Monday, April 23, 2012


The stand out event of the weekend, other than the hipster metal show I found myself at on Friday night, was undoubtedly the Tutus 'n' Tiaras fundraiser we held for TEARS. A good bunch of people pitched up in a fantastic variety of tutus, and of course, tiaras. Variations on the theme abounded, some even incorporating birthday cake hats, veils and corsets into their ensembles. Of course there's always one guy that has to be different - and if we'd had a 'Donkey's Arse' prize, he'd have won hands down if he wasn't also one of the organisers...
The weather was nice 'n' fresh and misty - perfect for our saunter down to the Banned Rock Lounge and after some final checks, it was Ready, Steady, Go! The eventual winner and I streaked away ahead of the competition and ended in a very acceptable time, the Hot Girlfriend came in 3rd and Rose Thorn came steaming in in a very surprising fourth. "My biene pyn!"

In drips and drabs, the glittered masses made it to the finish line and claimed their victory drinks courtesy of the very generous Banned Rock Lounge, although some of the entrants felt the need for some extra "alcoholic motivation" half way already... They even provided a clean, spacious backstage room for the gorgeous Black Orchid Beasties to prepare for their burlesque show. I obviously took the opportunity to lock myself in the room at some stage - no one bothering to tell me it didn't open from the inside - with Slappy and a very large cheque from Standard Bank. In a heroic homage to the reflighting of McGuyver on SABC, I managed to free us using a teaspoon, The Dean doing his best to rally the crowds into a sustained drinking frenzy and not answering his cell...

Prize time! That was fun. I now have the dubious honour of presenting my sister with a set of nipple-caps... Well done to everyone who won something and a tremendously big THANK YOU to everyone that contributed:

Think Bike Marshalls - uber professional and brilliantly ensured the safety of every single participant.
Similarly, our front and back car marshalls - The Brother-In-Awe and Justin Wood.
Banned Rock Lounge - Nicola and Rudi - thank you so much for your incredibly kind and generous involvement - thanks for having us - we'll definitely come back!
Partners Hair Design and Standard Bank.
And then to the gorgeous girls from Black Orchid - not only did you add glamour and glitz to the event by walking along with us in your wonderful outfits, but thanks so much for providing us with all those prizes and a great show from the awesome Sue Cubus!

Funny how FaeceBoobs has the uncanny knack of making people "attend" something they have no intention of going to...
Seriously, what's the point? If you aren't going, click on the "decline" button. That's what it's there for. Rather set organisers up for a pleasant surprise than immediately have yourself labelled as unreliable. What could you possibly gain from doing it this way?

Anyway, we made a bit of money for TEARS and everyone that took part had a whale of a time, by all accounts. Next year will be bigger and better. You can take that to the bank!

NGDG: "I was just asked by a Metro cop where The Pro Shop is in Woodmead. I told him it closed down. He shouldn't be playing golf."

Spread The Love. It's Not Too Late To Donate.

Friday, April 20, 2012


Thank goodness for that too, just in time... A 5 day working week is SO last month. I most definitely prefer 4. Next week it's 4 again. Can I have a "Hallelujah!"

Actually, I don't care if it's a "Hell Yeah!" or a "Hail Mary!" let's just get to the effing weekend now please. My brain has officially shut off and my arse is simply itching to get the fuck out of Dodge already.
Before the rain of frogs. It rained ash yesterday. I mean, all the signs are there. Tarty Farty Tequila Party did blog yesterday. I fear the approach of four individuals that have earned right to quote "Listen to my hooves!"

So, tonight the Hot Girlfriend and I might go watch a metal band. Tomorrow we might try to get ourselves to the Banned Rock Lounge by foot, sporting Tutus 'n' Tiaras, hopefully the apocalyptic mass of flailing limbs that is me running won't put too many people in ICU with humorous hernia injuries.

See, I've even run out of literary steam. Who'da thunk it?

Ok gang. Go forth and have yourselves a wunderbra weekend! Practice safe sex. Practice makes perfect.

I have this really uneasy feeling though. Like I've not actually written anything of substance and I need to do more. Complete block. Is this what happens when you take up running? What's next? Polly shorts? Or even worse, tights... *shudder*

Can you imagine the spectacle? I'm already not much more than a tongue depressor with a paunch...

See what I did there?
And because I can't choose, today you get 2.

