Some Weird Thoughts!

You know, retirement gives one time to think and plan everything you wish to do. That’s if everything goes according to your plan. However, we do know that very little goes according to plan 100% of the time. But, in between thinking, my mind tends to wander a little too much, sometimes fixating on weird things.

Anal bleaching! Did you know that it’s a thing? Huh? And nobody told me about it! Not that I would be interested in doing it to my lily-white ass. What’s with people with too much money for their own good? Next we’ll be looking at poopless poopholes. So much for ball-breaking innovation, albeit on the other side of my prostate. Enough crassness!

Something a fuzzy soft, and warm, is navel fluff. Not the Navel orange! Oh crikey, let’s leave orange out of this since he has been banned from Facebook.  Y’know, the stuff that collects there in that “war wound” in the front of your tummy during your working day even though you showered that morning? I suspect said fluff comes from fibres wishing to leave your sweater in protest for some reason or other. Much like photons and stuff leave the surface of the sun due to expulsion by its thermonuclear coming together of hydrogen atoms to form helium.

Rumour has it that that some ladies use the absence of fluff at the end of day as an indicator of whether her mans’ sweater had been removed during the day. Why, I do not know? Just a thought.

Why is there a word such as “birthday”? Should it not be the phrase: “birth day”? Remember that you only have one birth day i.e. the day you were born. The rest are just commemorations of your birth day. Which makes it easier for people who do not believe in birthdays because you have commemorative birth days. Remember that you could also use the phrase “annual ring”, instead of “birthday”. Annual rings are concentric circles, just like the type of people I move with i.e. it’s eccentric. Make sense? You’re welcome!!

The word NEWS is said to be derived from the first letters of north, east, west and south. The Afrikaans word is NUUS. Should the latter not be N(oord), O(os), W(es) and S(uid) = NOWS? It would make sense because breaking news is that the stuff that is happening now! Again, not that I’m nitpicking. But…you know!?

Did you know that different forms of primates, and especially Neanderthals versus Homo sapiens, are only able to speak in consonants and not vowels. We do both quite well. The suspicion is that Neanderthals did not do well with vowels. Which saved them a lot of trouble when you swop one vowel with another inadvertently e.g. butcher could become bitcher, leading to a lot of mis-communication and possibly violence when “butcher” is butchered in this way.

Finally, we do know that Covid 19 has played havoc with our economy and the ability of ordinary folk to earn a living. Which led to the perplexing occurrence of a small airplane almost skimming our roofs (and I am sure yours as well) with a big sign advertising “Mavericks: New Girls”! I initially thought it was a weekly newspaper which may be obtained with your Smart Shopper card advertising their commitment to gender equity in the workplace.

It turns out it is a local chain of strip joints trolling (trawling) for business. Who has money for this? If you do, can you pay for a visit and take me along with you? Life’s hard.

Enough for now. Off to enjoy birth day commemorative celebrations which includes Michelle, our eldest daughter. Everybody asks how pulled that one off? It’s a long story but not one for social media.

If you really wish to know, send a SASE to me!

Smoke-screen Or Smoke Up Your Sewer Pipe?

There are so many things in today’s South Africa to which the title of this esteemed epistle applies. The adjective “esteemed” is my own choice and not necessarily that of readers, or the poor, long-suffering folk who know me.

What with Tokyo’s quadrillion billion (give or take a quintillion or two) take on a scam which he believes, is this a smoke-screen for other nefarious goings on around the Radical Economic Transformation? Blowing it up your sewer pipe to distract you from the facts of the case?

Well, earlier today I was driving behind a car which, to me, seemed to have a serious top gasket problem based on billows of white smoke being exhaled by the car. It turns out that the driver was vaping, hence fooling my visual senses. Damn, but that’s a lot of smoke for one puff. Riding behind him for too long would be more dangerous than spending too many youthful nights in densely smoke-filled clubs and discos! Not that I did any of the latter. Oh no!

Keep in mind also that modern cars do not come out equipped with a “lighter” (which actually made the car heavier). I had for many years queried the madness of a lighter which was only meant for one thing i.e. lighting a cancer stick. You could not light a fire with it!! Now at this stage they have e-cigarettes instead of another somewhat innocuously deadly tool viz. the butane lighter. Imagine the risk associated with the latter in the hands of the uninitiated such as myself. How many times I singed my fingers with this dastardly tool.

And how this tool was, further, dangerously used at packed rock and pop concerts, waving them around in the air in adoration of, or obeisance to, some star or other. Sjoooe!! Were that practice practiced in the early 80s, there were some hairstyles that would have been a potential death trap. And maybe today’s weaves as well. Fortunately, this is why they developed the mobile phone with its torch function. Bet you did not know that, hey!?

