Day 144 - The Last Post

It’s difficult to believe that we have been here in the UK for a year already. It seems like only yesterday that we arrived, tired, off an Emirates flight from a sunny Durban. It seems so recent that we moved into what has become our home and again it feels like only a heartbeat ago that we started trading from our new business.

I am asked often enough a year down the line if it is still a good idea, was it the right decision to leave SA and come here. And after some thought the answer is an emphatic yes! Yes of course we miss the wide beaches, of course we miss the sea and the sunshine, the easy lifestyle, the braais, and for me at least the Klippies and Hansa too. At least here, even now, we appreciate that most of the time the service we get is significantly better, we appreciate that life is generally more affordable and there are fewer stealth taxes, you know like medical aid, school fees, armed response, local vigilante fees, ammunition and so on.

We appreciate that the chances of being robbed, raped or hijacked have been reduced – I’m not saying it wouldn’t happen because I’m sure that somewhere in the UK it does, we appreciate that, on our high street at least, the biggest danger is farmers tractors and not taxis, we appreciate that in our line of business in our small town the biggest threat is …..is….I can’t think of one actually. People generally behave differently here and it seems are way more law abiding, less aggressive, less on edge and more conscious of acceptable social behaviour. There are obviously exceptions.

Is it perfect? No. The weather is shit and the Brits do go on a bit about it. Every conversation is peppered with references to the bloody weather but since we haven’t come here for a sun tan it doesn’t make too much difference to us.  There are other imperfections too; one of them is picking the wrong road at the wrong time…. you could die of old age waiting to get to your destination. People also have a tendency to moan a bit more… like they have the biggest problems in the world. And I don’t think there is any understanding about just how good they have it here. Just how wide their choice is. Just how accessible they are to the rest of world. But like I’ve said before, you have to go away to realise just how good or bad it was where you came from. And if I compare this to the southern most country in Africa it is a better, safer place to live, as I am sure Austrailia and NZ are too.

Do I regret my time in SA? Definitely not…although many now well documented mistakes were made, I have come out the other side of it for the better. I have been able to form a mature relationship with my parents, something that wouldn’t have happened had I stayed in the UK back then, I have formed close bonds with the most unexpected people, some of whom have been people who live for their brotherhood of bikers, I have witnessed the very worst in human behaviour, most of the time fuelled by alcohol, I have ridden the cycle of wealth (albeit coming out the other side poor) and most importantly my experiences in SA have taught me well about loyalty, honour, commitment, fickleness, the moral compass and the vagaries of friendship and family. Things I wouldn’t necessarily have learnt had I stayed a corporate employee for all those years.

This is my last post on this blog. I have put to bed my demons over the days that I have been writing this. I think I have been kinder to some idiots and former enemies than what I could have been when I think back, but that is my nature I suppose. Overall I have found writing this to be incredibly useful; it has exercised my brain, it has opened new channels of thought.  Thank you for reading or maybe snoring your way through it, I have appreciated it. God speed.

Day 143 - Pontificate

A whole week of sunshine. That was the week past. What, I hear you say, a week of sunniness...in the UK? Surely not! Yes its true people. Surrounding us all are myriads of people who are a darker shade of pale, even red. The car's temperature thingy who only a week ago or so was languishing regularly in the lower scale of one to ten now reads in the upper regions of the twenty to thirty bracket. And, before some sarcastic bastard out there suggests otherwise, we're talking Celsius here people.

Temperature we have not seen since leaving good 'ol SA nearly a year ago. Heat that has forced a bead of sweat to run from my brow earlier today as I turned the meat and reached for my beer. Did it make me pine for home? Where almost everyday is like this in that garden of Eden that is SA? No it didn't. But it was nice to feel the sun on my back.

Gleefully, the dyed in the wool locals, pontificate on the unlikely scenario that middle Britain is actually hotter than Spain. It probably has been. This week past anyway. The pontification shouldn't last too much longer though - and I do hope I eat my words but I fear that the weather will inevitably change for the worst. I cant imagine too much of a good thing. All manner of woe will befall us should it not change. Already the trickle of complaints about the heat on day two of this wondrous week has turned into a deluge of misery as previously very winter white bodies are now glowing red. Very red. 

