long to come to the fore? Ask just about any South African that had anything to do with the spectacle last year. Ask the schools that were left a legacy of shit after FIFA used their facilities as training pitches. Blatter must go as far as I am concerned. Smarmy bastard.

And finally, a point was made to me last night. How do we know that the rapture didn’t take place. We, those of us still on earth, could be the poor souls not raptured. Just a thought.

Until tomorrow.

Day 50 – Stick Bat Thing

Hell I’m competitive! This morning I took my son to play his first hockey match. The match was being played on the Bluff which is not too far from here (but to be honest it’s a bit like a different country. This is the place when in the beginning I wrote about the geographical pecking order of Durban suburbs….well the Bluff is quite close to the bottom). The other interesting thing about the Bluff, which I only discovered this morning, is that there appears to be no sports shop there. I know this because on arrival at 7.30am this morning I discovered that a gum guard was a compulsory piece of equipment for the kids. And because I didn’t know this I spent the best part of an hour going from mall to mall looking for one, I even looked hopefully in Checkers, reasoning that they would sell sports equipment of some nature. Well they don’t and seem to never have heard of gum guards. I wonder if this is because there is a large coloured community that live there and most of them don’t have any teeth and therefore don’t need to protect them? Any, I digress I eventually found a gum guard at a pharmacy when I went back to the first mall that I had been to. Such is life.

I really wasn’t expecting much at the hockey. He has maybe been to five hockey practices his whole life. We are trying to encourage him, and his sister, to play sport at every opportunity. So it’s the season for hockey here, hence his participation. And hence me being competitive, shouting at the top of my voice directions and guidance, cajoling and encouraging, telling him where to stand…all this from someone who has never played a game of hockey in his life! I don’t have to first idea of the rules I just know that you got to get the little ball into their goals. I get that bit. I can be very competitive about that.

Now I know that every parent, and I am not different, thinks that their child is the best in the team, that their child should be picked every week, that their child should play up front. But when other parents single your child out and come over, after the game, and congratulate him on his game you sort of know that he had a good game. To top it, he is a leftie but playing with a right handed stick bat thing. I don’t even know if you get left handed stick bat things. But he has adapted to it and on numerous occasions dribbled round the opposing team using both sides of the face of the bat thing. I think that’s quite impressive? It impressed me anyway.

Anyway, enough of the ‘my family is best’ sop story. Some positive news in this morning…I think I may have sold my car. I can’t hold my breath for much longer so if this peters out you know that I have expired….. Also, we had a pleasant experience at a restaurant in ‘texas last night (that in itself is positive enough news) – both kids were out, one at the circus and other sleeping over at her mates house so we went out for dinner. Service was a bit amateurish but the food was excellent. Even though the restaurant was just about full the food came in good time, the plates were warm, we could see in to the clean kitchen, the tables were set nicely. And. Most importantly, the wine was good, well priced and there was plenty of it! As a mate says, the beer monster almost got out of the cage…but being the mature well rounded person I went home after and promptly fell asleep! Today has been renamed to Dry Mouth Saturday. It seems that no amount of water will quench my thirst.

Another And. The sun is shining, it’s actually quite warm compared to how it has been this past week. Its unusual at this time of year in Durban to get rain, normally there is no wind, no rain, no humidity. It’s normally perfect. This past week though has been bloody miserable, raining just about every day, the wind yesterday was howling. Where this would normally be the best time to visit Dirtbin, last week would have disappointed you. Our rugby team, The Sharks play tonight and will hopefully win this encounter. And I shall be drinking beer with a bunch of like minded people. Can it get better than this Saturday in ‘Texas?

This is my last post on facebook for a while. I’m testing a theory. The book writing is still no closer. I have a row of seats reserved for us. I think we could make ourselves comfortable in them in due course.

Until tomorrow. 

Day 49 – Taking the Piss!

It’s Friday. That means beers with the boys. Today is a tad late for this rambling but I am here. Tomorrow is Day 50, which is an even greater milestone than Day 40. Tomorrow will be the last time for a while that I share this blog to my facebook page. I fully expect my reader numbers to go down, but, if I am an example of a facebook user I’m sure I will be less of an irritant to some others. I know people, for a decade or more, who post their shit every day, and whom I have blocked. So I know how they feel!

There has been a crisis since I last supped with the boys. One of the leaders has split with his wife. Eighteen years of marital bliss – admittedly he says, forced upon him through ‘extenuating circumstances’ - has come to an end. We, the boys are very sad for him, we support him regardless of our views, but nevertheless, we took the piss out of him proper! He is living a paupers life (in relative terms before the tree huggers get too worked up), in his office at his warehouse. The comforts of his well established home have been abandoned; his earnings that have contributed to this partnership have been significantly eroded. He is certain. There is no changing of his mind. That is respected.

I have another mate who is about to get married. I know he reads these words and as I value his friendship I need to choose my words carefully. Finding the right person to settle with is, for some, a life long quest. To put two people under the same roof forever, as it should be, is alone a challenge that many fail at. To ask two people to share the same toothbrush and god forbid, the same values in life is an even bigger ask. To add children into the mix only ramps up the pressure for both involved. But the reward far outweighs the sacrifice. To have someone to talk to in the darkest hours is beyond price. And even more valuable is to have someone who understands and supports you free of questions.