NGDG: "No I don't want a newspaper or a coathanger. I have the internet and a pile of clothes on the floor."

NGotherDG: "Wetherley's may be closing down, a little bird tells me. Maybe I can get 2 R12,000 Faberge chairs for the price of 1. Recessions rock."

Spread The Love. Put On A Tutu And Join Us Tomorrow.

Thursday, April 19, 2012


The Fugard Theatre is a dream space. "Dream" as in "Dreams do come true..." "Dream" as in "This is beyond reality..."
Shannon Hope is at once - on the best or worst of her days - a brilliant, broken, surreal, subtle, dark, dangerous, chilling, challenging, multi-dimensional and mind blowing artist and a thrilling, enthralling, endearing and awe-inspiring performer.
Shannon rips open a hole in the Universe and invites you to step inside, through the looking glass.
Her music is, in a word, transcendent.
She sounds like raindrops on your window. She sounds like thunder from the gods.
And that was before last night...
I have used up every relevant superlative already, and then she goes and does what she did - to me, to all of us - last night. I am not often rendered bereft of words. Bitch. Now I am going to look like an amateur. I'm being forced to use expletives...


Okay, I'll try, but I can't promise the review will do her unbelievable show last night any justice. In fact, I'm certain it won't...
You know when your friends come over to you and give you a hug and a heartfelt 'thank you' for introducing them to something this wonderful, that your opinions are justified and that all is finally as it should be with the world.
Sensory overload? Check. Lump in throat? Check. Extreme eargasm? Double check. I even cried. Real genuine tears. But that's because I had a massive coughing attack in the third song and didn't want to spoil it so I fought it til the tears streamed down my face.
Jeremy Douglas quite matter-of-factly opened proceedings in a surprise move that speaks volumes of Shannon's sly machinations. He is one to watch for the future, a bright, fresh singer/songwriter who delivers an accomplished acoustic panache reminiscent of Newton Faulkner. Also accompanying Shannon in a few songs with his understated and brilliant guitar work, don't be surprised if you hear his name in a household near you.
Tessa Johnson was magnificent on the cello as an accompanist for the start and finish, lending an even more sincere and sombre beauty to the already achingly exquisite sound. I especially love the cello and it works exceptionally well with this music.
Which leads me to the lady of the hour. In her trademark spiked out coif and some seriously sexy red stilettos, Shannon Hope was mesmerising and had us all completely, silently spellbound. She entertained and entranced. She raised the bar and raised the roof!
She whispered and stole a secret moment with each and every one of the rapt audience. She shone, brightly and magnificently, and won the hearts of every man and woman lucky enough to be there.
At the end of it all, emotionally drained as we were from the wracked and ravaging journey we'd just had our souls put through, the audience was left feeling somehow more alive, more elated, more in touch, more connected, more honest. And honestly... humbled.

Shannon shares her music. It's polished, yet primal and intensely personal. It's intimate and intimidating at the same time.
The heart-wrenching honesty and the climactic crescendos both give you goose bumps. It's an experience that lingers long after the rapturous applause has faded. Shannon touches people. She reaches in and connects with your heart, your innermost fears, your wildest fantasies and your guarded core. It's liberating letting yourself go - surrendering all to her majestic music and allowing yourself to be carried away.

To a place she likes to call home.

The Universe has granted you reprieve - she's playing there again tonight...

NGDG: "Why Coronation Fund Managers think their advert is well-placed on a Black Veil Brides video on Youtube boggles the mind. Really it does."

Spread The Love. Because That's The Whole Flippin' Point. Isn't It.

Wednesday, April 18, 2012


No! Not like the meadow with Tory Lane in it this morning, just before I woke up.

And it is very manly to snuggle with a teddy bear, I'll have you know...

I'm talking about the single most beautiful combination in music. Today. Anywhere. In the whole wide world.

This, ladies and gentlemen, is truly what dreams are made of. I should know, I've had the incredibly good fortune to have witnessed and experienced this before. It is a night I shall never forget and one I hope to emulate as many times as humanly possible.

