AMAZING PEOPLE I KNOW - THE MEYER OF AWESOMEVILLE

If you thought yesterdays pic was hot, you'd be right.

But this one is COOL.

I totally stole this idea from Tarty Farty Tequila Party. She started this last week with a revealing expose on the Weekend Wizzard. I'll have to stick to people she doesn't know then, won't I?

I give you then, The Meyer Of Awesomeville.

The Meyer of Awesomeville is literally the tactile embodiment of "cool" on our little mortal plane. It is physically and metaphysically impossible to stuff one single more iota of cool in a human being. That's not to say that he is a human. No one can be that cool and still be a slave to the strict limitations of physical parameters. He has the coolest everything as well. He has the coolest wife, the coolest car, the coolest friends, the coolest job and was in the coolest band. He is so cool he purposely does uncool things thereby making them cool.

And now ladies and gentlemen, he has gone and achieved the impossible. He has bent the laws of the known universe and actually expanded his own cool. Barney Stintson sits quietly in a corner and weeps in despairing surrender. Chuck Norris round house kicks himself in the nuts and becomes a nun (A phenomenon known as "NunChucks".)

The Meyer Of Awesomeville has just gone and bought himself a Harley Davidson. I mean, can you imagine! Women around the world look at their suddenly inadequate lovers and die inside knowing that they will never experience the awesome coolness. Men stand in queues outside their local Harley dealership hoping to emulate him, but all in vain. Those that are rejected by their bank managers go in search of a sturdy length of rope...

Thank you for reading. Since we're on the subject of motorcycles, I'd like to bring your attention to the wonderful initiative that is Think Bike. It aims at raising awareness of the 2 wheeled road users and to promote bikes and scooters as a more fuel efficient form of transport. They educate and push for better, safer and more responsible riding and driving. Please go and check out their website, they do sterling work making our experience on our roads a better one for everyone. Now if only they could pass the "modesty clause" for casual Sunday morning public dining among the self propelled 2 wheelers.

And on all things bike related, since we're here, The Bike Haus is where you want to go for any repairs or improvements to your metal steed. Everything from having your "pipes cleaned", your "carburetor overhauled" or simply having tassels glued to your handlebars, this is the place to go. You can even have a racing conversion done to a scooter!

Oh yes, and lest I forget, tonight the irrepressible Team Burger King will attempt to finally break their podium hoodoo by emerging victorious at LMG Pub Quiz. Sydney, you had better make sure there are enough kegs of Black Label Draught - I have my own personal battles to fight. So Tarty Farty Tequila Party, TDB, The Swedish Meatball, Sheik Yerbouti and Brother-In-Awe, let's moer those other teams. It's fucking OUR time!

NGDG: "I've taped a magnet to my finger. There is a logic here."

Spread The Love. Try A Large, Rumbling Engine Between Your Legs...

HEADING 4 DISASTER.

I'm just testing a theory that pictures of hot women get me more reads.

I don't even know who this is...

Now THAT! THAT was a weekend! You know that you've had a good one when it takes more than 24 hours to recover to the point where your innards are no longer in a state of uprising and turmoil. The physical pain I can deal with, I'm sure my neck and back will eventually recover. It's the constant and rather disconcerting feeling that my entire collection of organs is marching will ill conceived collective purpose towards the nearest orifice in a unionist attempt to overthrow the governing body. Not that I blame them, mind you. They are only designed to withstand that much punishment.

It all started in Constantia and a rather tiring jog down to the party bus pickup point armed with a cooler box full of the heaviest supplies. Finding the best balance between having enough beer and the perfect weight to counterbalance a lopsided trot is an ongoing experiment in controlled inertia. Needless to say, dripping with sweat, we fell onto the bus only to be greeted by the 3 midgets from Insane Clown Posse. As it turns out they were in fact teenagers and were part of a black metal band. Somehow, at one of the pick up stops I managed to agree to listen to their demo whilst restocking the cooler box at Midmar. Can't wait.

We finally arrived at Metal4Africa's flagship event, Summerfest 2012. Four hours of heavy drinking on a moving bus later. The scene was set...

Let's just say I am grateful to be alive. There were LOADS of people. The atmosphere was one of total heathen debauchery and everyone seemed to be having the time of their lives. At this point it should be made clear that my recollections of the actual event are largely hazy, but I do remember a few wonderful moments. All the bands that I saw were thoroughly enjoyable and were greeted by a magnificently receptive crowd. By dint of being the freshest in my furry fog of a memory, the stand out performance of the night would have to go to Theatre Runs Red, although I remember thinking to myself at the time "Wouldn't it be fucking awesome if metal bands learned how to write hooks into their material?"

So after much loud mouthed metal head behaviour, lots of hot little chickies in skimpy outfits, having a civilised re-acquaintance drink with my old friend Mr Blackheart and witnessing and being part of the general mayhem that usually goes with a gathering of 700 loons, it was time to board the bus back home.

Cue more drinking (the cooler box was still not empty and needed to be carried back). Eventually tired and happy we arrived back at Univer City, where we duly lit a fire and drank and braaied til 6 in the morning - at which time it seemed a splendid idea to pass out on the couch and test The Hot Girlfriend's resolve and clinging on abilities. By the time we eventually got home-home, it was time to flop down on my bed and die. Yesterday was a struggle. Couldn't even make it through the afternoon movie. Possibly something to do with being happily horizontal on the folded out sleeper couch. Many thanks to Dean The Machine. No one knows how the fuck he manages, but he does.

Anyway. That brings us up to speed. I am at work. I have been at work for roughly 5 hours. For the last 4 of those hours, the pranksters occupying the realms of Celestial Deity have conspired to make things as unpleasant as possible. First we had the chain gang busting up the road with their pneumatic drill for a pleasant hour or so. Then we had the tar-putty-downy-trucky-thingy and the other truck in some sort of constant backing-up beeping mode. They're back at it with the drill by the way.

I am going to shoot out of here at the stroke of 4 and race home, where The Hot Girlfriend is waiting patiently, hopefully with the intention of administering some much needed tender loving care. I can't write TLC, that is a character in the ongoing story I call my life.

On a much more upbeat note, however, Neal Goldwyer is back, imparting his nuggets of wisdom and caustic catch phrases. Can I have a "Hallelujah!"

NGDG: "Someone is sending emails NOW. And going to bed with clear conscience and intentions of coming in late. Neal will get in at Sparrows, confronted by this madness, by lies, confusion and panic. Then comes the weekly team meeting. Or as I like to call it 'the BDSM toy of belittlement, reprimand and scowling contempt." All before breakfast. This is why I eat soft foods.

Spread The Love. If You Know Where It Is.

TATTOOS. METAL. DRINKS. A NICE QUIET WEEKEND.

Well the weekend is shaping up to be one that will go down in history (like your sister in that class that time...) as one of the most enjoyable to date (like your sister... again).

The venerable and venereal-disease-free DrHellCuz And The 314 Gang are here for the Tattoo Convention. Party on Wayne. Party on Garth... Incidentally you may want to go and check out the work of the 314, they are THE shit. All the way from Jaded Ink in Centurion, please welcome Cathy "She Changed Her Middle Name Because Of Metallica" Proctor and Van THE Man. They sling ink fucking awesome! Going for a few drinkies after work with this choice little band of delinquents - name drop, name drop...

