Happy merry!

Merry Christmas to all, near and far. I hope you all had wonderful times with loved ones. While I am currently away from most of mine, I still did have a really good Christmas. Spent it with the old mate and his family. We ate lots. Again. It was magical to see the kids unwrap their mountains of presents. I did also receive a few myself, even though I told people they shouldn't. They went and were nice and got me rocking stuff anyway. I have been entertained and spoiled like you wouldn't believe ;)

I would like to apologise for not posting often enough of late, but honestly, people have just not pissed me off recently. How can I rant if people don't give me reasons to? There was the windshield episode shortly after I arrived here, but it didn't seem news worthy at the time and there were lots of other things happening, so I never mentioned it.  As there is a lull in excitement at the moment, I guess I can recount it now.

I had phoned ahead the previous day to make sure that the auto glass place could replace my company Yaris's windshield that day. They said they could. I organised payments with the accounts department and was at the glass place at 7:40am. AM. That's in the morning. Which in Cape Town would still be called night time. The place only opens at 8, but I wanted to be sure that I'd be first in the queue. Got all the paperwork sorted. They said the car should be ready by 10am, which is good. After all, in Cape Town, that would be when people wake up. So, I go for a bit of a walk-about. The Menlyn shopping centre is quite impressive. If you ever get the chance, go there. There is this one particular store that sells anything from electronic gadgetry to spatulas. And it's not a big department store. They have the most amazing things there. I wandered about in there for, well, quite a while. Then headed back to the incredibly efficient auto glass place. They did say that they would phone me to fetch the car, but I figured, I might as well head back to save a bit of time. About 100 yards from the glass shop, they do phone me. I pick up, with this big, way-ahead-of-you grin on my face and get told that the windshield that they had in stock was cracked, sorry, they have to get me a new one. They had already removed the old windshield, so I couldn't really take the car before they installed aforementioned new one. This will now arrive at 10am. Look up a bit. Yup. That was when it was supposed to be finished. The grin was gone, but what can you do? So I say thank you for letting me know, please just get it done a.s.a.p. I phone my office and let my colleague know I will be later than anticipated, he must please cancel the appointment that I had. He says he would, but I must please remember that he has to leave at 1pm, so I have to be back by then. I say it's all good, still plenty of time. I go to the glass shop and sit down for a bit of a read. At around 10:30, I see a bakkie arrive with windshields on the back. I am happy. It's later than what I was told, but at least it's here. By 11, my car still had a big gaping hole where the windshield should be. I get a little nervous. Just before I get up to ask the helpful gentleman at the front desk when this screen will be fitted, he pops his head into the waiting room and says that my windshield had just arrived. Oh. So it wasn't on the bakkie with the rest of them? Ok, fine. Just get it done. Finally, I get the car back. I pay them vast amounts of money and new windshield gleaming and fitted I drive out. And I notice something's missing. My licence disc is not on there. I search the car. Thrice. I go back and ask where this disc would be. They reply with: in the car. I say no. The helpful desk gentleman then searches the car. Astonishingly, he can also find no disc. I search the shop and eventually find the blue sticker that was on the back of the licence disc, but no disc. While all this is going on, a search also ensues for the bloke who fitted the screen. He, who is the only one in the multiverse that would know what had happened to my disc, has now mysteriously disappeared. After what seemed like an eternity, he is found again and when questioned, replies that the old windshield didn't have a disc. Gmmph...of course it bloody did, I'm standing with the back sticker thingy in my hand! Then follows another thorough search through the car. Would you believe it? It still hasn't magically reappeared there. Back up to the shop and more looking around until finally, helpful desk man finds it in a rubbish crate. Grumble...grumble..gmph...bastards throwing away my disc...grumble...grumble. I grab the disc, get a new sticker from the glass people, stick the disc on the new screen, race away to get back in the office and arrive there at 12:58. Made it. Struggled from bloody 7:40 in the middle of the night until 1:00 in the middle of the day to get it done, but it was done.

So, while I am happy that my new windshield is fitted, I have had no problems with it so far, I did manage  to get to my office on time and (though still horribly expensive) the price that the auto glass shop asked for was pretty good, I will have to be sorely pressed to use this company for any glass in any car ever again. Ever.

TFLNOTD:

(204):

Passed out on her toilet. Dog licked my face to wake me. Awkward talk with her boyfriend, who hadn't been home last night. Not sure exactly what town I'm in, but I'm south. Will call for ride when I figure it out.

Pie Sharts

I have a silly little pet peeve. For some reason, it rubs me completely the wrong way (although, I must admit, even the wrong way wouldn't be so bad anymore, as long as rubbing is involved), when people use terms incorrectly. People that should know better. If you are learning a new language or just learning new and interesting words in a language already known to you, it is fine and understandable and your attempts should be applauded while you are kindly yet firmly pointed towards the correct usage. That's all cool. But if you should really know better...