I am not in a perfect marriage so am definitely not a role model but, that famous but, we have lasted fifteen years because there is a general understanding about the important things in life! There is more important things than money, there is more important things than belongings. There is no more important thing than mutual respect. It is my opinion that without respect there is nothing.

To my mate who is about to get married, have respect, have patience, but most importantly, demand respect in return!

My idea of writing a book is gathering steam. Many have suggested a topic but I am yet to find one that grabs me by the nuts. Perhaps, a greater incentive is called for; already it is a pinky promise of front row seats at the awards dinner, an anonymous starring role as a fictional character in the story line, the riddance of your partner or spouse in the grisliest manner of your desire and of course a ride into the sunset with yours truly. What more can I offer? Perhaps a share of the profit? A share of the limelight? A share of the celebrityness? (Does JK Rowling have this to contend with?)

Starting out is such a challenge and to be honest, such a compromise!

Until tomorrow.

Day 48 – Long Haired Lesbians

I am no closer to having the urge to go out and write a book. Even I giggled at the absurdity of yesterdays blurb, I mean really, why would I be wondering about what the book writing conditions would be without even the urge to write. And as for peeing in the snow by the front door…I’m sure if I was clever about this I could install a temporary urinal type pipe thingy, perhaps in the kitchen to save myself going out in the cold again.

There I go again, off on a tangent. If I wasn’t going to use the proverbial log cabin in the snowy hills then I imagine writing a book on a mosquito and bug free white sanded and coral infested tropical island populated only by easy on the eye and hardly dressed but not ashamed or embarrassed lesbians. That way, I can concentrate, I can indulge in a bit of diving and I am not led into temptation – see I am religious -  and, here’s the important part for the sake of artistic creation and of course the much needed flow of juices, I would be witness to some interesting viewings. On second thoughts. Perhaps that wouldn’t work either. There just may be one who persuades me that being lesbian is the way forward. And if that were to happen, well, I’d be fucked!

Writing a book, I think, would not be easy. Somewhere out there would be someone who has been to the place you are writing about and would remember it differently. Part of my story could be a take on my experience of hitching a ride on one of those tourist overland trucks in Kenya and crossing no mans land between Kenya and Tanzania. I saw everything, all the local mud huts, the maggot infested goats and donkeys, the rutted red sand roads. The other twenty or so fresh out of Europe and needing a sun tan tourists had their heads so buried in their books and their magazines they saw nothing. What a shame. My description of this part of the world would be different to theirs. Don’t you think?

Someone would have had more experience in what you are writing about than you and would probably contradict your views. Worst, your fictional characters probably exist on this planet; they may even do the work that your fictional character does. I could build into my story the time when again hitching, this time from Bulawayo to Beit Bridge in Zimbabwe, we were picked up by a white women who neglected to tell us for the first thirty or so kilometers that the back of her station wagon was full of dynamite that she was taking to their family gold mine. It made for an interesting trip thereafter, I think at the end of that journey she was perhaps annoyed with us though as from that point forward we pointed out every bump and possible bump in the road.

Maybe she could have been a terrorist or a garden variety killer. Who knows?

Maybe they took your ideas from your book and really did them. Would that make you the co accused in pre meditated murder?

On the up side, setting a story in a place could bring fame to areas that hardly blipped on the planet before. Forks, I’m told, blossomed after the vampire thing, as did parts of NZ after the Hobbit series.

Anyway, my offer of front row seats still stands. And if you give me a good idea for a book I’ll include you in it as a fictional character. I’ll write you handsome or pretty, intelligent, wealthy and destined to save the planet. No one will know except us you who are. I’ll also write your husband, wife or partner out of the story, as grisly as you want it to be. Your team will always win, your imperfections will be gone and together we will ride off into the sunset. Does that sound like a deal or what?

Anyway, that’s my offering and my sacrifice to you today. I look forward to engaging with you tomorrow. Perhaps a little later though as it is Friday and that means beer in the afternoon.

Until tomorrow.

Day 47 – Yellow Snow

I think that the goings on in life are designed to test our faith, our will and our patience levels. I think all of us sometimes consider ourselves trodden upon and it’s only when we see or hear about the hardships of others, people that we may know only in passing that we start to realize that the hand of cards we have been dealt could have been a lot worse.

It is in our nature to compare ourselves with those who are better off or doing better, we have an inborn competitive spirit to want to be better and we moan when we aren’t or when life throws a lemon at us.

Last week in ‘Texas, a child, two years old, drowned. That alone would be enough to break the spirit of any parent. That this mother, who I know, lost the father of this child two or so years ago too only compounds the misery. I have lived with nothing in comparison to this. I cannot hope to understand the pain and the anguish that this mother and family are going through and the anguish they will feel for many years to come. To bury first the father and then their child must be the most gut wrenching experience anyone could endure. She may never read this but my heart is with her. They are in my thoughts. I count my lucky stars everyday.