The Brits, you see, are obsessed with what the weather does. Which in itself is strange as for a lot of the year its grey, cold and mostly wet. One would think that they would be used to it and it would be a case of 'Keep Calm and Carry On' but that does not seem to be the attitude here. Alright I know you know all this already as I have written about it before so I won't go on about it for much longer...the point is that it affects a variety of things and this year, with the Olympics (by the way I have tickets to go watch an event...just putting that in there), the Jubilee celebrations and so on it is particularly important.

And so in the words of an unliked wannabee Winston Churchill but comes no where close politician the Brits are encouraged to go on 'staycation', to show a little national spirit in these heady days of both celebration and austerity. Staycation? A made up word to encourage the Brits to take a holiday at home instead of flocking to the Costa del Dol or the Algarve where beer is much cheaper, flights and package holidays can be got for less than it would cost to drive to Plymouth, the weather is consistently and almost guaranteed to be sticky boiling hot and the Med is invitingly warm. So its no contest really. To those without national pride anyway. Compare all that with expensive Britain, clogged up roadways, inconsistent weather and the mind numbingly cold water of the north Atlantic. Hmmmm. What to do?

Us? We're off to Portugal in August. 

And here's a little story that has reminded me of home. My daughter had her phone stolen yesterday whilst with mates in a park in town. Tearfully she phoned me to tell me what had happened. Being the adult I am I perhaps naively told her to find a policeman and report it (imagine doing that in SA) which she did. Its  a pay as you go phone, about a year old, not really worth anything, she didn't open a case. Today she's over it, she says revelling in not having a phone (oh hello?!) Today too, we get a call from the cops, can they come and see her tonight? To take a statement I'm assuming. I write this with bated breath, coming from a country where basic policing has broken down to a point where it is non existent to this; its just a phone and there was no violence or confrontation involved. I am curious.

Until next time. God speed.

Day 142 - Anti-Aircraft

I sit here in the quiet, only the feint street noises behind me and the creeks and groans from the pub below disturbing my concentration. Outside the rain is persistent, so much for the drought and bizarrely the hosepipe ban I think. I have wondered that if I had bought a hosepipe in the days before the profound announcement of its ban would I be entitled to get my money back from the vendor and should the vendor be prosecuted for selling banned materials. “Man jailed for Hosepipe Smuggling” could be the headlines of tomorrow’s paper. Maybe but probably not to be honest.  (Another thought that has gone through my some would say pea sized brain is creating an advert asking the general public in Somalia, Kenya, Bangladesh etc. etc. to donate £2 a week to help Britain’s populace in this difficult time of drought. Perhaps pictures of small children eating their last chicken nugget or a picture taken in a pub where they can only afford to drink half pints….anyway I digress.)

No. What will more than likely be on the front pages of tomorrow’s papers is the announcement that the MOD is considering positioning anti-aircraft missiles on the rooftops of high rise building in and around London to protect the capital during the Jubilee and Olympics later this year. I think this is a great idea and one that should be embraced by all and sundry. Because now that it’s been publicised months before the actual events the terrs and the tali’s and hardly likely to attack from the air. Instead now all they will do is go to ground and find another way in to cause mayhem. 

Staying on this subject, let me paint you a picture. The tali’s in the flowing beards and dressing gowns do decide to launch an attack from the air. The triggerman on the rooftop identifies a target, a civilian aircraft most likely, what does he do?

a/ he fires, knows he‘s saving lives by taking lives
b/ calls for authorisation, gets it instantly, pulls the trigger and saves the world or
c/ calls for authorisation, a multi levelled authorisation process that involves the completion of a risk assessment, a collateral damage assessment, an appointment with the local health and safety rep to ensure the safe discharge of the weapon, a visibility and proactivity assessment, a labour law compliance assessment and a current training competency assessment.

Answers on a postcard please.

If there is one thing that is a certainty at the moment, this Tory government needs no opposition. It has absolutely shown its intent on losing the next election (yes for the Saffers, there is more than one party here that could win or lose the elections, unlike in SA) by the actions and the scandals that it involves itself in every day. In local terms it appears to be riddled in charges of corruption, collusion and sleaze but I suppose as was the government before this one and most likely the one after this one. What is it with politicians? How is it that they can be so dumb as to not think that the press and the social media bloggers will not see what they are up to and tell the world. If there is one thing about the freedom of the Internet, smartphones and the like it has to be that there is no place to hide. The world over politicians all seem the same (although generally they don’t have six wives like one JZ has in SA). They all suffer from persevering stupidity driven by greed, and power over the masses.

