Day 60 – G1 K1

On facebook recently I found a closed group called Infanterie Skool, Oudtshoorn. I am not one to hang onto the past, I prefer to look to the future to be honest, but for a year in my life, at the back end of my teens and straight after school I found myself here, in Oudtshoorn. Let me tell you the story…

Back then in the good old bad days, National Service was an obligatory service to your country. You could evade it for a while, you could duck it but they always caught up with you at some point. National Service was something everyone did, and your friends, family and community considered it your duty to do it. So off I went, straight after school, still wet behind the ears and barely shaving. Initially I was drafted to 5SAI in Ladysmith. Couple hours from Durban, not too onerous. But, being this ambitious and impatient and some would say stupid person that I am I decided that if I had to do this shit for two years I may as well as make the most of it. So I volunteered (I only found out later that in the Army you never volunteer!) for Infantry School and officer training. In Oudtshoorn which is a long way from Durban.

(as a side note, the Army’s measurement of your fitness was graded, if you were classified as G1K1, which was a requirement for Infantry School, you were deemed to be a combat trainable soldier. A while ago while walking through a mall I saw a wannabee musclemonkey guy wearing a designer shirt with the letters G5K5 emblazoned across his chest. In the army, if you were classified G5K5 you were virtually a one eyed, stone deaf, illiterate, mute retard. Made me cackle.)

And so, after a barrage of tests to check we could tell our left from our right, our fitness and our leadership capability those that remained were herded onto buses for the seriously long drive to the Cape. Were we in for a fright!?

From the minute we arrived and for the rest of that year we ran and polished and ran and polished. Being potential infantry officers meant that we had to be the fittest, the strongest, the best…it also meant that we were most likely to be put in harms way. Remember this was 1988. South Africa was at war in Angola and in every township in the country. The odds of being shot at were not in your favour.

Infantry school is a place revered by those who went through its system. At the time we hated ‘vasbyt’ – 90km walk in three days with full battle pack, we hated trench warfare phase – 6 weeks in winter sleeping in a hole in the Outeniqua mountains, we hated the opfoks given to us by bitter and twisted can’t make it in the real world PF’s, we hated the shitty food that we had to eat in seven minutes. We hated that our beds that had to be as flat as ironing boards and perfectly manicured. We hated guard duties, especially in winter and even the dumbest of us questioned why we were only given five bullets to guard the entire base. We hated the theory lessons, usually given straight after lunch, just when the tiredness of the morning kicked in. We hated the fire and movement drills, over and over again often under live fire, we hated it when the platoon sergeant stuck his noisy face into our bungalow at stupid o clock in the morning. We hated running with the poles, we hated not being allowed to move while our formation was bombed with teargas. There wasn’t much to like one would think. At the time.

It took me a while to realise the value of the lessons learnt in those times. It is difficult to explain but there were friendships forged under very trying condition. During border phase we jumped repeatedly out of a moving buffel (armoured vehicle) trying to simulate ambush conditions, we sneakily bought and drank beer from the kuka shops while on patrol, we bathed in the cattle drinking pits, we stole goats to slaughter and made fire. We slept fitfully, wondering what the next day would bring. We learnt to be self confident in a hostile environment, we learnt to take charge of situations and most of all we learnt the value of discipline. Obviously there were other lessons, like stripping an automatic weapon under fire, to clear a stoppage, pulling the pin on a hand grenade and hoping like fuck you could throw it far enough. We learnt about the pride our parents had in us, we saw their emotion at our Commissioning parade, proud but wondering if we would be alive at the end of next year. We were officers in one of the finest armies in the world (at the time it has to be said). We were respected by other young white men who also had to do National service. Our placements, mine to 101 Bn was waiting. Action was in front of us. And action we found.

Until tomorrow.

Day 59 – Faulty Bean Sprouts

Yet again Federer choked, after all the hype about being the best player ever to have graced a tennis court, he choked. Just like our cricket team in the world cup earlier this year. And hopefully not like our rugby team later this year in New Zealand. On that subject, a long standing joke goes something like this, “If you want to hide something from a Kiwi, where would you put it?” And the answer is…..in the Webb Ellis Trophy. I wonder if they find that funny. What we’re not going to find funny is having to drink beer and tan meat at eight in the morning. It will be a test of our collective fortitude, it will challenge our national spirit but we will achieve this feat, we will rearrange our countries business schedule to adapt to this. Just so long as our boys don’t choke.

