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.

Day 133 - New Years Eve

And so, in a few hours from me writing this, a new year will break. People of all cultures will wonder what goodness or badness is coming their way and most will resolve to take steps to change their life, set a new goal, cast in mental stone their willingness for it to be a different year from the one that has just passed. And in a day or two, once the alcohol haze has lifted, many would have forgotten what was promised, and life carries on.

And that was going to be the theme of this blurb, seriously reflecting on this time of year and all it means to people I know and of course to myself.

But, if I was sitting reading it from your screen or over your shoulder, even my eyes would roll back never to be found again. Because every columnist in every newspaper or magazine, every blogger, every self help guru will be writing about this time. In Australia and places like that in the East (of where I am now) will have already celebrated the moment, News channels like Sky will go on and on and on with replays of the fireworks on Sydney bridge and the crowds on Bondi beach. In the west, people are just getting out of bed after a heavy Friday nights drinking and partying. They still need to get the day going. In the south, many a fire will be lit by now in expectation of having a braai, the fanta brown will be flowing and tonight A & E will too be overflowing. And here?

Here is another working day for us, albeit a busy one. In this trade there is no such thing as feet up at Christmas and New Year...oh wait my eyes are glazing over too.

No people, tonight, we put lots of money in the till hopefully and if all goes well we'll stumble into bed at about 4am, hopefully drunk. There fitness freaks and gym bunnies I've said it. Yes, tonight we will have licence to abuse our bodies. Tonight we shall morph into super beings, capable of doing the dumbest things to an appreciative audience. Tonight we shall say things that we will apologise for, for a few weeks yet. That's if I can make it to dinner time to be honest. The draw of my bed right now is almost overwhelming, I just need a few hours...

The allure of New Years eve, after 20 or so years in the trade, is definitely less sparkly than what it was. Definitely less enticing and in this trade usually marks the end of the festive busy season. Feet are sore, brains are tired, bags under the eyes are a sorry sight. And tonight, like every other year, there will be at least one idiot who believes that they are cleverer than everyone else. There will be one. For sure.

I always wonder at this time about the people who have been in my life in the past year. Our circumstances maybe different to yours but I suppose as the year turns you have to turn with it and move on from those who obviously don't share the same interest in you as you do in them. Its a shame that distance and circumstance makes some people forget the togetherness that was once there. Its a shame that we get wrapped up in our own little patheticness and own importance that we forget the times that we shared, the people that added to our sum. And I guess I am probably not an exception so therefore won't claim to be. But I miss those times that I can't have again.

And so, time has marched on, 2011 has just about seen its ass, and what a year its been, full of change and new people and 2012 is beckoning. Resolutions anyone? What are you going to do different. And please don't tell me you're going to read a motivational book every week or month. That is so yawn. Please don't tell me that you're gonna start going to church or start going more often. Did your mother not ever tell you that its the way you live your life everyday that's important?

Do something significant. C'mon, jack your job and travel the world. Stop smoking. Give up the drugs. Get back in touch with old friends. Find something that makes you happy. Write a book. Grow some balls.

Or if you're perfect in your own eyes. Become less so.

And that my friends is new years eve. 2012 for me is about being happy and at peace and I hope to write a book or at least make a serious start at one. 2012 is also, for me, the time for me to clear out my baggage of people in my life who I don't want to hear from again, clear out my thoughts, my regrets, my impatience with stupid and selfish people. Yes 2012 is my year to make a difference. For B, N & L. What you do in your 2012 is up to you but whatever it is I wish you the very best.

God speed. Until the next time.

Day 132 - Secret Information

I confess. I know nothing or at least very little about the Protection of Information Bill or Secrecy Act that has got all and sundry into a lather this week. I suppose if I did know anything sensible and accurate about it I wouldn't be able to write about it for fear of being in breach of it. I suppose? But it does smack of the paving of the path to a good old African dictatorship. 

Now Africans (and I consider myself an African before the self riotous out there get carried away)  have collectively proved themselves over and over again to be pretty fucking useless at the best of times but one thing we do know how to do, and we do this quite well (but probably not as well as China and a few Arab sandpits) is to trample on others, their dignity, their rights, their heartbeat. And we're also quite good at guiltily wringing our hands when observing our lot in action and doing nothing about it. 

