The Red Flag's flying here …
I'M SO GLAD the National Youth Development Agency managed to raise the balance of the R69 million needed for the eight-day bash they're staging in Pretoria. When you invite 30 000 people from around the world to a Festival of Youth and Students, you don't want to skimp.
When the festival gathers under the banner: "Let's Defeat Imperialism!" this is serious stuff, you don't hang back with the moolah. A socialist Disneyland is just what this country needs as a tourist attraction. People will flock in their millions for the retro-experience: Bolshevism alive and well, the Cold War still in action, the imminent dictatorship of the proletariat.
Okay, things haven't been running all that smoothly. Delegates have been left stranded, some haven't been fed and the government bigwigs have failed to pitch. But these are trifles, there are always setbacks in a world revolution.
Let the rhetoric flow like lava! "Capitalist lackeys … Yankee-imperialist running dogs … bean soup tigers … lickspittle capitalist collaborators …compradore turncoats … mean-spirited capitalist exploiters … manipulative money markets …bourgeois wage-slavers …Tsarist reactionaries …"
"Crony capitalists … tenderpreneurs … corrupt stealers from the public purse …careerist fat cats …"
Er, hold on. Just who is it that we're talking about?
Office parties
CHRISTMAS party time is here. It's when the Boss picks up the tab and everyone has a good time.
Yet a survey in Britain by a restaurant chain suggests that among many employees – 27 percent – the Boss is not welcome at the end of year party. They say his presence stops everyone having fun. Many are afraid they will be unable to resist telling him what they really think.
But come on – he picks up the tab, doesn't he? And the office party is an opportunity for sailing close to the wind.
On a newspaper the Christmas party is known as a "wetstone". In the days of hot metal production the stone was the slab of metal in the works where the galleys of type were arranged. (In ancient days it really was made of stone). At the Christmas party drinks were placed on it instead, and it became a wetstone.
Some years ago at a wetstone of this newspaper group, a new manager was making a speech in which he expressed his regret at working only a few weeks with a senior editor before he retired.
"We were like ships that passed in the night."
Which prompted a call from a well-lubricated sub-editor: "Did you say 'ships'?"
Yes, the Boss has his place at a party.
New movie
There's a new film coming about a tractor. I know, I've just seen the trailer.
Absolutely crackers
THE HEALTH and safety Gestapo have struck again in Britain. Shopkeepers can be jailed for six months or fined £5 000 for selling Christmas crackers to children younger than 16. The tiny explosive charge in the cracker has caused it to be classified as a low-grade firework. It's caused a storm of derision.
Explosives aside, surely it's time the authorities did something about the low-grade jokes that are to be found inside Christmas crackers. They altogether detract from the plastic whistles and spinning tops that are also found inside.
Dead cert
A GLASGOW Sunday school teacher is testing her class.
"If I sold my house and my car, had a big jumble sale and gave all my money to the church, would that get me into heaven?"
"No!" the children chorus.
"If I cleaned the church every day, mowed the garden and kept everything tidy, would that get me into heaven?"
"No!"
"Well then if I was kind to animals and gave sweeties to all the children and loved my husband, would that get me into heaven?"
"No!"
"Then how can I get into heaven?"
A six year old boy shouts from the back: "Ye've got tae be bluidy-well daid!"
Tailpiece
A MAN walks into a pub with a pork pie on his head and asks for a pint of beer.
Barman: "Do you know you've got a pork pie on your head?"
Man: "Yes, I always wear a pork pie on my head on Thursdays."
Barman: "But today's Friday."
Man: "Oh, my goodness! I must look a right idiot!"
Last word
Many a man who falls in love with a dimple makes the mistake of marrying the whole girl.
GRAHAM LINSCOTT
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