The Idler, January 10, 2020

Delicate

ops with

tweezers

I FIND myself at the Irish Tavern in Florida Road in the company of a think tank of hearties who meet there regularly to discuss serious matters and the ways of the world, most of them through the dangerously distorted prism of College Rovers rugby.

Among our number is a Kiwi who once played first five-eighths (what we would call flyhalf). He tells a harrowing tale of a car accident in which he was involved back in his home country, on the road to Rotorua.

The vehicle rolled and, in the ensuing bumping and confusion, he got flung through the windscreen, bottom first.

The story ends with his girlfriend's mother having to painstakingly pick splinters of glass from his rear-end with tweezers, insisting she should do it, not her daughter, because that would be unseemly.

It rings a bell, recalling a guinea fowl shoot outside Estcourt, here in KZN. The fellows had been blazing away at the birds all day, but this one duffer had not managed to hit a thing. His bag was empty.

Quaffing a few beers afterwards, they were ragging him about it. Things became a little heated.

"I tell you what," said one bloke. "I bet if I bend over a hundred paces away, you couldn't hit me up the backside." At which he marched off a hundred paces, bent over and presented his ample bottom.

Somebody handed the other fellow a loaded shotgun. What they didn't tell him was that they'd removed the shot from the cartridges in the breech. This was going to be a good joke.

The fellow took the shotgun, opened it and took a peek at the cartridges. Buckshot. A bit drastic, he thought, so he replaced them with birdshot cartridges from his own belt.

Blam! Blam! Both barrels.

That evening the nurses at the local hospital took it in shifts removing birdshot from the bloke's posterior, using tweezers. They worked until late in the night.

Strong nerves these nurses have. They have a story to tell.

 

 

ZZZZZ

OVERHEARD in the Street Shelter for the Over-Forties: "Why do female spiders kill their males after mating? To stop the snoring before it begins."

 

Prison break-in

A CAT burglar broke into a prison in England but then got stranded on a high razor-wire internal fence and had to be rescued.

Why would a cat burglar want to get into a prison? Nobody knows because this burglar actually was a cat, named Padfoot after the Harry Potter character,

He got into Haverigg Prison at Milom, in Cumbria – the beautiful Lake District, what a place for a prison  -  but got stranded and was in distress when he tried to climb the internal razor-wire fence, according to Huffington Post.

 

The Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals were called. With some difficulty they got Padfoot down and eventually returned him to his owner, slightly cut up by the razor wire but otherwise OK.

Curiousity didn't quite kill this cat.

 

Tailpiece

NEWSFLASH - The Irish SAS were dropped into Russia last week with orders to take out Vladimir Putin. So far he's been to the cinema twice, to the pub every evening and last night they went ten-pin bowling …

 

Last word

Democracy means government by discussion, but it is only effective if you can stop people talking. - Clement Atlee

The Idler, Thursday, January 9, 2020

The ebb and

flow of

real cricket

 

VICTORY for the Poms at Newlands, the Test series now squared and keen anticipation of the coming clash at St George's Park, Port Elizabeth.

But even more significant surely is the victory for five-day Test cricket, this purest form of the game that in two encounters running now has seen a seesawing of fortunes, an ebb and flow that is simply impossible in truncated versions of the game.

England's monster second innings; the Proteas' hard-fought – and by no means hopeless – mission to save the game with a draw were the stuff of heroism, captivating and enthralling for the thousands who packed Newlands.

Who said the five-day game is a thing of the past?

This was anything but staid, predictable cricket. It fizzed with incident and excitement. England's Ben Stokes had centre stage – five superb slip catches, 72 with the bat then three wickets to finish things off. This is an entertainer.

And let's not forget the the Proteas' batting debutants, Pieter Malan and Rassie van der Dussen. All showed that Test cricket can be as entertaining as it is subtle.

Five days of play – skill and strategy interspersed with bursts of excitement. The antics of the Barmy Army. It's the kind of thing that baffles the Americans. Let's keep on baffling. This has been a triumph for Test cricket, broadcast all over the world.

A luta continuha – the struggle continues. St George's Park, here we come!