And tomorrow is the big one. Metal4Africa's annual Summerfest. Great line up of bands including the likes of Sabretooth, Terminatryx, Theatre Runs Red and many more for the more metal minded among you. A full afternoon and night's worth of fan-fucking-tastic entertainment, even the supremely talented and beautiful Black Orchid Burlesque Beasties to feast your sinful eyes on. I know I certainly will.

Jeesh Sunday is gonna suck...

Another extremely talented buddy of mine has just invented this. You'll laugh, you'll cry, you'll probably throw up a little bit in your mouth. But it's worth it. Every last little bit!

Anyway, enjoy this Irreverent Friday as irreverently as you know how. Go sniff some petrol tanks or chat up a couple of old ladies. Just have fun. Me, it's almost beer-o-clock and the weather is begging to be enjoyed here in the Cape Of Finally But Not Completely Rid Of The Fucking Vaalies.

Have fun folks!

NGDG: Neal has been disturbingly quiet today. Perhaps he is building up the antici...

...pation. For Monday. Watch this space...

Spread The Love. Raise The Horns. \m/

I MIGHT JUST BECOME A STAR WARS FAN AFTER ALL...

Today I saw one of the best things I have ever seen. It has long been apparent to anyone who'd listen that I am not particularly fond of Die Antwoord. Or any other novelty act for that matter, except GWAR. And not because I think their particular brand of debased urban trash culture (because, come on face it, you can't call that music...) is that stupendously kak, but because wonderfully talented musical geniuses like Waddy Jones are forced to lower their standards to, well, tripe like Die Antwoord. I do not begrudge them their success. I do not begrudge them their rabid following, albeit a comprising of a slightly lower common denominator. It's the so called music loving public I have a problem with. Except this guy. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you The Answer to Die Antwoord.

Hysterical...

Also, I have thought of a new drinking game - take a shot every time one of the actors in 7de Laan stops talking and stares intensely into the middle distance at the end of a scene or conversation. Guaranteed to be plastered before the second ad break. Super fast and effective. Drink responsibly.

Tonight is my turn to cook for Dinner Club. Tonight I try out a recipe I just made up. I will be attempting something I will hopefully be able to call Mediterranean Chicken Scrumptious Surprise.

The surprise, hopefully, will be that it is not merely palatable, but a veritable taste sensation. I will let you know tomorrow whether or not we had mass emergency room scenarios. I will be using fresh produce from my own herb garden...

I'd like to introduce one of my favourite new bands - I'm thinking of making this quite a regular feature. This week's winner is Dead Lucky, a sort of disdainful bastard lovechild of Motorhead and The Cult, with an aunty who had lots of Golden Earrings. This description, no matter how many times I rethink it, doesn't really capture what they're all about, but right now I can't do any better. It certainly doesn't do them justice. One's things for damn straight certain. They rock the tits off everything! Check out their latest single Our Prayer and draw your own conclusions.

And on that note, I bid you adieu. I am looking forward to getting home, cleaning my house, cooking up a storm, some light gardening and something else I either forgot or cannot type on this here blog post for fear of offending anyone with a delicate constitution. Suffice it to say it is the fourth thing on the to-do list for this afternoon.

NGDG: " 'Neal Goldwyer is a king' - Patience the security guard. I really should start believing the compliments instead of remembering the slurs."

Spread The Love. Pew! Pew! Pew! Pew!

BOOBS. NOTHING ELSE... JUST BOOBS!

As some of the more ardently attentive among you, me dear gentle readership, may have realised, I fucking love boobs! (Incidentally I love fucking boobs as well, given the chance...) But nothing I can say, do or write can come close to the incredible truth spoken by this guy. He is my new hero. It's that simple. He has managed to articulate so much. And that's just about breasts. I won't even attempt to emulate him.

I should probably point out that I partially disagree with him, however. His assertion that he cares about boobs, only the boobs and nothing but the boobs does not sit well with me. I'm more of a "whole deal" kinda guy. The lucky few of you who have read The Infamous List would know this about me.

In breaking news this hour! My pal (see? I know celebrities 'n' shit) the wonderfully talented and all round amazingly cool chap, The Weekend Wizzard, is being interviewed on Pasella tonight. On SABC. At 7:30. I hope Vicky Davis is involved. She's definitely the coolest of the lot. Anyway, be sure to tune in for a sensual, sophisticated and smothered-in-yumminess take on the culinary delight that is the delicious dish he will be preparing for all of you this evening. Do NOT miss it. Even the effervescent Tarty Farty Tequila Party is curbing her enthusiasm for a night out in order to catch this guy on the telly. He makes Nigella look like a bit of old bland pastry...

I am furthermore going to take the very unique opportunity my access to the internet has afforded me to remind you of an upcoming event. I wonder why no one else has thought of this before? It's pure genius!

This Saturday is the annual great-big-gathering-of-metalheads-and-assorted-tag-alongs known as the infamous SUMMERFEST very graciously brought to you by the kind, intelligent and hard working folk at Metal4Africa. I'm going. This alone should precipitate an entire army of you to suddenly click on the link, find out everything there is to find out about it, and make or change plans just so that you too can be at this kiefbrutalepicawesome event. All of your daily requirements will be catered for. Cheap beer and loads of inebriated chicks in very skimpy outfits. Some insanely cool metal, even...

See you delinquents at the bar! I'll have a Jagermeister, thanks!

NGDG: "Why do the powdered remnants at the bottom of a cereal box conspire to choke you, when cereals that are all powder, all the way through, don't?"

Spread The Love. Because The Darkness Believes In It...

FREE PIZZA!

No. YOU don't get free pizza. I get free pizza. How cool is that? I won a competition (it was for the snarkiest comment - a no-brainer) and consequently I get to cash in on 2 free pizzas from Debonairs courtesy of Running Wolf's Rant. So picture me sitting in the office registering furiously and sticking my tongue out in constipated concentration as I navigated the treacherous ordering page. Good thing I called them after I clicked - they'd already fucked up the collection time...

The reason I have to resort to free meals and a freezer full of leftovers is that I am about to embark on another major DIY (ad)venture. A while back I got it into my head to renovate my kitchen. Many months of careful planning (read bright new-and-improved idea for layout with every fresh beer) later I had settled on a design and a plan of action. At which time my dad - bless his toes - announces he too is renovating his kitchen. But he's doing it the adult way. Ripping everything out and having new everything put in (including appliances) at astronomical expense... And do I want the original kitchen's cabinets?

Since I had no intention of replacing the rickety Russells cabinets in my plans, mainly because I couldn't afford to, I leaped at the opportunity. Last night the opportunity came to fruition with my dad and I lugging in ALL the kitchen cabinets from his house to mine. It took roughly 3 and a half hours. The hallway is once again victim to a bits-o-furniture invasion. Not to mention every spare square inch in my existing, but soon-to-be-defunkt current kitchen.

Oh, and I ate the first tomato out of my own garden last night. Quite ceremoniously as well, I might add. It was extraordinary!

Which brings me to today's mood setter. I have an ex. Well, several... but of the 2 that have made it past a few years together, only one remains with whom I have any contact. She has announced that she is pregnant! It's an awesome day and I am over the moon happy for her. Those that know, know.