Let it be said, am I the only one who has noticed that it seems that, as the Super 15 nears the business end of the competition, the NZ teams have lost their sparkle and their form. I might regret those words but that’s fine…as long the Aussies don’t win.

And so it came to pass that the Spanish guy won yet again. The atmosphere in this household was at best brittle. My ever the graceful I don’t brag and don’t say I didn’t tell you so missus was humble in her glory as you can imagine. That her Spanish compatriot retains his number one spot in world tennis for a while longer keeps her happy. I of course support Federer…and anyone who plays against Nadal. Obviously I pretend in her presence to admire the depth of his game and of course his all conquering skill. Even if he is gay. And so we will go to Wimbledon where battle lines will again be drawn in the grass.

Today I have tried to pass business to three different people that could probably do with it. I am yet to receive a reply or a return phone call from any one of these people. Can it be that busy out there? Am I the only one missing out on the action that it seems everyone must have a part of? I am loathe to blame south coast slowness but hell, that is what it looks like. I cannot believe that in the days of a global slowdown people don’t grab every call on the first ring and try and make the sale. And these are people who own their own business.

Maybe they’ve been struck down by faulty bean sprouts from Spain. Oh wait. The faulty bean sprouts didn’t come from Spain after all. They came from Germany. This they now know after just about the entire agricultural sector in Spain has come to a grinding halt. They know this now that Spanish farmers have lost their livelihoods, their workers have been laid off, and orders have been cancelled. And it won’t be until next year and next season that money will once again start flowing in the right direction.

Now you would think. Amongst this highly respected and educated scientific lot there would be someone, perhaps some sort of protocol formed from previous fuck ups, that determines who can say what to who and when. You would think that there would be some realisation of the damage that could be caused to an entire economy by releasing incorrect information. You would think that there might just be some unfairness in trading the already extinguished lives of nineteen or so people with the lives of millions. But those in the suits with the so called education and money lack this clear thinking ability. It seems to me that they lack the ability to apply common sense, to apply real world reasoning. What next do you think?

Today has come to an end. Until tomorrow.

Day 58 – Extraordinary Rendition

I sit here writing this and sort of keeping one eye on the final of the French Open. By the time you read it may be over and you may know who the winner is but please allow me to keep you updated on the action in this household for the next half hour or so.

My significant and way more mature and learned about tennis than I will ever hope to be is an anally retentive, nothing is better than big left arm and skinny right arm Nadal fan. My wife thinks that because she once worked in a Spanish restaurant and can speak the language she has a connection to this boy. She thinks that because she may have been to Spain or at least driven through Spain she has some claim of anything Spanish. So obviously we mercilessly take the piss out of her, especially when he or any other Spanish dude who happens to play tennis, or any sport really, loses, which has been quite often this year. Although most of the time she gives it back as good as she gets it – especially when Federer loses – she has been known on occasion to lose her temper with both us, the family and the player. Unfortunately, since her commentary is in addition to the broadcasted commentary, it means that we are unable to turn her volume down. Unfortunately too, the Spanish generally, have done quite well in sport over the past few months. So we have heard it and got it repeatedly. Our kids have gone hungry and without sleep because she has been cheering on the Spanish.

The Portuguese government has even been in touch, querying her allegiance to the Portuguese king (is there such a thing?). I am in fact concerned that because of her traitorous behaviour to Portuguese sport she could become the target of extraordinary rendition. I can just imagine the Portuguese Special Forces screaming to a halt outside our house in their Seat Voltarens, all blinged up in their gold chains and medallions, chain smoking and drinking strong black espressos while shouting at each other and selling vegetables. I have a mental image of her being tortured by Morinho and promising to support Sporting Lisbon for eternity.