 

 

 

Take pride

 

SOUTH African-born Marnus Labuschagne is the toast of Australian cricket these days, following the Aussies' clean sweep against Pakistan and New Zealand.

What's more, during the off season Labuschagne plays rugby for Japan. Don't argue, of course he does. He was there during last year's World Cup, wasn't he? I think he scored a try against the Boks.

We're used to our cricketers and rugby players being in their hundreds overseas. (Just wait until rugby takes off in the US).

But Marnus Labuschagne is unique and special in this regard. International colours in both sports. We can take pride.

 

 

Tailpiece

 

 

TWO Yorkshire villages are preparing for a Sunday match. In the dressing room, the captain says: "Where's Fred?"
"Fred's working down pit Skip, he can't play."
"Bugger! We're one short."

Then a horse pops its head round the door and says: "I can play!"
The skipper laughs. "Horses can't play cricket!"
"I can. And I'll open t' batting too."
They put pads on the horse's front legs and a bat in his teeth. The skipper tries to take strike because the opening bowler is seriously quick, but the horse wouldn't have it.
The bowler charges in. The horse springs forward and smashes the first ball for 6 over long-on.
"Great shot hoss, brilliant!" says Skip.
"I told thee I could bat."
The next four balls all go for 6, all around the ground. The crowd are going mad. The bowler sends down a devious slower ball. The horse changes strokes and carefully pushes the ball to the offside. After the massive hitting the fielders are all on the fence, there's nobody close to retrieve the ball.
"Yes!" screams Skip , charging off for the single. But the horse remains rooted to the crease. A fielder throws to the bowler's end and Skip is run out.
"Why didn't thee run?"
"If I could run, I'd be in Epsom Derby."

 

 

Last word.

The great thing about democracy is that it gives every voter a chance to do something stupid. - Art Spander

 

The Idler, Wednesday

Ideas from the

ancient writings

of the Aztecs

WELCOME back from the holidays. As the internet message has it: "Apparently the guy who switches the power on and off is back from leave."

Yes, load-shedding is back, welcome to the New Dawn. It came in earlier than promised and the experts predict it's going to get a heck of a lot worse.

I had a taste of it the other evening as I walked down Florida Road in an unannounced blackout, from a book club evening. I was approached by a cheery fellow who asked for a light. When I told him I don't smoke, he shook my hand, embraced me and declared that we are all heirs of Shaka.

A few paces on I discovered my cellphone was gone. Ja, tog. Eskom strikes again.

And if we think load-shedding is bad and horribly inconvenient, spare a thought for those fellows who spend their time trying to attract overseas investment. A thankless task if ever there was,

When, oh when, will somebody in Pretoria blow the dust off those studies and plans – the work of many people over about 50 years – and discover that we don't need a coal-fired Eskom nor a nuclear-powered Eskom?

The Tugela Basin, here in KwaZulu-Natal, has the hydro-electric capacity to provide everything the country needs, plus plenty for export. This isn't pie-in-the-sky stuff. The old Natal Town and Regional Planning Commission and the old national Department of Water Affairs had identified various hydro-electric generation points on the Tugela and its tributaries; an elaborate system of water retention and rotation. They'd also planned on catchment transfers from the rivers of the Eastern Cape.

The planning's already been done. Imagine the job creation, the economic revival that would go with actually building these vast aquaducts. It would be an equivalent of the Tennessee Valley Project in America, started by Roosevelt in the 1930s and still going strong.

Add to this solar generation and we'd be up and skipping.

But – sigh! – the dust keeps gathering in Pretoria. Those plans for the Tugela Basin are as buried and forgotten as the ancient writings of the Aztecs.

 

 

Aliens among us?

THE first British astronaut to go into space says aliens exist and it's possible they are living among us on earth.

Interviewed by the Observer magazine, in the UK, Dr Helen Sharman says there can be no doubt about it.

"There are so many billions of stars out there in the universe that there must be all sorts of different forms of life."

The aliens might not be made up of carbon and nitrogen like humans but "it's possible they're here right now and we simply can't see them".

Fifty-six-year-old Dr Sharman was part of a mission to the Soviet modular space station Mir in 1991.