Like, frinstance (this is a game played by trolls, look it up), "Cornish". Spell check wanted me to use a capital "C" there, because it is derived off a proper noun. I would guess Cornwall? Anyway, Cornish, as in, a pie or pasty. I might have mentioned before that I am somehow involved with flooring. People come to me and ask me if I do Cornishes. No, I do not. At the moment, even a pie would look very attractive to me, but I am in fact not "doing" anything right now. Girls from Cornwall included. I also do not SELL pies of any kind or type. What you think you are looking for, however, is called a cornice. This is a concave, sortof right-angled trimming that is fitted where a wall and a ceiling meet (look up, if you are in a normal kind of house or flat you probably have those). I do not sell those either. Floors, see? Not ceilings. Which leads me to believe that what you actually are looking for is a similar looking type of  trim, albeit a lot smaller, which is fitted where a wall or cupboard would meet a floor. This is called a scotia. And no, we strangely enough don' t have those either. Maybe we should, but we don't. What I do have, is the convex version which is called the very original name of a quarter-round. It is called thus, because it looks like a quarter of a solid cylinder which has been split four equal ways ("quarters") along its length. And its outer side is "round". Quarter, round. See? No, a half-round would be two of these stuck together. I don't know where you learnt the term, but a half-round would just be silly. It is called a quarter-round. You can use "quad" if you want to sound like you're in with the flooring tech lingo. Oh, you are actually looking for the bigger thing? That would be skirting boards or skirting or just skirts (again flooring tech lingo). Yes, the wooden things where the floor and wall meet. Oh, you want the skirting to go all the way up the door frame? That would be an architrave. Yes my fitters can make those up and fit them for you. Is there anything else you would like like? Maybe a steak and kidney?


TFLNOTD:

(502):

She told me she wanted to wax my ass. I'm terrified and oddly aroused.

Stranger in a strange land

It's Sunday again in bright and sunny and pretty damn hot Pretoria. It has finally happened. After months of talking about it, I am now actually in forn parts.

The trip here was bearable. I stayed over in a chalet type thing that I would have loved to call quaint, but just can't. Neat and tidy, but pretty much a place to sleep and get cleaned up, it was. They did have a pool, which was highly appreciated after a tiring drive. This was in Colesberg. A place that seems to be one big bed and breakfast. Just about every house there has a B&B sign on the gate. Apparently I am not the only person to think that it would be a good place to split the Cape Town-Jo'burg journey and the residents are making the most of it. As my impeccably neat lodgings didn't offer much in entertainment and buggerall in food, I went in search of sustenance in the bustling metropolis of Colesberg town. After walking through the whole length of the town, I went back to just about where I parked the car and entered a lovely little English pub called The Horse and Mill. I have to call something quaint in this post and this little pub qualifies. They do a very good lamb curry (mild, like the tannies at the kerkbazaar used to make it) and their Guinness isn't bad either. Oddly enough, they had their first pub quiz night, in aid of the local cricket team, on the very night that I was there. Seeing as I am missing out on pub quiz in Cape Town, I promptly requested a pen and piece of paper from the sweet waitress and ninja'ed in on their quiz. The people were great. Very friendly. They very quickly invited me in to play with officially. There was a 6 pack of beers up for grabs and as I joined in late, I would pay a reduced entry fee. I couldn't refuse. I don't know if I'd mentioned this before, but the Guinness was good and a friendly person there, bought me some more. In the end I didn't do too badly. I think I came in second, bearing in mind that I played on my own and the rest all had teams. Slept very soundly that night.

The next day was horrid. I have never in my life seen so many big trucks on one stretch of road. Also, about 50 kilometres after Bloemfontein, there is a toll gate. I stopped at an Ultra City at Bloem, got some breakfast at Steers and proceeded towards aforementioned toll gate. I get to the front of the queue, whip out my red, football player emblazoned Absa debit card and the gentleman looks at me and says: "Only cash and credit cards sir." I go: "Excuse me?" He repeats his sentence and I say (as I have no credit card - banks have finally discovered that giving me those things is just a bad idea for everybody): "So, where's the nearest bank machine?" He mumbles a reply of something about "turn around, 2 kilometres", I couldn't make out much. As he then closes his lane, directs the long queue of cars behind me to go to the next lane, so I can reverse out of there, I think to myself that nobody bloody told me about this. Yes, I was told about the speed cameras, about the staggering amount of trucks and that there are toll gates, but somehow, nobody thought it a good idea to let idiot boy know that these damn things don't take debit cards! So, as surreptitiously as I could manage, I extricated myself from the lane and traffic jam that I caused and headed back towards the nearest ATM. I scanned the immediate area. I scanned the horizons. I did not see anything 2 kilometres back. The gentleman at the gate must have been ever so slightly mistaken. I did not see anything for about 30 kilometres. The friggin toll gate is in the middle of nowhere. I had to drive back, almost to Bloemfontein again. Which, charming as some of its previous inhabitants might believe it is, is not a place that I wanted to visit twice on my journey. I eventually found a bank machine at a garage called the Sunny Hill Star Stop. Is it just me, or does that seem a little contradictory? After drawing more geld and refuelling the car, which I had planned on doing a bit later on the trip, but had to reschedule due to unplanned detours, I set off once again. At the toll gate, I was warmly received by the same attendant that made me turn around. I did not swear at him...    Thereafter followed 50 bajillion more trucks until I arrived, pretty gatvol of driving, at our Honeydew branch.