Shannon Hope. What can I say that I haven't already waxed lyrical about. That everyone else in the know has waxed lyrical about... Yes, I'm in the know. The sheer magnitude of her talent, the terrifying virtuosity of her musicianship, her exquisitely crafted and executed songs and the voice. Oh, the voice. She is able to cradle your deepest, most vulnerable emotion with an intuitive gentleness beyond compare. In her more introspective moments, you are invited to share in the very soul of her fragility. And when she lets go one of her soaring, searing choruses, the earth will shake around you whilst you are lifted to flight along with her stupendous sonic sorcery. And if you're not quite moved beyond mere mortality by then, prepare for a healthy dose of Shannon's trademark quirky humour, sprinkled liberally on the confectionery perfection of her show, like those thingies you get on cupcakes...

But don't just take my word for it. Go and see for yourself.

Personally, I'd be equally content if I could keep her to myself - like some kind of miserly music collector, but her gift is too precious not to share. So I'm taking Tarty Farty Tequila Party along with me tonight. Fun times loom large!

NGDG: "I'll have another slice of broccoli please."

Spread The Love. Believe.

Tuesday, April 17, 2012


And now they want to ban any and all alcohol advertising in this wonderful country of ours. Even sponsorship. If ever there was a reason to review my steadfast resolve in staying put, this would be it. What's next? All out prohibition? I think I'll invest in a few stills so long. See Mom, I knew my studies would eventually come in handy!

Although this move is completely retarded (um, government, hallo!...) it also speaks volumes about what the powers that be think of their voting fodder. I for one will continue drinking heavily, perhaps even more so, out of protest, if they censor advertising. Half the ads are lame anyway. Do they really think that curbing liquor companies competing for your weekly wages is the answer? People are gonna get shitfaced anyway. It's ingrained in our culture. From being paid in wine on a Friday, to coping with public speaking Mbeki-style, to making your laaitie go fetch the Ooms another round of Black Labels while the manne stand around the fire and turn the meat far too often, it is a consummately South African tradition. And a birthright I will fight to the death to preserve!

Although not having to stare into the mug of Greame Smith wielding a Castle during every ad break in an ODI would be quite nice...

Oh yes, there's the whole job loss and taxable revenue issue. Dumb arses!

And as I type this I keep thinking maybe it wouldn't be such a bad world if I never got to hear that pseudo-Russian slut telling me about Vawter or seeing a group of men standing with their one leg in the air for no good reason. But then the Heineken ads have always been awesome. Beer ads are misleading anyway, men don't scream like girls when entering a walk in fridge filled with booze. They openly weep on their knees and offer up whispered prayers of thanks to Bacchus. And alcohol-free or low-alcohol beer tastes like piss and defies the purpose. If you're driving, drink juice or something. Otherwise you look like a doos.

NGDG: "Things I heard today that really weren't said: 'I'm going to buy a docking station. Do you want one?' 'I really want a black man on my arm.' Yup, mum was right about the loud metal."

Spread The Love. Keep Walking.

Monday, April 16, 2012


I'm getting old... I can feel the shadowy grip of death extending its ice cold grasp around me heart and spreading through the rest of my near paralysed body.

Oh no wait. That's just a hang over.

What a weekend! WHAT a weekend!

Friday we went Catholic and went to Rose Thorn for a fish curry before skipping down the road like over eager teenagers to go and watch the Fetish Re-union Show at Mercury. Glory! Glory! Halle-Motherfucking-Lujah! I was proud to be an old geezer. Memories of many a happy night, being mesmerized by this quintet came streaming back, much like the tears of sheer delight I was struggling to hold back. It was incredible. It was a thrill and an honour. I was treated (and I say "I" because Fetish has the unique ability to make me think they're performing only for me in my little bubble of narcissistic amazement) to a stellar show - so much more than I had dreamed it would be. The anticipation was completely overwhelmed by the scale of their brilliance. Michelle was stunning, as were the rest of them. They have certainly not let the years spin any cobwebs. Their trademark moments of introspection were still evident, but the translation of the entire package is more vital, more urgent, and a shitload more... full bodied! A fine wine indeed. A night that will not be forgotten. Some piccies...

Saturday and the prospects of a very long day indeed loomed. Tuning and packing up a gazillion guitars takes some time. Transporting a few tons of gear to a venue (mercifully nearby) takes some time. Unloading and setting up - the same. Sound checking and going through stage change overs - even longer. In the end, and after much fretting and frustration, it was time for the curtains to be raised on our much anticipated 'Symphonaire Infernus' show...