Why do I feel weird about it then? Is it because it is something that was a topic of frequent discussion? It certainly isn't jealousy. Maybe I just feel weird because I feel weird? I'm putting it down to recent revelations. It's amazing what dredging up the past can yield... Anyway, tonight calls for a drink either way.

Tonight being the infamous DOOM jam. Where everyone comes together, wears black (except for the Flip Flops). plays songs measured in bereavements per minute, and is generally miserable. Notafuck! Looking forward to a great night of frolicking in the fields of frivolity and laughter! And everyone squeezing between various parts of kitchen...

Today, the King Of The Quip has been on a roll and to avoid any disappointment, I will have to post 2 of his insights. I do this because I love you...

NGDG: "Big Ben is slowly sinking into the Thames. If skew architecture ever appeals to me, at least now I won't have to travel to a place where no English is spoken and the locals try to kill each other with Fiats."

NGDG: "I propose that the world adopt the Native American calender. Instead of bland old 'January', we'd now be in the 'Moon When The Snow Drifts Into The Teepees'."

Spread The Love. Until It's Time To Go Mad And Move On...

"BURR TOOTH! ...BURR!!! TOOTH!!!"

Friday, as you can imagine was spent watching the clock, and the cricket. I made it home in record time, wheels screeching, and settled in to watch the Proteas fuck it up for the first time this tour. Oh well, luckily that wasn't the proposed highlight of the evening.

After the Hot Girlfriend treated us to pizza, off we did bugger to Mercury on a hot and sticky night. Mercury was FULL. Mercury was full of the kind of people you greet with warm hugs and warmer smiles. Mercury was brimming with the kind of hot anticipation that sticks to everyone, as they mill around between their friends and the bar. I met Tombstone Pete, unfortunately I had just missed his show, but heard it was genius. I will most certainly be checking him out the first chance I get based purely on what a cool dude he is and everyone's rousing reports. We Set Sail had the heaving crowd doing their collective nut as if they were the headliners, putting in as energetic and engaging a show as I've seen in a while. You can tell these guys live this music - a heady instrumental mosaic that inevitably builds to a rocking conclusion that has all parties panting like whores in church, but having far more fun!

Then this gangly dude, exuding more enthusiasm than was humanly possible without some serious substance abuse, bestrode the stage and boomed out over the mic that the time had finally arrived. He kept shouting from the stage, exhorting the assembled masses to "Say Burr Tooth! Say Burr Tooth!" I didn't, my mouth too busy taking in much needed liquid replenishment and refreshment, but is sounded like everyone else did! If the crowd's insistent chant - demanding the boys from "Burr! Tooth!" get their arses on stage, didn't raise the roof, well... the roof was well and truly fucking raised when they came bounding on, immediately kicking out the kind of jams they are so renowned for. A dense, yet crisp, sonic blitzkrieg filled the venue and they strutted their stuff like seasoned pros, but with the same excitement normally reserved for younger bands, as they were clearly not only here to tear us all a new one, but were as excited as 4 year olds at Christmas at the prospect of doing so.

And tear us a new one they did!

Hair a-flail and fingers a-dancing they mesmerized the bouncing, frenzied, shoulder-to-shoulder crowd with their 80s inspired melodic metal, the interplay between these virtuoso musos reaching almost ridiculous levels of wizardry. Perhaps it was because I was enjoying myself so much. Perhaps it was because I was drinking too much (the two certainly NOT mutually exclusive). Perhaps I was too distracted by ass. But it seemed over almost as soon as it started. But the crazed, rabid masses were not having any of it! Rarely have I heard such an insistant and persistent cry of "Encore!" - the band didn't have much choice, stalking back onto the stage and giving the crowd some of their favourite covers, Van Halen's "Jump" being the obvious crowd pleaser, the crowd being "pleased" into even more extreme forms of enjoyment, catching bodies as the more entused punters launched themselves in a series of impressive stage dives.

All in all it was a fantastic show and a truly memorable night. Well, the parts afterwards I can actually remember...

...and Kyle Gray's guest vocal talents were a rare treat as well!

Saturday morning the Hot Girlfriend had to make breakfast because I couldn't. Much time was spent remaining still.

Later on it was time to attend Tableau Vixen's braai and on the way home I saw something. It was still hot. So hot in fact, that a "lady of ill repute" was standing on the corner with her tits out! How absolutely radical is that!

In other news, Sunday was also spent as still as possible and watching more cricket.

Tonight I take on more manual labour - no doubt tomorrow's report with deal with much aching and paining.

...A whore. With her tits out! Fantastic! (Sorry, it was worth repeating...)

NGDG: "I caught the garter. Thanks to Clifford Besseling for the line-out lift. Now I have to get married. Slim blonde readers apply within."

Spread The Love. Show Us Yer Tits, Luv!

AND ON THAT NOTE...!

So last night I started my exercise routine. Since I am about as fit as an overcooked macaroni noodle right now (can't even cling to a ceiling) it was decided to take a nice easy stroll up and down the mountain path with Corporal Punishment. We were accompanied by Yoda the Staffie, and Phoebe and Jesse, the Jack Russells. So we took to the slopes like mountain goats and were deep in earnest conversation, going at quite a healthy clip when it dawned on us that we were being followed by a mysterious, heavy breathing, ominous apparition. Scared half to death and too terrified to look behind us lest we come face to face with this demonic, red spectre with its low eerie wail, we picked up the pace and started to get the heart rate up to a dangerous level, for me anyway.

Then we realised it was just Rose Thorn, bringing up the rear and not dealing with the humongous natural stair-master too well... She reminded me of the time Corporal Punishment led me directly into the maws of certain death on that very trail. I still can't believe I made it out of that alive.

Is everyone looking forward to a delightful evening in the company of Sabretooth tonight? I know I am! It'll rock! It'll roll! It'll have you raising horns and a few pints! And all the girlies are gonna lose their shit! Be prepared for a night of debauchery the likes of which you won't often see! I know for a fact that there are going to be some high flying, industry leading types there tonight, sharing this auspicious occasion. I'm talking major Radio Station owners, Event Management CEOs, PR specialists and even Publishing Moguls. I'm sure the glitterati of the local band scene will all be there as well, preening around, hoping to woo the young ladies, all of whom will be there solely for Sabretooth obviously. So here is your chance to rub shoulders with the "who's who in the zoo". I'll be at the bar acting obsequious...

Fuck me - I just got sooooo Punk'd! It's the gorgeous Tableau Vixen's birthday this week and we are celebrating with yet another braai (why do I do this to myself? Oh yes, now I remember, because my life rocks!) Anyway, I was informed that it was unnecessary for me to bring my own "tjop" as is the tradition at these things. I was told it was because we were all going to be eating soya, a statement met with some incredulity. In fact, I was dumbfounded, not something that happens too easily. It was like that time my buddies rocked up at my 21st with a Pop Shop 28 Compilation Tape and handed over my "gift" with straight faces. I somehow managed a very awkward and uncomfortable "Um... thanks... I think..." before they collapsed in a heap of helpless hysteria, no doubt having worked on this ruse for some time. Turns out I get to have my meat fix after all. Phew! That was close.

Time to switch off from the world and switch ON the telly. Cricket's about to start. Have an awesome weekend, y'all! Bless your irreverent little hearts.

NGDG: "I'm in full drag by 7am. Things can only go downhill from here."

Spread The Love. And The Braai Marinade.