To change the subject. I was asked yesterday by someone who reads this rambling of words, if my plan was to write a book. Which it is I guess but I don’t know when. Like I said right in the beginning it’s sort of a bucket list thing, along with climbing Everest, single handedly rowing across the Atlantic backwards and so on. Yeah, I wouldn’t mind doing it but don’t ask me where to start. I sort of imagine myself hiring a log cabin in the snowy hills for a few months and crunching out a book about something or other. It’s the romantic notion I have of doing this. My pragmatic side asks though what I would do for electricity and whether or not I had enough ink in the printer to print it all out. Should I do it on a lap top or a desk top and if so what is the best, Apple or P.C? And would I back it up somewhere? And if so, onto what? A flash stick, a CD, or perhaps an external hard drive, and who would cut the wood for the fire and cook the food? And who would do the shopping. And would the log cabin in the snowy hills have an inside toilet or an outside toilet and if it was outside would I just pee in the snow by the front door because it was too cold to walk the path?

But then what to write about too? I mean, would you have a great big white board with the story plan sketched out, would you brain storm this with someone (your editor perhaps – if you have an editor) would you add content to the character as you went along or is this done in advance, do you make places and streets up or do you visit these places and do research? I have so many questions in my head about the making of the story. I enjoy a good book; a really good one I’ll read from start to finish in one sitting but it fascinates me more thinking about how the author pulled the whole story together. How did the author decide on the town of Forks for that vampire story thing? How did Rowling come up with detail in Harry Potter? (And how did her publicist come up with the quaint but bullshit story of her starting the book on the back of a paper napkin while sitting in eggs n bacon café in suburban Glasgow? I mean really, have you ever tried to write with a pen on a paper napkin. The thing scrunches up, your writing looks medical, it’s just a fuck up!)

Going back to the bucket list thing and writing a book. Yes I would like to is the simple answer but a word of advice; don’t be rushing to your bookshop for a number of years ‘cos it could be a while still! And when this book that hasn’t been written yet makes it onto the best seller list, you’ll know that you read about it here first. And that’ll make you feel good and all important too. And for those, as of today, registered followers of this drivel, I promise you front row seats to whatever awards dinner I’m received at for this book that hasn’t been written. Pinky Promise.

One final random thing until I type the now customary ending. How difficult can it be to sell a good quality, one lady owner, all bells and whistles car for a fair price? So far…it seems more difficult than one would expect…

Until tomorrow.

Day 46 – Rapture

So. Some bloke in America decides that the world will be ending on Saturday night just past. He convinces thousands, maybe even hundreds of thousands or more, that this will be the case and that they along with two hundred million other God fearing good folk will be raptured by God himself (I use ‘him’ as a figure of speech, it could of course be her!) into heaven for an afterlife so fulfilled with riches, the rest having to hang about on earth condemned to awaiting our fate.

Up until Tuesday last week the DA, Zille & Co, had us thinking, some even believing, that they are the political party of choice and this election will be their time, their spot in the history books of the future.

And as the week passed neither prophecy came to bear any fruit. None what so ever! No one I know was raptured, which is a pity really, because some really irritate me. Zille & Co got absolutely nowhere in real terms, ok they won a few more votes than before but in rapturous terms they’ve got a long way to go.

This now leads me back to my favorite topic, that of persevering stupidity. It is reported in today’s local paper that South African followers of the American bloke have holed themselves up in a hotel in Pretoria, all 80 of them have stayed there for about a week, expecting to take the elevator to heaven and check out on Saturday evening. At R700 a night per person they now face a bill of about R300k. And since they can’t now pay for it I anticipate a not very religious reception for them down at the local nick. It is said that many have dumped their jobs, sold their belongings, given thousands to the hotel staff and probably the car guards. And they’re still here. What makes this whole thing beyond belief? In 1994 this American bloke predicted exactly the same thing would happen. And obviously it didn’t. And he caught people then to. And documentaries have been made about that fuck up to.

Now, you would think that in this day of Google, instant messaging and Facebook it would be difficult for someone to convince you to suspend your belief in what is right and normal. It should be difficult. You would think. Wouldn’t you? But people still fall for it. And here is the controversial bit; people still believe that going to a street address on a Sunday makes them a good person. There are some that think that sinning for six days and asking for forgiveness on the seventh makes it all ok.

I’m not religious (really? I hear you say). But I believe in God, I believe in a higher all seeing being. I’m not a believer in Genesis and the whole 7 days thing but I can’t look at the beauty in the world around me and not acknowledge that someone, something designed this very complicated system. I can’t put aside my conscious because I know, or at least I think I know, that’s its part of the checks and balances in this complicated system. Simplistic I accept that, but that’s my view.

And with regards to politics. Although South Africa has shown other African despots that there is value in holding free elections we are no closer to better governance. All the vote has proved is that the great unwashed are scarred so deeply by the past that they are prepared to put up with piss poor service delivery over and over again across all regions. That they are so tormented by their lot in life that they will re elect the same idiots that last time promised them the good things and delivered very little. Until the future generations are educated and capable of having an independent opinion that is not race based, this country will not move on.

We have been blessed with relative peace so far. Long may it last. Our children deserve at least that.

Until tomorrow.

