It’s evident that a great number of people remember my post earlier this year documenting the evening that Whale Cottage owner and all-round good egg, Chris von Ulmenstein fell foul of the parking attendants at the CTICC for parking her WhaleMobile where she shouldn’t have done. And then I won a Sour Service Award on her blog for documenting it. Proud days.

Joining me as a shining light on that most particular of lists last week was Asara Estate, and its GM Pete Gottgens. And, in the words of our dear Chris, here’s why:

I attended the Pure Food Market last Friday, a nice idea on a perfect summer’s day, but with a shortage of parking, and a shortage of waiters to take orders for coffees (the waiter-dressed staff had been rented for the day to only clear tables). Gottgens looked more like a security man than the hotel GM, and came to my car when I hooted at an elderly couple indulgently blocking all traffic into and out of the wine estate. He tried to poke the antenna of his walkie-talkie into my face, tried to break off my car side mirror, blocked my exit by instructing his security man to stand in front of my car, and finally tried to strangle me by pulling the safety belt which I had on.

Hang on, he did what? He rented (I prefer “employed” – after all, these are people, not objects – but it’s all good, Chris), he rented people dressed as waiters and got them to clear tables?  While they were dressed as waiters?

HOW DARE YOU, PETE? HOW DARE YOU?

Asara Estate GM Pete Gottgens, can you not understand that Chris needs coffee? And parking? (this is a weakness Chris has which we’ve covered this before) (see above). How dare you rent people dressed as waiters and get them to clear tables. Whatever next? Hire people dressed as clowns and get them to juggle balls and entertain small children? Where will this madness end?

And, Asara Estate GM Pete Gottgens, why on earth did you approach Chris’ car when all she was doing was hooting at an elderly couple who weren’t just blocking all the traffic into and out of the wine estate, but doing it in an indulgent manner?

“I say Cyril – why don’t you park our little Hyundai right across the two lanes of traffic leading both into and out of this wine estate, thus comprehensively blocking said routes, and I’ll pop open some bubbly and get the oysters out?”

Yep – if you’re ever going to block routes in and out of places (like fire escapes, for example) do it indulgently.

It doesn’t stop there though, does it, Asara Estate GM Pete Gottgens? No, you approached Ms von Ulmenstein’s vehicle while resembling a security man.
Is this some sort of fetish, Pete? Is it? Because if it is, it’s ill-considered, given Chris von Ulmenstein’s previous run-ins with people resembling security men. Like at the CTICC, remember?
So next time when you’re approaching her car, maybe ditch the hi-vis waistcoat and try resembling a hotel GM instead.

Oh. And while we’re on about trying, can you not actually “do” stuff, Asara Estate GM Pete Gottgens?

You “tried” to poke the antenna of your walkie-talkie into her face.
You “tried” to break off her car side mirror.
You “tried” to strangle her by pulling the safety belt which she had on.

Look, we’re given very little detail as to why you failed in any one of these three tasks, so I’m going to take a few wild guesses here and suggest that the antenna thing was because your arms are quite short, the mirror one was because you’re not very strong and that the seat-belt strangulation attempt didn’t work because your arms are quite short and you’re not very strong.
Or because you couldn’t find Chris’ neck.

We have a couple of options here, Asara Estate GM Pete Gottgens. Firstly, some sort of upper body exercise programme may assist with the strength issue, thereby allowing you to tear wing mirrors off vehicle with impunity throughout 2012.
The arm length thing is slightly more problematic, as it will require painful surgery and long-term physio and occupational therapy, which will also interfere with the upper body exercise programme suggested above.
Given these obvious limitations, might I respectfully suggest that you go with the upper body exercise programme and organise walkie-talkies with longer antennae for future face poking?

I must also point out that the loonies at Sea Shepherd will be on your case if they find out that you are endangering cetacean life. (Assuming they haven’t sunk yet, that is.)

I can only imagine that Chris will now be suing Asara Estate GM Pete Gottgens for malicious damage to property, and/or assault and/or attempted murder, given these now-redocumented heinous events in the Winelands. And maybe the SAPS might like to add on a charge of employing misleadingly dressed individuals at a country market as well. Oh – and impersonating a security man.

You’re going down, Pete. And not in a good way.
25 to life, I reckon, mate. Papa wag vir jou. And not in a good way.

Unless it wasn’t actually all that serious and these reports have been somewhat exaggerated?

Surely not, though?

Thanks You-Know-Who

In these events, I find a quiet quota photo usually suffices, and since last December’s disastrous trip to the frozen North was mentioned last week, have some of this.