I HAVE THE ANSWER ! ! !

Not like "Die Antwoord" who incidentally have just leaked another single off their "album". It's a naturally offensive little pile of steaming excrement, but I figure if they can get all the hits and fame from their shit, I might as well take advantage of the obvious lack of taste that seems to permeate the masses and see if a link to their absurd, novelty cock spray might help me increase the numbers so I can start raking in some of the fat cash that I clearly lack.

[*Disclaimer. Obviously you, my dear, loyal gentle-reader, are NOT one of these fickle tripe-of-the-day types. YOU obviously display exquisite taste and impeccable moral fortitude.]

No folks, the answer I refer to is the age old one posed by women the world over and in this post I will attempt to explain why men are so mysteriously drawn to the "big boobs and tiny arse" female physique. And I might as well brace myself for a backlash of infuriated ladies giving me all sorts of hell, but before you unleash the unholy terror of your wrath upon me, at least admit the following: I am not condemning a big bum. I am merely pointing out "why" we prefer things the way we do. Actually, I am doing womankind a service...

The big boobs is obvious. An ample bosom has, since time began, been recognised universally as the symbol of nurturing motherhood, a source of much needed nourishment for infants and the most engaging toys on earth. Bums, on the other hand, should be a little less "voluptuous". This has nothing to do with a latent homo-erotic desire to sodomise 12 year old boys. None of us are gunning for priesthood. It's merely come down to a case of equating the fullness of the body part in question with its "bounty". So it's simple really. Boobs make milk. Bums make pooh. Conundrum solved.

Staying with colossal arses, I think it's time to touch on (see what I did there...?) the very sensitive subject of the SOPA and PIPA bills that are currently being mooted in US Government and are aimed at stamping out piracy of intellectual copyright hosted outside of the US - and basically seems to me to be nothing more than a thinly veiled attempt at greedily forming a monopoly over the internet. Much like their avaricious pursuit of oil and their crass assertion that war is justified in order to bring peace in regions where their prime purpose is in fact to plunder the natural resources. Everything is a cover up. Sometimes it's a good thing. Like when someone covers up their huge arse, but in this case it's like McDonalds pretending to be a fast food outlet, when it is nothing more than a hoarder of real estate.

I have no standpoint on this - other than the sadness we share at the prospect of my little virtual soapbox being shut down. Bands may go back to advertising their shows in rigorous and innovative ways. We will no longer be hostage to the inane emo pictures and wittering, or the deluge of pointless opining by the filthy and uneducated masses. Never mind that hopefully the only medium in which we will then be assaulted by sms text will be limited to actual smses.

Please read this article if you'd like to know more, before you jump any bandwagons, pro or against.

I'm on a roll today. But I was COOKING last night! I bought some fresh produce the other day that fell into the category "have to use soonest" so I was forced to make 2 huge meals last night before band practice. I'm once again proud to announce that I definitely eat more heartily now that I have mastered the art of cooking the 6 and a half dishes I live on. Spectacular success! Plus I now have sufficient leftovers to feed Napoleon's army or the nearest soup kitchen, although I'll be scoffing the lot, charity starting at home and all that...

Band practice went incredibly well considering none of us had played the (rather complex although you wouldn't say so to look at the ease with which our fingers gracefully glided over the fretboards) material in over a month. We had to take it in little 3 song stanzas, though. There is NO aircon in the studio and all the windows and doors need to be tight shut to minimise the neighbours bleeding from the ears. I think it's time to invest in a fan. For the studio. We have as many fans as any other non-entity band already. There are lots of those.

And speaking of fretboard wizardry and the mandatory fan whipping wind through mane of wild hair, DO NOT miss Sabretooth's much anticipated album launch at Mercury tomorrow night. These lads will wow your pants off and blow your mind with their ferocious virtuosity and animated performance. You're in for a rare treat. Believe me.

NGDG: "My exterior may be all gruff and forbidding, but deep down, hidden from the world, in the depths of my true self, is a whiny little bitch."

Spread The Love. Murder A Rhino Poacher And A Chinaman With Erectile Dysfunction.

HUMP DAY

If 'Hump Day' is always a Wednesday, signifying the middle of the working week and therefore a downhill slide into the weekend, does that make July 'Hump Month'? File under "useful if girlfriend is reluctant in the cold months"...

Third day in a row of people being kind enough to inform me of the very seasonal heat. Thank you everyone. Were it not for your keen detection skills, I'd really have been left "out in the cold", as it were. No really. Office aircon taking care of atmospheric heat. Cold beer taking care of core heat. Unfortunately nothing can take care of my smouldering charm...

In news so earth-shattering I expect Tom Cruise to play the lead role when the movie is made, I planted over some seedlings last night. And "mowed" the lawn. Between the cricket innings. During which I assumed the official cricket watching (re)pose of lying out full stretch on the couch and lightly seasoning the immediate surroundings with a pinch of snore. It's like watching the highlights package. You're torn from your peaceful snooze every time one of the retards doing the commentary gets excited. This usually signifies a boundary or a wicket. Then the rain came and for once our very mathematically proficient Proteas had done their calculations correctly and we won! Cue wild standing around in the dressing room looking anxious.

I won't bore you to death with a fantastical recount of my first meal featuring something from my garden. Properly.

And on that note, I'd like to share with you a lovely little poem I wrote for myself and the vast unwashed masses populating FaeceBoobs today:

I'd rather be at Frankie's place, a-braain' and a-swimmin

Or stretched out on a beach somewhere, eyein' out the women

But fuck my life as here I sit, in front of a computer

When all I really want from life is another beer and shooter.

And they say modern language use has killed prose!

Speaking of, has anyone ever wondered what happened to our "ladies of ill repute" that used to stand on every single corner of Somerset Road in Greenpoint? They were obviously given their very own version of the District Six Treatment for the FIFA World Cup, but where are they now? Did they all suddenly discover virtue or find employment of a higher moral nature? Doubt it. The hoere down by the truck yards are still out in full effect. How do I know, you ask...

Anyway, on that rather sordid note, I shall leave you to your evening.

NGDG: "I always regret saying to the waiter give us a few minutes only to realise suddenly that I'm famished as the restaurant rapidly fills up, and know I didn't pay enough attention to which one he is so as to make eye contact and remind him that it's enough minutes now thank you."

Spread The Love. On Crushed Ice.

RECENT OBSERVATIONS

1. The Sri Lankan National anthem is longer than they managed to bat in the first One Day International.
   


2. Hyundai and Kia are tremendously popular car makes in Gauteng.
   


3. January sales are very effective at ridding you of every last cent to your name.
   


4. No matter where you go in this life, you will be faced with bigoted, bitter people. My advice is to realise that you are better off and try and ignore them as they don't deserve the recognition.
   


5. If you buy beer often enough, you are less likely to realise the very gradual and constant increase in price. Mainly because you'll then be permanently too sozzled to care...
   


6. Having one's own garden is therapeutic. Especially when you make fists with your toes while walking on your lawn.
   


7. There will always be people that disappoint you - people that can't keep their promises or their end of a bargain.
   


8. Similarly, there will also always be people on whom you can count, that will always be there for you - ready with a warm heart and a cold beer.
   