I’ve been taking smoke-screen lessons with Beverley lately! No, it does not involve any form of combustion or the production of luminous clouds of ignition detritus. It’s a dance called the Bachata, one that combines very basic dance moves that do not pose a threat to your partner but which, given the right heat, can become downright nasty-ass. The simple part is the smokescreen to what ultimately could be the reason for the dance i.e. the saucy, sinuous, smoky, seductive, sultry, salacious, sexy, swaying of the hips with suggestive pelvic thrusting while ensconce in a mobile and ever-changing dance hold.

OK, I’m sweating now. But you get the point hey! So yes, as much as this does not involve blowing smoke up somewhere, it does involve some serious generation of heat in some parts of the body. Now that I think of it, beside hot flushes associated with aging, this could be an alternative to Karpowerships for Eishkom to consider. If enough of us did this, load shedding could be shed.

This thought needs further development! And if we act upon it, it can only do the economy good. Remember, development is the engine of a growing economy. Ask Yuval Noah Harari. Tell Tokyo about his books. Maybe he’ll come off the high horse of that scam and down to earth where we mere mortals live.

As a final aside, I am enjoying the books of Harari tremendously and have learnt a lot and have also found answers to some of the questions that have always plague me from both an historical and philosophical perspective.

Here’s to reading good books!

Artificial Intelligence (AI) or Algorithm … Which am I?

The word “algorithm” is a commonly use one in today’s social media. It’s mostly related to how data is gathered about all users, how it is collated and analyzed and eventually, in a sense, it is used to cultivate and benefit from the use of this knowledge. Big Brother, a fictional character created in the novel Nineteen Eighty-four (George Orwell), related to government surveillance of the populace, much in the way that big data-driven studies are used on us.

Back to “algorithm”! All this data is analysed to make certain predictions or to carry out certain processes allowing predictive decisions. A simple recipe is an algorithm which tells you how to bake a cake and, by tweaking the algorithm, you can tweak the outcome i.e. a better cake!

Well, if you extend this thought, then we could extrapolate it to how we make decisions and do things in everyday life. We are a collection of organic materials making decisions based on millions of data input points as well as stored data about previous experiences. But, as much as I am thus an algorithm, I still cannot bake a good cake:-) And, maybe not so obviously, besides being an algorithm, I have a “soul” or some spirit that sparks me to maintain an algorithmic experience for the past 63 years.

So everything I write form hereon in, if it makes you laugh or cry or denounce me to be a fraud, blame it on the flawed algorithm that I am!!

I sat thinking about life after undergoing my annual medical check-up. I now have a bagful of medication that probably interferes with my original algorithmic with which I was born. I have tablets to stop post-nasal rip, drive own histamine production, spirit sugar away be depositing it in cells or excreting it via the urine, control cholesterol even though I am not high in low-density lipoproteins and, finally, a table to control my blood pressure by, amongst other things, passing more urine to reduce blood volume.

The sad thing is, the original algorithm controlled all these naturally. But, I suppose, due to a glitch in the processing of my physiological data, and because of a possible virus (not Covid, rather coding), all is not well. Hence the running repairs. I have accepted this in good spirit and, at least, when visiting a relative of similar age, we have lots to talk about i.e. medication.

When we do this, we also consumer an amber liquid with solid water, which pushes up my blood volume, interferes with my glucose metabolism, loosens my inhibitions and makes me urinate a little more than usual while causing me to laugh at “flou” jokes until I cry. And, if I fall off my chair while doing so, my heart rate increases together with the potential sounds of cracking bones or creaking joints. Which is all so antithetical to all the medication I take …. A whole Pick n Pay bagful.

Which brings me to a body part which is often neglected, especially in the male of the species. FEET! I took the plunge, feet first, indulging in a pedicure. Now, to be clear, my feet were not ill and did not need curing, which makes me worry about the term itself. Pedicure! All it needed was a bit of mollycoddling.

The young lady who did the coddling told me to lay back and relax since she knew her bunions. Or onions? I cannot recall clearly. Since she was in the foot business, I asked her if she knew Kroco as a trade name. She did. I then immediately instructed her to contact the company to complain about the name of one of their products viz. Kroko, plasters for corns an calluses, etc.

How insensitive to the end-user. I do not need to be reminded of my failing soles (not soul) when purchasing remedial products! Insult upon injury.

Anyway, I suspect that, since I am an algorithm, I must also qualify as “Artificial Intelligence” in this 4th Industrial revolution. The rise of the machines is the name of my new game.

Game on!!

Building that house in Parkside – adolescent memories!

Yes, the Group Areas Act forced many families out of South End (and other areas) in Port Elizabeth, now officially (to some) called Queberha! We were part of this expulsion as if we were the detritus of what is known in our cat-loving family as a “projectile vomit”.

I’m sure you’ve seen cats bring up hair balls and the grass they ate as an emetic. Sometimes it is done quite gently while some do it violently while reversing from the expelled material. It seems cats have some relationship with relativity i.e. moving away while expelling the offending material. In effect, applying a force to the projectile while at the same time moving away from it, thus increasing the perceived speed at which the goo is expelled. Sleight of hand perhaps, or paw or stomach?

