A quick lunchtime trip to the False Bay Rugby Club with the newly-mended Mrs 6000 gave me a chance to chuck the Mavic around, much to the joy of the kids and dads playing on the rugby field.
This was all about having fun, not a photo or video expedition, so there’s not much to report other than the fact that it was nice to get some fresh air and some more but you can have a look at a different view of things here if you want.
School holidays are now upon us, so not only does that mean an extra hour in bed each morning, but I will also be using every opportunity to spend some time with the kids and – because I have a little bit of annual leave coming up – flying some new places too.
Catchy title, hey? But it does exactly what it says on the tin.
The evening in question was aimed at those of us who grew up in the 80s and wanted to relive that “school disco” experience, while raising some much-needed money for the Red Cross Children’s Hospital. It was a good plan and it was a good night. While dancing the hours away, I found myself observing the event from a blogger’s eye (I hate it when that happens, but it happens a lot) and here (in no particular order) are some of the thoughts I had:
- The Southern Suburbs of Cape Town are like a giant incestuous net.
Nothing new in my saying that, but there was plenty of further evidence that you can never really escape from their clutches. Everyone knew everyone else, but hadn’t seen them in years, save for the occasional cross-aisle glimpse at Constantia PicknPay and (tellingly) in passing on the school run. And even those who weren’t present yesterday evening weren’t far away. “She’s in London, but moving back in July” or “Ja, he couldn’t make it tonight, but I saw him at the rugby last week” etc etc.
From an outsider’s perspective, especially one who flew the Sheffield nest at a relatively young age, it’s quite terrifying.
My kids will probably be just like that one day.
(Tied to the Southern Suburbs, I mean; not terrifying or incestuous)
- The difference between what made it big in South Africa and what made it big in the UK is a large difference.
I’ve seen this before too, with Alphaville and more recently Roxette, who both did “OK” in Britain, but were apparently MASSIVE here.
Some of the reasoning for other bands is fairly straightforward: Eddy Grant’s Gimme Hope Jo’Anna and Free Nelson Mandela by the Specials AKA – both played last night – never made it big here in the 80s. Strange, but true.
In addition, local (Brakpan) rockers éVoid never had any chart success in the UK, although their song Shadows is worth a listen and could have held its own with any decent British 80s New Romantic/Electronica.
But then there’s the weird stuff: The Smiths cleared the dance floor last night, aside from me, who was more than happy to shoegaze to Panic and Ask. The dance floor was hastily refilled when some Talking Heads was applied. Now, of course, I know about Talking Heads, but they had very, very limited appeal in the UK (just 1 top six single). They were however, to coin Alphaville’s phrase, Big in Japan though. And evidently here too.
I have no idea why this dichotomy should exist.
- The Tall Accountant strode across to me (didn’t take much, he was nearby anyway and has a huge stride) as Sweet Child O’ Mine by Guns ‘n Roses began and announced, in an accent oddly-reminiscent of Mr Darcy from Pride & Prejudice:
“This is the greatest song ever recorded. I shall hear no argument.”
before moving into an expressive and obviously well-rehearsed air guitar routine.
He was wrong of course, but I felt that there was little point in telling him so.
- In this digital age, there is no excuse for sk-ipping sound on each and ev-ery track.
It was v-ery ann-oying.
- It was just like a school disco. I even felt a bit guilty drinking my Black Label and expected it to be confiscated at any moment.
The major difference was that I never needed to employ a babysitter when I went to school discos. I suppose that has changed these days too.
Which brings me to the biggest realisation of the entire evening:
- We are getting old. The number of times that I thought how much better music was then than it is now (and I know that I wasn’t alone in thinking it). Of course, those who grew up in the 60s thought that about the 80s and those who grew up in the 70s thought that about the 90s (but they were very obviously incorrect).
Sadly, in all likelihood, in twenty years time, the young people of today will be saying the same about Justin Bieber.
It’s a frankly terrifying thought.
* for @simonwillo