And so Federer is right now on the brink of breaking serve for the second time in this first set. The volume has again been raised a notch or two. The neighbour has just called, concerned for our children’s safety. If this was Australia, she would have been arrested for swearing and maybe even for talking to fast. Thank god we live in Africa, for the moment anyway. She is safe. It is unlikely that our children will eat tonight. And maybe tomorrow neither, if Nadal loses this match. There will be a period of mourning as the king of clay is laid to rest. Spain and probably Portugal too will declare an international incident. Switzerland, long revered for its neutrality will launch intercontinental ballistic missiles, completely destroying all the coffee shops and peri peri chicken outlets in Madrid and Lisbon. The expat communities in these Mediterranean backwaters will flea to first world Europe, in Barcelona, the forever losing and hard done by Catalans will declare independence and fly the white flag. In the southern parts the resorts will go belly up, thousands of illegal Moroccan and Russian immigrants will book tickets to their home countries, sick of the post war fall out from this tennis match.

In Wimbledon, the strawberries will wither and most probably die. The cream will sour. And Andy Murray’s mom will drink tea in celebration of his elevation to the gay boy of grass.

May all the Swiss tennis players in the final of the French open win all that they deserve. May all the Spanish players in the final be infested with the fleas from a Moroccan’s camel.

Until tomorrow.

Day 57 – Genuine Fake Ferrari

We have spent most of our day today on the main beach in ‘Toti. Under any other circumstances this would not be top of my list to do on a Saturday afternoon but since it was the kid’s party to say goodbye to their mates I had little choice.

For the few hours that we were there I was able to reflect on just what it is that makes this a special place. It’s easy to take what stares you in the face for granted, it’s easy to become complacent with your surrounding and a day like today does, I admit, sharpen the image again. To sit on that beach on a perfect weather day is a treat. Several hundred meters wide and completely under utilized in the Durban winter. A small game of beach volleyball happening over there, the ice cream guy ringing his bell, the odd announcement from the lifeguards. Some lifeguard training in progress just a little down the sand. Gentle waves – today at least – and the noise of kids playing in the surf.

And of course the obligatory wicker basket, hat and genuine fake sunglasses sales people hassling you from the minute of your arrival. For the very first time ever I actually bought a pair of the genuine fake Ferrari sunglasses. They look good, will probably last a week or so. So what.  And now even my new turned over a new leaf very patient self was getting a little irritable with their persistence. I mean how many times should I tell someone that I don’t want a wicker basket? To add to the humour of using this pristine piece of nature, the car guard – a species that are anyway quite low on my list of favourite people – offers me the opportunity to buy drugs from him. If you are a parent you will know what it entails to take the kids to the beach. The only thing that doesn’t go it seems is perhaps the bathroom sink. And after a few hours in the sun, carting all this stuff back to the car, along with herd me if you can kids can be somewhat tiresome. So offering to sell me drugs at this stage of our day out is not clever. Perhaps there is a need for a marketing and advertising course for drug dealers and peddlers. Perhaps “Selling Drugs for Dummies”? Anyway, I didn’t get into the detail but very politely told him to fuck off. I was very polite. Honest.

My eleven year old who thinks she is eighteen had a great day, posing and pouting with her mates.  Watching her closely today I am worried for my health, especially for my heart into the future. And the health of her future but yet still unknown boyfriends. They will need to walk tall to impress her I think.

My six year old. Well he doesn’t give a shit really. As long as he can build sand castles, eat the odd hotdog now and again and kick a ball round he is satisfied. Obviously he hasn’t yet done much thinking about girls yet but that will come in due course. He likes the ladies, especially blondes. I encourage that. It would be a catastrophe otherwise.

The clock is ticking, we are in the final stages. New adventures are beckoning, new people are waiting to be met. It is today less than two weeks. More on this later.

Until tomorrow.

Day 56 – Lady Luck

Yesterday I dreamed of winning today’s jackpot. I wrote briefly about possibilities of a very long bucket list fueled by mountains of cash. So I dropped this exciting and very attractive but unfortunately very unlikely possibility into a few conversations to see what people would do with that sort of money.

And the reaction is quite interesting. In all, with no exceptions, you can see the invisible mind wonder off, thinking about being debt free and without a worry for, well, for ever really. Ok so how much debt do you have? If you take a couple of days to pay it, chances are that with the interest you’ll have more than what you started out with. So what then.

