It’s all over

It’s obvious that the holiday season is coming to an end, as the malls are filled with dishevelled whities wearing poorly-ironed clothes, desperate for the return of Mabel, their domestic, who spent the festive period back with her family in the Eastern Cape. They’re even willing to overlook the embarrassment of that phone call they made two weeks into her leave, to ask her where the iron is kept. And the one half an hour after that to ask how it works. Two scorched t-shirts and a burnt sock later, they gave up.
They ran out of clean plates just after Christmas and Mr Delivery is getting expensive. The carpets are ankle deep in beach sand and dirt.
Never in the field of human cleaning was so much owed by so many to so few.

Not so here, of course. I was trained in the art of domestic warfare back in the UK and I’ve been putting my skills to the fore. Having a happy milk-recycling unit which happily recycles milk all over the furniture, carpets and whatever she and you are wearing has driven this domiciliary activity. While others were still trawling the depths of their wardrobes until the 27th, I developed an acute shortage of trouser garments after just two days of family “quality time”, thanks to my little lactose-regurgitation factory, which is instantly forgiven as soon as it smiles through the milky residue. Damn you, Mother Nature.

As Christmasses go, it was pretty laid back. Too hot to be hectic. And the kids always make that festive period a bit special. Back in my childhood days, the time between the 25th and New Year was always a bit empty: the excitement of Christmas over, but everything held in limbo until the end of the year. This time around, in order to avoid that boredom, I contracted viral meningitis and lay hurting in bed for three days. As a microbiologist, I do actually find it interesting to experience the diseases and illnesses that I used to diagnose on a daily basis, but I can put this one alongside Salmonella gastroenteritis and malaria in the category labelled Never Again, Please.  Gonorrhea was over-rated too, if I’m honest. Anyway, I’m happy to say that my meninges are much improved and it’s had absolutely no effect on my brain function. Pink Panther. St Bernard. Picture frame.  

And now, to complete the holiday period, we have been invaded by bees. I have removed around 50 of them from the house this morning alone, using a combination of insecticide spray, A4 paper, a tea towel and the cunning ploy of opening windows. I have no idea what sort of bees they are. In the UK, it’s easy enough: bumble (Bombus terrestis) or honey (Apis mellifera), and you can kill them by using your cell phone. Here, it’s more complicated and there’s always the danger of the Africanized Killer Bee (Apis mellifera scutellata), which can, like, kill you and stuff. Add to that the worrying oversight that the otherwise superb SE X1 doesn’t seem to have a bee killing function and the warning signs are there for all to see. 
They’ve moved into our roof and they’re staying put. Until the bee-killer comes this evening with his bee-killing stuff and kills them, that is. Sorry, my little band of environmentally-inclined readers, but they are going to die a slow, horrible, painful death. Possibly, anyway. I have absolutely no idea what methods he is going to employ. Just that he’s going to employ them this evening. On the bees. In our roof.
You have less than 6 hours to save them and I’m not telling you where I live.

The Southern Suburbs Sprout Shortage

There are no Brussels sprouts in the Southern suburbs of Cape Town. In fact, there seems to be an overall shortage of Brassicaceae generally.

I’ve never really understood the huge rush to buy stuff just before Christmas.  The shops are, after all, only closed for one day. In fact, since every branch of Woolworths (the South African version) is open on Christmas Day*, that’s not even true this year. Thus, I was both slightly surprised and rather disappointed to find empty shelves reminiscent of Eastern Europe when I was out and about this morning.

And there were no sprouts. If there’s ever a time of year when demand for sprouts will be somewhat increased, it’s surely now. Am I really the only one who feels this way?
Don’t even get me started on parsnips… Really.

I’m back home and settled now, having come to terms with a sproutless Christmas dinner, so please don’t post comments telling me where I could have or should have tried in my quest for traditionally festive vegetables. I will be happily quaffing a beer by the pool and not listening.

Have a lovely Christmas, dear readers and thank you for all your support this year. That’s not to say that I won’t be blogging tomorrow or any other time before the New Year, but I recognise that you may just too busy shopping (or just too drunk) to come and read. 

 

 * obviously, the UK version is very closed.

Trolling for Keith…

Warning! This post contains language that some may consider offensive!