Day 45 – Elephant Whisperer

The shaking is violent and without let up. My eyes open, its still dark out and bloody cold. My missus is frantic, she continues to shake until I eventually I reach consciousness. “Elephant” she says, “Elephant!” this time with more urgency. I stumble about in the moonlit dark, where’s the friggin’ thing I’m thinking to myself, is it in the tent? I need a pee, desperately. I look at my watch, it 4.30am. I can hear what sounds like gun shots right outside the tent. In my thoughts I wonder how long the canvas walls of our tents will last if the elephant decides he doesn’t like them. Will they at least slow him down for a bit?

My missus is busy waking the kids up, almost silent chaos reigns. Slumbering kids are told to shhhh! even before their eyes are open. I look through the shadecloth type netting that acts like windows in these tents. The beast is two meters away. I can see him in the moonlight. The gun shots are him ripping havoc on the trees and branches around our tent. The kids are now awake and sneaking a look. Don’t turn the light on they’re told. Don’t make a sound. His tusks almost reach the ground, his trunk even longer, my thoughts wonder how he has made it for so long, those tusks must be worth a fortune. I digress; he is really close and not going anywhere. I really need a pee and he is standing right by the bathroom ‘window’. We’re in a reserve of some thirty thousand acres of bush and he has to stand next to my bathroom window. As dawn starts to break he starts to wonder off, melting into the bush silently and not more than twenty meters away.

We’re in Tembe Elephant Reserve for the weekend. Four hundred and fifty odd kilos from ‘Texas but like in a different country. It’s apparent to me that the spirit of the people in the bush is different to those who live in cities. They’re less demanding and way more hospitable. Foreigners from everywhere share our dinner table, it’s nice to talk about something other than usual South African stories. I start to wonder why, besides the expense, we haven’t done this more often. It’s on our doorstep. We should have embraced this.

I’ve never really been anally into wildlife and game parks but I enjoyed this place. Definitely not 5 Star and reasonably affordable to us locals (except for the bar…my god!), accommodation is in tented huts, all game drives and all meals are included in the price and the guides are amazingly knowledgeable about their subject. Their depth and their quick and willing smile soothes the soul almost. It makes one realize why people come from all over to be here. It makes one realize how bloody big an elephant is in the flesh and in the wild. And how menacing a lion would be if you were to meet it while suntanning perhaps.

Tembe, and whoever owns the place along with the local tribe, I salute you for almost everything. Patrick, our guide, your knowledge is amazing, to the wild life who conveniently posed for pictures, you make me look good. Check their website out, top right of this page. My acid test; Would I go back? Yes I would.

Until tomorrow…

Day 44 – This is Me (Part 10)

April 2005. FMG is still printing money. D’Vine has been going very well since opening in October last year. We have been looking for opportunity to create synergy for d’Vine. We hear that a conference center, Weaver, not far from us needs some love. We concoct a plan and approach the owner with a deal. This is a small town so we know she doesn’t want to be there. It’s apparent that she has no clue or will, it must be said, to make it happen. The deal is heavily weighted in our favour, she’s an accountant so we weren’t holding our breath. But she takes the bait, in fact she takes the hook too. Basically, we agree on a joint venture where she walks away and we share the profit that is made. We manage it, we market it and most importantly we get to use our existing kitchen facilities and staff to produce food that we internally invoice to ourselves. For us it’s a no brainer and before long we morph ourselves into wedding planners and conference co coordinators. The place starts to work, the phone starts to ring, bookings are made.

And the kitchen at d’Vine starts to hate me with a passion. There are no more quiet times!

It was about at this time that my mate and business partner decided to resign his position and partnership, wanting to travel. So we unravel everything and he goes on his way, only to be devastatingly refused a visa to the UK. But that’s another story.

A while later I’m tipped off that the conference center is now on the market. I have money invested in there and no lease or any protection. So I phone the owner and unbelievably she gives me a lease. So here I am, I now have a lease for a business that I paid not one cent for and because I have a lease I can now sell the business as a going concern. Once again the gods were smiling! But the business is going well, we have lots of forward bookings and it seems starting to get a reputation for good weddings too.

The added, and at that point unknown, spin off to this whole story is that not only was there synergy with d’Vines kitchen but we also started hosting 21st’s  and the like that migrated to FMG as the night went on, so we had them from now much earlier and for much longer.

Life was good, we were working like dogs but the money was good. We didn’t stop to think and perhaps we should have, perhaps we should have slowed down a bit, perhaps we should have done it differently. Perhaps things today would have been different had we done this. There was a lot going on, in early 2006 we identified the need for an Italian restaurant in ‘texas so went ahead and did that too – God my wife hated me at that point - and because we were now turning millions and it showed no sign of changing, I invested in a head office and quietly opened a bottle store too, primarily to supply my own businesses but also to supply others.

I think we (and by we I mean me) lived on the adrenaline of the moment. Working hours were insane and it wasn’t unusual to only have three or four hours sleep over the whole weekend. Crazy shit!

And then out of the blue in about August 2006 I meet a guy who tells me that he wants to buy the conference center from me. I laugh at him, he’s an instrument technician and has never worked in hospitality before. I laugh it off but he asks me for my bank details. And he pays me. R350k! For a business that I didn’t pay a cent for. Does it get better than that? Leases are hurriedly arranged, training is given, its now September, bookings are nearly full for end of year functions. And this guy doesn’t have a clue. And, here’s the kicker, he continues to use the kitchen at d’Vine for his food supply. Win win all round in my opinion!