For some, top of the bucket list if to fly first class on a long haul flight. Like them I find flying cattle class to be a tad tedious. I have often heard stories of people being bumped up to business or first class. Why is it that it has never been me? I have never even been offered it. I have walked through the plane, through first class from the kennels in the back, and secretly poked people’s eyes out as they have slept or supped off bone china and crystal wine glasses. I have wondered at their expense account or the size of their bank account. And I have wondered back down the aisle of the plane to my seat, which is invariably next to the screaming child or obese and awfully smelling snoring Norwegian. But a win of this magnitude will forever end this hardship.

For others it would be about going on holiday but that on its own would have its own set of problems. I mean which tropical island with million star resort would you go to. The choice of so many can only be confusing. Would you take the package that included the drinks or would you opt to pay that bill separately? Do you want the water sports package included or not? Oh, sir, and how are you going to pay for that, the travel consultant would ask. And I would reply, ‘I’m not, while pointing to my former international supermodel personal assistant who also doubles as my chauffer and …. (now now I can hear your dirty minds from here!), she is. I don’t carry cash’. And so it would go. The boxes that needed ticking on my bucket list would gradually diminish, but not without its problems.

Others have said that they would be looking forward to sharing it. Imagine how many lives you could change with that amount of money. Imagine how much relief you could bring to organizations that help the less advantaged. Imagine family members of yours that forever could be financially stable. And sadly, imagine how many new friends you would make. Imagine how many begging letters you would get. And all this for the money. All this because today your luck was in.

It could get very complicated. Especially if you have young children who still needed schooling. My significantly better and way more mature and balanced than me other half is of the opinion that we could employ a full time teacher to travel with us wherever we go to teach our offspring. And we could no doubt. But we differ in opinion because I believe that education is not just what you learn in school. Its also about the interaction with your peers, playing in sports teams, having the good and  bad of peer pressure. Years ago lazing in a village called Dahab on the Red Sea,  I met an American family that was mom and dad and four kids, ranging in age from about 6 to 16. They had been on the road for about 10 years traveling the world. All the kids could speak fluent Arabic, they had seen things that most would never. Their social interaction skills and knowledge of pretty menial current affairs was the poorest I have ever seen. I am digressing but the point is, with money comes relief and complication.

There will be lots of advice, lots of experts trying to make their cut from it. I think, but obviously I don’t really know, it would require strong caution and loads of discipline. But it would be a great pleasure to be free. Hold thumbs and cross fingers. Is your luck in?

Until tomorrow. 

Day 55 – Lots A Dollars

Alcohol has once again invited the demons from under the surface. Although I have written before about this, the difference this time is that besides me hanging a bit today, it wasn’t my demons! Now that makes a change.

It started innocently enough at a wine tasting and food pairing evening last night. As the wine flowed, and I’m not a great wine person only because it gives me heart burn, it tasted so much like some more. Every glass became tastier than the one before and before long the absolutely stupid and immature lets go out after this and drink even more conversation started taking place. And you know how it is. At the time it sounds just like the best idea in the whole wide world. Because we really need some more alcohol. And all this on a school night too. Getting up this morning was a mighty challenge I have to say.

At least I didn’t have to apologise this time, unlike some others I know. At least there was no fighting but it did come close with a bunch of we think we’re strong because there is eight of us, we drink brandy and we’re from Joburg guys. In their work shirts still at midnight. Chops.

Do they not know that ‘texas people fight each other all year around until someone from Johannesburg turns up? Then we all stand together. The real pride of the community. I know it’s a bit of a Ripley’s believe it or not moment but s’trew ‘guv. That’s what happens. Its ‘texas against the rest.

I have officially joined the ranks of the unemployed. I don’t consider myself part of great unwashed yet but I am without income. And it feels great to be honest. My latest adventure has come to an end and in the next few weeks we will be making a profound change in our family life as we start afresh.

We, the missus and I are fortunate to not fear change. We are fortunate to have lived a fairly, by some standards, adventurous past. We have traveled far and wide and both of us think it’s important to instill the sense of travel and excitement in our kids. One things for sure; when the conversation around the fire dries up turn it to travel and you’ll be amazed by the stories some can tell. I have a mate, who to his greatest regret, years ago while traveling in Europe, got involved in a minor drug dealing syndicate so that he could eat. As a youngster at the time he recalls how scared he was, how frightened he was that he would be caught. I think the fear of having to explain why he was in jail to his parents forced his hand and he gave this up. Fortunately. I had another, whom I met in Kenya, who hailed from a very wealthy English family and spoke with the proverbial hot potato in his mouth. You could see in him that hardship had not knocked at his door but, to my amazement, was the most down to earth person I think I met on that African odyssey.

