That heaving deck
TOP HATS, ankle-length dresses … a whole lot of folk were going about Point Yacht Club in Victorian gear last Friday as the club celebrated the 120th anniversary of its founding in 1892 on board the harbour tug Richard King.
In fact there's always been an ancient photograph of the Richard King on display in the clubhouse, wallowing in the lumpy waters just outside the harbour entrance. Looking at the picture, one imagined that inaugural committee clutching for support at furniture and stanchions as the meeting proceeded.
But on reflection, of course, that would not have been so. The meeting would have been held not out in the roadstead but with the Richard King at moorings in harbour.
Whatever, the picture has been cleaned up and remounted and it was focal point at an anniversary dinner that turned out an absolute hoot.
Stories from yesteryear abounded, among them anecdotes from my old pal Bob Fraser, a former commodore, who told us of occasions when couples were found making unorthodox use of the billiard table and the flag loft. (It seems the club was especially lively in those days).
The dinner was serenaded throughout by a lovely Swazi girl named Sky, who wandered among the tables singing in an absolutely angelic voice from a repertoire that ranged from Italian operetta to the current hit parade. We held our wine glasses anxiously as she hit the high notes. We were close to shattering point.
A memorable evening, to be sure. By the close, you'd have thought some of the revellers were back on the heaving deck of the Richard King.
I wonder if the committee checked the billiard table and the flag loft?
PYC Pies
A NICE touch was the way the kitchen staff were brought in to receive congratulations on an excellent meal of roast lamb with all the trimmings. There was a special cheer for a fellow named Eric, who has been making the celebrated PYC Pie for 30 years.
The PYC Pie is in the realm of legend. It provides both ballast and nourishment. One PYC Pie and you're ready to take on the Grenadier Guards singlehanded. I knew a fellow in Pretoria who used to spend his annual leave sailing on Durban bay, then drooled for the rest of the year thinking of PYC Pies.
They didn't feature on Friday but they'll be back on the menu today.
Name change
OVERHEARD in the Street Shelter for the Over-40s: "I changed my iPod's name to Titanic. It's syncing now."
Hooligan birds
WHAT is it that gets into Indian mynahs? The other day I was watching one of their hooligan brawls – running into one another, knocking one another over, wings fluttering as they rolled about, all of them screeching their heads off.
Often it happens on the ground, as many as a dozen birds at a time. This time they were on a neighbour's roof, about six birds involved, and mixing it like in a Wild West bar fight. Now and again they would topple off the roof. Two ended up in the guttering, still fighting furiously.
What's behind this communal aggression? It doesn't appear to be a mating ritual. It's winter now anyway. It surely can't be territorial because mynahs forage together and roost together.
It's puzzling. Does anyone out there know what's behind the aggro?
Tailpiece
THIS girl gets into conversation with two ship's officers in a pub down in the Point area. She's desperate to get to Australia. The two – second and third officer respectively – offer to smuggle her aboard and stow her away in their cabin in return for favours. It's a deal.
After a couple of weeks at sea, the second officer tells her the mate has caught on what's happening and unless he's cut in on the deal he's going to tell the skipper. So now it's three and things are getting hectic.
One morning she opens the cabin door a crack and sees a deckhand on all fours, scrubbing.
"Pssst! When do we get to Australia?"
"Australia? Lady, this is the dredger!"
Last word
Boyhood, like measles, is one of those complaints which a man should catch young and have done with, for when it comes in middle life it is apt to be serious.
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