Captain Cook riday, December 3

WELL, the angst is over for the time being. Piet de Snor's position is safe and the Boks have a few months in which to regroup and retool for the Tri-Nations then the World Cup. But – oh boy! – when you look at the way New Zealand are performing, we have our work cut out for us.

Last Saturday was gratifying. A totally solid performance at forward that simply ground England down; some stirring defence. Looking at reruns of the game, England really did have some great passages of play. But they just couldn't get that final push, that breakthrough, and it speaks volumes for our tackling. England will be there in the hunt, come the World Cup, be sure of that.

What we need in the meantime is an extra dimension in the backline; threequarters who take full advantage of being behind a winning pack. And in this context it will be interesting to see Jantjies and Lambie on the field together. You can never really tell in a Barbarians game – it's a kind of exhibition match – but they could provide the kind of double spark we're looking for. Fransie Steyn – these days we can call him Fransie de Snor – just didn't quite provide that spark against England the way a fullback often can; and his distance drop-kicks were terribly wayward. But somebody sometime is going to have to decide for certain whether Lambie is a fullback or a flyhalf. They can't keep switching him forever.

The real challenge in the months ahead will be to get the patterns and approach to the game that showed themselves in the Currie Cup translated to the national squad. Then we can hope to match New Zealand. We need a fluency on attack, a taking of the ball at speed and a running of the angles, that are just not happening at present. To achieve it will be no easy task, especially if the Blue Bulls predilection for the kick and chase should prevail in the national squad's thinking.

Meanwhile, it's been a great season (apart from the debacle of the Tri-Nations). The Currie Cup was a high point. Three out of four Tests in the northern hemisphere wasn't too bad either, whatever they say.

We now drift into the silly season, an inter-regnum of cricket, perhaps interspersed with things like women's wrestling – the contortions of gals like April Hunter, Shakira, Midajah and Pamela Paulshock – which can be fairly entertaining, even though we know it's all rigged because their boobs never pop out. But soon enough it will be time for the Super-14 and we'll be back to the serious stuff and running into the Tri-Nations and the World Cup.

So here's to the end of a season that has seen as many highs as lows! See you at The Pub With No Name for the Baa-Baas match. No angst, nothing at stake. No knicker elastic required for the celebratory smashing of the streetlights in the Florida Road feu de joie. Relaxation time. Crème de Menthe all round! Frappe!

 

The Idler, Friday, December 3, 2010

Erudite crocodiles

THESE crocodiles are reading their Kipling. Only a few weeks ago a TV network had a picture of a baby elephant fighting for dear life against a crocodile that had it by the trunk at a waterhole.

It was the most graphic illustration yet of Kipling's Just So story of "the great grey-green, greasy Limpopo River, all set about with fever trees," where the elephant's nose the size of a boot was stretched into its present-day trunk.

Now the attached photograph shows a mother elephant being attacked in the same way from the Luangwa River, in Zambia, her baby looking on in consternation.

Happily, mother elephant managed to break free from the croc, but only after she had dragged it right out of the water. She and the baby escaped unharmed.

As I say, these crocs have been reading their Kipling. With numbers of them now being spotted at Blue Lagoon, on the Umgeni, it can be only a matter of time before they start making into the CBD, looking for the city library.

Ezemvelo KZN Wildlife should set up roadblocks at the very least.

 

Genuine Picasso

ENGLAND is famous for its graffiti. Once in a gents' convenience in London, I noticed two small triangles drawn on the wall with the caption: "Balls, by Picasso".

Had the surrealist maestro indeed made use of that very gents' loo? Was that bit of brickwork and plaster worth a fortune? Or am I getting carried away?

You never know. A retired French electrician, who once worked for Picasso, has come forward with 271 previously unknown pictures by him worth some £50million – prompting an immediate lawsuit from the artist's family.

 

Pierre Le Guennec, 71, says the artworks - lithographs, watercolours, portraits and sketches stored in a trunk in his garage – were a gift from Picasso. They are not for sale.