Anyway, my mind is wandering. So we, like others, were expelled as excess hair from a cat’s stomach and force to seek shelter elsewhere. ‘Nuff said for now about the socio-political context and apartheid. More intelligent beings than I have commented, and still comment, on this. And this is as it should be.

In my own case, we as children were blissfully unaware of the implications and ramifications of this (and this is not about cations and anions). In actual fact it was quite an adventure for us three brothers. We got to move to a new area (Korsten, 11 Yona Street) in a rented house for a few years. New friends, new enemies, running barefoot on a gravel road as a football and cricket pitch, including some “indigenous” games under many different local names. Being chased by geese on the way home from school mi-way own Malan Street.

Parachuting from the garage roof using our bedsheets. Watching the authorities cull stray dogs almost inhumanely. Cooking food on a fire in a tin can for a large group of friends. Joining Sidwell Football Club for one glorious game only. This was because, even though I considered myself a good playa, I was not. And also, my soccer boots were on the cheap side and about half a size too small for me. I have written about these elsewhere.

Anyhoo, so there we were growing up in this area, travelling at great expense (time and money) first to lea Place Primary and thence to Gelvan Park Primary School. At this point the parents had set their hearts on buying a plot in the newly announced Parkside, an area on a windy hill overlooking eBhayi!. Oh, there are so many stories to tell around this, but only time to tell a few.

The plot was bought on auction for about R1 500.00 in 1970 (I think) and was 1 780 square meters. I was at the auction that day in the Gelvandale Community Centre and went through the “emotions” of uncertainty and eventual victory when the deal was clinched. Of course, that was the easy part. The next was to finance and build. I knew then that we were far from wealthy and, bluntly put, lived just above the bread line. That is not to say that we, as children, were deprived. On the contrary, we had the minimum (and often more) than was necessary to survive. And often more than some of our neighbors had.

The house was eventually built with a loan of R13 500.00 and a lot of cash injected as things happened. In addition to this, family and friends also spent time (which is money) on assisting with the building process, an effort that was never finally finished but was entirely liveable from the outset. We had arrived on/ in Skuldbult, fortunately not owing much on a mortgage (I think).

As kids, we also had to put in our share of labour on the project, something with which we had a love/ hate relationship. We were all three given bicycles just as we moved in. I had a green Chopper. My pride and joy was crashed by a friend going down the hill on its first week in my possession. No bad damage to bike or rider.

Again, new friends and neighbors were part of the learning curve, as well as new travel routes to schools, including Paterson High School. This included falling in fatuation with Yoko Ono. My brother Russell was the first to “streak” down our street when that became a “thing”. We played on the steep hillside behind Van Der Kemp Street where there was a cable. We made friends with people moving in from Fairview, including the Cleavens and Maarts. And many others such as the Townsends, Groeners, etc. I cannot recall from which suburbs the latter were ejected. I spent all of my high school life there. Then this abruptly came to an end for me to go to UWC in 1976, another set of stories previously written.

From 1976 onwards I had only visited on University holidays and during work vacation periods. I missed a lot of the family developments, including the development of the area itself.

Now, after selling the house to a brother, and it eventually being sold out of the family, it still stands in Scheepers Street opposite an old friend whom I would still wish to visit on a Covid-relaxed trip to PE.


A Private and Confidential Report on the Rydaar Kup 2021!

This post will only be clearly understood by the participants in the Tournament in question. But you are welcome to read it and infer activities and conversation during the three and a bit days of camaraderie, fun, food and more! OK?

As “Die Oudste Lid” (DOL), I was wildly awoken from my reverie on a calm Thursday afternoon at Meyerskraal in Wellington. My thought on attending the ice breaker of the Rydaar Kup teams revolved around a few ice cold beers, greeting some serious young golfers and then settling in to stuffing my gob with boerewors rolls to wash down the beer.

“My broer”! – using the pronunciation and inflection of Mr.Bowers! Those young okes were “klapping” that ball with gay abandon way down the fairway, which in itself did look like the rough on a normal golf course. As a player of long standing at the club, I was known to have a long driver (no, pottybrain, not that one!). But this was a new experience, keeping in mind that my woods were really made of… well… wood. My mashie niblick in particular was a thing of beauty, crafted by a cabinet maker of note but who knew nothing about the beautiful game!

These new materials used in making golfing gear today really needs to be banned. We need to go back to the gooorrolldays! I may make this a crusade in my last year as a member of the club. ”Miskien donder huller vi’ my”! And then, testosterone, or too much of it, should also be …. “ooooh yitte, los maa'”!

This pleasant occasion was a prelude to the next three days of golf. There is a poem regarding “Death the leveller”. “Maar laat ek dit vir julle vertel”! Golf is the real leveller. I saw so much rising in glory and falling in pain:-) But, before I get ahead of myself, for those who have not read the two previous blogs in this regard, you may click here for the first, and here for the second.

