The Idler, Monday, May 9, 2011

Wild Man sans culottes

IT'S ASTONISHING how reluctant Durban girls are to take off their clothes. I discovered this while trying to perform a charitable service on behalf of the Wild Man from Zambia, a delegate to the Tourism Indaba who was mentioned in this column last Friday.

The Wild Man was somewhat down in the dumps. His pants kept falling down as he wandered about the Indaba as he had lost his belt while going through immigration at Lusaka airport.

His iron buckle kept bleeping the machine so the immigration officer told him to take the belt off. He forgot to claim it back. So there he was, continually losing his trousers at the Indaba and getting sharp looks from the security people.

Plus it was his 70^th birthday. He was feeling lonely and folorn, a long way from the Wild Woman, up in Kafue national park.

Clearly there was only one way to cheer him up - engage a stripper. But it was short notice for professional strippers. So I found myself at a certain hostelry trying to recruit young ladies to cheer up an 85-year-old Abraham Lincoln lookalike from the Zambian bush.

It was a thankless task. Though most of them agreed it was a deserving case, none would come up with the goods. In vain did I argue that a 95-year-old bushwhacker posed no physical threat whatever, in spite of his smouldering good looks. They just weren't interested.

Durban girls have a puritanical streak, it seems, that I was not aware of. I'm sure it wasn't there in my younger days. This streak is intertwined, I'm sorry to say, with a certain coldness and lack of charity. Who could abandon a Zambian Wild Man to misery on his 105^th birthday?

On top of it all, I feel I might have compromised my own reputation. People were giving me funny looks, as if I were some sort of procureur, not a person on a mission of mercy. I might have to stay away for a while. Charity is a thankless pursuit.

Meanwhile, good news. The Wild Man has perked up. We fashioned some braces for him out of fishing line and he now strums happily at them, singing Dixieland numbers.

 

Lavender memories

WHO REMEMBERS those days when a trip overseas meant a couple of weeks on a Union Castle liner? When sports teams would tour the Cape by Union Castle?

Launched at the Indaba at the weekend was a book, All Aboard!, by shipping writer David Hughes, in which he revisits those distant days of the lavender-hulled liners and – perhaps more importantly – tells us what is still available today in terms of sea cruises and cabins on cargo vessels.

There's also a bit of humour. Headed: "How not to end a cruise" is a photograph of the Oceanos sinking off the Transkei coast – an astonishing account of poor seamanship and cowardice yet where, amazingly, not a single life was lost.

Rip-off

I WONDER how many delegates to the Tourism Indaba have been ripped off by Durban's taxis?

Last Saturday a group of us took a metered taxi from a spot on the Berea to King's Park. It cost R58.

After the game we took a metered taxi (of a different company) back to exactly the same spot, following exactly the same route. It cost R98.

As the Americans say: Go figure!

The driver insisted his meter is set by the metro police and sealed. But he eventually settled for R60. Two Indaba delegates told me that the same night they had to beat down a taxi from R100 to R70.

Is this the way to encourage tourism? Somebody in authority should surely take a look at this.

 

Tailpiece

 

AN ENGLISHMAN, an Irishman and a Scotsman don't have tickets for the Commonwealth Games.

The Scotsman picks up a manhole cover , tucks it under his arm and goes up to the gate. "MacTavish, Scotland. Discus." In he walks.

The Englishman picks up a length of scaffolding and slings it over his shoulder. " Waddington-Smythe, England. Pole vault." In he goes.

The Irishman looks around and picks up a roll of barbed wire and tucks it under his arm.

"O'Malley, Northern Ireland. Fencing."

 

 

Last word

Even if you're on the right track, you'll get run over if you just sit there.

Will Rogers

GRAHAM LINSCOTT

The Idler, Friday, May 6, 2011

Hello, Wild Man speaking …

 

IT'S Indaba time again. Thousands of delegates from overseas and elsewhere in Africa are in Durban for the annual showcasing of what's on offer – game lodges, beach resorts, safaris and so forth. If we are to get anywhere near the tourism numbers Jacob Zuma speaks of, here is where it starts.

 

I've already alerted the police, the army, the Missing Persons Bureau and the National Sea Rescue Institute. Yes, the Wild Man of Zambia is in town again.

 

The Wild Man missed last year's Indaba. But now he's back with a vengeance. He is easily spotted. A tall, gauntly bearded DH Lawrence lookalike, he is usually to be found at the Zambia stand, talking animatedly into a small bottle of Dettol.