And finally, I am glad that I am not the triggerman. That is a big call to make.

God Speed.

Day 141 - Location Location Location

Lunch today was decidedly average. Eaten in a pub with no soul, owned by people who clearly had no taste whatsoever – not even a jot - in décor because the décor and the furnishings and the curtains and carpets and the light fittings were awful and completely mismatched (not eclectic – that would be quirky, this wasn’t), run by staff who clearly hadn’t heard of going anywhere let alone the extra mile for their customers and cleaned by fairies who perhaps need new wands.

I actually need to explain this a bit more to put it into perspective: here in the UK the pub industry is massive, it employs thousands or even hundreds of thousands of people maybe even millions of people. There are a myriad of publications covering every angle and every facet of the business, breweries and pub companies have experts in their midst that would happily help a pub owner to be better, guide them to better retail standards; hell if you sell their beer they may even help you financially to modernise your facilities…, and therefore, in my humble opinion, there is no excuse in 2012 to offer such a piss poor and dated environment.

But today it seemed to make no difference to the several hundred fellow lunch eaters at the Wharf Tavern which is somewhere I’m not sure I’ll find again, somewhere in Shropshire, I think. Next to a canal with wharfage facilities (not a very original name for the pub then don’t you think?). Oh and did I mention the not one but two caravan parks alongside the pub. And did I mention that we had to wait half an hour to get a table. And did I mention that there was no such thing as any table service whatsoever? And did I mention the two rather large car parks the pub had. And the awful uncomfortable furniture. And yes, the several hundred diners all eating merrily their Sunday lunch. And did I mention that we left depressed?

Depressed you ask? OK not really depressed because I’ve given up giving a shit, confused maybe is a better word. Here’s the difference. Our pub – yes we are part of the industry so maybe we are a little critical of others – you think… I can hear you saying – is really doing well. We are very busy, we do a lot of food, we sell a fair bit of beer, and we do functions, conferencing and and and…

We do several hundred meals a week, they would have done several hundred meals today…. we can seat about 60 people tops, they can seat double that and had a queue… we make most of our food fresh in house, most of theirs, based on what we saw on the menu, comes out of a box…we use only well-known brands of condiments – like Coleman’s, Heinz etc. – they use al cheapo no name brand sachets, we offer a level of table service and go way beyond the extra mile is we have to, there you have to order and pay at the bar, we pour a beer into that beers branded glass, there…anything goes.

And here’s the rub. We’re on the high street; they’re next to a picturesque canal in the countryside. And that my friends, is their Ace card. If you have location location location you can just about do anything you want.

And today proves it. It has never been clearer in my mind.

God speed.

Day 140 - Petrol Plonkers!

So. Let me try and understand this.
There is no Petrol Tanker Drivers strike on at the moment in the UK. They are having talks this week about possibly going on strike and if they, the unions, can reach a majority decision they will notify the relevant people, give seven days notice and then will go on strike. In the meantime, because of their stated intentions, the government and the oil companies are training the armed services to drive the tankers so the petrol stations will have petrol, which means that the majority of Joe Public can go about their usual business.
So. As I see it. There is currently no shortage of petrol.


Would that be a fair assessment? Am I seeing this correctly?


Obviously not it seems as people queue for hours waiting to fill their cars and the kettles. Unbelievably, Joe Public has gone into particularly stupid mode and is panic buying petrol. Because there isn't a shortage.


I am officially confused.





I thought I had seen just how impossibly stupid a person can be, coming from SA and all. But obviously not. Persevering stupidity, a topic that I written about before in these ramblings, it seems is a global problem.


Right. Bye for now. Need to go and fill up....

Day 139 - Summer Fever

This is absolutely an official fact.


Britain and its people, from all walks of this diverse and sometimes strange society are psychotically consumed by the vagaries of the weather. Every conversation that I have had with anyone at any time on any day has included some or other reference to the weather; whats its done, whats its not done, what its going to do, what it may do, what it may not do, how it will affect trade, how it won't affect trade. This weathering topic permeates every social occasion...but oddly, world renowned British stoicism and stiff upper lip overrules it. Everyone expects it to rain, all the time or at least everyday and therefore along with the sun-cream is an umbrella. Finished and klaar.