The following extended blog will be related to the “F” word, namely:
a. Friends;
b. Foes;
c. Fun;
d. Forward to Namaqualand!

So, here goes!! This is written in the first person, so I will be quite literal in this description. If I were I to do it in the third person, I would have a license to write more freely while telling more lies. I will leave the latter for another day.


Teen Vrdyag middag was almal met mekaar bekend en het begin tjommies word”! Without mentioning names, the following people participated in the tournament of tournaments:

1. One chap who had the best Namaqualand accent coupled with a great sense of humor and accompanied by good meat (nie daai vleis nie, ou maat!).

2. Another, from Paarl (I think), who was full of energy, hit great tee shots and was quite outspoken about his youngish ability between the sheets (I almost pulled out the genital cuff for him). And he did not drive a Toyota.

3. A quietish, slightly built, well-spoken bearded, chap who smote the ball with great dexterity. His all-round game was great. But he has a handicap. And I did not ask what it was! But then I found out that all the players have handicaps:-)

4. Another was a real gentlemanly lover of fire and searing meat for supper. A Bells for that man!!

5. One other was a very serious and able player with an off-course sense of camaraderie and humor and also the introducer of “Ek’s by haa” (more on this later).

6. Yet another was a quiet, non-playing droster trying to look golfish, but failing entirely and mostly looking foolish. This was the only player to score a double birdie with one shot.

7. “Nog een ou wat a bal kon slaan het en wie by verrenby “Ek’s by haa’” die meeste geskreeuw het. This became the slogan of the whole tournament.

8. From the teaching profession was a 58-year old young  man whose head carried much more than ours (see Oliver Goldsmith by clicking on the link).

9. There was also a dance teacher who tried to teach two participants how to do the Samba over the last 4 years, but to no avail.

10. There was also guy who drew up a time-table! Or did he supply the “rooster” on the Thursday evening ice breaker.

11. There was also a glorified first aid jockey who initially hated the Worcester course but eventually came to love it toward the end due to my good influence as DOL.

12. Then the Ceres local who did a lot of running around on behalf of the group since it was his home course. He kept us on course and well-accommodated.

13. Another was a totally mean clouter of the ball. It made me really stand clear at the tee, just in case he lost a grip on the club.

14. The last was an unknown quantity since I only met him on Sunday but did not see him play much. He was a stand-in for the genital cuff guy earlier.

But, put in another way, the group consisted of DOL plus a bunch of 12 golfers on each day. Plain and simple English: DOL was brilliant on the course while the rest were brilliant after the game around the braai fire.


As DOL, all I can say I “yoh”!!!!! I was privileged to watch the teeing off of all four groups on Day 1 at Ceres. “Die manne het balle geklap, jong”!!!  The competitiveness had been building up between Team USA and Team Yorerip and the taking of group photos, quiet team discussion and whispered advice was indicative of this. Friends, yet foes. The first day was peppered with some brilliant shots, a lot of good shots and, as is to be expected, some bad luck and fluffed shots.

The important thing was that, by the end of the first nine holes, there was lots to be talked about over a cold beer and a quick snack. The group was gelling on a personal level. For myself, it gave me a snapshot of all players. I am quite sure I could have written a word picture of all the players at that stage.

However, the second nine firmed up my picture of each person. I had heard so many sayings and cursive words that I could have started a new “woordeskat”. What a wonderful experience.


As you can see from the previous section, what with friendships warming up, fun was the second part of the agenda. Yes, hitting a golf ball the fewest number of times per round is important. But relaxing is just as good and is an important part of the game.

And that’s where the slogan of the tournament came up. The slogan is: “Ek’s by haa’ “! You will only understand this if you see the video clip. For access to such clip, send me an e-mail on From the time the group was told about it, this slogan was shouted at odd, but regular, intervals around the course and well into the day after the tournament. Lorenzo, in my mind, was the one who quoted this the most.

I actually felt sorry for the chap who, in the video clip, shouted out “Ek’s by haa’”! Since my daughter is into crime reporting, I asked her to track this poor guy down, which she duly did. “Maar toe sé hy vi’ my: Daai’s niks!”.

He explained it all on the basis of relativity, the kind that Einstein spoke about. He also threw in a term called “model dependent reality“nôgal”! “Ek sal nou Brits moet praat om dit te verduidelik!”. He said his girl looked so much better than him because she was wearing an Errol Arendz outfit with a Louis Vuitton handbag and Jimmy Choo shoes. He also said that, even though he was wearing his best casual Nike outfit (tik toks), he did look a bit dowdy compared to her. “So, dis relatief dat die tief beter as ek voorgekom het, dan nie? Die ding wat vi’ my see’ gemaak het is dat my tjommie vi’my ‘n hond genoem het”.