It's an interesting hypothesis, yet I wonder about not being able to see these aliens in our midst. Many believe aliens from outer space are to be spotted in all kinds of areas. You have only to switch on your TV to start wondering. Where did these weirdos come from?

Most are politicos, local and international, with strident, voluble – and often dangerously inflammatory –  talk. They could be from another planet, another galaxy.

 

 

Tailpiece

What did the alien say to the petrol pump?

"Take your finger out of your nose when I speak to you."

 

Last word

The only thing that's been a worse flop than the organisation of non-violence has been the organisation of violence.

Joan Baez

The Idler, Tuesday, January 7, 2020

Rescue drama

in Durban

neighbourhood

GREAT excitement the other night in Toledo Avenue, Glenwood, as a fire engine suddenly came charging into the avenue, pulling up outside a house in the pitch dark.

Firemen deployed into the garden of the house, shining torches. Next came a fire hose.

But a puzzle. Where was the fire? No flames were to be seen, no smoke.

The scene is described to me by a lady who was watching from her upstairs flat across the road.

The firemen were busy doing something with the hose. Then suddenly, in the gutter across the road, came a splash of water. One of the firemen pounced on the splash and triumphantly held aloft a tiny kitten that came out in the splash.

The kitten had been trapped in a narrow drain that ran from the garden into the gutter. The fire hose was used to squirt it out.

The house occupant had heard the kitten mewing helplessly and phoned the fire brigade to ask if they could help. They obliged in fine style.

My informant understands that the kitten was taken to the SPCA by the householder.

One hears often of firemen rescuing cats, dogs and other creatures in distress, quite apart from their firefighting duties. It's heartening to know the tradition continues here in Durban, in spite of all kinds of other things going wrong at local level.

 

 

Romantic moment

 

NO BACKGROUND violins as this fellow popped the question, just fireworks.

It happened outside a movie theatre in Howell, New Jersey, in the US, according to Huffington Post. This fellow was planning to propose marriage to his girlfriend where she worked in a shop beside the theatre.

He thought firecrackers would enliven the occasion so he arranged with a friend to set off a string of them outside the shop, just as he was down on one knee.

But this is contemporary America. A string of firecrackers can sound like something else. People queuing for the movie took it as yet another nutcase gunman incident and hit the deck as they keyed in the police emergency number on their smartphones.

The Fuzz arrived to find a great deal of confusion and panic but no casualties and just a string of exploded firecrackers. The theatre manager pointed out the 23-year-old culprit, who explained what he'd been about – just providing some background effect for his pal's romantic moment inside the the shop.

The Howell cops do not lack a romantic streak. Noting the incident on their Facebook page, they said there was no intent to cause panic at the theatre. No injuries were reported. "Obviously this was a very poor decision rather than an overt act."

The fellow was booked for a minor fireworks infraction and disorderly conduct.

We're not told whether the other's chap's proposal was accepted. Did the gal fling herself into his arms for protection as the fireworks went off?. All things considered, violins are more conventional.

 

 

Tailpiece

A DRUNK staggers out of the bar just as a fire engine races past, siren wailing, lights flashing.

He gives chase, running as fast as he can for two blocks. Then he collapses in a heap, gasping for breath.

In a last act of desperation he shouts after the fire engine: "If that's the way you want it, keep your damn ice creams!"

 

Last word

For four-fifths of our history, our planet was populated by pond scum. - JW Schopf

The Idler, Monday, January 6, 2020

Obituary

that's doing

the rounds

READER Ria Hackland sends in an obituary, attributed to the New York Times:

"Today we mourn the passing of a beloved old friend, Common Sense, who has been with us for many years. No one knows for sure how old he was, since his birth records were long ago lost in bureaucratic red tape. He will be remembered as having cultivated such valuable lessons as: Knowing when to come in out of the rain; Why the early bird gets the worm; Life isn't always fair; And maybe it was my fault.

"Common Sense lived by simple, sound financial policies (don't spend more than you can earn) and reliable strategies (adults, not children, are in charge).

"His health began to deteriorate rapidly when well-intentioned but overbearing regulations were set in place. Reports of a 6-year-old boy charged with sexual harassment for kissing a classmate; teens suspended from school for using mouthwash after lunch; and a teacher fired for reprimanding an unruly student, only worsened his condition.