Now the government here - in true 'you couldn't make it up' fashion is spending millions of taxpayers pounds, this in times of austerity, (I kid you not...many millions) selling to the world the news that Britain has more sunny days and overall better weather than, lets guess at somewhere, Brisbane. They are selling this as a reason to come to Britain, as a summer destination. And they are doing it in Australia in their media, in Brazil in their media, on their billboards, probably in South Africa in their media too and this to people who don't come to Britain for the sunshine. This too people who I would guess if they came here would probably take in the history, revel in the royalty and sup on the sights so unique to Britain. I doubt suntanning even comes into their thinking. And yes the government continues on its path...(they are all the same aren't they).


There might be a few warm days ahead but a summer destination if you live in Spain. A take your top off and sun tan on the pebbles of Brighton if you live in the Algarve. I think not. Maybe the politicians and slick over paid advertising execs who dreamt this up have had too much sun, or too much beer, or both. Maybe they have been so overawed by the conversations in the pub and the supermarkets that they have forgotten about the constant presence of the umbrella in the boot of their expensive car and the nine thousand warm  jackets hanging in their cupboards. Warmer than Iceland maybe, but a summer beach holiday destination I fear not.


Sure, the weather is nice in the summer but only relative to the grey skies and cold of winter. Sure it is warm in summer in Britain but compared to the south of Portugal or Spain or France or Greece or Turkey it is positively polar. Sure it stays light to 10pm in the summer but is this reason enough? And it will rain, normally just after you've applied layers of sun cream. And in the news of that night much comment will be made about the overwhelmed road arteries to the seaside. Much comment will be made about just how long the weather will last before the tar on the roads start to soften. And that will be before the article on the drought. And after the article on the cabin crew strike and the resultant long queues of people waiting to board their flight to the sun in Portugal. Yes summer here is somewhat predictable. I can't wait. Its already warming up, up to 9 degrees this morning. Almost time to get my pins out.


Until next time. Roll on the summer.

Day 138 - Organised Crime

Writers block it seems. Only I'm not a writer but merely a sometimes blogger. Weirdly, after 137 days of tapping away at this keyboard and doing other stuff, my typing skills show little sign of improving. My now calloused two fingers that I use to 'pen' these missives jealously guard their territory lest more fingers wish to join the party. I sometimes wonder how many fingers JK Rowlings used when typing her boy wizard chronicles, I bet it was more than two though (Of course this was when she wasn't writing on the back of used paper napkins in a grimy greasy spoon in the slums of Glasgow...)

Today's poison has to be carefully scribed...as I risk offending even upsetting the 'South Africa is such a nice place to live because we can cook meat on real fires and we have swimming pools and game reserves' brigade.

Today's missive centres on the pending suspension of a very senior and very white police officer in SA who, if you believe some media reports is unstained by corruption and a beacon of the anti crime movement that is so needed there.

If you are the other way inclined you may believe other reports that taint him as the godfather of the Durban mafia, running police death squads and generally being a law unto his own. Either way, his suspension and the disbanding of his highly respected organised crime unit (just a thought here...organised crime? Does this stand for being organised in committing crime or being anti organised crime? You decide...) does not bode well for the future. The future now being one without any competent police force at all! At least when Booysen was there there was an inkling of a chance, or so we believed.

Lets assume his general innocence of the deeds he is supposed to have committed, lets take into account his rank, his stature and his track record of catching, upsetting and prosecuting - or even killing - promiscuous killers, corrupt and powerful business people and of course comfortable and obscenely rich government ministers and lackeys. Lets assume that he has knowledge and access to information that could make some people uncomfortable. Lets assume that his unit was working on exposing serious graft in the government. Lets assume he was doing his job.

And this is the bit that may upset middle class SA...did your reasonably well educated brains not see this coming? Do you not read the papers like you have done for the past 25 years or more and think when you saw that article about the chaos in the rest of Africa that it might just come to your shores too. Here you have a white policeman upsetting a black government in a country where the colour of your skin is everything.