I am not a liberal - shhh peanut gallery - regardless of the colour of your skin I have a strong belief in right and wrong, a strong belief in learning from mistakes made, a strong belief in leading by example and strong belief in firm and fair. But I fail to understand and find it quite sad that we are scarred by our past so badly that in a country like SA with all its mineral wealth, geographic diversity and pot of cultures we (poetic licence - work with me) have allowed near on 20 years to pass us by since 'democracy' and today we are still talking about the same shit and simmering in the same anger.

 

So the secrecy bill will only serve to remind the underclass (and unless you're privileged enough or royal enough or connected enough to benefit from being in government you are the underclass) to look north to the Arab spring. Because it may be the only option eventually. Because what will happen next is that the constitution will be changed at will to accommodate power trips and obese egos, to sell the land to the invading Chinese and there will be nothing that we can do about it. There will be no consultation because it will be wrapped up in the act somehow. There will be no reporting of it for fear of persecution. Minorities will be persecuted because they have had the audacity to grow their wealth and create infrastructure. Corruption - and its been impressive so far - will become legendary. Service delivery will be non existent. Infrastructure will gradually crumble. The police will be non existent or non effective. Civil disobedience will develop. It might take a year or two or five but the clock has started.

Fanciful? Ask journalists who have covered the demise of other African states, and here are only a few; Zim, Mozambique, Angola, Kenya, Ethiopia, DRC, Sierra Leone.

And yes, bizarrely, SA's people who don't live in the country will still return, they will be swayed by some motivational speaker about SA being the land of milk and honey - oh yes and you certainly do get milked - making the decision to leave a less glamorous life style so that they can braai and feel the sun on their backs. Clever people will make life changing decisions based on their past memories of drinking cold hansas. Ask me. I did it. It took me 10 years, two children and a lost fortune to bring me to my senses. I won't be back.

And quite frankly if even after the passing of this bill you still have your head in the sand hoping it'll get better then you deserve a medal for naivety. Or stupidity.

I leave you with these final words. My view may be different to yours I accept that. You may read this as negative, that is your prerogative. But if you can go then you should. 'n Boer maak 'n plan. You should too.

Until next time.

Day 131 - Been a While

Its been a while. About a month and a bit actually but hey who's counting. Since last sitting here and writing my bit to save the planet (or at least my sanity) the Rugby World Cup has come and is nearly finished, the end of summer has turned into the beginnings of winter, the kids are well and truly ensconced in their schooling, seasonal sport - soccer and netball -  is well underway for them, and we are nearly three months into trading this new venture of ours which means...well, what does it mean?

It means that we are getting settled, it means that we are slowly figuring out the system and the ways of business here in the UK (in fairness its quite similar here to 'ol sunny SA but better enforced and checked up on), it means that we are working out who to deal with and who not to bother with (tricky sometimes in a small village when you risk upsetting people and them not supporting you and their mates not supporting you either), who are nice people and worth spending time with and who are not and of course working out who to connect with and again who not to.  The saving grace here is the fact that we are the current custodians of this village's historical cross roads or meeting place. Everyone that is anyone in this town has spent some time in these walls as has their parents and their parents parents. Three months on now and everyday we are asked about this or that pertaining to this pub. We are regularly informed about a wedding or christening that happened here at some point in the last hundred years or more. I still find it interesting and try, in my own mind, to make comparisons with establishments in SA that have a long history. I would imagine that place like The Queen Vic in Durban or The Fireman's in Cape Town probably have a story or two but probably not of the scale that could be told here. And although this is old - about 500 years - there are other pubs that date back to the 10th or 11th century. How do put that into perspective? I think humility is the order of the day. I think understanding and not over stating one's contribution to the fabric of the village is the important thing to remember. And only time will tell us that we have achieved that. 

Or we can pillage for all its worth and do what everyone else has done, two or three years, move on and leave a mess for someone else to sort out. I know the route we plan to take.

Onto more serious stuff. Rugby. South Africa, now former world champions, lost their crunch decider quarter final against the arch enemy, Australia. I am not an expert but like all other Saffers feel that I am at least qualified to pick a world beating team and of course, in my spare time, play and ref test match rugby. And if all that fails I can and will start a petition that will change nothing and then for a week or two whine and whinge to anyone who will listen about the outcome of the game. I am at the very least better than Bryce Lawrence. And here is my measurement. When the Aussie commentators - who are as biased as all hell all the time!! - on the feed that I watched were obviously and vociferously cringing at the decisions made by the ref, decisions going in Australia's favour, then you know that there might just be something wrong. When Aussie journos slate the outcome of the game because it was a farce then you know that there might just be something wrong. 