"Common Sense lost ground when parents attacked teachers for doing the job that they themselves had failed to do in disciplining their unruly children. He declined even further when schools were required to get parental consent to administer sun lotion or an aspirin to a student; but could not inform parents when a student became pregnant and wanted to have an abortion.

"Common Sense lost the will to live as the churches became businesses; and criminals received better treatment than their victims.

"Common Sense took a beating when you couldn't defend yourself from a burglar in your own home and the burglar could sue you for assault.

"Common Sense finally gave up the will to live, after a woman failed to realise that a steaming cup of coffee was hot. She spilled a little in her lap, and was promptly awarded a huge settlement.

"Common Sense was preceded in death by his parents, Truth and Trust, his wife, Discretion, his daughter, Responsibility, and  his son, Reason.

"He is survived by his five stepbrothers: I Know My Rights; I Want It Now; Someone Else Is To Blame; I'm A Victim; and Pay Me For Doing Nothing.

"Not many attended his funeral because so few realised he was gone."

Actually this obituary has been doing the rounds for years. It has been attributed to the London Times, the New York Times and American humorist George Carlin.

In fact, according to Snopes, it appeared in the Indianapolis Star in 1998, written by Lori Borgman.

It's still doing the rounds. Does it strike a chord?

 

 

Tumbleweed 2020

Lonely, but free, I'll be found
Drifting along with the tumbling tumbleweeds …

 

IT WAS "Tumblegeddon" in Washington state, in the US, as motorists saw in 2020 trapped under piles of tumbleweed 10m high.

A highway near Richland had to be closed as the dry tumbleweeds were blown in on a high wind.

They were so thick on the highway that snowploughs had to be used to clear it, according to Sky News.

"People rang in the New Year trapped under the weeds," said a state trooper.

 

Tailpiece

ARCHAEOLOGISTS IN THE Negev Desert have discovered an ancient mummy. They've worked out that the individual died 3 000 years ago of heart failure.

How? In his hand was a betting slip: "10 000 shekels on Goliath."

 

Last word

If the fans don't wanna come out to the ballpark, no one can stop 'em. - Yogi Berra

The Idler, Friday, January 3, 2020

Blame it

on the

kangaroos

MUCH of Australia is a terrifying inferno as wildfires sweep through woodland destroying homes and farms, bringing excruciating death to livestock and wildlife, also to humans who are unable to escape the flames.

It's tragedy. It's catastrophe on the widest scale. It's the warnings by scientists over decades now about the effects of climate change, suddenly scripted into a nightmare.

Just about as terrifying is the insistence of Australian prime minister Scott Morrison that climate change has nothing to do with it (quite contrary to the views of the head of fire services in New South Wales, where the blazes are worst). There are other factors, Morrison says.

Yes, I suppose we need to be level-headed about this. Ignore these panicky scientists who don't live in the real world. It's the kangaroos that are at fault.

Ever since they took up smoking, the wildfires have spread. Kangaroos are notoriously lax about throwing aside cigarette butts and matches that are still alight. Control the kangaroos' smoking habits and they'll control the wildfires.

Wildfires, hurricanes, floods, polar melting, rising sea levels – it's all happening. You can't blame it only on the kangaroos. The polar bears and seals are also at fault and must take their share of the blame.

Hoo boy!

 

 

Wealth race

JOHANN Rupert has inched ahead of Nicky Oppenheimer as South Africa's richest man, according to the Bloomberg Billionaires List for 2020.

Rupert is worth $7.38 billion (R103.4bn) and Oppenheimer a measly $7.35bn.

Such a contest. It's the kind of thing that keeps you awake at night.

 

 

Humdinger

HERE we go again. The Second Test against the Poms starts at Newlands today. This will be a humdinger, played out to the magnificent Table Mountain backdrop that makes a Newlands Test unique.

Can the Proteas clinch the rubber? Will Vernon Philander go out on a high on his home ground? (And is he really going to retire?)

Expect fireworks. The Poms will by now be rid of the lurgy that plagued them at Centurion. They have everything to play for.

