Innocence, experience
THE ST CLEMENT'S soirees kicked off again this week with a thought-provoking slide show by Pieter Scholtz on William Blake's self-illustrated collection of poetry, Songs of Innocence and Songs of Experience.
Innocence? Experience? It seemed to connect eerily with the Oscar Pistorius case, which was all anyone could talk of when we put on the nosebag afterwards.
Matters were enlivened by a lengthy discourse from Spyker Koekemoer (aka Pat Smythe) on the intricacies of the criminal justice system – all of it delivered in an Inspector Clouseau accent. "Berm! Berm! Berm!"
The blonde fraulein beside me almost went into convulsions.
Yet it's so sad the whole thing. Tragedy in its full Grecian sense.
Fed to lions?
A FEW WEEKS ago we had a picture of a whole lot of lions looking at a group of tourists in a cage. It had been sent to me by Zoltan de Rosner, of Pennington, and I speculated that it might have been taken in his backyard, part of a tourism drive on the South Coast.
Now he tells me he's had a call from Ezemvelo KZN Wildlife who are investigating him for "animal cruelty".
"I told the guy who phoned me I received it via e-mail (I really can't remember from whom) and after sending it on have deleted it. I'm awaiting their next move, so if you hear no more from me you'll know I've been fed to the lions."
I'm not sure whether somebody is pulling Zoltan's leg or whether he's pulling mine.
Rhino manure
THE ABOVE recalls an incident many years ago on our sister newspaper, the Daily News. The news editor was a wonderful old chap called Justice Alexander, who was an enthusiastic gardener and grew prize azaleas up at Kloof.
A couple of the reporters placed a spoof ad in the smalls section: "Rhino manure – excellent for azaleas." It gave Justice's name and the paper's street address (which was then in Field Street).
Chuckle, chuckle! Then a few days later a couple of gimlet-eyed rangers from the Parks Board dropped by, demanding to know from Justice where he was getting rhino manure.
It's good to know this vigilance is being maintained by today's wildlife authorities.
One for the road
WINE-TASTING and map-reading in France don't go well together. In fact for a British couple it ended in the divorce courts.
Mark Howell and wife Nalini were on a wine-tasting trip to Burgundy when they got lost on a country road. Mr Howell stopped the car and accused Nalini of being hopeless at map-reading.
A furious row ensued (it's not clear whether wine had already been tasted, or in what quantity), and when they got home Mrs Howell sued for divorce.
At the hearing, Judge Michael Horowitz remarked that he and his own wife often quarrel over map-reading. He granted the divorce order but Mr Howell has appealed, arguing that a squabble over maps is no ground for ending a 10-year marriage.
Yes, an indifferent map-reader is better than no map-reader at all.
Eye test
A SILVER Ford Fiesta smashed into the glass window of a high street shop in Sevenoaks, Kent, in England, the other day.
What shop was it? An optician's. Well at least the driver knew more or less where to get his eyes tested.
Odd puzzle
HERE'S an oddity. What nine-letter English word remains a proper English word each time you remove a letter from it? Here goes.
The word is STARTLING. Take out the L and you get STARTING. Take out one T and you get STARING. Take out the A and you get STRING. Take out the R and you get STING. Take out the T and you get SING. Take out the G and you get SIN. Take out the S and you get IN. Take out the N and you get I.
I came, I saw, aikhona!
Tailpiece
FOUR psychiatrists are discussing their deep personal problems, of which they seldom get the opportunity to be unburdened.
Says one: "I have a deep, subliminal desire to kill my patients."
Says the next: "I'm a secret kleptomaniac. I have to treat it by outrageously over-charging my patients."
Says the third: "I experience deep and shameful lust for my female patients."
Says the fourth: "I know about professional ethics, but I just can't keep a secret."
Last word
The only winner in the War of 1812 was Tchaikovsky.
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