But lawyers for the Picasso estate have filed a suit, saying they could not have been legally obtained.

I wonder if they know about that gents' toilet at Gloucester Road tube station in London.

Economics 2010

 

A LESSON in contemporary economics follows:

 

It's a tough  day in a damp little Irish town. The rain is beating down and the streets are deserted. Times are tough, everybody is in debt, and everybody lives on credit.

On this particular day a rich German tourist is driving through the town, stops at the local hotel and lays a €100 note on the desk, telling the hotel owner he wants to inspect the rooms upstairs to pick one to spend the night. The owner gives him some keys and, as soon as the visitor has walked upstairs, the hotelier grabs the €100 note and runs next door to pay his debt to the butcher. The butcher takes the €100 note and runs down the street to repay his debt to the pig farmer. The pig farmer takes the €100 note and heads off to pay his bill at the supplier of feed and fuel. The guy at the Farmers' Co-op takes the €100 note and runs to pay his drinks bill at the pub. The publican slips the money along to the local prostitute drinking at the bar, who has also been facing hard times and has had to offer him services on credit. The hooker then rushes to the hotel and pays off her room bill to the hotel owner with the €100 note.

 

The hotel proprietor then places the €100 note back on the counter so the rich traveller will not suspect anything. At that moment the traveller comes down the stairs, picks up the €100 note, says the rooms are not satisfactory, pockets the money, and leaves town. No one produced anything. No one earned anything. Yet GDP was increased.

 

The whole town is now out of debt and looking to the future with a lot more optimism. And that is how the EU bail-out package works

Tailpiece

MY ATTRACTIVE female neighbour is completely paranoid. She thinks I'm following or even stalking her, she is worried that I may be obsessed with her and any time she hears a noise in her house she is … purified? Oh, wait: petrified. Sorry, it's not easy reading a diary through binoculars from a tree.
 

Last word

It is well that war is so terrible - otherwise we would grow too fond of it.

Robert E Lee

GRAHAM LINSCOTT

The Idler, Thursday, December 2, 2010

More on Koffie Reznek MC

 

THIS week's piece by Jauhara Khan on the rediscovered wartime photographs taken by Pietermaritzburg general practitioner Dr Koffie Reznek prompts Campbell Alexander to send in a passage from Sani Pass: Riding the Dragon, a book written by his father, David, in which he describes being seriously wounded in Italy when a shell exploded over his platoon of the Royal Natal Carbineers, led by Stan Thesen.

 

"Under the heavy fire that continued, Stan stuck his thumbs in the entrance and exit holes in my upper arm and staunched the flow of blood. In the meantime, fellow section soldier, tall, quietly spoken Paul Prickett, writhed in the dust clutching at a wounded leg. …."

 

"Unbelievably, in the distance from whence we came, a Jeep crested the rise and raced down the road towards us. A large Red Cross flag streamed from its bonnet, and it trailed a plume of dust. As if from a signal, the German gun fell silent. On the Jeep raced into the muzzles of the enemy fire. It turned to face back, and stopped. A figure leaped out, sprinted across the road and scrambled over the intervening wall. It was Captain "Koffie" Reznik, the Regimental Medical Officer. From the bag he was carrying, he fashioned a sling for my arm, administered morphine to both Paul and myself. Paul, hobbling and resting his weight on the RMO was partly carried over the wall while I slithered over, my left arm being quite paralysed. Paul was secured on a stretcher on the back of the Jeep and I climbed into the right hand passenger seat. The next minutes were utterly terrifying. As we shot along the road we must have completely filled the sights of the German gunners. One press of a button and we would have been blown away.

 

"That day Captain "Koffie" Reznik went back to the assistance and safe withdrawal of several of our wounded. For his fearless actions he was awarded a highly meritorious Military Cross."

 

Hau! Amadoda!

 

 

 

Eugene Hugo

I AM SADDENED to learn of the death a few days ago of Eugene Hugo, a colleague and one of the most gifted and ebullient newspapermen I have ever known.