9. You will always revert back to your first love in music.
   


10. Drama only bothers those who court it.
    


11. One can never own too many guitars.
    


12. There is a mysterious conspiracy afoot which doesn't allow TDB to watch any of the cricket.
    


13. Proof reading is a very important, yet tragically overlooked necessity.
    


14. People very rarely miss the opportunity to moan when faced with the slightest level of discomfort or when they feel the slightest bit hard done by, but when good things happen they're just taken for granted.
    


15. SABC Weather presenters have ALL lowered the bar. Or dropped the baton entirely.
    


16. No matter how I twist and turn, I am too big to be doing any work under a desk.
    


17. It is remarkably difficult to get back into any sort of fitness routine after the festive season.
    


18. I am convinced that Neil Johnson and Gareth Flusk are in fact employed by SuperSport. Their commentary on SABC literally makes me want to subscribe to DSTV before I pierce my eardums with sharp pencils.
    


19. Insurance of any kind is exorbitant.
    


20. Mobile online devices rule your lives.
    

Can you tell that not much has happened since this time yesterday? Unless you count manual labout under a desk...

NGDG: "I read in GQ magazine that "If you're using Facebook after 11pm you're using it for the wrong reasons." Maybe GQ should be so lucky as to have nocturnally entertaining friends. Maybe GQ should regret giving 'Lulu' 5 stars. Maybe GQ should stop being such a piece of shit."

Spread The Love. Use A Creative Consultant If Necessary.

RUNNING THROUGH THE SPRAYERS

Do you remember when you were young? And all that was necessary on a hot day was to strip down to your undies and you'd run through the sprayer, screeching with glee? Or when your folks had you running around on the beach in the knee high surf in nothing more than you tidy whiteys - if that? And no one gave a damn...

Glory day. We didn't even care about sunblock...

Then there's today's version. Ok, we get it. You're a little irked because the temperature is slightly above that which contemporary society deems comfortable. And unfortunately all of you have chosen to exclaim and bemoan this fact in the most benign and uniformly irritating manner on any form of social network anyone could wish to think of. It's hot? Really? Well fuck me! Amazing!

Why don't you put yourself in Racheltjie De Beer's shoes? If she didn't already hand them over to her freezing little brother? Because I think you may find that by comparison you have it relatively easy. Not "relatively easy" like when you and your cousins play doctor in the shed. It's more of a theory.

Curious... What is it in the intrinsic make-up of an individual that makes then so vehemently want to share their incredible skills of observation? Do they feel they're earned the divine right, above all others, to be that special person that's ordained to comment on the weather? Or is it merely a social obligation? Everyone is subject to the same weather system at any given time, at least in the same geographical vicinity. Do you think that I am blithely unaware that it is a scorcher? Perhaps it's a social default back up point that everyone reverts to when their brains melt... The only hot I'm interested in is when it's used in descriptive narrative regarding the young ladies. Mmmmm. One up side is the distinct lack of appropriately modest clothing...

Yes, life in Africa is a strenuous affair. What with the natives no longer being satisfied with bringing us our Gin & Tonics and fanning us with large palm fronds... Fuck off or wake up. We still have it better than anyone anywhere. We have the benefit of Western technology, connectivity and interaction. We have weather, locations and views that cannot be beaten. We live smack bang in the middle of the ultimate holiday destination (as proven by the droves of fucking foreigners and Vaalies that infest our paradise at any opportunity) and you're moaning? The only thing you have a right to moan about is the fact that we have to share it.

And the occasional spot of wind...

Oh the wind...

So this week brings with it the glorious re-entry into the world of band rehearsals and the like. Can't wait. All bands have something resembling recording schedules. There are new members to guide through their parts, and some relatively fresh ones with which to forge writing partnerships. Feeling very positive about it all. (Something NOT often associated with GOOD in Africa...)

It's probably worth noting that the published afterlife (for those that don't toe the line very carefully) is exponentially hotter than this little day and probably doesn't hold much in the line of respite. Repent! Lest ye pester the living crap out of us even more when you get to hell!

NGDG: "Why do uber-fashionable girls look like they have a carrot up their rear end? Because they are the carrot. And the rear end is the oversmall designer jeans."

Spread The Love. Less Get Nekkid And Run Through The Sprayers!

IRREVERENT FRIDAY THE 13TH

Yes, ladies and gentle folk. It's that most crazy of days again. A day that commemorates the killing of the Knights Templar. Those happy go lucky scamps!

Today is supposed to be a day of ghouls, ghosts and goblins. And Goths, if you wanna get technical. Gargoyles too, perhaps. A time to put on your favourite black outfits and celebrate your dark side in some dingy dungeon. Even the weather here in Cape Town is playing along.

OR...

You could get on with your life like any normal, sane person and go to the pub tonight and get pissed. Hopefully this will include enough levity to wash away the tensions of the working week. You could also go to the Jolly Roger tonight for a jolly rogering from the delightful collection of bands playing for your pleasure tonight. Sex Cauldron will woo you with their musky, raw animal appeal and Machineri will undoubtedly have you transfixed as foxy front lady Sannie bewitches you in a cauldron of her own. The mighty, majestic, magnificent Sleepers with then rock your socks, and shoes, and pants off! As they do. A band that can do no wrong will once again be right where they belong. On a stage, in front of you! Sounds like a blast. A blast of sheer magical Friday the 13th sex, drugs and rock 'n' roll!

[*Disclaimer. This blog does not condone the use of any illegal substances, I only casually make jokes about Rohypnol with my friends who find it hard to get laid...

...and then there's DrHellCuz]

So tomorrow the gruelling and never ending cycle of band rehearsals start again for the year. The harem of guitars has been cleaned and we're ready to go. Expect big things. That's what she said...

And back to all things ghoulish, ghastly and Gothy, tomorrow night sees the return of another Gotham party at Pandemonium. Do it - you know you want to. You'll get an eargasm of Goth, Industrial, New Wave, Metal, 80s, Dark Wave, EBM, etc.

Can you believe it? I actually have nothing more irreverent to add to proceedings. Nothing. How out of character for me. Let's hope to all things Holy that I am not coming down with a bad case of the "Adults" - that would be a tragedy.

In a last gasp attempt at redemption, I am going to go and find a suitably fucked up pic that you have undoubtedly already seen.

NGDG: "My mum seems to be alluding to grandchildren an awful lot. Maybe she should follow Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie on Twitter for that fix."

Spread The Love. Like A Catholic Priest.

CATWOMAN, CRICKET AND COCKROCK!

Wollie made me do it - love the leash...

So there I was. I had it all planned. The dishwasher was packed and I was ready to relax for the evening with my feet up and a cold Birkinhead in hand.

Then, catastrophe! We won the cricket in record time, leaving me with the rest of the evening to sort of wander around doing random shit.

South Africa convincingly thumping Sri Lanka = worth it.
Laughing at TDB who got home too late to see one ball = really funny.
Peter Kirsten's considered analysis of the game "The Sri Lankans are just playing - the word starts with a 'k' and is three letters..." - Priceless!

Typically the game on Saturday won't finish early - mainly because I want it to - as I am otherwise engaged in the afternoon.

