Thursday, October 4, 2012


Once upon a time there was a blogger. He was a real motherblogger. Then one day he took a step back, realised his life was devoid of anything interesting whatsoever, and developed a serious case of writer's block. But he was acutely aware of the demands put on him by his adoring public and decided not to let his 13 and a half friends down. So, pluckily, he rolled up his sleeves and with a grimace of grim determination, he tugged at the taps of the drivel spout.

Let's start at the very beginning. According to Julie Andrews it's a very good place to start.

Or perhaps we can just rewind to Tuesday evening.

The mountain beckoned. Resisting the almost overwhelming temptation to pack a block of cheese in a red neckerchief and tie it to the end of a stick, I ventured on over to the abode of Commander Conker and Rose Thorn. Rose Thorn opened the little gate at the end of the little garden path for me looking as if she's just beaten Usain Bolt at the 200m, Mohamed Ali in the ring, and Gary Kasparov at chess. Kind of like speed-no-holds-barred-tiddly-winks, another sports that has mystified pundits by not taking off. Apparently she had just endured 24 whole minutes of exercise...

Anyway, dogs in tow, Commander Conker and I took to the slopes for a sedate saunter. Let me tell you, those fucking uphills are no joke! It was all very reminiscent of the time the mountain broke my virginity. Looking rather more like Rose Thorn than something less red and flustered, we managed to make it back, finish the dog kennel, wheel it around a city block (as you do...), drink some wine, have dinner, pop in at the Winchester and kill someone by the name of Philip.

I ate patty pans.

Getting home, I must have broken all land speed records in my zombie lurch for the bar fridge before I settled in to watch the football.
The life, eh!

And then yesterday... wait for it... huge doses of fuck all happened. Unless you count work. Which I don't.

So here we are, at the point in the story where the plot converges on something meaningful or a dramatic twist presents itself. Intrigued? So am I? What happens now?

So, the only plans I have coming up are the repeat performance of the mountain jogwalk, ice skating on Saturday (yes, I said ice skating, I'm considering selling tickets or putting a video up on a charge site...) and then if there's anything left at all, wine tasting at all the farms in Constantia on Sunday. Be sure to stay tuned. The easiest way, I find, to keep that up, is to frequent bars on Edward Street where the average patron has a variety of pop up collars on at the same time, a bakkie with ironic blue plastic scrotum on towbar and yellow CY licence plate made from tin, considers "breker" a compliment and puts his "FL" on whiff a wrench. Those okes will keep you tuned all night.

And speaking of wankers, I can't wait to see everyone in the country raise the minimum wage by something like 500%. I may even get a raise. Like my friend who works at Playboy. Oh, no wait. That's a rise...

NGDG: It's best to leave work when you start nodding off at the computer. Chances are you'll fall asleep at the wheel of your car and be spared a repeat ordeal the next day.

Spread The Love. And Other Four Letter Words.

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