Back to the game itself: Geraldo almost hit a whole hole in one, after playing a penalty shot, on the 7th in Robertson. ‘Strew!!! He was about 20cm from the whole. A far as I’m concerned it was a hole in one and he should have bought us all a round of Lucozade on the 19th. The green was surrounded by so much water that it looked blue, so maybe he played that shot due to his clenched buttocks at fear of playing into the water againJ But, fair play, it was a great shot.

Ek is ‘n outokratiese demokraat” said Jacque numerous times. Stevely loves “sletsappies”, we found out. Some guy wanted “blue movies” at one stage. I think this refers to another type of “sletsappie”. “Brannas” was the drink of the tournament. Beer was the lubricant in-between all of these activities, including on the course.

Beter as dit is verkeerd” was also heard quite often, something which reminds me of dance classes. Sit, sit, sit – this was when the players tried to bend the laws of gravity! One player purportedly said that he would never play the Wellington course again. By the end of the last day it would seem he was happy to play there again one day.

Being mostly older folk in the tournament, all the players had golf carts. From afar, after all had teed off, if you just stood at the first hole and watched them, they tended to look like sheep in a lightning rain storm. I saw this while in Vanrhynsdorp the previous weekend.

When there was a loud thunderclap, all the sheep would run after the “voor bok” in a random direction, and then cluster together. Another thunderclap, another direction and then huddling together again.

Those golf carts looked like that after all leaving the first tee. “Almal ry sô heen een weer om balle te soek, stokke to kies, een hier, een dar and dan, skielik, is hulle weer saam by op die volgende bof!”J

Our long-suffering host (Pepe) of La Dolce Vita Guest House was a gracious person always willing to accede to request from the group through Geraldo. Sleep was at a minimum for some members of the group, especially on the first night. The fires burnt long into the night.

The food was extremely tasty and brilliantly prepared and braaid. The tripe, in particular was good. The braai meat was tender and tasty. There were quite a few donors involved via the tournament organiser. It almost makes me look forward to the next time just for the cuisine.


The tournament ended in a draw with appropriate medal and sponsored gifts being distributed and photographs taken on Sunday afternoon. Thank were made to all involved, both players and sponsors.

The planning baton was handed over to the Namaqualand Team for the next version of the event. Everybody awaits the first call for interest. I will be the first to answer in the affirmative.

I will organise my own “independent” golf shirt with the words “NEUTRAL” and “REPORTER” and “PRESS” and “PUB LUNCH” all over it. I will also supply business cards which will offer, for a small fee, Blue Movies as a side service, including non-dancing girls (remember the genital cuff) and non-alcoholic beer.

“Dankie manne en mannine”!!

The Rydaar Kup Build-Up!!

Ja nee“! It’s getting closer as may have been seen on the “Race to Ceres” Whatsapp group. The Committee seems to be doing a sterling job in terms of organisation, logistics and the fun factor. As “Die Oudste Lid” (DOL for short), I am not specifically privy to the machinations within the Committee since, what with my loss of short-term memory as well as being a “skinnebek”, secrets and plans cannot be entrusted to me! I told them that!!

But what the Committee has achieved to date is brilliant. The logistics planning has also been top class. It’s amazing what grown men will do to get away from home and also play golf. Two holes in one. I also understand there is forward planning for a repeat event on another continent …. or province! “As dit in die Noord-Kaap is dan kan ek nie wag nie”!

Anyway, there is a feeling of anticipation in the air which I can feel all the way up to my desk here in Bulletrap. “Vir die mense wat van Spingbok af reis, toet maar soos julle verby die signboard ry”! Dan drink ek so ‘n knertsie vir julle se veilig ry”.

As an older person and a non-golfer, I must admit that I had not anticipated the evident enthusiasm and seriousness of the participants. In actual fact, I am feeling a little nervous even though I will not be swinging a club on the weekend. So I should not have any performance nerves (for the potty brains: not that type for performance!).

It may be that it is because we will all be meeting, in cases, strangers for the first time. Or the anticipation of seeing the first drive off the tee. Or the first beer at the 19th. Or the wind-down over a braai fire at the end of the day. Or because it will be my first time away from my wife in 10 years. “Julle wiet môs”!

But I will let you in on a secret! Two members from Cape Town have arranged to leave home on the 18th and only return on the 21st – three whole days and nights away from home. They have decided to hole up in Wellington on the 18th, both to enjoy the ICE-BREAKER at Meyerskraal and then also to strategize late into the night on tactics for the weekend.

The tactics to which I refer would obviously have nothing to do with golf, but everything to do with how to squeeze out as much enjoyment value as possible from the weekend.

“Ek hoop maar net julle is ook so opgewonde soos ek”! I can write so many more words about the anticipation but, “vir die wat nie te veel hou van Brits, ek los dit maar hier”! But it does not mean I will stop altogether. I will write another note closer to the time. “Maar julle sal vir my vooruit moet vergewe omdat ek somtyds ‘n heel klomp kaf kan skryf”! Né!

