On the road again...

I just can't wait t'get on the road again...etc. It is almost time. Today was my last working day in the country's capital. Only the weekend left and I shall be doing what the song says. Back home...

Contrary to all my beliefs and prejudices prior to coming to Gauteng (that's fancy for Joburg and Pretoria), I actually had a really good time here. I thought it would be horrible. I don't know the roads, I don't know the places, I don't know the people. I thought they would look at me, immediately see I'm not from here and say: "Shoo, away you infidel dog foreign person. You do not belong here." Well, in Pretoria they would say that in Afrikaans. But lo, they did not. Not even the horn helmet wearing, bakkie with blue balls on the towbar driving, baby blue jerseyed, staunch boere Blue Bulls supporters did that. As a matter of fact, I was surprised at how welcoming the people here were. I had a blast at Ellispark (sorry Coca-Cola Park), watching the Lions vs Bulls game. With aforementioned supporters and their red counterparts going nuts around me. All in a good spirit. Not a single punch was thrown in all that testosterone filled extacy. It was just plain fun. For the most part strangers here are just nicer than in Cape Town. They really make an effort to make a person feel welcome. Without wanting anything in return. I met some really wonderful people during my stay. Thank you all for making this little adventure of mine so enjoyable.

I did in fact also know quite a few people around the area. Some that I hadn't seen in ages and it was so good to hang out with them again. Thank you guys for your hospitality. Some that I didn't even get a chance to see while I was here. Sorry to those, I'll try again the next time I'm here for a visit.

The roads weren't too much of a hassle in the end. Thanks to my wonderfully quirky GPS, an hour to work in the morning and almost an hour back home at night and the city council's delightful ideas concerning roadworks, I learnt my way around reasonably quickly. You get to see a whole lot of real estate when you drive around like I do and sometimes, some landmarks stick in your head.

It is, as I am writing this, at 5pm Friday evening, raining. AGAIN. Damn, it's rained a lot while I've been here. Travelling the 1 hour trek, each way, daily in these downpours has not been fun. At all. This I will not miss. I've had a near death experience or two in the wet, that I would rather forget. Compound these hectic thunderstorms with the ever continuing roadworks and you get a really interesting drive home.I am dreading this for tonight.

I also saw many interesting places. I had loads of fun with mates from here at The Red Room. A club originally owned by Ashton Nyte from The Awakening. For those of an alternative persuasion, I would suggest it. I saw Parys, which is the closest that I've ever been to touring Europe. And probably will be for a while. The massive Hartebeespoort Dam, with all its tourist trappings. Which is kinda weird. Everybody from around here go there to get away for a while. And then they're all there. Hmmm... There were more places, but I'll not bore you with a list of all of them.

The only gripe, serious gripe, that I have with this place, is that it seems the larneys don't want to be bothered by ever ringing cell phones. Now I can sortof understand this. You know, they are important, powerful people and they have better things to do than to constantly be on the phone. So, in their larney neighbourhoods, they conspire to get almost zero cell phone reception. This is great for the movers and shakers, but really sucks for a guy from Cape Town, that misses his mates and just wants to have a chat with one of them. I stayed in a small hole in the wall, under a house in Bryanston. For those of you that don't know Johannesburg, but do know Cape Town, it's kinda like Constantia. Like I said. Larney. For those of you that don't know either. I am sorry, there is no help for you. Now, in my shoebox, I had about 2 square feet of area that actually got a cell signal. If I move my head a few inches, the signal goes and my call is dropped. This is infuriating. Were I to get off the bed, where this area of reception exists, and walk the 3 yards to the loo, it goes completely. There were a few times when I would get back to the bed and get a message to say that I missed a call. Because I was busy with whatever Nature had in store for me. Unacceptable. Completely wrong. I don't necessarily need to speak to somebody while I am relieving myself, but the principle of the thing is what bothers me. Get off your high and mighty bloody horses you larney buggers and get some towers in here! Ah, now that I have that off my chest...

As you may be able to deduce, I have enjoyed my stay in Joburg and Pretoria. Loads. But the time has come to pack the bags and go where I belong. Not that I can't ever see myself belonging here. Just not now. Right now, my life, my heart, is in Cape Town. I will miss my friends here, but I will remember the good times I had fondly, for years to come. Besides, it's their turn to visit me again.

Catch y'all at the foot of the most beautiful mountain.....in the world.

TFLNOTD:

(732):

shes 19, drunk and said she has no gag reflex. im trying to decide if i have scruples

(1-732):

you dont

(732):

i dont

Moral Fibre

Apparently fibre is good for you. Keeps you reg'lar. That's if you believe the hot little chick with the seemingly perfect life that got it all in the morning. Advertising would like us to believe that if we take a regular crap, all our problems will disappear and we and our lives will be perfect. They lie. I have proof. There is absolutely nothing wrong with my bowel movements and I am still single, slightly over-weight, greying and not as wealthy as I'd hoped I'd be at my age. But that's not actually what this blog is about. The fibre I would like to talk about is a whole different kettle of monkeys.