 

He carries the Dettol about with him (for tsetse fly bites, you understand) and often confuses it with the cellphone he carries in the other pocket. The cellphone rings and out comes the bottle of Dettol.

 

The police and the other emergency services have been alerted because, on average, the Wild Man goes missing in Durban four times a day. That's during daylight hours. When the sun sets, the AWOL rate goes up exponentially.

 

 People who spot him striding the streets and talking urgently into a bottle of Dettol should on no account attempt to communicate. They should phone the police public order unit.

 

Aussie poem

 

The sun was hot already - it was only eight o'clock,
The cocky took off in his ute, to go and check his stock.
He drove around the paddocks checking wethers, ewes and lambs,
The float valves in the water troughs, the windmills on the dams.
 
He stopped and turned a windmill on to fill a water tank
And saw a ewe down in the dam, a few yards from the bank.
'Typical bloody sheep,' he thought, 'they've got no common sense,
'They won't go through a gateway but they'll jump a bloody fence.'
 
The ewe was stuck down in the mud, he knew without a doubt.
She'd stay there 'til she carked it if he didn't get her out.
But when he reached the water's edge, the startled ewe broke free
And in her haste to get away, began a swimming spree.

He reckoned once her fleece was wet, the weight would drag her down;
If he didn't rescue her, the stupid sod would drown.
Her style was unimpressive, her survival chances slim
He saw no other option, he would have to take a swim.

He peeled his shirt and singlet off, his trousers, boots and socks
And as he couldn't stand wet clothes, he also shed his jocks.
He jumped into the water and away that cocky swam;
He caught up with her somewhere near the middle of the dam.

The ewe was quite evasive, she kept giving him the slip.
He tried to grab her sodden fleece but couldn't get a grip.
At last he got her to the bank and stopped to catch his breath;
She showed him little gratitude for saving her from death.

She took off like a Bondi tram around the other side,
He swore next time he caught that ewe he'd hang her bloody hide.
Then round and round the dam they ran, although he felt quite puffed
He still thought he could run her down, she must be pretty roughed.

The local stock rep came along, to pay a call that day.
He knew this bloke was on his own, his wife had gone away.
He didn't really think he'd get fresh scones for morning tea
But nor was he prepared for what he was about to see.

He rubbed his eyes in disbelief at what came into view,
For running down the catchment came this frantic-looking ewe.
And on her heels in hot pursuit and wearing not a stitch,
The farmer yelling wildly 'Come back here, you lousy bitch!'

The stock rep didn't hang around, he took off in his car;
The cocky's reputation has been damaged near and fa.r
So bear in mind the Work Safe rule when next you check your flocks:
Spot the hazard, assess the risk, and always wear your jocks!
 

 

Tailpiece

 

HOW do you know when you're at an Australian stag party?

A sheep jumps out of the cake.

Last word

 

There's a difference between a philosophy and a bumper sticker.

Charles M Schulz

GRAHAM LINSCOTT

The Idler, Thursday, May 5, 2011

Katie rules, OK!

THE BRITS vote in a referendum today on whether to adopt the alternative vote electoral system (as used in Australia) in place of the current first past the post formula. AV means voters can express second and third choices, which can come into play in deciding the winner in each constituency where no single candidate has an overall majority.

This could lead to complications. The Brits could end up with the Duchess of Cambridge (aka Katie) as prime minister, heading a cabinet made up of football players, celebrity chefs and Page 3 girls from the Sun.

Or am I reading this wrong?

Giant ants

I CAN'T dance, I've got ants in my pants … scientists have discovered the fossilised remains of a giant ant 5cm long.

Named Titanomyrma lubei, it was about the size of a wren and lived 50 million years ago. The fossils have been found in Europe and now in Wyoming, in the US.

Extinct ants the size of a wren? These scientists need to get out more. Here on the Berea we still have ants that can snatch the Sunday roast off your table when you're not looking.

Pitch invasion

THE BEAUTIFUL game ... a man has been arrested in England after a section of the crowd invaded the pitch in a lower league match between Bury and Chesterfield and punched the Bury goalkeeper after he let through a goal.

One might have thought these were Bury fans who were dissatisfied at the goal being let through, but no – they were Chesterfield supporters having a gloat.

Photographs of the incident are concerning. They show an attractive young girl giving the keeper twos-up with both hands; a young fellow who appears to be in his early teens giving him the American "finger"; then another fellow, just as young, socking the goalie in the jaw.