From the desk of: DOL

The Rydaar Kup Between ‘Murica and Yorerip – A Prelude!

Dear Reader, please note that this blog is part of a bigger developing story on my blog site. I have separated it here as a stand-alone for the purposes of the participants referred to in the title above. Apologies for what may seem like duplication. As the tournament progresses, further updates will be published.

Well, in golfing terms, it’s been a dry, white season! OK, not so much white, but definitely dry. The Oldest Member (TOM) will heretofore (and back) now be known more colloquially as Die Oudste Lid (DOL,) pronounced in dulcet Afrikaans tones. DOL was suffering from withdrawal symptoms due to very few invitations to walk the course with the YAM (Younger Athletic Men).

It only makes sense to the layperson that this is a mistake! A travesty!! A lost chance by younger members to soak up the sagacity of the older mind. All the experience of DOL lying buried in the sulci of that soft, grey smoothie called a brain. Gentleman, please, don’t fritter away your time at work! Rather learn at the Master’s feet! Sup from the font of wisdom so inextricably embedded in that skull, so much like the village schoolmaster’s in that poem by someone or other.

“Jawellnofine”! DOL does understand the pressures of a domestic life, what with the mewling, puking babbies (spelt purposefully that way and pronounced as Fat Bastard would pronounce it in that movie by Mike Myers) and wives or girlfriends. The need to make a buck to spend a penny, as it were. The drive to make that buck in order to play that beautiful game after you bring home the bacon, so to speak, to please and appease your one and only, Valentine’s day or not!

But yes, it’s been a dry spell. However, it threatens to storm soon as witnessed by a recent invitation extended to a number of delinquents of the hallowed turfs of so many golf clubs. Yes, there are plans afoot to stage a Rydaar Cup, this being the equivalent of the Ryder cup in S’effrican terms. “Ja, rydaar and dan rydaar“! From one club to another.

The two protagonist teams will represent, as per Ryder Cup rules, America and Europe. For the purposes of the Rydaar Kup, they will subsequently be called ‘Murica and Yorerip. Because “Murica” is how some Americans pronounce in the south. And “Yorerip” is because of how older people of color in Gqebahr (previously PE) pronounced Europe in the old days.

So, the concept dangled in front of the hungry DOL, and others, was a weekend away where three courses would be played (Ceres, Robertson and Worcester). The protagonists will be accommodated at a central spot which would require that travel to the three match venues would be by automobile.

Of course, for YAM, this was the ultimate freedom, away from home, to have three days of bashing at a small ball, scarring the lush fairways and greens with fluffed shots and ending up at the 19th all pumped up for the evening fire and searing of sacrificial flesh. There also seems to be the prospect of liberatory libations to wash the dust and pollen out of one’s gob.

Of course, the main aim is to play and compete. Yet, of course, all work and no play, does make DOL a dull boy. But DOL, anticipating some form of foolish shenanigans, has made a plan. His title for the trip is Blogger and Vlogger. But he will not be publishing such recordings without clearing it with the miscreants involved, just in case lawsuits are brought against various role players.

To minimise any untoward activity involving the inner thigh (read “slap and tickle”), he will be taking 12 genital cuffs with him for the post-game ruckus and braai. He has learnt this from the movie “Dirty Rotten Scoundrels”. Click on the link and see for yourself.

A suitably edited and redacted blog will also be published after editing by all participants. By “editing”: removal of all incriminating, or potentially incriminating, material.

And all during the course of the weekend, DOL will be dispensing wise information regarding the game of “gough”, including why it is a waste of time begging a ball to sit or fade after driving off the tee. Gravity and wind direction have a mind of their own and will not, I repeat, will not listen to the pitiful begging of the driver of such ball.

May the games begin (in a few weeks’ time)!

My one-liners, mostly!

I think these feeble attempts at one-liners are original and not copied from a higher being in the field of comedy. Put differently, “mostly” in the title refers to “one-liners” and not “My”.

My absolute favorite performer in this regard is Steven Wright (click on the link) not just because of his content, but also because of his dead-pan delivery. Classic is all I can say. To boost the value of this post, and also my reputation in your own mind, listen to some of his jokes and then read mine in the same mental dead-pan way!

And then, my version of a one-liner is in some cases more than just a one-liner. In another sense, it’s not always a one-liner with a killer punch at the end since it often tails off into a whimper of a thought or opinion. So, if you accept all the discrepancies and idiosyncrasies, read on!

Covid 19! They ask you to sneeze or cough into the very elbow that you are also encouraged to use for greeting! Huh?

There is an insurance product on the market whose subscription increases over time while the value of your car decreases simultaneously while, in my mind, you should pay lesss!

Don’t buy bottled water. Rather use glasses and tap water and wash it with polluting detergents afterwards. Irresistible force versus immovable object?

A life insurance policy for when you die?