Eugene was a man in the Hemingway mould. He had a great way with words, he had incredible energy and he played as hard as he worked. Often his carousing style led on to fisticuffs. In the 1970s he started the first fight in the Washington Press Club since 1939, when World War II broke out.

Eugene's career included stints in the press gallery at Parliament and in this company's Washington office. His health failed in recent years and he was confined to a wheelchair in a home in Pietermaritzburg, where he died.

 

Dud deposit

BANKS can be pretty irritating with their charges and pettifogging rules, but your money is probably safer there than in a plastic bag on the roof of your car.

A British pensioner living at Westcliff-on-sea, Essex, so mistrusted banks that he used to keep his £80 000 life savings under a mattress at home, guarded by a dog. Then the dog died and the pensioner – not named in this news snippet - started taking the money with him wherever he went.

One morning he absent-mindedly put the plastic bag full of cash on the roof of his car. Then he drove off. No more cash.

A sad little story. Maybe the bank will give him a loan.

 

 

Recognition

A GIRL said she was sure she knew me from the Vegetarian Club. I was most confused as I'm sure I've never met herbivore.

Head-on

AN ITEM from Bill Bryson's Bizarre World (Warner Books).

TWO GERMAN motorists had an all-too-literal head-on collision in heavy fog near the small town of Gutersloh. Each was guiding his car at a snail's pace near the centre of the road. At the moment of impact their heads were both out of the side windows when they smacked  together. Both men were hospitalised with severe head injuries. Their cars weren't scratched.

Tailpiece

"I hear you're a great believer in free speech."

"I am that, Angus."

"Mind if I use your phone?"

Last word

The 'Net is a waste of time, and that's exactly what's right about it.

William Gibson

 

 GRAHAM LINSCOTT

The Idler, Wednesday, December 1, 2010

Sturm und drang

INTERNATIONAL diplomacy has been turned on its head by the shocking, lurid – absolutely unbelievable – content of the Wikileaks whistle-blowing, in which some 250 000 secret reports to Washington from American embassies about the world have been leaked to certain newspapers.

The explosive content can be summarised as:

·         Thabo Mbeki always was biased toward Robert Mugabe and Zanu-PF.

·         Robert Mugabe is a crafty, nasty old bully and as crazy as a coot.

·         Bears still defecate in the forest.

How the international system can recover from this debacle is difficult to know. What the effect will be on the circulations of newspapers like the Guardian (London) and the New York Times is even more problematic. Their elderly and sedate readerships can surely handle only so much shock and drama.

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz …

 

Babes and sucklings

A SELECTION comes this way of examination answers by primary school children in England.

·         In wartime children who lived in big cities had to be evaporated because it was safer in the country.

·         The total is when you add up all the numbers and a remainder is an animal that pulls santa on his slay.

·         Sometimes in the war they take prisoners and keep them as ostriges until the war is over. Some prisoners end up in consterpation camps.

·         I asked my mum why we said old men at the end of prayers at skool, I don't know any old men apart from grandpa.

·         On our activity holiday Dad wanted to ride the hores, but mum said they were too ekspensiv.

·         I would like to be an accountant but you have to know a lot about moths.

·         The closest town to France is Dover. You can get to France on a train or you can go on a fairy.

·         If it is less than 90 degrees it is a cute angel.

·         … and at the end of the show we all sing away in a manager.

·         In last year's Christmas concert Linzi played the main prat. I played one of the smaller prats and I would like to have a bigger prat this year.

·         Helicopters are cleverer than planes. Not only can they fly through the air they can also hoover.

·         Then Joan of Ark met her end. She was burned as a steak.

·         Crabs and creatures like them all belong to a family of crushed asians.

·         In geography we learned that countries with sea round them are islands and ones without sea are incontinents.

·         If you marry two people you are a pigamist, but morons are allowed to do this.