Are you ready? Hold onto your socks and hide your daughters! Ladies and gentlemen! The time is upon us!
Described as "neck breaking South African 80s inspired melodic metal with a progressive twist", Sabretooth are set to wow your pants off (like ALL the girls...) tonight, when their debut album is streamed live on this world exclusive broadcast on Voice Of Rock. The album is due to be launched next week and this is a full length preview including track-by-track comments from the band themselves. It'll be like... like, like sharing a bottle of Jack Daniels with Nikki Sixx.
[*Disclaimer, it's rude to label any band - and these guys are not really Cock Rock, it's just all I could think of for the title that started with a C... well almost.]
7pm tonight on the one and only Voice Of Rock. Do NOT miss this. This is almost as kiefbrutalepicawesome as seeing Lord Doom's bobbing head for 2.5 seconds on EtV News last night. (I have to admit to missing it, but saw it on YouTube today - I love the intrawebnets...)

I have a very famous left elbow - in keeping with the theme. It was on Carte Blanche once or twice. Something rather embarrassing to do with some silly tit from these parts jetting off into space and having a proud family...

Oh yes, I wanted to make a special "Retard Of The Day" mention of all the whinging little mommy's bitches that have taken all this time out of their oh-so-busy schedules contemplating their mortality and the camber of their fringes in relation to the stooped-old-man angle of their posture (breathe...) to moan that local promoters aren't doing enough to bring their favourite underground music acts to our shores at discount prices and also including whatever nonentity local band worth less than the shoes they wear on the bill as well (breathe...). Moan all you want. One day you'll grow up, shear the paedo-stache, actually get to fuck a real live girl and see that you are in fact an insignificant little tit. Perhaps this will facilitate an about turn in your world view.

Personally, the less of you contaminating my air as I enjoy the spectacle of In Flames, the better. And Fokokpolisiekar deserves to be on the bill because they've done nothing but work their arses off for years and years and have actually achieved something.
Ramfest tickets = booked!

NGDG: " I don't ordinarily drink and drive but some days you just have to get to work."

Spread The Love. Like Melrose. Yummy, yummy. Oh Boy, Mum Remembered The Love!

TODAY... PREGNANT!

Pregnant with infinite possibilities and wonderful opportunities. We are spoiled for choice - and the splendiferous surroundings in which to undertake them - when it comes to activities on offer.

You could get your ass on down to the beach and indulge in a spot of "laugh at the Vaalies".

Or you could light up a fire and sink a few cold beers - perfect day for it.

Personally, I'm opting for a leisurely snooze on the couch watching the cricket for the rest of the day/night. After I've hit the magic button on the front of the Defy dish cupboard of course. And rummaged through the 16 tons of left over braai meat from last night's incredible get together.

The Man From (Further) Down Under and his new girlfriend are visiting us in this shithole we call Cape Town (seriously, it's awful today...) and we threw a few scraps of flesh on the fire in their honour. And by a few scraps, I quite naturally mean I braaied for 3 hours solid, serving up 5 grids worth of perfectly braaied meat and even more unbridled drunken entertainment...

And then there were the Braai Broodjies. Anty Nexus, who came bearing gifts - thank you for the beer, luv, they'll be put to glorious use - misunderstood the instructions to bring along a block of cheddar and a garden variety onion. No, she had to pitch up brandishing a red onion and blue cheese, like a Nigella Of The Night. And it is a damn good thing that she did as well! Those were the best damn Braai Broodjies ever made! From now on, that's how they're being made. Once you've experienced the heavenly delight between two perfectly coal toasted pieces of toaster bread that we did last night, there's simply NO going back. So, thank you Anty Nexus! For inspiring a revolution in the not-so-humble-anymore Braai Broodjie. It is now considered - literally - food fit for royalty. Finally, something on my plate befitting my station.

And as so often happens, a serious conundrum occurred to me on one of my frequent visits to the toilet. No, not THAT one. I found myself, for some inexplicable reason or other, contemplating the "style vs substance" dilemma. Now I have always contended that it is simply the combination of striking hair and flashy guitars that have lent me any credence whatsoever as a musician. After all, I am the first to bleat about the so-called "models" and "photographers" that the digital age has plagued us with. So where does one draw the line? Is it ok for you to claim to simply be a bad or mediocre something? Or does one need to excel at whatever it is you're taking on before you can claim to be one? Being able to jog the 100m in under 26 seconds does not qualify me for inclusion in the SA Olympic Squad, although in this wonderful country's collective mindset, that's probably just the racists putting down the masses. Let them (ANC top brass) eat cake.

The word "recursion" contains the word "recursion" within itself. I got that from a webcomic.

NGDG: "3 days of quarterly planning. That's 24 hours of meetings. I bet someone's going to go Khrushchev and bang a shoe before it's all over."

Spread The Love. Stylishly. Substantially.

OR... THE ONE THAT GOT AWAY. OR MAYBE PORN...

I just challenged someone to come up with a topic for today's discussion and all they could muster was 'halogen lamps'. Seems we'll have to go with something a little more risque methinks.

And it's not the one that got away. In my humble opinion it is far more than one. For everyone. And it's not just that special significant other that used to light up your life, make your insides emulate laundry in a tumble dryer, or give you that mad, excited glint in your eye either. It could be missed opportunities, different paths chosen, split second decisions that have shaped who you are, where you're at and even who you're with.

Damn, even that sounds way too philosophical for today. We could chat porn...

There are actually people that don't get/like porn or those that appreciate it. And whilst I am inclined to agree that lecherous old bastards in beige trench coats parked outside schoolyards with Smarties on the passenger seats of their Cortinas give the rest of us a bad name, it's really not all that offensive. People rant about how it objectifies women. That's sexist. You're only aware of, or watching secretly, one kind of porn then. Porn doesn't discriminate, (except against dudes with small dicks - that's a pretty much universal theme), so if anything, it should be regarded as the great equaliser. Not to mention the only reliable teacher the next generation has - the world being as petty and performance driven as it is...

Are you looking forward to the day you have to sit down with your offspring and use the analogy of the flying insects to very inaccurately explain the "ins and outs" of sex? I'm not. It's only recently I can even do it with the lights on... Besides, I'll bet you their future pocket money they know more about the 'extreme sport' nature of sex than you do when that time comes. You're just going to embarrass yourself.

Don't they have that sort of thing at school these days, or is that just in American films? "Outcome driven", anyone??? Oh hang on, what do they teach in "Life Skills"? The rabbit goes around the tree and into the hole. Good boy Johnny! You've mastered tying your own Bata Toughees - here's your certificate, now go storm the barricades of a University that's overbooked and beyond your intellectual grasp simply because they're aware of the use of vowels. But hey! We live in a world where everyone is entitled by divine birthright to an education that up until now has been the preserve of the academic elite and the fabulously wealthy. PHD = Part-time Hair Dresser. BSC = Behind Shop Counter. As long as you have that nifty piece of paper and can spend eternity bemoaning your middle class fate. Try working harder. Or get into porn, I believe that's quite well paid...

NDGD: "The ANC, like anything pushing 100, is a weak, forgetful, demented, drooling shadow of whatever it once was. A burden essentially."

Spread The Love. It's In The Can. Sexy!

"F*CK ME" EYES...

It's the final page in the final chapter that sees the mighty Hog Hoggidy Hog gracefully (and with no shortage of pork related revelry) bow out of our local live music arena and bestride the wide world with their proverbial chunks of cheese wrapped in red cloth on a stick over their shoulder, seeking their fortune. As local bands go, it's fair to say that no one deserves a crack at the big time more than these fine gentlemen, so on this, the occasion of their Final Show, make damn sure you are one of the lucky ones to be the last to witness the particular brand of ska/punk/rock that has made them one of the best loved bands around. Bon Voyage lads! Good luck and Godspeed!