So will anything change now regarding the outcome of the game? Of course it won't. Technology that so freely exists of course won't be utilised to make the game better. 'ol Bryce will move onto to ref another game - although probably not in SA 'cos the dutchies will KKK his ass. For the next four years us Saffers will whine that we were robbed (just like NZ has done since 1991) and whoever wins on Sunday will never be the true champions because of that one game. Funny old world.

And onto other stuff. The recession. I don't know if there is a real one to be honest. I don't know anyone that has recently lost their job and will never find work again. But I'm fairly simple when it comes to this stuff. I don't know any one whose salary has been cut to put them below the poverty line. The food prices in the supermarket don't seem to be rising too much over here, petrol came down last week. You can be sure the banks still make billions, as do the supermarket chains. No. I think this whole recession is something we have talked ourselves into or something that the miserable bankers and economists have talked us into. Simplistic view yes. Still a funny old world.

Anyway, thats my lot for today and maybe even this month. I will try and write more regularly because I know that you can't wait to read the next installment. It raining. Wish you were here.

Day 130 - Boy Scout Moment

Well, so much for writing something for 365 consecutive days. At this rate I will only finish this in 2019 and you shall be stuck reading this with me as my hairline recedes and waistline increases even more. I shall by then be waffling on about the state of the bus journey to town, whether or not I should draw my pension in Italian lira - because lets face it the Euro will probably be gone by then as country after country goes into bankruptcy. The European Union will probably have been dissolved by then and as the holder of the green mamba (that is a SA passport in case you were wandering) I will again need a visa to go to the toilet. Ah, so much to look forward to.

Anyway, I digress from the important news of the past few days and news I am sure you are just hanging on to the edge of your seat to hear. Yes, this news will be ground breaking. The Springboks won a game of rugby today. Yes, they did honestly and you can check the news channels if you don't believe me. It did come as a surprise I know but a win is a win and we'll take it. It was obvious, to me anyway, that if Div reduced the average player age to about 24 the pace of the game will pick up like it did in the second half. As a side note it must have been quite interesting this morning in 'ol sunny SA with the churchies...decisions decisions...do we watch the bokke, braai and eat biltong or do we go and pray? Or do we pray for the bokke to win. Hmmm that must have confused the do gooders this morning.

And in other sporting news, equal in importance to the WC, my youngest kicked off his annual campaign to retain his player of the year trophy. First match this morning it was, so off we went, all excited and not dressed very warmly. It was one of those aha moments, football here might be a bit different and a whole lot colder. For us anyway on the sidelines. I think in a month or so we shall be taking along the mobile fire place to stand around - if today was anything to go by anyway. Nevertheless, being this dedicated parent that I am I gave up the opportunity to watch the other match live (in my warm lounge) and rather recorded it to watch as if it was live when we got home. These days its quite tricky not to be kept in touch with every moment of everyone's life so in a military manner we forbade the use of mobile communication devices until such time as we completed watching the end of the Springbok victory. I don't know why we bothered to be honest. What a shite performance. At least the youngest and his team dominated their opposition with a thrilling 3-0 win.

We also this weekend had the pleasure of hometown mates staying with us. There is nothing quite like talking shit over a few tequilas with someone who shares some of your history. I can only imagine what we were talking about because to be honest things are a bit hazy, in the later parts of the evening anyway, and I don't remember most of the detail. But I know we had a good time judging by the size of the bar tab anyway. Being of SA stock we drank our fair share and ate our fair share too. We even lit a fire and had a cracking braai yesterday afternoon. OK there were a few envious looks from passing punters as we sizzled the steak on the fire and drank beer but there are some things that need to happen. And this was one of them. We even had gem squash on the fire. No small feat finding gem squash over here apparently. Good times. And then we drank more tequila. Hmmm too nice!

Someone else I know posted in facebook earlier today the fact that he had been mugged at knife point last night while walking home, probably no more than 300 meters. Here it would be big news. He would probably be knighted for surviving a knife attack as quite a few of them don't survive. There, his fb friends say 'hey sorry bru, hope you OK man' or 'whatsup dude, at least he didn't kill you'. As SAfricans we are so overwhelmed by crime and so inebriated by it that we no longer have much emotion about it. I'm not judging it, I don't live there anymore so I don't have too and before you get all defensive, there is crime here too I know but in most cases it would be unlikely for you to die for your phone. In most cases. 

