Wednesday, February 18, 2015

The Idler, December 10, 2014

IA colourful brigand


ONE of this province's more colourful brigands died in Maritzburg at the weekend. Gordon "Ginger" Dick was 


a man of unfeigned charm, manners and humour who also brought enlivenment and entertainment to any 


gathering.


Early one morning at Crossways Hotel, just outside Maritzburg, a group of fellows were lounging around a little 


disconsolately over breakfast in the bar. They were supposed to be on a shooting expedition against wild pig 


at Hilton College, but the mist had closed in. You couldn't see the end of the shotgun barrel.


So Ginger decided to cheer them all up. He took somebody's shotgun and gave the dartboard both barrels. 


Middle for diddle, as the darts folk say. Whammo! The noise in that confined space was simply frightful, the 


ears were ringing.


Did Ginger get into trouble? Not at all. He was manager of the Crossways Hotel.


Ginger was a stalwart of Collegians Club, the sergeants' mess at the Natal Carbineers and Twiggy's Pie Cart, 


the late-night diner. He had the gift of the gab and would have made a great court lawyer


One night I was with him in his car as we drove from Collegians to the Country Club, the other side of town. 


We were being followed by a fellow named "Mango" who had a hot Ford Zephyr. Mango seemed keen to 


overtake, and Ginger kept playfully edging out into the road to stop him.


Then he pulled up at a red light. The zephyr came screeching in beside him. Ginger flicked a cigarette stompie 


at Mango through the open window. It hit the steering wheel, causing a shower of sparks. The driver jumped 


out. It wasn't Mango at all. In fact he was in uniform. This was an NPA cop. (They also drove Zephyrs in those 


days.) He was spitting mad.


A tricky situation, to be sure. But Ginger turned on the charm and humour. Eventually the cop was laughing 


too. Ginger got a warning ticket. He should have been a courtroom lawyer but never was.


The funeral notice said: "A life well lived." They can say that again. RIP Ginger.


Top drawer


THE cream of Afrikanerdom met outside Stellenbosch recently to discuss the land question and make pretty 


generous suggestions that would settle it once and for all, finish en klaar, as reported in this newspaper.


Afrikaner agriculturists, businessmen, bankers and academics were there. The list of delegates could almost 


have been the Broederbond in the old days.


By nefarious means I have in my possession a summary of what was discussed. It makes fascinating reading.


One delegate – a senior man in organised agriculture – spoke of involving labour in the plans and wider 


consultation. He suggested an Agriculture Conference.


He also told delegates he was leading preparations for the Rugby World Cup tour to England in 2015. The 


cost would be about R120 000 a person participating. It promised to be a top tour with tickets for the important 


matches. The travel agency was making further arrangements.


"Just watch out in case you are paired off with a Blue Bull. Apply in time for better company." 


Time lapse


READER Hans Muldal, of Ixopo (the same one who supplied yesterday's picture of the new Virginia Airport 


in Fiji), wants to know what's so confoundedly funny about the famous Punch cartoon that has two hippos 


standing in a swamp, one saying: Ï keep thinking it's Thursday."


"Most of my friends think it's hilarious but I have no idea why they think it's funny."


Hans, it's difficult to dissect humour. Perhaps it's the absurdity. If you're a hippo standing in a swamp at St 


Lucia or somewhere, what can make Thursday different to any other day?


Perhaps it's partly a play on our contemporary society where we're governed by calendars, diaries, 


programmes and so forth. The slightest disruption – like a long weekend – throws everything out. People do 


say things like: "I keep thinking it's Thursday".


Difficult to dissect but it is very funny and a classic.


Tailpiece


"WHAT do you think our husbands talk about down at the pub?"


"Probably the same as we talk about."


"The dirty, sex-obsessed rotters!"


Last word


Last night I dreamed I ate a ten-pound marshmallow, and when I woke up 


the pillow was gone. 


Tommy Cooper

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