·         In Scandinavia, the Danish people come from Denmark, the Norwegians come from Norway and the Lapdancers come from Lapland.

In vino veritas

TIME for a moral tale. A husband wakes up at home with a huge hangover. He forces himself to open his eyes, and the first thing he sees is a couple of aspirins and a glass of water on the side table.

His clothes are laid out, clean and pressed. The room is in perfect order. So is the rest of the house.

He swallows the aspirins and sees a note on the table. "Honey, breakfast is on the table, I left early to go grocery shopping. Love You!"

Sure enough, in the kitchen is a hot breakfast and the morning newspaper.
His son is also at the table. He asks: "Son, what happened last night?"
"Well, you came home around 3 am, out of your tree. You broke some crockery, puked in the hall, and gave yourself a black eye when you stumbled into the door."

"So why is everything in order and so clean, and breakfast is on the table waiting for me? I should expect a big quarrel."

"Oh, that? Mom dragged you to the bedroom and when she tried to take your clothes and shoes off, you kept yelling: "Lady, leave me alone! I'm married!"

Tailpiece

WHAT'S furry, has whiskers and chases outlaws?

A posse cat.

Last word

Every two years the American politics industry fills the airwaves with the most virulent, scurrilous, wall-to-wall character assassination of nearly every political practitioner in the country - and then declares itself puzzled that America has lost trust in its politicians.

- Charles Krauthammer

GRAHAM LINSCOTT

 

 

The Idler, Tuesday, November 30, 2010

Who punched the Pres?

I SUPPOSE it's gratifying to know the US president stays in shape but it was surprising all the same to learn that he actually plays basketball. He had to have 12 stitches in his lip after being elbowed in a game he was playing at Fort McNair, in Washington.

Apparently he had been playing with "friends and family" in a 10-person match when the accident happened. Family? Would that include Michelle and the girls?

Who elbowed him in the mouth? At least we can be sure it wasn't Sarah Palin. She doesn't count as a friend and Obama's injuries would probably have been rather more severe had she encountered him on a basketball court.

Italian opera

THE ANTICS of Italian prime minister Silvio Berlusconi continue to receive attention in Private Eye, the British satirical magazine, in the category "Opera Highlights – BBC Three".

"Direct from La Scandala in Milan, O Salome Mio! By Berlusconi.

"Act One: Silvio, the Robber Baron, is in high spirits as he welcomes his entourage of beautiful girls to celebrate the anniversary of his divorce at the Pallazio Fornicatione. His eye is immediately taken by the curvaceous form of the virginal 17-year-old Bellyrina, 'La BungaBunga'. He asks her to dance for him and she performs the seductive Dance of the Seven Thousand Euros. He sings the haunting aria La Donna Tell Anyone About This. She is so moved by his song and his gift of a diamond necklace that she agrees to spend the night with the Robber Baron along with several other exotic dancers.

"Act Two: The newspapers are full of Silvio's latest conquests but the Robber Baron laughs off the accusations. He sings the aria Sono Il Politico Ridiculoso (The Laughing Politician) but an angry crowd beneath the window assembles throwing stones and crying for the Baron to resign. They sing the strident chorus Bastardo Corrupto (Is This Not an ppropriate Time For You To Resign, Mr Prime Minister, No Offence).

"Will the Baron escape? Tune in tomorrow for our next opera Silvio Escapado (The Escape of Silvio)."

 

 

 

Africa hand

 

VETERAN Africa correspondent and military writer Al Venter is mightily impressed with our road network. He compares it with Mozambique, where it recently took him 10 hours to cover about 200 km as a passenger in a truck from the Malawi border post at Mulanji.

 

When he had to change trucks, he found the new vehicle – a left-hand drive - being loaded with 30 tons of wheat while the driver drank neat gin "to stay awake."

 

Al has been around a bit and decided a left-hand drive truck with a 30-ton load and a driver full of gin was not a good bet. He flew on instead to his planned diving expedition at Nacala.