I knew others in Israel that I shared both a hostel room with and many many bottles of very cheap Russian vodka and appetizer. Back them we worked on the beach renting out deckchairs and umbrellas to some pretty and some pretty disgusting people. Baked brown in the sun we lived a carefree existence on Vodka and pizza at night and free staff food at day. Those days I think set the travel virus free in me. I tried to write a list the other day when I was bored, of where I had been to. It goes something like this: SA, England, Scotland, Wales, Ireland, France, Spain, Portugal, Greece, Turkey, Israel, Egypt, USA, Croatia, Slovenia, Bosnia, Germany, Kenya, Tanzania, Zanzibar, Zimbabwe, Mozambique, Namibia, Angola, Malawi, Lesotho (does that count as a country?).I think that’s about it but I’m not actually sure. I would like to spend more time in the States, I would like to go to Australia and New Zealand. If I remember correctly, on day 1 of these ramblings I wrote about this bucket list…Oz and NZ would be on that list.

Tomorrow, the Powerball (our sort of lottery thing) is R100 million. Imagine how long a bucket list could be with that sort of money. Even in our mickey mouse money that would buy you a lot of dollars or pounds! Phew. I am allowed to dream.

Until tomorrow.

Day 54 – Burning Desire

I am always amazed when you see people grow in stature every day. People who through doing certain things develop confidence to be considered an expert in their field, people who become confident enough to tap the unknown, to challenge their comfort zone, to question the status quo and most importantly to recognise their own growth. I am also often surprised by people who can see opportunity and grab it and the respective changes it requires in a heartbeat.

In contrast I become incredibly frustrated with those who could be so much more but force themselves to be stagnant in an ever changing world. People who you know well will only know you well for a finite amount of time if you refuse to change, adapt and learn. They and you may not realize or recognise a change in the relationship but eventually one party will drift away in the sub conscious thought that they are now at a different place. That they have less in common with you than before.

I become frustrated when people are scared of change, when people can’t see what is patently obvious to others. I think as one gets older the fear of change becomes ever more present. That change risks everything. To some extent this may be true. I have a view that the opposite is also true though. Sometimes change is integral to progress, both in the business and financial sense but also in the personal arena. Sometimes at least considering change is the spark that ignites the burning desire for it.

I don’t believe that I am afraid of change. I have forced myself to understand alien concepts, to integrate in cultures that are not my own and to learn so that I become self sufficient. Years ago, during my dodgy night club owner days I was forced to teach myself how to DJ because I was constantly let down by inconsiderate people that thought I relied on them. I don’t think I was ever any good at it but it did a few things for me; it put me in touch with the youth music scene, it allowed me to talk with authority about latest trends to demanding customers, it taught me to be a showman, which I’m sure you’ll get is an important attributer as an entertainer, and it forced me to recognise rhythm – something that was definitely not my strength before!!

I did this because relying on inconsiderate people is not my strength. I was determined to be better at my trade than the next person. I was determined to have the edge, and I believe that embracing this skill and others gave me that edge.

I am now doing a bit of small business consulting. I thought I was unique but what is becoming more and more apparent is that although businesses are different, the principles are the same and the owners who populate these small businesses have very, very similar issues. I have a variety of mates who all think that they and their businesses are unique. I can tell them; you are not and nor are the issues in your business! I can’t speak for owners of businesses in foreign lands but I can’t imagine that it will be much different to here.

Some wise guy once said that owners of these businesses should work more on their businesses that in them. Which is a great concept but in tough times is incredibly difficult to implement. The cost pressure to a small business can be crippling and here in South Africa it seems that every fucker out there wants a slice of your action. The cost pressure subliminally forces four wall syndrome upon its victims. The cost pressure forces you to be in than on.

Accountants will tell you about the published tax rates, that’s the easy bit, but they can’t tell you about the hidden taxes. The hidden bits are the bits that really hurt and almost make it an untenable proposition. The hidden bits are not about money, they’re more about time and stress.

What we need, I think, is more money and time and less stress. What we have is less money, less time and more stress. Something is wrong here?

Food for thought. Until tomorrow.