Until tomorrow.

Day 43 – This is Me (Part 9 – d’Vine)

Its opening day at d’Vine. The months of stress had prepared me well for this moment. The phone was ringing off the hook with people wanting to make bookings. We hadn’t really understood the tendency in ‘texas to go mad for any opening of any business. But we were getting it quickly now. My missus was still pregnant, baby still not showing signs of wanting to enter the world. Our expensive consultant chef was still in our kitchen but we had lost faith in him. It was too late to do anything about it so we carried on anyway…

Final check. Everything in place. Just need customers now. They say, build it and they will come! And they did, in droves, some even turning up on opening night without a booking and we worked our socks off. And the food came out slowly but not as slowly as on the trial run. People, I think pitied us, we had no complaints, that I can remember anyway.

We had taken a decision to only employ good looking waitresses at d’Vine. We dressed them up nicely, we trained them but I swear some male customers thought that they were part of the meal. It was a bit of an eye opener and for these young girls, some offended by the suggestiveness, it caused a few tears to be splashed more than once.

d’Vine was finally trading. But we had our problems. The developers hadn’t done their home work very well and had installed not enough power to the restaurant. So on opening night, every time someone stuck their hands under the hand dryer in the bathroom it would spike the demand on the power and the breaker would trip on the distribution board. Not a big deal you would think, teething problems. But here is the rub of this little problem. It wouldn’t trip in the restaurant, oh no that would be too easy. It was tripping in the main meter room, where the power came into the whole site. And in order to reset this we had to leave the restaurant, walk the hundred meters or so across the car park and reset the breaker and then walk back. We would then have to reset and reboot all the equipment, the tills, the back office computer. And then someone would dry their hands. And it would all start again. Ah the good old days. And the biggest lesson from all of this? This is very profound. If you’re going to open a restaurant make sure before you spend a cent that you have a dedicated 3 phase 150 A supply.

A few days after opening my son eventually decided to show his face to the world. Quite a moment in our lives…

d’Vine rocked for years. We had our problems like other restaurants. We had staff who thought that stealing was ok, others that were amazingly dedicated, and some who were incredibly talented in getting people to part with their money. And one in particular, who when asked to recommend a pasta replied, “aargh! I hate pasta”. I kid you not.

As the business started to settle, certain trading patterns started to emerge. There were times, obviously, when the business was busy and other times when it was quiet. We wanted this business to be efficient and we were looking for some synergy for our kitchen to try and get the most out of the times we were open. Not far from where we were there was a conference center that was lacking in love. Nicely decorated, had some reasonable equipment but so poorly run as to be ridiculous. I don’t know the ins and outs but it was something like the wife got it as part of a divorce agreement and really didn’t want to be there.

It fitted us to the tee. We concocted a plan and made the approach.

Until tomorrow.

Day 42 – This is Me (Part 8)

Its mid 2004. We have just sold Phola Spot for a very healthy profit and there is new opportunity on the horizon. Just out of town a new golf driving range is being developed and there is space for a restaurant, with magnificent views, ample parking, easy access and the other nice things that restaurants should have. And we have a grand total of zero experience in running actual restaurants. We have had businesses with kitchens, we have made more burgers and pub food than anyone should have to but they have never been bespoke restaurants. But we talk well, we can sell ourselves, Jack and I.

The guy who was going to take this site has pulled out (Bruce), so he phones me and tells me that there might be opportunity. Within minutes of having this conversation I can barely contain myself and with Jack we drive over to the site. The site was a long way from being finished but being developed by a consortium of local businessmen and basically it consisted at that stage of a big patch of grass, a temporary office structure and the not nearly finished building that would become the pro shop and restaurant. The gods were smiling because as we arrived in the car park, one of the consortium, Tony, was walking across the car park to his car, having just showed two established restaurant owners the premises or at least the proposed premises. I had never met him before but I introduced myself and to my surprise he knew exactly who I was. He showed us around, took us into the building site and told us what the plan was. Rental rates were very good but as always there was risk, the first bit of it being me having to go home and tell the missus that this would be a good idea. She was 5 months pregnant so a bit emotional and erratic and anything could happen.

They wanted a coffee shop here. That wasn’t going to work for us so we submitted a proposal for an upmarket restaurant, which was accepted. The numbers stacked but the input costs were, for us, extreme. So we did it anyway. I like a challenge! The club was booming, we had a couple hundred thousand in the bank that needed spending and the rest we would roll, some through our suppliers and the rest on credit. Setting up a restaurant for the first time is a challenge. Especially when every cent is your money. We started by makings lists, lists and more lists. Everything from T Spoons to Air- Con plant had to be found and bought. The cash burn rate seemed to be enormous but there was no going back. My missus, now getting a bit closer to due date got stuck in and together we designed a menu, absolutely making it up and where we ran out of ideas Googling it! I have a vague memory of using several dishes from a Disneyland menu that I found on line. There was a lot to do, and lots of admin – admin is not my strength – so I employed a young women called Laura to be my assistant. And let it be said, if it hadn’t been for her, things at that time may have been very different. It turned out that for years while she was studying she had worked as a waitress at an up market restaurant so was very au fait with running waitresses and setting up service levels. She was an absolute life saver!

