Party of the year
HEY, WHAT a party! MY old pal Brian Kurz threw a 70th birthday lunch at his place up in Maritzburg last weekend. Sheep on a spit, live music and song, drinks, lotsa laffs.
Brian and wife Meryl are a showbiz twosome I've known since just before the rinderpest. Their Pig and Whistle troupe has put on song and dance shows all over KZN for decades now. A party at their pad is highlight of the year. All week I'd been at it, polishing up my celebrated renditions of Girls Were Made To Hug And Kiss and There Is Nothing Like A Dame.
But it seemed a bit quiet when I rocked up at their lovely home on Town Hill. Er, yes. I was exactly 24 hours late for the party. It had been the day before. (And I don't even have a social secretary to sack).
Horrors! But they invited me in for lunch anyway and the afternoon passed very pleasantly and entertainingly over a few glasses of claret. In fact it was a chance to put the world to rights, the way you can't at a big party bash. I think Brian's taking over coaching the Springboks and I'm becoming chairman of the Johannesburg Stock Exchange. Or is it the other way round?
What a swell party this is.
British justice
ONE REGRET though. A squiz at the guest list from the day before revealed the name of a fellow I have not encountered since a night in London in the 70s when he stood in Trafalgar Square in his Y-fronts, blue with cold and teeth chattering.
It was New Year's night after a white Christmas. The fountains in Trafalgar Square had frozen solid. After a rash bet at a dinner party, a group of us went down there. This fellow and another had broken the ice and splashed about in the fountains a bit, when a large posse of London bobbies suddenly materialised out of nowhere.
"It was a bet, officer, we're leaving now," this fellow explained to the sergeant through chattering teeth.
"No you don't! One more lap otherwise I nicks ya!"
They had to swim one more lap. This surely was British justice at its best.
Romance
EXPERTS in the science of sex have worked out why, when a woman wears a leather dress, a man's heart beats quicker, his throat gets dry, he gets weak at the knees and he begins to think irrationally.
Why? Because she smells like a new bakkie.
Urgent calls
THE LONDON Fire Brigade have appealed to people to stop dialling the emergency 999 number for help with trivial things. They get about 100 such calls a week, recent ones including:
· A spider on a pillow.
· A squirrel wedged behind a wardrobe.
· A fox in the garden.
· A bat in the kitchen.
· An elderly woman who threw a glass of water containing her false teeth at fighting dogs.
· A shoe stuck on the roof.
But surely they should have intervened in that false teeth and fighting dogs case. One of those dogs could have got badly bitten.
Handshakes
HIGH schools in the American state of Kentucky have been ordered not to have post-game handshakes in any sports. This follows physical confrontations that have sprung from the handshakes in recent years, most recently in volleyball.
It seems a great pity that this traditional gesture of sportsmanship should have so degenerated. But one can appreciate the problem.
When playing mixed hockey in days of yore, one never knew when it came to handshake time whether the gals were going to turn it into a ju-jitsu throw or into a torrid amorous embrace. It could be most unnerving.
Tailpiece
THIS FELLOW is walking along a Durban beach when he comes across a lamp partially buried in the sand. He picks it up and gives it a rub. A genie appears and tells him he has been granted one wish.
"I want to live forever."
"Sorry. Eternal life I can't do."
"OK then, I want to die when the people in government stop stealing and all South Africans have equal opportunities."
"You crafty bastard."
Last word
The hardest thing to learn in life is which bridge to cross and which to burn.
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