Moral fibre won't necessarily keep you going to the loo a lot (although it might), but it does have something to do with who you are, deep inside. I have often thought about morals/morality and was reminded about it by BoigzTheBlogger today. He actually suggested I write about this. Morals are nifty things. What people don't often realise, is that they change with us, as we change as people. Things that were completely taboo a while back, might be absolutely fine today. This, both for individuals and in societies. Usually the change is towards a more liberal view, but it can go more conservative as well. It just depends on how we think at that moment. 

When you grow up, you are taught (hopefully) that smoking, drinking, drugs, stealing is all bad. So is sex. For some people it is the premarital version that is wrong. Some believe that all sex is just bad and horrible (and should be shot). As we get older, people start experimenting with various things. Some try cigarettes, some booze, some weed... This is generally all done in secret, because we don't want to get caught. Because it's wrong. And naughty. And we're gonna get moered if somebody finds out. The smoking ends up looking cool (or so we think). The booze is heaps of fun. The weed is chill maaaaan.... We decide that we kinda like these things that were so against our beliefs. The morals change to accommodate these new ideas. Some continue smoking, some drink more, some get high any chance they get. And then one day a person decides you know, this getting high thing just isn't for me. It screws stuff up man. They go completely anti drugs and never touch anything like that again. The morals shift to accommodate these views as well. But stealing. Stealing stays wrong for everybody forever, right? Not if you're really struggling. Then it becomes a way to stay alive. Not if you're stealing from somebody that has always had more than you. Then it just evens the score. Not if you couldn't give a sh*t about rules, because when has the system ever been there for you? 

Bugger. Sorry. Started getting a bit heavy there. I'll try to tone it down. The bottom line is that morals, no matter how much store we put in them, are not static things. Our moral compass works very much like Captain Jack Sparrow's does. It kinda points the way we want it to. Should it be so? Probably not. But if you can go to bed at night, proud of how you did something or how you handled a situation and not be ashamed of your actions, then I guess you're doing alright.


But that's not all. If you read now, you will get the extended version. 

What Boigz and I talked about was a specific bit of morality. It links in with the buddy code. That mythical contract between all male friends. "You don't go for your buddy's girl." That is just nasty. You WILL lose a friend that way. Maybe more than one. But then there is also "You don't go for your buddy's ex". And "You don't go for any girl your buddy is interested in. Ever". Now to me, that's just silly. While yes, one should not covet they neighbour's ass or wife it doesn't mean any ass or wife thy neighbour has ever seen. If a friend breaks up with somebody and things are still raw and he's still hurting, don't go and shag his ex in front of him. That's a bit rude. Out of respect and a level of kindness one would hope exists between friends, give him time to heal, at least a bit, before you go rubbing his face in it. If things don't work out between people, nobody (including the hurting ex) has the right to expect the two parties from this break-up to never be in a relationship again. And besides, that's stupid. If an ex and a friend can make each other happy, then let them. Wouldn't you rather have a mate that you trust date a girl that you (at least once) cared about, rather than some tool, that you don't know, that will give her grief in the end?

As for the other rule, well, if your buddy is actually interested in a girl and at least tries to make this interest visible to said girl, then back off. If she's not interested in him then, he has no claim on her and she's fair game. If your buddy is interested in a girl and never makes any attempt at making this known, then he can't just go calling dibs. Especially if he bloody well goes and calls dibs on any nice girl that he sees. You can't go creating a virtual dreamworld harem for yourself in the real world. Complete silliness.


I might have started to ramble a bit at the end there. These were some of my morally guided thoughts. They have changed over the years and probably will again. Yours are allowed to as well.


TFLNOTD:

(443):
this is your 3rd pregnancy scare in 2 years, I think its time for you to re-evaluate the whole 'im a lesbian' thing

Nothing But Trouble

You know, Will Smith might have known a thing or two when he was a laaitie. Can't really say the same for his kids. I don't know how those little shoulders can carry such big chips, but that's a different story. When he was still called The Fresh Prince, he had a song that went: "Listen old boy, don't mean to bust your bubble, but girls of the world ain't (insert title here). I really don't get how chicks work. Sometimes I think I do, but then they just come up with something that completely befuddles me again. I'm pretty sure I'm not alone in this. Why then do we bother with them, you ask? Because we can't help it. They look so pretty and they smell so nice and they make us feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Drive us up the wall often, but they do light up our lives. Still, I don't understand them. One of the the things that I just don't get would be how their choices in guys work. I have done a bit of research into this and it seems (according to what they say) that they all want a nice, dependable, good oke, that won't screw them around.

This is complete and utter twally. I have seen it happen so many times. Cool, normal chickies, quite smart too, that go for complete and utter b*stards. Then they whine about how these guys mess them around. Eventually, they might break up with aforementioned b*stards. Swear that they will never let a guy treat them like that again and hook up with the next b*stard that walks around the corner. It seems they have this inborn need to want to fix these problem children. Probably something to do with motherly instincts or something, I don't know. *Sigh* This means that, according to what they say, guys like me (the nice dependable type, according to the people that know me, although they only think they do, because in fact I am a right b*stard - shhhhh, it's called advertising, I might get finally get lucky from this ), should be swimmin' in wimmin, while in fact, we sit at home, alone, proverbial finger in our proverbial.......ear.