Being new in restaurants in SA we bought the services of a consultant chef, a Swiss guy who while very competent and very pleasant completely missed the point of service in an ala carte restaurant. He came from hotels and training schools where there is obviously no time pressure to get dishes out (I now know why you wait for ever for room service in a hotel!)

As we got closer and closer to opening day so the pressure increased. Every rep from every industry it seemed bothered me, promises that their product lines were unique, specific, cheap, valuable, service orientated blah blah blah!! Bars had to be stocked, kitchen prep and cook offs had to be done, snagging had to be checked and done, till systems had to be programmed. It was chaos. The budget was far overspent when eventually opening day rolled around. Oh well, so what we said. The missus was now full term in her pregnancy but baby showed no sign of making an appearance so we carried on.

There are a number of memories that stand out from this crazy time. A couple days before we officially opened we did a launch and trial run. We had spent an inordinate amount of cash here and we had produced a restaurant that was as special as it was unique. It was by far the best looking restaurant in ‘texas. We invited certain players in the town to this dry run and you know what they moaned about? The fucking background music that was so low you could hardly hear it. Can people be more miserable?

The other memory once we got to the friends and family pre opening trial run was our expensive consultant chef. Here was a highly qualified chef that couldn’t handle more than one ticket at a time. People, fortunately people that we knew, waited hours for their food on that night. The atmosphere in the kitchen was brittle. The chef’s life would have been in danger had a knife been close to hand!

The missus, now term plus a few days was pulling what was left of her hair out in frustration. It wasn’t safe for her to be in the kitchen but they sure knew her view…..

Until tomorrow…d’Vine opens.

Day 41 – Poker Face

What is it with some people? People who climb out of their box and consider themselves better than others. People who have no hesitation and miss no opportunity to belittle others and use their power and influence in some groups to convince others of their superiority. I meet people of this nature, through what I do, just about everyday. There is always one miserable shit that harbours animosity to someone else. The only saving grace, I think, is that others, more times than most, see through their smoke and mirrors ploy to garner favour.

I, long ago, realized that life is not fair. There is little point in fighting this curious quirk in the make up of our societies. Reams of words have been written on this, philosophies have been sculptured to try and force equality on people. All to little effect. It seems to be the human’s way of standing themselves apart. Even in societies where for generations all have been treated equally (and mostly badly) there is always one who stands up and rebels against the system. Unfortunately, this dude invariably ends up locked away or dead. But there seems to be someone always ready to take his place.

In business, some make it and some don’t. Some people have more luck than others, some win the lottery, others inherit, a few are given family jewels passed down over centuries. Some will get more. Some have better health, better eyesight, some will believe that their God is better than your God, some will experience unimaginable trauma, others will court death and live to tell the tale. Some will suffer abuse by the very people who should protect them. And it only serves to reinforce the fact that life is not fair. Your hand of cards is not infinite but can last a lot longer if they are swapped and shared; playing the game of life with your poker face on will only shorten your odds of staying in longer. But we all do it. We are all guilty of keeping a poker face in case others talk, in case others want what we have.

A few weeks ago a mate of mine, an accountant (I could say my accountant but the fact that he has ten fingers makes him over qualified to do my accounts) said at a meeting how he doesn’t understand why people get embarrassed because they’re making good money. And he’s right I think. It’s the poker face syndrome again. They might want what we have. Why do you think the lottery organizers give you the option to remain anonymous if you win. Because the takers will want what you have.

The down side of showing your good tidings is that people who may have known you all their lives will now question how you reached your success. I’ll give you an example from my life. Years ago when things were really going well, I could afford to drive nice cars and have some nice toys. As you know one of the businesses I owned was a night club so it wasn’t long before I was accused of being a drug dealer. You know, night club owner, therefore he must do and deal drugs. If you know me or know anything about me you will know my stance on this subject. I live in this town, I have young kids who go to school here and I am very aware of just how retarded some people are who live here. I am / was also very in tune with the goings on and could tell a few stories about dodgy cops, corrupt council employees, dealers and runners, but you know what, it’s not my place. Our society and justice system does not reward honesty and helpfulness so what’s the point. Nothing will happen to these people but eventually the wheel will turn and they will answer.

So did these people honestly think that I would not get to hear about their jealous mutterings? I have a another mate who is a cop and even he was hearing the stories and I think, even though he denies it, was starting to worry about me. This story is now long over and what’s in the past is in the past, I accept that but the point of it is, is that the takers will want what you have. They may cloud the demands so that’s its not obvious but there is motive there somewhere, you just got to dig for it.

Have I been guilty at some stage in the past of wanting what others have? Of course I have. I think I have now made peace with myself though.

Have I been guilty of not giving when I could have? When times were better? Yes I have. It is one of my regrets and something I will make right in times to come.

Until tomorrow.

Day 40 – Crème Sober

Forty days and forty nights, a milestone reached I think. Thirty nine days ago, Day two was also a milestone. That rambling was titled ‘The Hangover’ and I vividly remember the considerable pain my head was causing me as I wrote my sixpence worth. Today is no different.