In a country with a diminishing international credibility, a fast approaching failing education system, a woeful lack of maintained infrastructure, a murder and rape rate that makes people gasp in astonishment, wanton violence and the insane and insurmountable uncheckable levels of corruption it is amazing that clever and travelled people still cannot see it. It is too amazing that these same people, many of whom have means, financially, and means in terms of passports have stuck their head in the sand and say it'll get better.

It won't.

Its nice that there are groups that preach positivity about the country, its nice that there are groups that are encouraging people to return. And yes the country does need you, no dispute. It needs your willingness to work, your entrepreneurial flair, it needs your support. But it won't support you. I promise you. It is designed to take all from legitimate and law abiding businesses. It won't give you opportunity, often because of the colour of your skin, even though you have the means and the skill to do the job.That, my friends is the bottom line. Your business aptitude will be smothered in red tape and so many completely one sided and unenforced first world rules and regulations that you will soon slip into the African way of making a plan, often the wrong one. Your safety will be compromised everyday and gradually you will just accept that that's the way it is. Your currency devalues everyday but you won't see it as its borne through constant and ever rising prices and lack of bang for your buck. You'll just accept it.  And you'll accept all these things because in your mind lifestyle is the be all and end all. 

The writing is on the wall. No where in the country will be spared the African curse of demise and failed standards. But you need to go away to realise it.

For the Booysens of this world, I'm pretty sure you're not entirely innocent but in my opinion, on balance, you're probably done more good than bad. That you may have sanctioned 'look he's trying to escape lets shoot him in the head' killing of a murderer or two then so be it. No justice is deserved there anyway. To the people who are surprised by this, you should open your eyes a bit wider.  Its not going to get better, no matter what SA Reunited tells you, or the You Magazine, or some govt sponsored blurb.

Until I hope a more happier next time.

Day 137 - Tarnished Name

My significantly better half has tarnished the family name in this part of middle England. It is unlikely that we shall be made welcome into village halls, summer balls, fetes and Morris dancer competitions in Staffordshire for the foreseeable future. A black cloud has descended and if the practise was still in existence we would be in the stocks on the high street for a week. People and even small children would throw rotten vegetables at us while passing. The vicar would chastise us and may even break into prayer. Beer would turn as the stench of our aura infiltrated every room. This woman knows no bounds. She has dared to raise her voice, to show her passion. While watching football.

Not Premiership or FA Cup. Not even Barcelona or Real Madrid. Instead the mighty Under 8 Sunday League football. In the cold. With a flask of coffee. On a frozen pitch. These conditions were the catalyst that took her from zero to hero and swiftly back again. All in the space of an hour or so. And with such noise that would have landed us in the stocks. Now lets be sensible. For those who know her this behaviour will come as little surprise. With her pint size comes a Latin temperament that can reduce grown men to tears. Many have witnessed her passion and heard her sometimes - most of the time - loud and insightful comment on everyones performance. Couple this with her knowledge and passion for football and the fact that our son was playing and you have a recipe for, um, well, disaster? Humour? Um, candid camera? Don't know to be honest but not having been there for this one I can only expect a club disciplinary letter in the mail. You see here its so not PC to have any passion because its 'all about having fun and not about winning'.

What a crock of shit. Winning is fun isn't it? Here is my little bit of opinion. Yours may differ. If you teach a generation of children that's its not important to win then they will stop trying to win and stop believing that they can be better. If you teach a generation of children that's its OK not to try harder because they'll get a game anyway then don't expect them to do any different. They will carry this tainted view into their adult life and we will be left with nations of losers. Obsessed with high visibility jackets, health and safety, equality and tree hugging. Or has that happened already?

On a lighter note and only to compound my better half's misery for the day, the chosen one, the 12 year old who thinks that she might be eighteen also lost in her netball match. And then, good news and the result of the day, Nadal lost to Djokovich in the Aussie Open final. What a fine day it has been for Mrs C.

And finally. When someone tells you that age is just a number you should immediately extend your arm and bitch slap them. Its not just a number and I have the scars of war to prove it. I have the limp of a veteran, the thousand yard stare of someone who has seen more that he should. The twitch has returned. Tonight shall be torrid. Yes today I played squash. For the first time in more than half a year. With an outside temperature of 1 degrees and an inside temperature of I swear 148 degrees I ran and stumbled across the vastness of a squash court hoping, no preying, that my racquet thingy would connect with the ridiculously small ball. It did occasionally. Fortunately. With my heart pumping its way out of my mouth the game finally came to an end. And not a minute too soon. I had miraculously won. I think my opponent knew that my other half needed some positive cheer.For that I thank him. We shall be grateful for some time. We shall worship his feet until the next time we meet in the hallowed halls of the leisure centre.