The yobbism is certainly disturbing. But so is the confusion of insult by gesture. While the young girl correctly employs the twos-up sign – derived from the Battle of Agincourt where the English bowmen used it derisively against the French who had threatened to cut off their fingers – the teenage youth uses the American "finger".

Twos-up is part of the Anglo-Saxon heritage. The American "finger" originates I know not where. I believe that even when invading a football pitch we need to remember our heritage.

Fingers crossed

 

MEANWHILE, a young lady who teaches history tells me the "fingers crossed" gesture also has its origins at Agincourt. It is a more polite way of recalling that the English bowmen did not have their fingers cut off by the French.

 

The Lotto

 

RECENTLY we touched on the furore over the National Lottery's funding of a tour by a musical group to the tune of millions, while charities struggle to be allocated money. I asked somewhat rhetorically if anyone remembered the Natal Lotto with its transparency, low operating costs and flow of funding for good causes.

 

Linda Vandeverre, of Cowies Hill, is one who does remember.

 

"I remember the Natal Lotto with enormous respect. It was run by Rod Colenbrander. When I approached the Lotto for a donation for Sunfield Home, in Howick (which cares so well for mentally handicapped adults, one of whom is my daughter), they were very thorough in their investigation of the need.

 

"Having ascertained that building work was necessary, we then had to submit quotes for the work, which they had a quantity surveyor assess. As the work progressed the invoices went to the Lotto team and the contractors (whose work was inspected as it progressed) were paid directly so that there was no question of middlemen benefiting.

 

"Ours was not a unique case. I also know of a quantity surveyor the Natal Lotto used who, when it was his birthday, asked his guests to bring gifts of non-perishable food that he could take to one of the orphanages the Lotto was helping."

 

For anyone wanting to support Sunfield in the spirit of the Natal Lotto, the Home is holding a fundraising Country Fair on Saturday, in Howick.

 

Tailpiece

Patient: "I'm a walking economy."

Psychologist: "How so?"

Patient: "My hairline's in recession, my stomach is a victim of inflation and these together have me in a deep depression."

Last word

Any American who is prepared to run for president should automatically, by definition, be disqualified from ever doing so.

Gore Vidal

 

GRAHAM LINSCOTT

The Idler, Wednesday, May 4, 2011

 

Dialogue of sheer terror

 

A CAUTIONARY tale comes this way of the perils of airport lavatories. It is not for the faint-hearted. The narrator was barely enthroned when he heard a voice from the cubicle next door saying: "Hi, how are you?"

He froze. He is not the type to conduct a conversation in the rest room.

 

"I don't know what got into me. I answered, somewhat embarrassed: 'Oh, doin' just fine.'

"And this other person says: 'So what are you up to?'

"What kind of question is that? What does he think I'm up to? At that point, I'm thinking this is too bizarre so I say: ''Uh-h-h, I'm like you, just travelling!' 

"At this point I am trying to get out of there as fast as I can when I hear another question: 'Can I come over?' 

"Ok, this question is just too weird for me but I figured I could be polite and end the conversation. I tell him: 'No, I'm a little busy right now'

"Then I hear the person say nervously: 'Listen, I'll have to call you back. There's a nutcase in the other toilet who keeps answering all my questions.'"

 

Yes, the mobile phone intrudes everywhere.

 

The law or the loo?

 

THE ABOVE recalls a Supreme Court judge who used to dine out on the story of when he arrived in Johannesburg on a Sunday on a flight from London, with several hours to wait for his connecting flight to Durban.

 

This was the old South Africa. The pubs were closed. But he had a bottle of cognac in his hand luggage, brought through duty-free.

 

He made his way to the gents' where he found a paper cup and a chair. Stationing himself by the wash handbasin, he poured himself a tot and a squirt of water and settled down to read the newspaper.

 

Then a fellow came out of one of the cubicles. As he went past the judge, he put down a coin.

 

"Ag, dankie meneer!"

 

Then others came in and out and most of them tipped him. The judge was in a warm glow of cognac, accumulating a little pile of money and thinking of a career change, when his flight was called and it was back to the grind of life on the bench.

 

Made in …

GLOBALISATION has taken over, causing all kinds of resentment. Here's a niggle from Australia.

John Smith started the day early having set his alarm clock (made in Japan) for 6am.

 
While his coffee pot (made in China) was perking, he shaved with his electric razor (made in Hong Kong)

He put on a shirt (made in Sri Lanka), designer jeans (made in Singapore) and tennis shoes (made in Korea)

After cooking his breakfast in his new electric skillet (made in India), he sat down with his calculator (made in Mexico) to see how much he could afford to spend in the day. After setting his watch (made in Taiwan) to the radio (made in the Netherlands) he got into his car (made in Germany), filled it with petrol (from Saudi Arabia ) and continued his search for a good, paying Australian job.