 

Al is an old Africa hand who now lives in Surrey, England, but keeps coming back and writing books – he has three in production at present. He turned 72 in Pretoria last week and is currently leading me astray in various Durban watering holes.

 

Not a flicker

 

THE POKER face is essential to the game. Not a flicker of elation or chagrin must be shown at the hand dealt. It's a game of bluff and nerve.

 

A story comes this way of two couples who played regularly. Over time, an illicit relationship began to develop between one of the men and the other one's wife – touching hands under the table, footsie-footsie. But they betrayed not a thing by facial expression.

 

Then one evening when they were together in the kitchen during a break, they arranged a tryst next day.

 

"But it'll cost you R500," she said.

 

"Right on," he said.

 

Next afternoon he turned up at the house. The affair was consumated. R500 changed hands.

 

Then the husband was home.

 

"Was Joe here this afternoon?"

 

"Yes," she said with her best poker face. "He dropped in very briefly."

 

"Did he give you R500."

 

"He did." The poker face was without expression.

 

"Funny that. He came to my office this morning, borrowed R500 and said he drop it off with you this afternoon."

 

Now that's a poker player.

 

 

Tailpiece

"My ex-husband wants to marry me again."

"That's flattering."

"Not really. I think he's after the money I married him for."

 

Last word

There is no safety in numbers, or in anything else.

James Thurber

GRAHAM LINSCOTT

 

The Idler, Monday, November 29, 2010

A star arrives

THE BIGGEST cheer in the country must surely have come from Durban last Saturday as little Lwazi Mvovo burst through three tacklers at Twickenham to clinch the Test against England.

Mvovo has had the King's Park crowd on their feet all season with his bursts of speed. Here is a star who has arrived.

For the Boks as a whole it was a wonderful performance. Next stop Auckland where we take on New Zealand in the opening match of the World Cup. Oh boy!

A world of ideas

IN A CERTAIN hostelry the other night, a professor's absolutely charming wife was asking where we hacks and scribblers dredge up our ideas.

I explained that the world's capitals – Pretoria, Washington, London, Paris, Moscow – have nonsense factories that churn out such a never-ending supply of absurdity, it becomes a task to winnow the ridiculous ideas pouring our way.

She didn't seem very satisfied with that explanation. I was about to debunk in advance the theory of ideas coming from herbal cigarettes, when her cellphone shrilled and she went outside to take the call.

When the prof returned from the bar with the drinks, I explained where she was. A conversation ensued in which it was agreed among the several fellows standing around that the fairer sex find a telephone call absolutely irresistible. It ought to be possible to harness such a thing.

Why not write a computer programme that causes all the ladies' cellphones to ring whenever conversation takes an unwelcome inquisitorial turn or somebody wants to tell a lewd joke or it looks as if the hens' party at the end of the bar is going over to striptease?

Why not indeed? What a splendid idea. We could all become millionaires.

But just then the prof's wife came back, telephone conversation accomplished, and our own conversation abruptly altered course.

I hope this answers her question.

Echoes

WE KEEP getting echoes of the high snobbery of the literary era of Evelyn Waugh, who wrote with pinpoint accuracy about the hedonistic monied classes of pre-war England. His son Auberon, also a writer, used to delight in using the phrase "the lower classes" – this during a time of entrenchment of the welfare state in the 1960s and 1970s and a swelling tide of political correctness.

Now one of David Cameron's newly-appointed Tory peers has caused outrage by describing the welfare system as an encouragement to the poor to breed. It is difficult to imagine anything more un-PC.

An echo? The offender is a man named Howard Flight, who is still to take his seat in the House of Lords and decide on a title.

In Brideshead Revisited, Waugh's tour de force, one of the characters is named Sebastian Flyte. As one reviewer puts it: "The complexity of Sebastian's character evolves around internal and external contradictions concerning temperament, alcoholism, and religion. Sebastian himself is somewhat of a self-contradiction, for his greatest strengths are also his gravest weaknesses. His charm is both untainted and fatal. The graceful manner in which Sebastian embraces both his faults and talents is what makes his character so impeccably charming."