Last night, once again, I morphed into my alter ego, a handsome, charming, intelligent and effervescent all round good guy.  Due to having slept ‘til midday, voting in the elections and attending a work meeting, on a public holiday no less, now that’s what you call commitment, I have not been able to write this until now, about 7pm. I don’t honestly think that I could have written this earlier. I would hazard a guess and say that not even spellchecker would have been able to make heads or tails of my writing. As it is, it is battling even now. In fact, where it normally says ‘add to dictionary’ it now says ‘return to school, retard’. But maybe that’s just my eyes playing up?

At the meeting earlier I needed sugar so ordered a Crème Soda – I could have sworn it said Crème Sober on the can. Again, I think I should get my eyes checked. Tomorrow I will be better, my liver shall be recovering, my head will be clear. My alter ego has already departed and in fact has been banished, for good I think. He should not return, he is too young minded for this old bastard. Although he is clever and personable, and brandy strong, he can also be a problem. Because people who meet him remember him too and often confuse me with him. I mean really, can’t they see the difference when they meet me during the day. I am not him, he is not my twin and we are not joined at the hip! And I don’t see him everyday!

Told you this blogging thing was the poor mans alternative to therapy.

I have been quite critical of certain things and places in these musings over the days. I am the type that says it as I see it so if its rubbish I will say so. I am accused of negativity because of this but it’s only my opinion and yours may be different. That’s cool, I accept that. I’m also the type that believes that if credit is due it should be given. Once again it’s my opinion and it may differ from yours. Now, you will know from my blabbering that my work back ground is in hospitality and specifically in night clubs for the past ten years. You will also know that a few months ago I sold my share in my last business, a night club, to my mate, Peter.

I visited him last night, for a number of reason but essentially to give some support… and wow! The effort that he has put in, along with his crew is something to behold. This is a business that has done a complete turn around from what it was to what it is. Unfortunately not many of his target market in ‘texas will consciously recognise the effort. (His competitors will no doubt whine but hey, that’s what it’s all about.) Eventually the effort that has been applied will be recognized and say what you want you are more likely to support people who give you more for your money. Much better than what it was when I had it. More sophisticated, more slick, better.

There is a certain intangible energy that is required in night clubs and that is what stands some clubs apart from others. If Peter can replicate the energy at Playaz that was so abundant last night he will have a winning formula. Bloody well done to him and all involved.

What do they say? If it’s too loud you’re too old. It’s all starting to make sense now.

Until tomorrow….I really can’t write anymore.

Day 39 – Burn Baby Burn

One more sleep till local elections here in sunny SA. Who you going to vote for? Direct, I know, but what’s the secrecy all about? Why aren’t you loud and proud about your political affiliation like they are in some others parts. Why are we embarrassed – or scared - about our choice? I’m not. I’m going to vote for the DA. Not because they’re ever going to win anything but rather because I’m white, they have been broadly in line with my views on protecting minorities and like I said yesterday there needs to be opposition to the moral corruption that is our current government.

Just this past weekend it was reported that in Johannesburg, the first ever, and politically appointed, female Fire Chief is blowing the budget on stupid non essential shit – like sending a bunch of secretaries to London for a training course costing hundreds of thousands- while the engine crews are being injured because they don’t have the right equipment or their equipment is damaged – or burnt! Come on, there has to be a level of common sense prevalent.

Also in the past week, the wife of our Minister of Intelligence is convicted of drug smuggling and sentenced to 12 years. The next day she is back at her desk as a senior council employee on the South Coast. She has since been suspended – on full pay! – but the point is, should the powers that be not be looking at the Minister – he is after all the bloke in charge of the country’s intelligence service! If not to their maker they have to answer to someone, someone should at the very least notice if the fireman doesn’t have protective boots on or the wife of the minister lives beyond her means. You would think! But you know what; there are so many examples of this incompetence that none of it is news anymore, its just Africa, and we get on with it. And here’s the irony: Because we are known to just get on with it, if you talk about it you are labeled negative!

Two things have happened today that have made me think. At a BNI meeting this morning in Scottburgh a monkey made an appearance in the room – yes he says wearily, a real monkey with fur and a tail – and proceeded to hold our attention while this confused thing tried to find his way out again, jumping on everything, knocking over tables, bouncing against the window glass, climbing the doorframe. Another day in Africa we said. The second thing was that I spent some time with a business associate from BNI who I don’t really know very well but who I had completely misread. This lady owns a corporate wear company and portrays a not very clued up image at the meetings but actually I was impressed with her intellect and a certain steely understanding of what’s going on around her. More so than most it has to be said!

Now I’m hardly qualified enough for my opinion to be worth anything but how often business is done based on the image one portrays. How often is one not referred because someone has formed a maybe incorrect impression or perception of you? It seems that in this part of the world we are afraid to network ourselves at every opportunity. As an example, for a year and a bit now I have known people through junior football but I still don’t know what they do. Odd really. We may not be mates but we get along so we might be able to do business with each other or at the very least refer business to each other. Just a thought.

And how often is business not done because someone has pushed it too hard. They’ve irritated you with their sales speak. You have no relationship with them so why would you change suppliers?