At the end of yet another discouraging and fruitless day checking his computer (made in Malaysia), John decided to relax for a while.

He put on his sandals (made in Brazil), poured himself a glass of wine (made in France) and turned on his TV (made in Indonesia), and then wondered why he can't find a good, paying job in Australia.


Now he's hoping he can get help from the government, which is led by a prime minister made in Wales.

Keep the change

 

MORE from Bill Bryson's Bizarre World (Warner Books):

 

When the US Department of Health, Education and Welfare tried to pay Andrew Bravas an automatic salary increase of $ 1 172, Bavas decided to turn it down on the logical, if unusual, grounds that he didn't really need it. Far from being pleased, HEW informed Bavas that his refusal to accept the money was not only unprecedented but illegal, and told him he was being transferred to Philadelphia. Bavas resigned

 

Tailpiece

 

PADDY spent half an hour trying to take his wife's bra off ... he should never have tried it on in the first place.

 

Last word

 

Eternity's a terrible thought. I mean, where's it all going to end?

Tom Stoppard

GRAHAM LINSCOTT

The Idler, Tuesday, May 3, 2011

Love is in the air

 

THE MUSE stirs among readers. More romance/squelch rhyming couplets have come in, the aim being to produce one line of high romance and another of completely the opposite.

 

A lass from Hillcrest, who prefers to remain anonymous, kicks off:

 

 

·        I think I am in love with you,

        Too bad it seems you've lost a screw.

 

I'm not entirely sure what she means by that.

 

·        I dreamt of you the whole night long,

       My gosh! That drink was far too strong!

 

 

·        Your eyes remind me of the stars

         I see when crowned by iron bars.

 

·        Your laughter's like a rippling stream

        Too bad it makes me want to scream.

 

·        I faint whenever you are near

        In case you will not disappear.

 

·        I wish I'd met you years ago

        Before you suffered from BO.

 

 

Pat McKrill, of Camperdown, gave up mowing the lawn to settle down at the keyboard.

 

The first batch of couplets is for guys who are trying to make a first impression. They should be spoken in dulcet tones from the bended-knee position – but out of slapping range.

 

 

·         I've heard them say it was your face that launched a thousand ships.

           But then again I'm not surprised - and aaagh, those ghastly hips!

 

·         Your eyes, they glint like limpid pools, reflecting yonder light

           But how come one of them is looking left, the other looking right?

 

·         I stopped, I stared, I fell in love, the day I heard you talking

           But now I've seen your other side, I should have kept on walking.

 

·         They say that beauty is in the eye of the beholder

           But they also said the Titanic was unsinkable.

 

Hey, Pat, what kind of rhyme is that?

 

·         The violins begin to play when you walk near to me,

           Please won't you bring a few more beers, they're on the 16^th Tee!

 

For the Girls:

 

·         Your bulging muscles and six pack abs, a body to behold.

But garlic breath is not so good, should the truth be told.

 

·         I love you darling - precious one - for what you really are,

           Not for your money or your yacht, nor your fancy car.

 

·         When I gaze upon your classic lines, and your finely chiselled features

            I'm reminded of Jurassic Park and all those scary creatures.

 

·         I tell you my beloved one, you keep the crowd enthralled,

           Despite the fact you're short and fat and absolutely bald.

 

Are you getting at me, Pat?

 

Finally – and I bring you this with some reluctance because I do not wish to be held responsible for violence – a fellow (I presume it's a fellow) who calls himself SR dedicates his lines to HS.

 

That night that we met, your beauty blinded like fog;

But now that I'm sober ... you look like my dog.

Back to work

 

WELL, we're back at work. It's a little strange. I feel like writing to my MP because we have far too many working days in the year.

 

Highlight of the holiday break was, for me, a trip on the steam-drawn Paton Country narrow-gauge railway, at Ixopo, which I had not done for some years. Lovely autumnal colours in the grasses;wild flowers and clouds of butterflies of a purplish blue. And, of course, the hill country of which Alan Paton wrote so lyrically in Cry, the Beloved Country.

 

They're going out again on Mother's Day. Bookings: 082-3741417; 039-8342963.

 

Tailpiece

THE VICAR dropped in on Miss Beatrice, the 80-year-old spinster church organist. Her quaint sitting room had a Hammond organ. To the vicar's astonishment, it had on it a bowl of water in which floated a condom.