They also say that they want to be romanced. They want to feel special. So then guys like me (not really, see above for details), attempt this. These attempts to satisfy this need are seen as being "too much" and that they are being "suffocated" by this "relationship". And they run a bloody mile. The best luck I have had with a girl lately, was to completely, flatly ignore her. This just boggles my mind.

I have to admit that I have not lucked out completely throughout the course of my life. For the most part, I have also dated some really hot girls. Most of them were pretty sharp as well. They must've gone through some moment of weakness at the time. Couldn't find a handy b*stard nearby (this is of course not always completely true, just trying to make a point here). Still, there have been some fun and meaningful relationships along the way. But, as I seem to have developed this thinking illness of late, I had a bit of a thought about all this. For the most part (and I'm talking seriously large majority here), girls that I have dated before seem to be much better off now, than they were with me. And I'm not just talking about then and now, but also better off than they would have been, had they stuck with me until now. Logically, I have to therefor conclude that I have had a positive influence on these girls' futures. I did think about this for quite some time and I have come up with a plan that I think will benifit us all.

Ladies, if you feel like you're stuck in a rut, that you are not realising those wonderful ambitions that you have, that your life is not really going anywhere, give me a call. Let's hook up. I'll make you famous.

TFLNOTD:

(315):

I need to get my pants from under your porch. People are asking questions.

We're sinking, we're sinking!

Yeeeeess..... vell, vhat are you sinking about? Or so the joke goes. I made the mistake of thinking or sinking (you decide which is more apt) recently. It all started with the devil. After a very long time of remaining firm, I have finally given in and succumbed to the evil that is facebook. It's the devil. I am sure of this. Which is why I refused to go on it for so long. But for some reason, everybody on the whole damn planet is on the thing and any photos of any event that people attend, get put up there.

I was at the Rammstein concert in Cape Town. It was the best event that I have ever attended. Completely blew me away. I was in the 3rd row from the barrier in front of the stage, got literally seared by massive flames, and I got to touch the boat! Anyway, as I didn't have a camera there, I was relying on wonderful friends to take pics that I could then get from them later. Their place of choice to stick these? Yup. Bloody facebook. So, the only way for me to get at these wonderful images of flamethrowers in action was on facebook.  I cracked, and walked into the arms of Beelzebub. Which, like I suspected it would, has almost taken over my life. Because it does this. This is how it eats your soul. You very innocently send a "friend request" to one or two people that you know. They "accept" you as their friend and suddenly you see who all their friends are and they let you know what they're doing and you ask some of their friends if they would accept you as well and then, before you know it, you have a whole host of people that you are constantly connected to. You can also "search" facebook for anybody else that you would like to connect with. And they all have "status updates". Which is pretty much just what they're doing or thinking about now or something cool that they saw or heard and people comment on these. And then you think of something witty to say and "post" your "reply" to the comment and you keep checking back to see if anybody appreciated your razor sharp wit. Then somebody else "likes" your reply and another person posts something and you keep coming back to see what's happening now. Then there are the "pokes" which I still don't understand, but I am currently involved in poke wars on two fronts. Also, tags. Which I don't get either, but it involves pictures somehow. I will still get to the bottom of this.

While all this frenetic activity goes on (which eats away all of one's time usually spent writing blogs), you browse through all the friends of friends and see the comments that friends make on their friends' pages and run accross old friends, past lovers and aquaintances. It can be really good to hook up with these people that you might have let disappear from your life over the years. I have spoken to people that I have cared about a lot before, that I somehow lost contact with and it has been very gratifying (it is still the devil though). But, as you go through these people that were a part of your life, you also think back to the times when they were there. What you were doing, how old you were, what your plans for the future were back then. Kinda who you were at the time. This brings me to the title for today (see what I did there?).

So facebook (the devil) made me think about where I am, where I have been and the journey along the way. I have had some fantastic times. Met and spent time with some wonderful people. I have received and given a lot of love. I have had immeasureble support. All of which I am truly, humblingly (that is a word, I have decided) grateful for. I have made some terrible mistakes. Taken some very wrong turns. Hurt and dissapointed many people (very often the same people mentioned before). There are many things that I regtret. Clocks that I wish I could turn back. Words I wish I could swallow to prevent them form causing the damage that they did. Deeds I would walk away from and things not done that I should have rushed to do. I wonder what would have happened, had I chosen this way instead of that. Where would my life have taken me then? Where would I have ended up? Do this for too long and you will go a bit bonkers. Because you can't change the past. You learn from it. You cherish the memories of all the happy times. You appreciate your wordly stuff and the riches you have accumulated in your heart and mind and soul. The impressions made on you by all these people that you once knew and all the choices that you had to make. Because of them, maybe next time your choice will be a bit better.

TFLNOTD:

(206):

This is the last weekend of getting drunk and having sex all nite with the plumber. I'm exhausted all weekend and I'm never going to finish the remodel at this rate

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:

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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