Why is a postage stamp called just that? Isn’t it a stick? Since that what’s you do with it … stick it to an envelope!

Don’t cross the road on a green light. Cape Town taxis cross on the red light.

Fore on a golf course is not a number. Duck is not a birdie. Birdie is not a small bird.

Putt is not the first compression or exhaust stroke of a petrol-driven lawn-mower on a golf course.

Links is not an Afrikaans term on a golf course Right?

If a bird died in full flight, would it drop down vertically or in an arc. Explain [20 marks].

What velocity would the bird have to be travelling to stay aloft forever? [5 000 marks].

The road sign indicating “no entry” looks like a letter box. Is that where lost mail goes?

The term “budgerigar” is longer than it is! Yes?

A budgie is not shorter than a budgerigar! Unless a Speedo is involved.

Very few Engineers work with Engines?

When did potatoes get the bad rap for sitting on couches?

A roof is like a floor, except the “L” fell down.

What cruelty to use the word “lisp” to describe ….well, you know!

Why is a sun hat called that? I’d call it a shade hat!

I don’t think lady cows poop because there’s only bullshit I read about.

Is “lady cow” repetition?

The local park has a parking area! What a repeated waste of space.

White noise? Why bring color into it?

At home we have a lovely deck! Now we’re saving for the boat to be installed under it.

GOP in ‘Murica sounds like GUP in PE. I know which is more popular.

“Gastro” is a contraction of “gastro-enteritis”. Would you name your food company “Enteritis”?

When recycling becomes a fetish or fad, what would refuse pickers do? A sad thought:-(

If you use loperamide, are you anally retentive?

And I could go on but, for fear of boring you and myself, I mercifully stop here!

Cederberg Coddywompling

On the morning of Monday 1st February 2021 I awoke, before I arose, with a strange feeling. I could see quite clearly with one eye while the other eye just showed a bit of a fuzzy blur. This was a little worrying since my azure eyes had been operating with acuity the whole weekend. Was it because it was a trip in the wild? Did I drink too much even though that was not possible under present lockdown conditions? Was the right half of my brain on short-time or socially distancing the rest of me? Nope! My one lens had fallen out of the frame. Serves me right for relying on R20.00 knock-offs from a market in Johannesburg.

On that note, regarding knock-offs, the frames were brilliant but did take some wear and tear. They matched up in terms of performance with your R100.00 versions at your choice of retailer. I suspect that, in quite a few cases, these knock-offs are the real deal with a “moerse” mark-up. I did watch a program a few months ago how the trend of reading glasses was given a boost by an entrepreneur when he started managing the quality of incoming stock from an eastern power. Are we being ripped off? Hmmmm!

Anyway, Friday morning I had provisioned Harry and set off at snail’s pace up the N7 toward Clanwilliam. I would eventually hook up with a few family members to drive through the Cederberg. The “giemba” in me stopped me at Piketberg where a Houwhoek pie (stuffed full of cholesterol-laden goodies) and a Streetwise Three was purchased, just ‘cos I could. Together with a few braai chops and “wors“, I was good to go on the comestible front.

What a pleasure taking pitstop on the road to down a Devil’s Peak 0.0% beer. Well, two. They really are good for a thirst. I am over real beer! A slight, yet warm, breeze caressed my parched body. It gave me time to … just breathe! Something I so much needed. Travelling at 100km per hour, staying in my lane,. letting others pass …… food for the soul! Clanwilliam itself was a typical “dorp” on a Friday afternoon i.e. quite busy in its narrow main road. A unique feature was that not one person was begging on the street, even though I was looking to donate some food to a poor soul. Dinner that night was an ill-chosen double burger. The burger were “moerse” big “frikkadel“. But, no bother! “Padkos” for the next day. I can recommend the Clanwilliam Hotel.

I set off on the road to Wupperthal before the rest of the group who still had to break their fast and then decant into their vehicles. It gave me time to slowly climb the Pakhuis Pass for a long layover at C. Louis Leipoldt’s grave in the mountains. His grandfather, amongst others, established the mission station of Wupperthal. It’s a neat, well-kept grave under a rock overhang. It even has a public toilet at hand. But, not for me, I like going au naturel! Number 1, that is!! The quietness was absolutely so peaceful, allowing me to do some reading. The only things of a grammatical nature was the sound of cars and bikes punctuating the silence at odd intervals.

I eventually pulled off at the Tra Tra River in the the town itself to have a bite and wait for the family. Their arrival allowed for a general discussion and much consumption of a mixture of carbohydrate, protein and lipids with the odd interspersed micronutrient. As usual, steep climb out of the valley taxed the drivers and cars. An uneventful ride, if one could call it that in such beautiful natural surroundings, ended at the Eselbank waterfall. What a welcome relief to cool down in its cool, fresh water. I was not able to show usual flesh due to the small crowd:-) It was much appreciated by all concerned ….. the water, not my lack of showing flesh.