And having been back at work for a few days of test cricket, I find, like so many of my Skype friends, that I am currently suffering from a distinct lack of motivation. I have a theory on that...

Like air, water, food and world finance, there inevitably has to be a finite quantity or source of motivation. The more people we continue popping out from our inexhaustible O-face factory, the less there is to go around. And since the younger are usually the more greedy, the older we get the less inclined we are to fight for our fair share. That's my excuse and I'm sticking to it.

And then there's this poephol!

The Right Honourable Twat Reverend Kemo Immanuel Waters runs a business called KemoTherapy (amazing...) and has raised more than a few eyebrows with a tweet over the weekend urging his black brethren to "kill the whites", a knee jerk reaction to the apparent racist treatment of being made to wait for a table at a Camps Bay restaurant. At this time of year? And then claiming that it would never happen in Joburg!? Because all the fucking Vaalies are here!? DOOS!!!

You, my dear warmongering tit of a fellow, give Africans (and I'm including myself here) a bad name, you ignorant, sensationalist c*nt. It's people like you that are the cancer in our society, not those 2-tone Pick n Pay shirt wearing folk that farm the food you eat. Why don't you stick to fleecing the very people you pretend to give a fuck about. Bastard...

Enough whinging from me. I actually had a fantastic weekend. Rose Thorn and I spent some quality "us" time getting shitfaced on Friday night and then going to buy her first keyboard (that she bought for herself) on Saturday morning. Exciting time, I tell ya!

This was followed by a very enjoyable pub crawl through the Waterfront, starting at Paulaner, winding our way through Den Anker (where we had the beer for which they require a deposit of your left shoe, the wonderfully named, Kwak) and ending at everyone's favourite, Mitchells. Was good fun getting drunk in the sun with the usual suspects and our guests of honour, the Man From Further Down Under and his new girlfriend.

Sunday was unsurprisingly more sedate. Popped in to visit the other member of the Demonic Sibling Wolfpack and the Brother-In-Awe, stubbornly enjoying a beer in the garden in the howling gale. Was presented with a weedeater as a Christmas present! Now I can cut the lawn, which, even though it's only recently been laid (too easy to insert joke about TDB here), has grown like the proverbial weed.

Oh, and United beat City. Glory, glory!

NGDG: "I was just stalked by a mime. Telling yourself that the glass box will protect you is futile."

Spread The Love. Hug A Whitey!

ENDLESS POSSIBILITIES. AND TOAST.

Yes, dear gentle reader. We bestride the New Year like so many low fences and with upturned rosy, cherubic cheeks gaze in hope and optimism at the gilt edged possibilities a fresh start heralds. Trumpets and fanfare please!

In the spirit of cynicism that permeates the intrawebnets, mainly because those responsible are sexually repressed headcases with bad skin, let me be one of the first to burst this bubble.

1. You are not going to drink any less, or any more responsibly. You're still going to get shitfaced and you're going to enjoy every second.
   


2. You're not going to manage giving up smoking. You're an addict. Might as well make peace with that.
   


3. You're not going to exercise more or get into anything near the shape you aspire to. Just don't over invest - do a trial membership at the gym before you're stuck paying for something you don't use.
   


4. You're not going to make any rational, informed or well-thought-out decisions regarding your love life. You're going to perpetuate the horrifying cycle of bad judgement. You're a sap, but let's be honest, where's the fun in a "sure thing"?
   


5. You're not going to exercise any more restraint when it comes to finances than you did when you overspent in 2011. The only improvement in this regard is that you will be forced to conjure up more outlandish justifications for your headlong freefall into even more debt.
   


6. Your taste in music, if already a little suspect, will spiral into further decline, but only because the limited pool of quality music is dwindling like an ice cream blotch on a Vaalie's beach towel.

Just saying.

And!

In the single most monumental piece of breaking news this side of Hayibo, Tarty Farty Tequila Party has posted a blog entry! A toast! To new beginnings in the New Year! (It actually has a piece of toast...)

[*Slappy is her real name.]

NGDG: "In space, no one can hear you scream. In Stephen Hawking's house, when his ex-wife used to beat the hell out of the poor incapacitated sod (true story), one can only imagine the sounds he made. And then feel bad for having a laugh."

So to you in the spirit of a brand spanking new year, may you have great times, great sex and great memories!

Spread The Love. Accompanied By Muted, Gurgling, Slurpy Sounds...

2 X 2

Good things come in 2s. Ask Noah. Or that one cup... I could go on.

And that is why you, dear and wonderful reader, you get a double dose of my worthless wittering today. At least the word vomit on these here hallowed pages is of a greater literary value that that vacuous bilge spewed forth from the "imagination" of that chick who slams her face into the keyboard and publishes the result under the heading 'Twilight'.

As you can imagine, and if you're still reading this, I am rather more short on ideas with which to entertain, enlighten and enliven you, since I have already posted today. Plus I have switched off any mental capacity I may have had in order to thoroughly relax and watch the awesome test cricket. We may just pull this one off. C'mon boys!

So if you, like me, are a little short of ideas with which to pass the time or need a break from your breakneck busy day, here are a few suggestions:

1. Go and look up some webcomics and read them from their inception. I recommend 'Cyanide and Happiness' and 'Diesel Sweeties'. Among many, many others.


2. Go out and purchase a nice lacy, revealing black g-string and practice your throwing arm. I'm VERY disappointed that there weren't any additions to my collection. Come on people! I need to complete my panti-gram.


3. Get on Skype and come have a chat with me.


4. Go submit the the story of your First Kiss, or read about those of others. Great idea!


5. Go and check out any one (or all) of the following cultural online phenomena: Metal4Africa, Voice Of Rock, Kultur Magazine, sumografika, BlackMilk Productions or type in Sophie Dee into your browser.


6. Make sure you're ahead of the very popular pack of music connoisseurs by doing your homework on the following acts - all tipped to be the next big thing in 2012: Shannon Hope (ethereally, achingly gorgeous songs by one of the most talented singer/songwriters of her generation) , Sabretooth (those lovable 80s-inspired metal maniac virtuosos - releasing their debut album at Mercury on the 20th Jan), Axxon (face-melting industrial metal barrage of immense intensity - single 'Bite Your Tongue' out soon), or go and hone your music trivia knowledge at MyMusic Matrix's MegaQuiz.
   

More than that I could most certainly suggest, however we must maintain at least the most thinly veiled pretence that this here virtual soapbox is SFW.

Oh yes, I would like to take this opportunity to make special mention of the wonderful people at Paul Bothner for their constant and generous support. In my constant and continued attempts to emulate the sounds made by a strangled parakeet, I am eternally grateful to the following brands: Jackon Guitars, Laney Amplification and RotoSound Strings. Now if only I could wax a plectrum sponsorship - I left ALL mine at Rock The River. And immediately we revert to the good old days when we were forced to fashion picks from cut out bits of empty shampoo bottle...

Looks like it's just about time to haul ass off home and put feet up in front of the cricket. Home is where the beers are.