Prediction: This one will go the full five days.

 

 

Shower thoughts

SOME "shower thoughts" from Huffington Post, gathered during that brief interlude where one is cut off from smartphones, social media and TV.

·       They don't let you smile in passport photos because they want you to look the same as when you've been standing in line at customs for an hour.

·       When you're a kid you don't realise you're watching your mum and dad grow up.

·       Pavlov probably thought about his dog every time somebody rang a bell.

·       The syllables in "On your marks, get set, go!" are a countdown.

·       The night before a day off is more satisfying than the actual day off.

·       Monopoly would be more realistic if the person with the most money got to change the rules whenever he liked.

·       An onion is the bass player of food. You would probably not enjoy it solo, but you'd miss it if it wasn't there.

 

Tailpiece

 

A WILD-LOOKING man in Napoleonic costume walks into the psychiatrist's rooms, hand inside his coat..

"Doctor, I need your help right away."

"I can see that. Please lie down on this couch and tell me your problem."

"I have no problem. I'm the Emperor of France. But I'm afraid my wife Josephine has a deep mental problem. She keeps thinking she's Mrs Smith."

Last word

Consistency requires you to be as ignorant today as you were a year ago. - Bernard Berenson

 

Idler Thursday, January 2, 2020

Football: a

a close call

in Abingdon

 

NEWS from English football. Abingdon United were were 8-0 up on rivals Abingdon Town, according to Reuters.. Then came half-time. After the break, United came back on the field but nobody else came out of the changerooms.

Abingdon Town had scarpered, leaving their kit behind. They'd had enough. They couldn't face the prospect of double figures.

Okay, this match was in the 10^th tier of English football but you do expect a bit more grit.

"In my 30 years of football I've never known anything like that to happen," United secretary John Blackmore said. "The game started off fine, there was no nastiness or anything like that, but we were 8-0 up at half-time and then their manager and players didn't come out for the second half."

It reminds me oddly of something that happened in rugby in days of yore. We (Maritzburg Collegians) used to play the Durban and Maritzburg clubs plus the country towns – Greytown, Mooi River, Howick, Ixopo and so on. Our bete noire in this division were Cato Ridge, a bunch of very tough hombres, most of them from a steel mill. Cato Ridge matches never lacked fire and fury.

This particular Saturday we were playing Varsity at Woodburn. At half-time we noticed another match just starting on the next field – Cato Ridge against another club.

When we'd finished and showered we strolled across to watch our fearsome adversaries, who we were due to face next weekend. But, how very odd – the field was deserted. They should have had at least 30 minutes still to play.

Had their opponents done an Abingdon Town and not come back again after half-time?

Er, no. The game had been such a bloodbath that the ref called it off and reported Cato Ridge to the rugby sub-union, who suspended them for the rest of the season. So we got a bye and walkover points. So easy.

Yes, the lower divisions of sport have their quirkiness.

 

 

Beggars

DURBAN poet Joan Truscott pens some compassionate lines on our beggar population:

As I go around the streets of our city
I am so filled with pity.
On many corners stands a lad
He looks so hopeless and sad.
His legs like matchsticks his body emaciated thin
He holds out an old rusty tin.
His eyes are pleading help me they say
Just do an act of kindness today.
My existence is full of heartbreaking strife
I have been hard done by life.
Motorists shake their heads as they drive by
Such a nuisance these beggars they sigh.
If you give them money they use it for drugs or drink
Do these drivers ever stop to think
Why these beggars have stooped so low?
No one to care for them, nowhere to go.
Dressed in rags their stomachs empty
They gaze wistfully at those that have plenty.
When cold winds blow they stand and shiver
Their skeletal bodies shake and quiver.
They crave a brighter future
Someone to love them, someone to nurture.
What is the answer I cannot tell you
What can we possibly do?
All I know when I see these beggars my heart bleeds
Neither you or I can fulfill their needs.
Don't despise them utter a prayer
For those downtrodden standing there.

 

Tailpiece

THE fellow who invented predictive text has died. His funfair is next week.

 

Last word

It takes only one drink to get me drunk. The trouble is, I can't remember if it's the thirteenth or the fourteenth. - George Burns