Eselbank showed the resilience of its inhabitants in terms of new construction taking place, even under the trying circumstances in terms of survival in such harsh surroundings. But what do I know about making a living there?

The drive further when extremely well until late in the afternoon two punctures (not Harry) happened at the same time. Both wheels were replaced followed by a slow drive to Nuwerust. After being welcomed, we repaired to our accommodation for a slap-up braai, beverages and a good nights sleep.

And, having had the night to sleep on it, the adventurous nature of the male ego came to the fore. Yes!!! Let’s repair at least one puncture since we had a compressor and a repair kit. The experience, in the hands of non-experienced people, was quite funny and was recorded to act as a “how to for dummies”. It is under lock and key. Suffice to say, after much laughter and mess-ups, the deed was done. We were successful. Oooh, the smell of testosterone was wild:-))))

I don’t think the younger clan could appreciate how the older folk felt about learning some new, and technical, for the first time in ages.

The rest of the Sunday was a quiet drive home through that wonderland that is the Cederberg. There are unfortunately very few “Widringtonia cederbergiensii” on show, sadly. There is a program to re-introduce this but it will, of course, take time.

You must take the time to visit this part of the world. And visit the sites, including the Stadsaal Caves and the paintings.

And please support a donkey sanctuary of your choice!

On Food

I belong to a Facebook group called “Lockdown Recipe Storytelling Book” which is a mixed bag of mostly recipes and related issues under lockdown. There is a little bit for everybody. I had also recently purchased the first two editions of a related magazine called “Koe’sister“. Try it, you’ll like it.

Obviously, my twisted mind started mentally playing with the concept of food. This was partly influenced by the book I am reading presently: “Sapiens a Brief History of Humankind” by Yuval Noah Harari. In the book he often refers to foragers and agriculturalists as we developed during the evolutionary process. It’s fascinating stuff and worth a read.

The word “forage” in itself is fascinating. I always link it to “browsing”. Y’know, foraging being the act of investigating all and everything for edible things. OK, we do not really forage anymore to any great extent. However, we’re like bovines: we like browsing. In this case not only for food. I know from personal experience when “Manaygement” goes shopping. It’s not just a straight in and out of the mall! Noooo, it’s browsing at it’s best, sometimes taking up 90% of the shopping time. Cows do that too!!. They browse by nibbling at hedges and vegetation here and there and everywhere. Slowly. And then they chew the cud, literally.

And maybe, in this hurried lifestyle that we live, even though it is presently slowed down by Lockdown, it’s something which we need to practice more frequently in our lives. While still employed, life was a frenetic race on an increasingly faster treadmill (or wheel). No time to think, enjoy, masticate, digest, absorb and defecate peacefully. No time to think or commune with others properly while doing this!! On that note, even defecation was often done under pressure. Bear down, you say to yourself, before I miss the start of a match or a grand prix. “Ai tog“, no man!!!!!

I would have thought that, by now evolution would have led to us having a new mouth situated right where your bellybutton is. This would allow for food to be shoveled directly into the system with no time to waste on chewing. Again, to facilitate the process neatly while complying with the norm and dictate of etiquette, we would then also be able to produce pressed, dry blocks pre-packed for disposal at the bottom end. No fuss, no bother!

Since we eat food primarily for energy and also for materials to do all the biological thing needed, why did evolution not speed up the process? Why don’t we just set the food alight (try this with glucose powder, you’ll be amazed) and sit next to the conflagration to absorb the energy directly. Why don’t we inject basic biological building blocks (or complete molecules such as enzymes and other protein) directly into the system for immediate use? Huh? Easy peasy! You’re welcome!!

Ok, we all know that we don’t only eat for the basic biological reasons. We also eat because it’s pleasurable. However, it’s also sensed as pleasurable to make sure that we eat! So, who’s ruling who here? And, once you have done with the pleasurable consumption part, you’re also left with the mostly pleasurable feeling of satiety. Also know is “dikgevriet” in genteel circles, sometimes due to “giemba-geit“.

At this point your natural physiology takes over in a subtle, yet finely-tuned, symphony of orchestral proportions, to do the necessary with the food which, at this point may be called chyme, a sludgy, viscous flow of fluids through your little factory. For some of us, the factory can be quite large. Oh, how some of us yearn for smaller factories. You want a smaller one? Learn from Government. Apply red-tape over your mouth. Strangle the system with compliance issues (limited excretion) and then apply a good dose of indoctrination regarding ever-changing good (and fake) food for future, limited, consumption.

Let me stop before I seek comfort food to straighten my twisted thoughts. Life is short! Too short to worry about future evolutionary traits! Listen to the magazine “Koe’sister“. See all the fun around food, mostly local dishes laced with personal experiences. Ignore my senseless ranting.

I, “giemba“, rest my knife and fork and now replace it with fingers. As the man said: “eating curry with a knife and fork is like making love through an interpreter”.

Piece out!