That was the calm before the storm. Redmires Reservoir on the Western edge of Sheffield, looking particularly beautiful in the winter sunshine. I particularly like the way the sun reflects differently (ie. not at all) where the water isn’t frozen.

The reservoir was surrounded by signs warning people that swimming was prohibited, because the water was deep. I think that would have been the least of their worries on this day. It would, however, have served very nicely as a groin chiller in the event of Deep Heat getting into places where it really wasn’t meant to get.

I’ll try and get that Cape Party post out tomorrow.
(terms & conditions apply)

More photos from Redmires and the Peak District that day: here.

Lesson one: One should never look up warning signs and symptoms of any disorder on the internet. Now I have PTSD about the time that I looked up symptoms of PTSD on the internet.
Here are a few of those signs and symptoms that I not only recognise, but have now welcomed into my life as friends:

• Intrusive, upsetting memories of the event (Actually yes. Good guess, Sherlock.)
• Feelings of intense distress when reminded of the trauma (ARGH!)
• Avoiding activities, places, thoughts, or feelings that remind you of the trauma (I haven’t listened to an a-ha song in 4 months. Seriously.)
• Guilt, shame, or self-blame (should I have tried to get to Manchester instead of to Gatwick?)
• Substance abuse (I’m guessing they mean Milk Stout)

Did you see that third one? 4 months without an a-ha song. Madness. (And by that I mean it’s crazy that I haven’t listened to it, not that I’ve started listening to 80′s ska or anything).
Time to move on, I feel. So I put my big boy pants on and pre-ordered this – the CD and DVD box set of the concert I never got to see – from CD WOW.

*deep breath*

So it’s make or break time.

Not just for me, but for SAB as well.
Their Milk Stout department are teetering on the edge of oblivion.
Which, I guess, could lead to a certain amount of PTSD amongst their employees.

Christmas means many things to many people, but since becoming a dad, it’s really all about the kids for me. Not that that means I don’t enjoy giving and receiving gifts as well. After last year’s amazing present from my wife (and even though it all ended in tears), I had high hopes for something extraordinary and had been dropping hints about viticulture for the past few months: I have always dreamed of owning my own vineyard. Things seemed to be going well, as Mrs 6000 kept dropping hints about my dropping hints – a sure sign that my hint droppage had not gone unnoticed.

It was only when I opened the gifts on Christmas morning that I realised that there had been a breakdown in communication somewhere along the line. I had said “viticulture”, she had heard “vermiculture”. And as those of you well versed in Latin will already have realised, that means that I now own my own little worm farm. It does produce a liquid product, but you really don’t want to be drinking it. However, my veggies will love it and I can always get a wine farm next year, can’t I darling? Darling?

Hello?

Anyway, the kids loved their presents – a motorised crane for the boy, a stereotypically intricate German doll’s house for the girl – and the wife will be running and gymming to her new mp3 player.
While I’m not tending to my worms, I will be mostly reading this gift from my parents. Bittersweet stuff.

But for now, it’s back to the original plan: pool, beer, braai.

It’s sad that after all the anticipation, all the planning, all the trials and tribulations, that the final photo I managed to get on my trip up North was this one:

But it does speak volumes about my last few days in the UK. Taking photos inside the airport – even if you were in the mood to do so and there was something worth recording – is frowned upon by the Sussex police and their big guns. And the view from the windows was grey, industrial and limited by poor visibility.
That pic was taken on my arrival at Gatwick on Wednesday afternoon. The following morning, I trekked 4 miles up the A23, towing my suitcase. To put you in the picture (not literally), this is the the major route that leads in, out and around Gatwick airport. It’s a major road, a busy dual carriageway. Usually, anyway.
This was it on Thursday morning at about 9:30am:

This was just before I hitched a lift with an aircraft engineer called Brian, who was trying to get into work and who had been on the road for over an hour, despite living only 6 miles away. He told me that the ground staff had cleared over 160,000 tonnes of snow off the runway in 8 hours the previous day. I wondered why the person weighing it was bothering – the numbers are meaningless when you’re fighting a losing battle anyway.

And so, with Gatwick cut off from the outside world – no planes, no buses, no taxis, no hire cars, no nothing – in or out for over 24 hours and with reports of the weather rapidly worsening towards the west of London, when a single (and I mean a single) bus did become available to Heathrow, I jumped at the chance, got to T5 and moved my flight home forward by 48 hours. And thus, I found myself – ironically, left without a reason to stay - checking in for a flight back to Cape Town at just about exactly the same time a-ha would have been coming onto the stage at the Oslo Spektrum.