Someone else I know also quoted stats recently, and they went something like this. The murder rate in SA has come down 6.5%. A real result by anyones standards. But there were still 15000 - yes fifteen THOUSAND - murders last year in SA. Don't quote me on the stats as they may not be absolutely accurate. Maybe it is 14500 or 15500. Its a lot that's the point. But we are immune to the emotion that comes with crime because it is part of our culture. But at least the sun in shining and you can braai. Strange but true.

Talking of fire, tonight I had a bit of a boy scout moment and for the first time lite the fire in the pub, just checking to see if it works you see. People were looking at me as if I was a bit odd but hey, its my fire. So there. It works is the verdict and no doubt we shall be lighting it up quite frequently in the months to come.

And finally, its ten years today since the attacks on the World Trade Center. Where was I when this happened? At Durban International Airport buying a cold drink at the sweet shop downstairs. Above the till they had a TV and they happened to have CNN on...and there it was. Where were you when it happened?

Until tomorrow. Maybe

Day 129 - Jinxed It?

And so it came to pass that at least one of my off spring attended his first day of school today. And in the morning another, the eldest, shall too. In the morning she shall embark on her own on the bus with new people to her new school. It will no doubt be daunting for her but I am sure she will be just fine. She has after all met a number of kids her age to share the journey with so we hope that it will not be too dramatic. 

It will be somewhat quieter in these parts for a number of hours each day from herein onwards. We are now getting to normality, the summer holidays are over, the Euro travelling populace are back at work, tanned and already saving for their next journey to foreign shores. The honeymoon period of the pub has subsided and it is up to us to now make it happen. And we shall. But rather than climb into every gimmick there is available and there are many we are more inclined to approach this gently and with more depth and foundation. Just how much depth and foundation will depend of course on the state of the bank balance but we are confident that slow steps now will stand us in good stead later. Or, and this could be the case, we may just be naive and whacking the gimmicks and gadgets now is the way to go. Whatever my opinion is or yours for that matter, time alone will be our judge and jury. And hopefully by the time this gets to Day 364 we will be closer the knowing the answer. I shall be exhausted and probably stressed but at least we will a bit closer to knowing if this theory works.

On the personal side, I continue to to be amazed by some of the people that I meet. With the hours that we are currently doing it would be safe to say that the holiday goggles are off but yet still every day we are touched by the kindness and generosity of people that live in these parts. Yes, before you think I've gone all soft and tree huggy like I know that for some who have lived here for a lifetime we are one in many couples who have kept these historical walls in good shape and there will be many more after us I suspect but nevertheless we have had easy and friendly conversations with a variety of people who have just accepted us. There has been no qualm about our backgrounds, the fact that we are foreigners. There has been no issue that as Springbok supporters in front of the imminent World Cup we shall be up against England at some point, and hopefully beat them too. And on Saturday there shall no doubt be many comments as we wander around the town in our Springbok jerseys readying ourselves for a Welsh onslaught - which we shall brush away. And hopefully later on Saturday when we light the fire and tan some meat there shall be only congratulatory comments on our fine victory.

There I have jinxed it now. I have mentioned fire so it is sure to rain anyway, regardless of whether I wash my car or not. I have positively alluded to the current Springbok side actually winning a game on foreign soil - which as we know could  now go either way and there is a strong chance it will now go against us. I am truly sorry so I shall have to wear my lucky shirt and i expect you to wear yours. Mine is green.

I'm rambling now. Tuesday now. AFD shift tomorrow that start at 6am so I am signing off. I hope that you have a fab time wherever you are and don't forget to put your national pride aside and support the Springboks in their quest for a third World Cup victory. There is only one.

Until tomorrow.

Day 128 - Clever Stuff

Tomorrow and Wednesday heralds, finally the end of the summer holiday for the off spring. They will, hopefully spend the next few months being bombarded with clever stuff that makes them both intelligent and occupied. They will hopefully be able to immerse themselves into subjects that challenge their mental ability and positively engage their peers in worthy debate on the state of any given subject.