Way back in July, I wrote about my feelings upon the release of Batman: The Dark Knight.
I was sick to death (no pun intended) about the amount of hype surrounding the film, which would have been much lessened were it not for one of the actors, Keith Ledger, dying during filming.

Now, a mere five months on from those wet winter days, Matilda, connecting via Boston, Massachusetts, has finally popped onto the 6000 miles… site to post her annoyance at that particular article:

matilda
takethat2008@lycos.com
65.96.221.103

    Saw what you said about Heath Ledger, go FUCK YOURSELF!!!
 

Yes, that’s really the best response that she could come up with after just 158 late nights spent rooting through numerous dictionaries, thesauri and finally, 1001 Best Insults – The Complete Beginners Guide To Swearing.  Brilliant. And a gold star for the Boston Education Department. 

Well, the hype worked and the movie earned shedloads of cash, but Keith is still dead and 11 months on from his “accidental” overdose, Matilda still hasn’t come to terms with his passing. The CAPITALIZATION and excessive punctuation!!!!! at the end there just screams of the spleen ventage of a sad, lonely, woman who only has her 27 cats and a 56k modem for company. A woman who remains deep in denial and who takes a really long time to think up comments to write on blogs.

I look forward to hearing from Matilda again soon. Well, June-ish, anyway.

EDIT: Emil may have stumbled upon something here:

matilda seems very cross with you! Probably jealous about your phone!

Yes, Emil – thinking about it,  that was probably the final icing on the coffin which broke the camels back. Good point.

SE X1

Remember back in April, when I told you that my wife had a better cell phone than I did? Of course you do. 
Well, shame-faced and mildly embarrassed since that day, I have been plotting my revenge. Not because I had anything against my lovely wife, you understand. Well, apart from the fact that it was rather unfair that she had a better cell phone than me, obviously.
Back then, in desperation and dire need of some sort of hope, I was clinging onto the straws of the C702 and the G900. Silly me. Despite the big build-up, when I actually got to see them in the flesh, they were a big disappointment. (see Smith, Graeme and Zille, Helen).

So step forward the Sony Ericsson X1 XPERIA™.
The stats looked good. The video looked even better. I was quivering with mounting anticipation. For ages. Because the only issue was that MTN couldn’t seem to get them to Cape Town.
But now they have. And now I have one.

Simply put, it is a thing of exquisite beauty: form and function combining with consummate ease in a loving, caring symbiotic relationship. It oozes class and functionality.
It’s gorgeous and I am smitten in a way I have never experienced since a winter’s evening at the Wig & Pen in George Street, Oxford some years back. And look where that got me.
Even the name (when suitably abbreviated) looks a little bit naughty, doesn’t it?

So yes, I like it a bit.
Now all I have to do is think of a suitable name for it. Oh – and learn how to use it.
And by the time I’ve mastered that, it’ll be upgrade time again.

2010 rip-off

As Sepp Blatter finally told the world that there was no plan B and that there was no way that 2010 World Cup would be held anywhere except South Africa (again), I was out and about, trying my best to fulfil his wish that South Africa must get more involved in and more enthusiastic over the event, now just days away, (albeit 542 of them).

Ever since the 2010 Mascot – a cuddly green-haired leopard called Zakumi, was revealed to the world – I have been trying to find some 2010 merchandise with him on for my young son. And it’s been harder than you might imagine. Official outlets are few and far between and even when you find one, they rarely stock children’s stuff. Good plan, guys. That’s great thinking right there. Nice work.


Zakumi

Today, I finally found what I was looking for. A t-shirt for a 3-4 year old with a picture of Zakumi on.
Yours for just… R190. (£12.70, $19, Zim$168,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000).

To me, credit crunch, global financial crisis or whatever, that is an obscene amount of money for a toddler’s t-shirt. Now, I’m not stupid*. I know that as soon as something has a logo on it, the price goes daft. But even Naartjie, South Africa’s premium over-priced kids clothing store can’t match that for a kids t-shirt.  When that happens, you know it’s stupid money time.

As with any event where there is money to be made, I expect to see plenty of knock-offs in the lead up to the tournament. And while I certainly don’t advocate buying fake merchandise, one has to say to FIFA – if you don’t want a black market, don’t create one with outrageous prices like that (you greedy bastards).

* Hush. And stop thinking that.