It was BRILLIANT! Technical difficulties be damned. The venue was packed. The band was putting so much into it that I thought at some points some individuals were going to expire. The energy and exhilaration shared between musos and audience was dripping with the blood, sweat and tears of genuine emotional investment - and enjoyment...

It was everything I had hoped it would be and more.

To Lord Doom, Half Pint, Biggie, Matt Daemon, TDB, Rose Thorn, Scoot, THE Ryan Higgo and JDP, it was an honour and a privilege.

To Tarty, Mein Sohn, Agent Smith, Herr Grun and Niel The Sound Genius - thank you for everything you did to help make the evening such a wonderful success.

Needless to say, my house currently looks like a Paul Bothner storage warehouse.

Yesterday there was no point in getting out of bed, as the aftermath of the show was making its presence felt very strongly and I am always very mistakenly under the impression that tequila is the only correct answer after a gig. Generally under the stewardship and strong suggestion of Tarty Farty Tequila Party and The Dean.

Still, back to Rose Thorn we did troop for Sunday dinner, which was a delightful Moroccan Chicken affair.

It was a monumental weekend of musical majesty. To quote the new lord of the ladies, my good friend Matt "Little Spoon" Daemon: LET'S DO IT AGAIN! SOON!

NGDG: "Happy birthday, Emma Watson. Now you can use that 50p and the telephone number I gave you."

Spread The Love. Doom Over The World.

Friday, April 13, 2012


Oooooh! Ghouls and goblins and ghastly gargoyles! But enough of my mates, how are you all doing? Been avoiding walking under ladders and allowing black cats to cross you paths?

Hope so.

Don't want any of you to have any excuse to miss tonight, would we? For tonight Fetish grace the stage at Mercury. For the first time in a decade we are going to have a chance to relive the glory years and, for those of you unlucky bastards out there that missed out - to be introduced to a truly special and significant band, one that contributed more to South African alternative music in real substance than most. They did so in an almost subversive, perversely coy way, ensnaring the listener with subtle layers of musical mystery and the fragile, torn, velvet voice of Michelle Breeze. That is, obviously, until they decided to ball-gag you and whip you up into a frenzy of forbidden delight, all the while never quite giving the impression that they were going all out, always leaving you wanting more, always allowing room for unfulfilled exploration. In the end, it was never an end, never enough, and something precious and precocious, something haunting and hollow, that indefinable infinity of longing for something you couldn't quite put your finger on...

If it sounds like I'm suddenly channelling Paul Morley, then you're as surprised as I am. If you don't believe me, go and see for yourself. This will be the last chance for you to experience the sheer brittle, beautiful brilliance of arguably the greatest band to have come from our country.

THAT'S quite a claim. Now you have to go see for yourself...

I know, I know... today's supposed to be Irreverent Friday. You're all expecting me to waffle on about road head or road kill or something else roadworthy. I promise, after this monumental week of musical highlights I'll be back to my bolshy self again. Maybe I'll even write about some deep insights into the human psyche. Or maybe I'll just leave that to my resident expert, Neal Goldwyer...

NGDG: "Six months of hard work, overtime and frustration have resulted in something I can be proud of. Something promising. Something perfect. Something that someone, somewhere in the company will fuck up dreadfully. Go team!"

And remember to come along to 'Symphonaire Infernus' tomorrow night - you'd be equally crazy to miss out on that.

Spread The Love. "Love From One Side Is Not Love It's Obsession..."

Thursday, April 12, 2012


So you thought you were going to get off lightly. Or just get off. (Wait until you're at home at least... sjoe! And then at least be discreet...)

Oh no!

Over the past couple of weeks - in order to create an awareness and a buzz of excitement about our gloriously anticipated Doom Metal classics performance, the highly acclaimed (by Monday) 'Symphonaire Infernus', I have been posting a series of cryptic clues that give away the "song and band" for each track we're performing. So far not a soul has managed to figure one of the 8 clues out yet. I don't really think they're that hard. They're more like... nipples on a sweaty summer afternoon. There, but not very hard. Unless there is nefarious activity afoot, which I don't suspect to be the case.

So here, without too much further ado, are the clues to the setlist for Saturday night. Go on! Give 'em a go!