Oh yes, and GO VOTE for my fantastic friend, Tarty Farty Tequila Party here. Tip: You have to type in 'Rachel Robinson'.

Spread The Love. Like When The Fat Kid Sees A Twinkie.

MARY, MARY... QUITE CONTRARY

Pic courtesy of TLC

Actually no, Mary. I'm not talking to you here. Not NOT talking to you, as in we're having a tiff, just not addressing you. Fear not, all will be made whole again at the next LMG Pub Quiz...

Actually, I was referring to how my garden is growing. The one with plants. And a lawn. And, you'd better believe it, 23 tomatoes ripening away merrily on their way to sammitch or bolognaise heaven. I have also added to the variety of 11 secrets herbs and whatnot thanks to the Christmas presents from the band mates. Pretty soon I'll be trying to palm off my Ina-Paarman-esque concoctions on you, my dear readers.

But enough of that. Last night, after spending all afternoon lazing on the couch, drinking beer and watching some delightful test cricket, it was time to don the fancy threads once more and meet the family at On The Rocks. Wow! It had everything. The view, the beach, the service, the food! Kudu, that's all I'm saying. Kudu... Pity I seriously overestimated the dress code. My work ensemble of baggies, tshirt and plakkies would have sufficed. Instead you had the 'uncomfortably dapper giraffe at a funeral' look. No one even clapped hands. Or threw money...

So, once more into the breach... Back to life, back to reality. I have visions of Bernard Black shooing worthless layabouts out of his shop with a broom all of a sudden. Speaking of, Strawberry Shortcake (her nickname changes with her hair colour, she used to be Half Pint) got the Little Book Of Calm for Christmas. True story! Too brilliant!

And on to even more exciting news. Sheep Shagger is here visiting us from Further Down Under. It's been a while mate, can't wait for a couple of beers on Saturday! Think we should make a turn at Den Anker and have one of those beers for which they require your shoe as a deposit. A "Kwak" - oh yes! A Kwak! Worth the price and the cold foot just for the name alone!

More later, I was very busy watching Jacques Kallis smite the infidels' balls yesterday. Hence the early morning catch up post. Since so many of you moaned and wailed through gnashing teeth about missing my daily dose of whatever the fuck you call this. Let's see if Neal's up and at 'em yet...

NGDG: "They say it's good luck to have a sparrow shit on you. The luck factor must quadruple if it happens while you're in the mall, buying Clint Eastwood DVDs."

Spread The Love. Andrew Dice Clay Said It Best. Refer To Heading.

OKAY GAUTENG PLAGUE - PLEASE FUCK OFF NOW.

First day back at work and I'm already Gaut-vol of all the GP plates in my way, on their mobiles or in the wrong lane. Go home.

Wow! What a festive season! Chock-a-block full of the wonders of the holidays and a bunch of foreigners. I don't even know where to start! I suppose, according to that cheerful bitch in the Sound Of Music, the beginning would be a very good place...

Christmas Eve was spent playing Mr Civilised And Uber Proper with the new in-laws. Small talk was followed by a very Big meal. Gifts were swapped and everyone seemed over the moon with their loot. I know I was. The in-laws gave me Johnny Walker Black Label. Good guess or good homework? Score, nonetheless! The Hot Girlfriend gave me a large rubbish bin full of beer. And a DVD. One million points! Plus a whole bunch more for originality.

Next day Christmas at my folks, which included the family from Holland. My Dad and I basically warmed up some coals, popped the turkey on the rotisserie in the Weber and sat back drinking beer all day - then took all the plaudits for a bird well done. Awesome. More pressies and some belt loosening, then off home to relax. All in all it was an great Christmas - just the way it's meant to be spent - with loved ones and too much food.

Boxing Day Braai was a raging success, although I do believe ducking early saved me from some real honest to goodness proper debauchery. Ah, the joys of being aged...

The next couple of days were an absolute blur of activity. Axxon rehearsed non-stop in preparation for Rock The River. I decided to excavate half the backyard's concrete and install a lawn. Let's just say it's easier said than done. But now I have a beautiful lush patch of grass for which I have to purchase a small lawnmower and a backyard full of large concrete chunks - a random kind of rockery feature that makes a trip to the bin an awkward zombie dance, like in the Thriller video.

I also attempted to re-arrange the cabinet-to-large-appliance-ratio in the kitchen and promptly fucked up the plumbing. Cue some rather delicious pleasantries exchanged between myself and the dishwasher's water inlet pipe.

At least I was wonderfully surprised by the Meyodies, who were in town. Awesome lunch guys! I will get you those details shortly!

Then - with much anticipation - it was off to the Cape Town Ostrich Farm for a spot of festival-going and some playing-in-broad-daylight, a novel twist for me - I've spent all these years proudly serving up my various musical endeavours to the denizens of the dark in the grotty comfort of dingy nightclubs. Add to that the midsummer heat and permission to play in baggies and you have a truly unique and unfortunately eye-opening experience. The show went off quite well - the troops of AXXON rocking the literal tits off the assembled masses and even enticing throngs of curious folk over from the main stage. Great fun and great times! Oh yes, speaking of AXXON, go and check out the promo video for 'Final Breath'. Thanks to Henk Smith, Tarty Farty Tequila Party and Stacey Lee for the footage.

Once the show was over it was time to catch up with everyone else on the drinking front. [*Disclaimer - As a rock star I recognise my duty to uphold the time honoured traditions of debauchery - my excuse for not drinking was that I had to drive the gear to the Safe House after the show]

So I naturally had a LOOOOOT of catching up to do...

Which I did as swiftly as humanly possible. My eternal gratitude to the Deathmetal Dentist, "Galeforce", Anty Nexus, and various other nefarious friends and fiends for facilitating my transition from 'unfortunately sober' to 'pissed as a fuck' with alarming and almighty alacrity.

Stand out performances of the night, The Hot Girlfriend's rendition of 'Dying Swan Lake' notwithstanding, were The Warinsane, who delivered their trademark no-holds-barred barrage of hostile metal right up in everyone's faces, and the swirling and severe superiority of new boys Wildernessking. Actually everyone who shared the stage with us on the night deserve a great big round of applause for making it a night to remember, from the traditional metal might of Strident to the fireworks and incredible endeavour of Crow Black Sky. A special mention should also be made of another perfectly brilliant performance by Hog Hoggity Hog, who appeared to be the only band on the main stage worth a fuck.

The next morning, woken by the stinging rays of the first sunrise of 2012 burning through the bakkie's canopy windows, we managed to dodge any potential loose sand and made a quick escape to a decent bed and a warm shower. After which we were expected to act compus mentus for the folks' wedding anniversary celebrations at Neethlingshof wine estate. Drank a little to equalise. Then tipped over the edge and overdid it completely on the food 'n' booze. As you do. You can get away with things like that when you're wearing fancy clothes. It's the rules.

And now we're back at work. Well, some of us. The further I get into writing this post the more I'm overwhelmed by a nagging suspicion like I've left something important out. I'm sure there were a million anecdotes I meant to remember with which to regale you all. Maybe I will - wait and see...

NGDG: "I don't understand people who don't drink beer. What else is there to drink when every organ in your body is poached in whiskey and dancing maniacally to rearrange themselves in some confounded sociopathic feng shui aimed only at causing one immense discomfort?"

Spread The Love. Make 2012 A Wonderful Year.