Utterly heartbreaking and a disastrous end to my trip. I didn’t see the friends I wanted to see, I didn’t get to Oslo and I didn’t get that last opportunity to see Morten et al doing their thing for the last time. At least for my part, I did everything I could.
There were the usual, annual reports in the papers about how badly Britain had coped with the snowy conditions, but this was exceptionally bad weather: the worst in living memory in Sheffield, as you can see from this photo of my parents’ road – yes – it is there somewhere.

Back to Cape Town and normal life (such as it is), then.

Which actually isn’t such a bad thing.

If this video is © blocked, here’s an alternative link

Heading back to their early years, they employed the services of Steve Barron to direct the video – he directed the ground-breaking Take on Me video (and Michael Jackson’s Billie-Jean, as it happens, but we won’t hold that against him,ok?).

This video is full of symbolism: from the chrysalises at the beginning, through the flashbacks to their early videos, the three roads heading in their different directions, to the butterflies flying free into their new lives at the end.
And that silent agreement on their decision at 2:38 and poignant goodbye: heartbreaking for fans like me.

And, because they made the decision to split, rather than just fade away, we get an insight as to some of the stresses and strains of being in a successful band:

Over thinking every little thing,
Acknowledge the bell you can’t unring,
Tomorrow, you don’t have to say what you’re thinking,
You don’t have to mean what you say.

Tomorrow, you don’t have to mean what you say,
Left without a reason to stay,
Comes the last hurrah,
Here’s our last hurrah.

Who knows if they will finish on this one tonight?

It’s worthy of that honour before we step out into the frozen streets of Oslo.

The beauty and rediscovered novelty of the snow has given way to the practicalities of travel and the implications of not being able to get to where I need to be.
As I write, there are blizzard conditions outside, adding to the (at least) 16″ of snow on the ground already. Locally, the roads are all closed, deep in snow and transport is at an absolute standstill. These are exceptional conditions, even for Sheffield.  And in the midst of all this, I have to get to the station and try and find my way to Gloucester for the next leg of my journey. But that’s not going to be possible – I’m just not able to get anywhere at the moment: it really is that bad. And so, I’m going to make a big push to walk the 5 miles to Sheffield station towing a 23kg suitcase on a sledge: and get to London.

And even when I do that, Gatwick airport is closed.

But I need to do my bit: there’s no point my being anywhere but Gatwick if they should reopen before my flight is due to leave.

I’m depressed, a litte worried about heading out in these conditions and resigned to the fact that this isn’t going to happen. So, if it does, then I’m all smiles.

Photos from yesterday are going up on flickr as I write.

And now, I am just going outside and may be some time.

Then onto the football – least said, soonest mended, although I will quietly seethe forever at the inexplicable and biased actions of Mr A Wanker – or whatever that ref’s name was. Still, always a pleasure(?) to watch my beloved red and white wizzzaaaaaards.

Today – sunnier, more beautiful, less windy, slightly less chance of getting hypothermia. Slightly.

Up onto the moors above Sheffield for a walk in the snow. And very pretty it was too.
Photos from the first two days (which have passed far too quickly) are here.

Tomorrow, Newcastle, where I can apparently expect to see A LOT of the white stuff – and get some more of that infamous Portishead-style wind.

Back into the pub, then.

For that reason, I’m going to keep posting as much as I can. Apparently, despite its backward reputation, there are some places in Europe where one can access the internet. Of course, many of those posts will involve news and photos from my trip and some may be of a personal nature to my family back in Cape Town.
Not too personal, obviously – you shouldn’t expect to read stuff like “but thankfully, the rash has cleared up now” or anything involving the word “discharge”. I do have some standards.

So, please bear in mind:

• Comments may be a bit slow to be cleared
• Emails may be a bit slow to be read.
• Twitter and Flickr should be updated fairly regularly.
• It’s difficult to type with frozen fingers.

And I’ll be back at some point in the very near future.

I looked ahead
I’m saw the mountain there
You don’t need me to tell you now
That nothing can compare

You might have laughed if I told you
You might have hidden a frown
You might have succeeded in changing me
I might have been turned around

It’s easier to leave than to be left behind
Leaving was never my proud
Leaving Cape Town never easy
I saw the light fading out

Flying out of Cape Town tonight – into the snowy UK – looking forward to the trip, but not so happy about leaving home and family behind.

Back soon.