  1. She's not going to make it - leave her 2 coins for her final crossing.

  2. It's usually because of all the Shakespearean actors drinking too much.

  3. There's an oil refinery in this forest that's using up all the Earth's natural energy.

  4. An unusual clergyman spreading the good news everywhere.

  5. A celestial curse for insomniacs.

  6. Plug in the magical man to preside over the ceremonial death of a city.

  7. Miss Congeniality got married before shuffling loose this mortal coil.

  8. Our President is bleeding.

And there you have it. Easy, no?

In other news, I didn't have band practice last night. I know, shocking!

It did however, afford me an opportunity to have drinks with Up Side Down Girl, even if it was a very brief visit.

Does anyone know the Wimpy advert's theme tune? Huh? It goes a little something like this: "I'M SO EXCITED! AND I JUST CAN'T HIDE IT! I'M ABOUT TO LOSE CONTROL AND I THINK I LIKE IT!"

It may have been a hit song somewhere before all this Wimpy hoo-hah, but it (almost) adequately conveys my pants-party as we near the event of events. Fetish. Mercury. It's been far too long. There will be trouser accidents. See you motherbitches there tomorrow night...

I know someone else who is going to be there...

Shannon Hope. If she was on The Voice, the 4 idiots running the thing would be the ones taking lessons and being sent home. Oh, if only...

If you're good boys and girls I'll let you in on a little secret. Shhh...

She's playing a show. Just for you. And you. And you. You want the details? Ok, but only because you're special. Here.

NGDG: "Does Facebook China have a Rike button?"

Spread The Love. Get A Clue.

Wednesday, April 11, 2012


This is a very serious situation folks. I am still 2 small, lacy, black g-strings away from the hallowed "panti-gram". And I thought, since I'm playing this great big important gig on Saturday that the situation could be remedied...

But then I was reminded the other day that if I purposely ask for the dainty projectiles, that it kinda defeats the purpose. And unfortunately I agree. There's not much authentic bragging right when one of your friends casually lobs a nice clean pair of knickers in your direction if you've basically coerced them into it just to get you to shut up about it. Obviously it's meant to be from some screaming lunatic groupie that can't contain herself any longer and is suddenly overwhelmed by the urge to walk home the next morning and hope she doesn't have to traverse any open man holes.

[*Please note: It has ceased being funny having 2meter wide cotton bloomers from Ackermans parachute down on me while trying my best not to fuck up a difficult guitar part. You know, when I have my tongue sticking out in concentration...]

So. I am NOT asking for any. I am NOT begging, requesting, cajoling, convincing or otherwise making any sort of suggestion in order to complete the magical "panti-gram"...

Just saying...

It's a bloody good thing this tradition never crossed over to the men. Imagine Piet "Pomp" Pistoors getting motherless and flinging his tidy no-longer-so-whiteys at an unfortunate girl singer, lost in the throes of her own performance. Now I'm not saying I'm ruling it out this weekend... Michelle Breeze is a stunner and Fetish does shit to me... Watch out Mercury!

Never mind that Shannon Hope would be able to start her own Pep Stores with the amount of boxers that would find themselves relinquished to her incredible, beautiful talent. You can catch her at the Fugard next week, but keep your pants in your pants! For goodness sake, man!

NGDG: "If you don't want me to wear my underpants on the outside and spend the day coming up with personal catch-phrases, don't call me a Superuser after training me on the new software system."

Spread The Love. I Didn't Tell You To...

Tuesday, April 10, 2012


Well folks, Easter has once again come and gone, replete with compulsory rain et al. You know how everyone always whinges at the end of a big weekend that they now need more rest than before it...


Thursday night I had yet another awesome rehearsal for the upcoming 'Symphonaire Infernus' show happening on Saturday. After having bade farewell to the miscreants, I settled in to watch a movie or something and promptly passed out. Could have been the wine. The Hot Girlfriend was out enjoying Ladies Night with the girls and eventually came donnering on the outside gates of the house, Baglett-style, at 1:30 in the morning. Commence 'Operation Snuggle'. A good start to the weekend, I daresay...

Good Friday. Yes it was! Decoding the Bo Kaap with Tarty Farty Tequila Party was an adventure in itself. Having been booked to join her on one of her many restaurant reviews, unfortunately due to very sad circumstances it had to be postponed. But never fear, the intrepid duo that is us decided to go and explore. What a wonderful treasure trove of hidden little eateries and fun surprises. Will most certainly organise a 'field trip' for the friends soon. We ended up ordering stuff like samoosas, veggie bites, chilli bites and steak'n'chip sandwiches over a counter and sitting on some ancient steps overlooking the City Bowl - enjoying a very authentic Bo Kaap lunch and experience after all. Thanks Tarty!