Until the next time.

Day 136 - Water Water Everywhere

OK I accept that I am a bit of a novice when it comes to the system over here. And since we arrived and went pretty much straight into running our own business we've had to learn pretty quickly, relying on previous lessons, some sage advice from a best guess choice of advisers - who I can add have turned out OK - and a bit of common sense and probably quite a bit of luck.

Now in business or domestic bliss the system where you are you'll just know what its all about. You'll know just about how your phone bill is calculated, how your electricity bill is calculated, how long it takes for the post to be delivered, how often you get the water bill, when you put your rubbish out, when your rubbish is collected. You'll just know. The process in these times of austerity hasn't really changed much and where it has changed your mate will know, or your neighbour and you'll get to know. And you won't really give it too much thought. But for all the people that have moved countries and don't have that support network. They don't know. Its different. The bins are a different colour. And certain colours get collected on certain days and they only get collected once every two weeks. And you have to figure out when the sneaky neighbours put theirs out and then quickly put yours out. And you have to know what happens when there is a bastard public holiday...

And then there is the water bill. And this is the subject of today's little missive. I have received mine and I am unpleasantly surprised. At no point have I had any contact with the fine folk at Severn Trent Water. But they know me. They know where I live and like animals in the Masai Mara, they charge like wounded Buffalo's. Their horns scraping against ones soul and in the depths of ones wallet. Like animals without emotion they have formed pincer movements, charging from all sides, going for the grisly kill. Parading their trophy. Without any sense of guilt. And this is what happened when I received my bill a few days ago. An eye watering fuck me that's a lot of money bill. Yes one of those. As the tears have dried up I have started thinking about it and looking a little closer at it and it seems they have over charged me. The air starts to re-enter my lungs. I might see the sunrise tomorrow afternoon.

So I ring up customer services today, wanting to point out the error of their ways. And so I start. I say ' I got your bill, thanks you so much', but I think you may have over charged me.' Oh yeah they say, obviously having heard this before.

'Yes' I continue ' it seems that you have charged me twice from the same amount of water used, you see in the breakdown of the bill the first paragraph is opening reading vs closing reading equals usage times by pence per m3 ' I get all that' I say, and then I say ' in the second paragraph you're charged me again for the same water used and i think this is where the error is.' I hear a snicker. No says Stuart, patiently explaining, the water used is the water that we have already charged you for to come out of your tap and is now going down the drain into our waste pipes so we charge you again. I start to choke, my breathing has quickened ' you mean you charge me twice for the same water?' . Yes he says. Flustered now I ask about paragraph three on the bill - this one is titled surface water. And so Stuart goes on to explain that they also charge me for rain water that falls on these premises and runs off into the drainage network. I'm now just about in cardiac arrest, I feel Baba has had his way with me. I am violated. £547 just for rainwater removal is one serious load of rainwater. And they say that water reservoirs in the UK are at an all time low. What the fuck is going to happen when it really does rain!?

I put the phone down, tears streaking my pale cheeks. From now on we bath only once a month. All dishes must be licked clean. Plants must be plastic. It may be cheaper to brush our teeth with Evian. What has the world come to?

I can't wait to get the gas bill.

Until the next time. Send money. 

Day 135 - Two Phone Phil

Hello?
Yeah…on the train…
Yeah London mate…just for the day…and you…what you up to?
Oh ok…and after that what you up to?
Yeah yeah.
No mate ain’t got the time to be honest, gotta get back…
You should come up sometime….

Ah hang on mate…me other phone’s ringing…ok yeah I’ll call you back later, bye

Hello?