I don't know about Howard Flight's religion or whether he peps things up with a dram or two. Not even whether he's "charming". But I'd guess that, as with his near-namesake Sebastian Flyte, his great strength – telling it as it is – is his great weakness in politics. Untainted and fatal, as the reviewer says.

 

Entente cordiale

 

THE Anglo-French agreement to share an aircraft carrier while the Royal Navy re-equips has been interpreted as a historic end to ancient rivalries across the English Channel. Private Eye, the British satirical magazine, has its own line.

 

A photograph shows Prime Minister David Cameron and French President Nicholas Sarkozy sitting in relaxed mode with their wives, Samantha and Carla, on sofas in No 10 Downing Street.

 

Cameron and Sarkozy are convulsed with laughter. Sarkozy is offering Cameron a handshake. Samantha and Carla are smiling rather dutifully.

 

Private Eye's headline: "CAMERON AND SARKOZY AGREE HISTORIC DEAL TO SHARE WIVES".

 

Oh, lovely stuff!

 

Tailpiece

Paddy goes to the vet with his goldfish. "I tink it's got epilepsy," he tells the vet.

The vet takes a look. "It seems calm enough to me".

Paddy: "Just wait 'til I take it outta de bowl."

Last word

The more original a discovery, the more obvious it seems afterwards.

Arthur Koestler

GRAHAM LINSCOTT

Captain Cook Friday, November 26

ENGLAND are looking for a double – the first cricket Test against Australia at the Gabba, in Brisbane, and our scalps at Twickenham tomorrow. Things weren't looking too bright for them at the Gabba at time of writing, but there are still three days' play to go. Things don't look too bright for us at Twickers.

It's not just the arctic conditions that are closing in, it's the sense of implosion. We started our northern hemisphere tour with a display against Ireland that was uplifting. Our threequarters were moving with zest, the forwards driving well; the handling was superb. Given that we had a side with no recent match play and a lot of injuries – and that we virtually took the airport bus direct to Lansdowne Road – it was a pretty good performance against a strong and experienced Irish side.

We should have stepped it up against Wales a week later, but instead we stepped it down. All kinds of silly buggers factors came into play; we damn near threw the game away. Among those factors was the flurry of substitutions made in the second half. Why? I refuse to accept the explanation that Piet de Snor gets a regular crackle in his headphones after half-time with the Minister of Sport or the chairman of the Parliamentary Portfolio Committee on Sport giving him instructions as to who should be given a run; but it remains a mystery. When you're only a few points ahead and in a critical phase of the game, you stick to what you've got.

Then Scotland and another step-down. Take nothing away from the Scots – they outplayed us on the day and they used the atrocious conditions perfectly. But we never looked like getting any rhythm going, having any kind of game plan. We again started kicking away possession. There was a pointlessness to it all, 15 individuals thinking of a hot shower. The Scots had the chemistry, we had none. It is most disappointing.

Doubly disappointing is that it follows a magnificent Currie Cup season in which the top sides played world class rugby, thoroughly attuned to the new laws that favour ball-in-hand play. It just hasn't translated to the national team. And when one says ball-in-hand, that doesn't necessarily mean expansive threequarter play. It also means mauling forward play, keeping possession, driving, adapting to weather conditions.

Can they get it right in a week? At least we know we have the physical ability, the skills. It's just the kop we lack at present. Can attitude be changed in a couple of days? Who can supply the spark to set us alight? Victor Matfield has a lot on his hands.

The fellows of the Florida Road rugby colloquium are in sombre mood and apprehensive. But hope springs eternal, things can change in a flash. Ladies who attend at The Pub With No Name tomorrow are advised to wear extra strong knicker elastic just in case. A Springbok victory will be greeted with unrestrained joy, and the celebratory shattering of the streetlights in a feu de joie will be performed with particular gusto. Crème de menthe all round! Frappe!