As tea progressed, he tried to ignore this strange decorative arrangement but eventually his curiosity got the better.

"Miss Beatrice, I wonder if you would tell me about this?"

"Oh yes, isn't it wonderful? I was walking through the park a few months ago and I found this little package on the ground. The directions said to keep it moist and place it on the organ to prevent infections. Do you know, I haven't had the flu all winter?"

Last word

If you believe the doctors, nothing is wholesome; if you believe the theologians, nothing is innocent; if you believe the military, nothing is safe.

Lord Salisbury

GRAHAM LINSCOTT

The Idler, Monday, May 2, 2011

Not a dry eye

WHERE were you when Kate and Wills tied the knot? Myself I was in a dentist's chair, watching the proceedings on a small TV screen suspended from the ceiling. Nothing like a royal wedding to take the mind off what the fellow is doing to your mouth. It's better than Novocaine.

Ah, the jingle of harness in the Mall. What pageantry, what a splash of colour. And what a dish Katie is. I suppose in the fullness of time she will be known as Queen Catherine, but to we proles she will be Queen Katie.

The uniforms. The hats. Fashion-wise, I think the Archbishop of Canterbury stole the show with his gold brocade vestments and he was certainly way ahead in the hat stakes. His mitre pipped even Victoria Beckham's little blue number she had perched on her fringe.

The Guards, the Royal Marines, the Household Cavalry, the Royal Air Force ... Prince Harry looking like he'd just been shipwrecked and had no chance to comb his hair. Yep, the Brits certainly know how to do it.

And, of course, there was Kate's wedding gown, a creation the anticipation of which has kept us awake of nights. The fashionistas are in raptures. I have to admit, to me it was like most wedding dresses. White.

And Kate's sister Pippa following her, carrying the train. Wow! There's another corker! Watch this space!

Cartwheels

ONE OF THE best moments was that verger in Westminster Abbey doing cartwheels down the aisle when everyone had left and he thought the TV cameras had gone also. He captured the essence of the whole thing.

Cartwheels are probably provided for somewhere in the Book of Common Prayer.

Lip service

IT SEEMS sections of the British media engaged the services of lip readers so they could tell what William and Kate were saying to each other privately. Some protest that this was an invasion of privacy.

But at least they didn't hire ventriloquists. "'Ere, wipe your nose!" That could have been most invasive and disruptive.

Hatless Sam

IT SEEMS Samantha Cameron, wife of the prime minister, was the only woman in Westminster Abbey not wearing a hat.

These Tories – you can't take them anywhere.

Just wed

IT WAS A nice touch, Kate and William setting off in Prince Charles's Aston-Martin, dragging the usual "just married" clutter.

Their licence plate read: "JUST WED". I'm sure that wasn't legal.

Just as well they didn't meet up with one of those sour City of Westminster traffic wardens.

Anti-royals

AN OCCASION such as a royal wedding always brings to the fore a group of tedious people calling themselves repooblicans (They seem mainly to hail from the north of England). Sure enough, the repooblicans – tieless and condescending from their intellectual heights - had their say. They also held mass rallies all over Britain – in telephone booths.

Paradox

MONARCHY is a paradox. It ought to belong in a museum, yet it's alive, kicking and a vital part of 21^st century democracy in Europe. People prefer the royals to the political class. There's an intuitive mutual empathy.

Also, constitutional monarchy puts things into perspective, into balance. David Cameron has to go on his knees and kiss the hands of his Queen. It tells him he's not entirely the big cheese. The general salutes his Queen, not his prime minister. There's no room for a generalissimo to take over.

Spain fought a horrid civil war then had decades of fascism under Franco. Restoration of the monarchy was a necessary part of returning the country to stability, democracy and prosperity.

Belgium has lacked a government for months. But it still has a king. Vive le Roi!

It frustrates the hell out of repooblicans. But it's the reality.

Tailpiece

VAN DER MERWE was in London for the royal wedding. He joined the celebrations with such enthusiasm that when he weaved his way into the umpteenth bar, the landlord refused to serve him. "Sorry sir, you've had enough."

"Whaddayou mean, enough? I'm just starting!"

"Sorry, you're drunk. We can't serve you."

At which Van slowly took a matchbox from his pocket. He opened it, tapped it and two white ants dropped onto the bar counter.

"Okay, boys – wreck the joint!"

Last word

What a happy and holy fashion it is that those who love one another should rest on the same pillow. ~Nathaniel Hawthorne

GRAHAM LINSCOTT