Friday night I was left to my own devices so I slept in front of the telly. Could have been the wine.

Saturday morning I woke up, had a bleary peek out the window and a good chuckle in bed thinking of all the poor sods doing the 2 Oceans Canoe Marathon. Sans canoes.

Then it was time for Bandcamp. Bandcamp was an operation similar to the Normandy Landing. My entire studio was dismantled and, along with 4 car loads of gear, taken to a lovely large house and set up for a dress rehearsal. Let's just say by the time we were ready to rock out, some party people were a little worse for wear. Good times! Good party!

After picking my way through the remnants of Armageddon, and with the capable help of "Mein Sohn" I managed to get the entire set up once again back to my house. Then off to Sunday Lunch with the Tribe Called Dachshund and their owners. Civilised? Strangely so, except for the multiple shots of tequila that happen to be obligatory with a Sunday Roast. I mean, duh! The party was such a success, that Tarty Fart Tequila Party went straight back after we dropped her off on the way home and only left the next morning...

Sunday evening heralded the very unexpected Chess Lessons and prezzie time with Aunty Nexus. Jo'burg peeps, she is moving up to your neck of the woods - I'll send you details.

As if all that wasn't enough, Monday involved many different forms of traipsing. And chilling...

We drove out to Tableau Voi (in a mock reversal of Saturday Morning Biscuit Mall exodus) and checked out the route for our animal welfare charity run, Tutus 'n' Tiaras. If you can't make it, your money is still welcome. Then we ventured into Canal Walk - just in time to witness entire extended families of ice cream wielding manatees waddle their ungainly waddle of freshly scrubbed shame. They all look like the humans in "Wall-e".

Speaking of Tarty Farty Tequila Party, she and some of the other ladies are off to try their arm at securing the interest of a manly man at 'Roping a Lumberjack' day. I can just see the conversation now.

"Hey, I just saw a lumberjack!"

"I'm happy to see so many manly beards, I always thought they were a bunch of chops."
"Do you think they use Axe Deodorant?"

"Don't know, think I'll go and find out..."
"Excuse me you beautiful bearded hunka-hunka man luuurve.... Do you mind if I sniff your chest? It's for scientific purposes, I promise..."

Personally I think that you should stay away from large men that wear exclusively plaid and dungarees and who are never to be found without their chainsaws...

NGDG: "I feel a bit like Mugabe - I don't know whether I'm ill or still on holiday."

Spread The Love. Boobs. Boobs Are A Good Place To Start.

Thursday, April 5, 2012


Easter. Not only a time to get in your 3litre Ford and motor on down to the coast so you can wistfully sit and consume your 1 litre brandy whiff your 2 litre Coke. Or is it more about the Bunnies? Personally I'm with Hef on this one...

Although having to choose seems a little daunting. Not to mention please. At his age he should get a medal just for making it to the bathroom.

Getting back to the mass exodus out of Jo'burg... This morning the only thing on morning tv, which is bad enough on any day, was talk, talk and more talk about making our roads safer during this manic period of travelling. All sorts of rhetoric was bandied about by people that probably don't even drive themselves around due to their elevated positions of power in parliament. Gems like "please don't overload your taxis" or "make sure your vehicle is roadworthy and you stop for sufficient rest breaks". Pah!Lease! The traditional transgressors don't give a flying fuck about that kind of stuff. They deal in death all day, every day on our urban streets. Why should they suddenly develop a collective conscience? It's a case of getting the most fares squished in and that's that. And do you think the truck driver working for an unscrupulous cad of a boss gives two shits about not overtaking on a treacherous corner when he has unreasonable deadlines for delivery? Not a sausage!

Not to mention the general road worthiness of the vehicles on our roads. It cost me more than the average commuter earns in a month just to put on 2 new tyres over the weekend. So what do you think the chances are the taxi operators care?

Wake up and smell the proletariat!

This is why I have no intention of travelling anywhere. Not only have our roads turned into real life Carmageddon experiences, but the fucking cops are also out in their droves. Obviously you'd think that they would be tasked with impounding previously discussed unroadworthy vehicles. Oh no. I'm much more of an easy target. And so, dear gentle reader, are you. You see, we can afford to pay fines and go to court, therefor we are what is known as a soft target. So for the love of all things holy, DO NOT take any chances this long weekend. DO NOT even consider having a tipple and then driving anywhere. "Papa wag vir jou, ne..."