What will more than likely happen instead is that I suspect that my pre teen who thinks she eighteen will spend more time trying to be cool at her new school that actually bother with anything clever. Her pre requisite and sparkling new uniform will fortunately negate her willingness and need for individuality and her morning bus journey will drag her out of her bed at a suitable hour, which is some hours before lunch. It will be a shock to her system to experience eating breakfast actually in the morning, but a lesson well learnt for her future years. For the even younger one, he will perhaps not engage anyone in worthy debate, in fact he probably won't give a shit either way as he blasts himself around the playground being a boy. For him there is unlikely to be worthy debate as he argues his corner, I can warn others and take this from my experience he has the ability to be quite convincing. So convincing in fact that I have had to install a daily password system for my bar staff. The rule has been, no Cheddars, crisps or sweets if he doesn't know the password. It worked at first...

Today though marks the end of a long and busy weekend. Staff drinks after work always sounds like a good idea at the time. Its only when you get into the detail of who wants what to drink, and who is rostered to work the next day do you realise just complex it can all be. Factor in age and some immaturity and it proves to be challenging to keep all happy. And as predicted a few days ago, the party went exactly as I said it would be. Slow and subdued to start followed by raucous and noisy till four in the morning. The very young of the youngest were the first to leave, not exactly walking upright it has to be said. The oldest of us, the more experienced of us and those of us who have little idea of when to stop were of course the last to leave. Begrudgingly at the time I trudged upstairs, the laughter of the night still echoing in my head and within one second of resting my head on my pillow was I asleep. Blissfully unaware that the cleaner fairy was going to take all the hassle away of tidying up the mess that we made. 

And then Sunday happened. What had been a good idea turned Sunday into a tragedy. I could swear that this past Sunday was longer that it normally is. The last few hours of the day took forever to pass. The throbbing head was temporarily stilled by a few tablets and a glass of water but none of the old tricks worked. Not even greasy bacon and eggs. And then we went o a braai / bbq in the afternoon. Fantastic it was, especially once a few glasses of red were downed. We never learn. 

Until tomorrow.

Day 127 - Drink in Hand

Beer, beer everywhere but not a drop to drink. Or was that supposed to be water? I can never remember. I suppose unlike salt water, this beer is very palatable but not wanting to beer (sorry Freudian slip I think) confused with someone else who does similar things to me I try - and this will news to those who know me but I have grown up eventually I think, well OK maybe not actually grown up completely yet but on track to be mature, more sensible and not to overdo it too often anymore.

Until this coming Saturday anyway. This Saturday marks the first of what I suppose will be a few bonding sessions with the staff of this place. I say the first of few because hedging my bets here I am bound to have changes of people in the time to come so will need to sacrifice more generously as it happens to properly welcome them to the team. I cannot be accused of lacking in generosity. 

Having hosted events like this before, like I have said previously any excuse will do, this is what will probably happen. It'll start off relatively quietly, a bit subdued even, and once the lubricant which occurs naturally in alcohol starts to take effect, the volume will start to increase, the youngest of the team will try and drink the most in the shortest possible amount of time and will no doubt be the first to throw their name away, for some never to be found again. The flash of cameras will remind everyone of the need to put everything on fb, every comment, every joke, every revelation and for some this will mean embarrassing moments and explanations in the morning when their mothers open their status updates. As the evening wears on, so the cleverer ones will try and both understand and solve the worlds problems. Complex rationality and reasoning that defies all logic will prevail and at some point all present, especially the young ones, will profess to have the answer to the crisis in Libya or Afghanistan, some will be so emotional about these two situations that they will commit themselves to joining the armed forces at first light. Of course they never will, until the next session anyway.

And the older of us will sit back, drink in hand and wise to the path of these parties and watch the future memories unfold. We shall be reminded of our age repeatedly by the younger element amongst us but come the end of the night we shall most likely be still standing and yes, still in charge of the camera so that these drunken moments are forever captured and of course shared with all our hundreds of friends and of course friends of friends. And in the morning, the elders amongst us will still get up to do a days work. We shall no doubt be hungover and the day will be a battle, especially to keep the porcelain smile gleaming. The youngsters will oversleep and may not even arrive at work, citing tiredness of course. We shall all promise never to do it again, until next time of course.

And that is how Saturday night will probably go. There are of course other scenarios which involve copious amounts of gold Tequila and maybe even a bit of jagermeister but that would just be too awful to contemplate. Oh and one final point, when it gets to stupid o clock and I'm the one standing on the table (looking for my name in the rafters) shouting 'big or small fuck em all' you know it might be time to call it a night. Forewarned is forearmed. Or something like that.

Until tomorrow.