I’ve mentioned BNI now and again in the blog so far and basically, if you don’t know what it is, here is the summation in a few lines; a relationship based, person to person, word of mouth referral network system, based on givers gain i.e. what goes round comes round. The evidence of it working on a global scale – it is represented in about 52 countries - is overwhelming and it works for just about anyone who has a givers mentality. Now I could give you the easy route and give you the URL but here’s my suggestion. Google it! You will get millions of hits from BNI groups all over the world. I don’t make anything from telling you this but I can tell you, its almost foolproof and bloody good for your business and bloody good for your own personal growth! And you know what; the number of people who still won’t get it will amaze you. Once again just a thought!

And finally, this bought a smile to my face today…

 A woman in a hot air balloon realized she was lost.  She lowered her altitude and spotted a man in a boat below.

She shouted to him, "Excuse me, can you help me? I promised a friend I would meet him an hour ago, but I don't know where I am."

The man consulted his portable GPS and replied, "You're in a hot air balloon, approximately 30 feet above a ground elevation of 2346 feet above sea level.  You are at 31 degrees, 14.97 minutes north latitude and 100 degrees, 49.09 minutes west longitude."

She rolled her eyes and said, "You must be a DA supporter!"

"I am," replied the man.  "How did you know?"

"Well," answered the balloonist," everything you told me is technically correct, but I have no idea what to do with your information, and I'm still lost.  Frankly, you've not been much help to me."

The man smiled and responded, "You must be an ANC Government official"

"I am," replied the balloonist. "How did you know?"

"Well," said the man, "you don't know where you are or where you are going. You've risen to where you are, due to a  large quantity of hot air. You made a promise that you have no idea how to keep, and you expect me to solve your problem. You're in exactly the same position you were in before we met, but, somehow, now it's my fault."

Until tomorrow.

Day 38 – My Dancing Shoes

I suppose that since our local elections are now only two sleeps away I should probably add my two cents worth. Everyone, from respected political commentators to Joe Blogs (get it?) seems to have an opinion about what might happen, or is most likely to happen, or what is definitely going to happen.

It amuses me that since we live in what is essentially a one party state that people honestly think they or their minority party actually stands a chance in the bigger picture. Yes they, their party, may win an extra seat or two but the ruling party will be in power by a vast majority come the 19^th May. And that is not going to change in my lifetime or yours.

I am not well versed in politics but I have a view that the minority parties should unite and concentrate on being a credible opposition. Like the Democrats vs the Republicans, the Tories vs Labour and so on. Now is the time to do it I think, because if they can establish a tradition of opposition in South African politics now it will bode well when, in the future, Malema and those of his ilk decide to go all Mugabe on us. It will be most uncomfortable for us plebs if we are used to having a choice of who to vote for and all of a sudden don’t have that choice. It will be good even for the ruling government considering what is happening north of the Sahara. And it will be the savior of an economy that hardly beats in the world scale. Having an energetic opposition will give us credibility in more sophisticated lands and markets. Having political credibility and stability will ensure that our much maligned currency maintains some dignity at least. Having an opposition that is free to question the workings of government means that corruption will be controlled (this is Africa so this is in relative terms). Or at the very least exposed.

But what will happen on Wednesday is this. In African politics the man with the biggest stick wins. Minority parties will lose overall, because their stick is smaller, and there will be considerable teeth gnashing after the event. Dancing shoes Zille and her cronies will celebrate winning the crumbs and maybe a few choice areas – like hopefully Durban, and promise that the tide is turning and next time things will be better. Teeth gnashing will also take place in the yellow “Together We Can Do More” (crime) camp. They will blame the colonialists for leaving them with this legacy – funny how you never hear them blame these same colonialists for the road infrastructure, banking system, economy, mines, bridges and of course schools – the exhausted promises of homes, sanitation and jobs will be put to rest until the next posters for votes drive. And nothing will change. The existing government will lay siege to all those who spoke against them, reports of vote rigging will surface, the people will continue to grind out a living and every news channel or media will analyse this ‘watershed’ moment in SA politics. And nothing will change.

Each to their own. I just can’t help wondering about the motives of these politicians are. In ‘texas, we have a white man standing for the ANC seat, we have another who holds two different party memberships and thinks no one knows about this, another who hands out exclusively Afrikaans language pamphlets (I suppose it makes a change from receiving the Sangomas grow your penis bigger and get old lover back pamphlets that are the usual fare at the traffic lights these days), and another who is a colleague of the second one but is also running for leadership. Is politics different in first world countries? Do they also hold rallies in stadiums where in one party the leader dances around like he’s on acid singing “bring me my machine gun”? Does politicking have to be so obviously fake and contrived to get a vote? Surely Zille’s record in Cape Town would say it all. To even the most ardent sufferer of persevering stupidity.

Surely the fact that she won best mayor in the world says something to the voters. Surely the fact that millions of tourists flock to Cape Town every year suggest that this DA, who run this area might just be doing something right.

Surely the fact that Durban is so fucked as to be almost beyond repairable is a signal to the unwashed that perhaps voting for the ruling party might not be a good idea. Surely anyone with a brain can figure this out. It seems not. Just my two cents worth.

Until tomorrow.