I know that's rich coming from me, the reigning national champion of Drunk Driving, but I have changed. A while back actually. Is a sinner not allowed to become a better, less bum assaulted person?

Anyway, the lovely Tarty Farty Tequila Party is taking my sorry sinner's arse (luckily now in no danger of any sort of nefarious attention) to lunch tomorrow. This is exciting indeed. I'm looking forward to seeing if I can handle traditional Cape Malay curries without blubbering like a little girl holding a headless Barbie.

And then it's dress rehearsal time for the big show. Be sure to be at 'Symphonaire Infernus' next weekend. It's gonna blow you away...

Sunday is faculty lunch with the right (dis)honourable Dean of Univer City and his beautiful wife, El Slapperino.

Even Monday is booked. So much for some R'n'R on the long weekend...

Oh yes! And whatever you do, make sure you buy your Hot Cross Buns from the right retailer. That is all...

NGDG: "Today launches Operation Retire before 35, which is probably oxymorical in the Infinite-Freedom style of operations, because it'll likely take a bit longer than anticipated."

Spread The Love. Hug A Vaalie. To Death.

Tuesday, April 3, 2012


This one is going to be one of those classic "write whatever rubbish flows through my brain and ends up on the page via the keyboard" type of posts. I have a sad case of the empties and - after some careful consideration - have come to the rather worrying conclusion that I have very little to offer humankind.

I lie.

Like a fly.

Let's see, what have I been up to? Well, after the Hot Girlfriend made wunder-schnitzels for Sunday dinner, yesterday was an utter disaster. Workload forced me to fore go my daily blogpost. Boy was I moody when I got home. Luckily, between Man Utd and Rose Thorn (who made, like, some sort of delicious fishbake for din dins) I was soon on the path to righteous recovery and smiling at my own kak jokes all evening.

Luckily today is somewhat more accommodating in allowing me to poison your minds with my rancorous ramblings. "Jeesh, did you see the petrol price" I hear the entire planet cry! Yes, I went down to the local petrol station this morning and dutifully saved myself a whole R19 or something. Or maybe it was more...

The rather surprisingly charming, friendly and willing pump attendant (soon to be referred to as "fluffers") made a balls up ringing up the transaction. Seems she hit the refund button instead of the 'charge this poor innocent citizen' button. Immediately realising her error, she hastily informed me that she had made a minor faux pas and pointed out that she would now have to ring up the transaction legitimately. Fine.

Upon reflection I believe I may be the first person to have been given a 100% discount when all I really wanted was to save the paltry R19 as intended...

Now we wait for the vendor to figure out their mistake and make an urgent phone call - that is if the hard working people at the magical kingdom called "card division" have bothered updating their records, which is highly unlikely.

Don't worry. I'll give it a day or 2 to reflect on my online account and if it is indeed the case I'll go down and make reparations...


How much is 2 cases of beer now again?

Also, can anyone tell me how long the threshold period between "itching like a bastard" and "luxuriant chin mane" takes please. It's almost long enough to comb, but I still get irritated. I can hear the individual little hairs chorusing "Should I stay or should I go!"

In mind-bendingly good news, tonight I once again have the inebriates over for more band practice. Or in this case, I suppose we have to use the more accepted (and certainly more appropriate) term: Re-Hearse-Al. See what I did there?

And seeing as I've already had my fish fix for the week, I think I'll have some authentic BoKaap Bobotie on Friday. Thanks Tequila Tart - can't wait. Slappy's gonna get me...

NGDG: "At one time, in the early 80s, and I presume before this, choice in eyewear was restricted to swooping rimmed Gorbachev eye AIDS. The kind that made you pretend that you were less sharp than you were so the teacher didn't sit you farther back where you couldn't see anything, the kind that drew laughter and permutation of four-eyes gags. The kind that you'd fold up and hand to a friend so the fight that you'd planned at the end of your tether wouldn't cost mum money when it was over. That said, Myopia is not a fashion statement, you fuckwit Hipsters. Ugly is not the new black. It's you being a daft c*nt."

Shakespeare himself could not have put this better.

Spread The Love. Stock Up On Body Chocolate This Easter.