Now, I have no idea how the roads work in this part of the world. There is no mountain or sea to assist in navigating, so the boss's father had to lead me to my lodgings for the night. Their pool house on their property in Bryanston, as it turns out. Very posh, darling. The boss's parents also took my colleague (who I am relieving from his duties) and I for dinner at their local seafood restaurant, which was grand and very kind of them. The colleague left the next day, after he quickly explained the goings on and gave me the keys and the Tom-Tom GPS thingy (this is essential. Without this machine I would have been so lost here). I moved to my lodgings for the next two months that night.

Before he left, my colleague did tell me that I should make a turn at Hooter's. Which is a restaurant. Apparently their food is good and the service is great. And the Jo'burg Hooter's is supposedly the largest one in the world. I figured it's probably one of those themed type of places. The theme being about old cars or horns or something. Oh boy, was I wrong. It is a themed restaurant, yes, but it's not about old cars at all. It's about the tight, white vest thingy, bright orange, short hotpant, white socks and sneakers-wearing Hooter's girls. Oh man. The food, albeit a bit pricey, is very good. Very chicken wings and prawns orientated, massive burgers, you get the idea. But the Hooter's girls...   ...they are extremely well trained. Really. Very well trained. Those girls make so much money for that restaurant, and I have a feeling they don't do too badly with tips either. I couldn't help myself. Had to go back the next night as well. After having met friends for drinks at another pub (I had worked 'till 7, drove from Pretoria to Johannesburg - this takes about an hour - eventually found the place I was supposed to be), I decided it would be a splendid idea to see what the R50+ sandwiches at Hooter's tasted like. I found my delectably cute waitress from the night before - who seemed genuinely happy to see me, probably because she thought: "Hey, it's that idiot from last night that blew so much cash, let's see what I can make him spend tonight!" Still it was nice to be remembered and the hug wasn't too bad either. I looked at her and with my most charming smile said: "Please give me food, I am sooo hungry." And she looked at me with those pretty blue eyes and said with the cutest frown on her face: "Oh, I'm sorry, the kitchen closes at 10." My heart just dropped. So, I did what every warm blooded South African man would do and said: "Well, get me an Amstel then." When she came back with the beer I asked where I could then purchase some form of nourishment at this time of an evening and she directed me, admittedly begrudgingly, to Macdonalds. So much for my plans for the night. Still, I left with a smile on my face, a song in my heart and a growing fondness in my...

Anyway, I also did get horribly lost in this city on Friday. Although I can't really call it getting lost. To get lost, one needs to move from a point of known location and gradually work one's way towards a point of unknown location. I start from not knowing where the hell I am. Being somewhere else where I don't know where I am doesn't make all that much of a difference. Although being in the wrong place where I don't know where I am can be somewhat inconvenient. I took a turn-off into a highway, in the wrong direction. It took me about half an hour or so to figure out I was going directly the opposite way of where I needed to be. I had to reschedule the appointment for Monday and took about an hour and a half to get back to the office. Lovely. Oh, yes and these people are hugely into their road maintenance. There are roadworks going on everywhere. You're beetling down the highway at whatever the speed limit allows and suddenly the lane just ends. No road signs telling you it's about to end, just a few cones packed out over the lane. And the people drive either like maniacs or like they are in a funeral procession. It is lunacy.

Last night I spent at a braai at a mate's house.We've been friends for 24 years now. We phone each other 3 times a year. He phones me on my birthday. I phone him on his and one of us phones the other on Christmas. We kind of take turns with that one. It was great to see him and his wife and kids again. I ate like a pig. It was awesome.

The people here are, in general, really nice and friendly. I think it is because they don't have a mountain or a sea. They have to be nice to each other. In Cape Town we can afford to be clicky snobs. We don't need friends. We have a sea. And a mountain. I miss them. And my mates.

TFLNOTD:

(518):

I just want to let you know it was a unanimous decision that we would eat you first if we ever turned into cannibals, we figured with all the bacon you eat you may taste like it. It's a chance we are willing to take with your life...don't forget that we love you