Sunday, May 20, 2018

The Udler, Monday, May 21

The trifecta comes up

'TIS with my customary diffidence and modesty that I point out that I had the trifecta on Saturday.

As predicted, Harry and Meghan were successfully spliced at Windsor and neither Jeremy Corbyn nor Donald Trump gave away the bride. It was Prince Charles who did the honours.

As predicted, Chelsea beat Manchester United in the FA Cup final.

And - whee! – as predicted, the Sharks beat Waikato Chiefs. What a game, our fellows shoving them around in the scrums, some exhilarating running by the backs and superb tackling.

Those Chiefs threequarters are hombres who mean business but it was as if they were running into a wire fence. Not once did they break our line.

Yet at times it seemed we were doing our best to throw things away with two soft tries – one vas aan die slaap at a line-out near our own line, the other an interception that was telegraphed way upfront.

Mama mia! But thanks, we'll take the points! Ole, ole, ole!

Extra special

WAS this royal wedding not a firm cementing of the special relationship between the US and the Poms?

A feature of the ceremony was a splendid sermon by an African-American cleric, delivered in the style of the old time religion of the Deep South.

As an American remarked on Sky TV afterwards, she felt as if she was back in Virginia.

A cementing of the special relationship – yep. And given the never-ending ructions surrounding the White House, could this be the beginning of a restoration of the monarchy in America?

Probably not. But if it should happen, remember where you read it first!

Outlandish

I TRIED to closely watch the FA Cup Final but was badly distracted by a blonde vision of loveliness with whom I was having dinner.

Loveliness aside, this blonde is capable of great severity. She was glad to note my sudden interest in football, she said. Did this mean I was being weaned of the boorishness of rugby?

Where do these gals get such outlandish ideas?

Bothy Boys

ON FRIDAY I attended a splendid lunch to mark the 65th birthday of my old "Bothy Boy" pal, Captain Allen Brink, a former ship's master, currently a member of the executive board of the Nautical Institute, in London, and through this connection a Freeman of the City of London (which I think entitles him to dance a hornpipe along the Victoria Embankment on the north bank of the Thames).

A Bothy Boy is somebody who qualified as a merchant navy officer at the South African Nautical College, in the Western Cape, also known as the General Botha.

Allen is always kind enough to describe me as a fellow Bothy Boy because I once spent three months there for a navigation course while with the South African Navy.

On arrival at Joop's Place I was hailed by Allen and told to sit with two other Maritzburg College fellows so they could keep an eye on us. And blow me down! One was a former ship's chief engineer I was not just at College with but Merchiston also, The other a master mariner, some years younger, who had also been through Merchiston and College. Beat that!

Also in the vicinity at our table were Mike Procter, demon fast bowler of yesteryear, and a fellow named Ben Lamaletie, also known as Ben the Benefactor because he used to be chief brewer at SA Breweries. A jolly crew.

I was relating all this to the aforementioned blonde, who expressed horror at the thought of being in the company of such a bunch of old duffers. (I told you she can be severe).

So I told her of a splendid jape involving Father Daine, of the Anglican parish of St Cyprian's.

He arrived rather peckish and declared he was looking forward to a nice steak. The waitress eventually handed him a minuscule steak, about the girth of a meatball. As the good reverend registered shock and dismay, she handed him another plate with a whopper of a steak on it.

The company fell upon a roar, as Boswell would have put it.

"How absolutely childish," said my lovely blonde. "I'm glad I wasn't there."

Gals can be difficult to fathom.

 

 

 

Tailpiece

HE DOESN'T drink anything stronger than pop. Mind you, Pop will drink anything.

Last word

Blame someone else and get on with your life.

Alan Woods
 

 

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