We’ve all seen Two Phone Phil. Two Phone Phil is the bloke that always speaks the loudest on his mobile phone. Everyone hears his view and his half of probably a made up conversation on Lesbian World Domination, the fate of Kodak or the state of the US Dollar vs the rising value of the Pakistani Rupee. In fact, it is documented (ok it’s not really) that the smaller the place or the busier the place is, is directly proportional to how loud ‘ol Phil speaks. Two Phone Phil also has, well yes, two mobile phones and a huge opinion on everything and himself. Why he has two phones? I have no idea so, and for me there could be just about nothing worse, so I will merely surmise that he is a/ either very important in his own world, b/ his expression on world affairs is sought after c/ he’s hiding something from someone or d/ he’s a drug dealer with a cocaine problem or…a combination of these things. But he’s more important that most anyway and very clever, and needs both handsets to ensure that he can hold a simultaneous conversation, you know two ears two phones… Or he’s just schizophrenic. 

So two phones. Does this means he has to memorise two numbers and memorise who gets what numbers. And does he store your contact details on both phones in case he loses one. And can he get onto his facebook profile using both phones at the same time? And to which phone does his email go to. Can he send an email to himself.

And does he have two business cards? What if the battery goes flat in one of them, does he swap batteries? And which one does he charge first. Is the ring tone different on each? Jesus I thought my life was complicated at times!

Months ago I wrote on this ramble of a blog about how we had moved into the only village in the northern hemisphere that doesn’t have mobile phone reception. The words went something like ‘people in Somalia have more mobile phone reception…’. It turns out I was wrong. I have discovered that if I lie flat on my bed, on my back with my phone on my chest I get full signal strength. Which is great. As long as the volume is set to deafening. We also get faint signal by the table by the fire and in the middle cubicle in the ladies. And if you stand on your left leg in the middle of the car park facing east. Yes dear reader. Vodafone will sponsor the opening of an envelope but a mobile phone signal in 21^st Century provincial Britain…

So, no phone signal. And it’s bizarrely therapeutic. No ringing phones, no funny at home but not so funny in the pub ringtones. No bar staff thinking that their mobile phone conversation with their mate or their mom is more important than serving my customers. 

No irritating one sided conversations to listen to. And no Two Phone Phil. Can life get any better? Is the pub not a refuge from the daily grind of life? Surely that email can wait. I think so.

I have arrived.

Until next time in the near future.

Day 134 - Face First Mud Diving

Three forty something men should be collectively clever enough to know that taking on a battalion of seven year olds in a Dad's vs Lads football match is never going to end well. We should have known that running around a half sized rain soaked muddy pitch (thank God it wasn't a full size pitch) for ninety minutes in nothing more than jeans, t shirt and trainers (takkies for Saffers) wasn't the best idea.

Yes. We should have read the writing on the wall when they all turned up in football strip, shin guards and boots with viciously, even purposely honed on a grinder, sharp studs. Oh and the reapers grin, minus a tooth or two, that stretched from ear to ear on each of the little shits faces was also a sign. And another that we missed.

For three grown men, all of distinction - OK the other two had distinction - , character and considerable skill we thought, we sure misread the intention of the little bastards. As they ran rings around us slotting Beckham quality goals at random. And caused me to think, momentarily, that face first mud diving was the new in thing. The new must do sport of champions. Or in our case losers.

It is now two days later. The pain of that humiliating defeat is still evident. Physically I have become a marvel to medical science as I have discovered new muscles that for decades have lain unused, waiting only for this occasion to show their faces. I now walk with a limp, I may never recover. And mentally we are scarred, images of toothless grinning little bastards coming at us studs first will forever blot our vision. And the noise of their goal scoring celebrations will haunt our dreams. We have elected to take private football lesson and to buy our own boots with sharp studs so that next time we will show them who's boss. Money is no object, we will pay whatever it costs. And next time we will ask for a pitch side ambulance just in case and a professional referee. And goal line technology. And linesmen. And really small goals for them to score into and really big ones for us in case we score.I'm sure they were cheating you know. And we will warm up before thinking that we're still young. And that will separate the men from the boys. 

But is all depends on making tomorrow morning. You see some of our injuries are horrific. I'm limping and one of the other young old dads did his back. There may not be another time. Our team of three may have to be split up, or as some would say, put to pasture. And that wouldn't be a bad idea. That way, we could continue to be side line experts, all knowing in the ways of all sports. We could, while our kids still believe that we have what it takes, continue to influence game strategy and team selection. Hell we could still even step in and ref the game. Just so long as we don't play again. You see one more game and our kids will start seeing the real skills that we have. And its not football. Shhhh. Don't say a word.

Happy New Year. God Speed.