ALL GOOD THINGS COME TO PASS

Hello gentle readers and goodbye.
I will no longer be posting to this blog instead I am posting on the blog attached to my web site......www.fiveassegais.co.za ..........so to read about my adventures go there and follow the trail to TRAIL TAILS for all the latest and greatest, and sign on as a follower please
Thanks for the interest
Francis

HELLO AND THANKS FOR READING THIS BLOG ..... I AM NOW POSTING ON MY WEBSITE BLOG.....WWW.FIVEASSEGAIS.CO.ZA PLEASE GO THERE AND BECOME A FOLLOWER

NOTES AFTER A LONG BREAK

So here I am back again, with a new keyboard and everything and I had better do another episode or I might never do one again.
So to bring us all up to speed fast, the saga with the influx of natives into our African landscape has been down a few trails. A meeting was called by the evildoer to ‘consult/ inform’ the community as Ged was deeply concerned, or so the invite attested ‘to do the right thing’ so it seemed churlish to refuse.
When I arrived the meeting had already commenced and there was a delegation seated at the head consisting of Barry our local farmers unionist, a dolly bird with ‘personality’ and some chap that looked like he was a lawyer from some American sit com, who was espousing the wonders and delights that he felt was surely evident to even the slowest, of Geds idea to import rapists, cattle and sheep eating, murders disguised as workers into the bosom of our little community.
He had charts and flow meters and all sorts of computer generated gobbildy gook to impress and startle the gathering, and a speaking style that was sooooooo boring and dull that the entire congregation was already in a state of stupor.
He was just getting into his stride when Fishy Tim enquired in the nicest possible way, why the hell this man was presenting a ‘proposal’ about something that we all felt should never happen and was in fact already happening and we were not here to discuss the merits of any ‘proposal’, we were here to see that the illegal activities that were going on, were stopped immediately and that as such he felt that we should take a vote to state as such and until the accommodation of these workers was stopped no one was willing to entertain any proposals that Mr. Smoothie dull as ditchwater had to offer.
No matter how seductive they may be.
This took the wind out of Mr. Boring and Monotonous, who felt that he had been paid to spout bollocks and should have the opportunity to do so, at his leisure, without some grubby chap in a floppy hat telling him to take his ‘proposal’ and stick it.
The vote was taken…. unanimous, but a great deal of heated debate was entered into nonetheless. We had all come to insult Ged and wanted our turn. He was a man alone indeed. Lots of discussion about waste management and other stuff was aired at length, but surprisingly after all these cogent and heartfelt arguments, Ged did not stand up and say ‘Mea culpa and ever so sorry” or volunteer to dismantle his Satanist scheme, buy us all a present, no, no, no, he did not.
The up shot was, what with holidays and all, his mouth piece lulled us into giving him a few days to reply to our he assured us were insignificant worries and concerns, easily side stepped. There was a chap there from the green scorpions which was exciting and made us all feels powerful and filled with the majesty of the law, and it would seem in the fullness of time he did get a letter to cease and desist, which was nice and all has gone quiet, bliss.
The side of the angels triumphed, so far.
My trials with my other neighbors have also seemed to have fallen on my side, having given them every opportunity to back down they pursued me till I reluctantly sent my nasty letter saying they could take their drawings and stuff them, they must get a proper oke to do it, not their web-toed cousin with a GPRS, and they must pay me 35 grand for their share of the fence and bla bla bla fuck you etc.
Well after a bit they have now returned with their proper drawing which has changed the entire picture as they saw it and there is a lot of back tracking going on, but now I am having too much fun persecuting them and am pursuing the matter to the finish, I am enjoying pulling their chain especially as I suspect that we will find that the true boarder line is well inside what they think is their property which will gall.
But I am getting way way ahead of myself, as since the last episode almost six months have passed! Back right back to last Christmas.
I had spent a cold winter watching the dam empty out and the rains never seemed to want to come, I searched the skies, but though the rest of the world seemed to be washing away, for me…. nothing but a bit of drizzle. The pagan rituals were undertaken, Tim in his own inimitable style got some homo magicians from somewhere to bedazzle his vast tribe of little and large black people, with tartrazine in vast quantities to stimulate the crowd. I can’t even remember it anymore it feels so long ago.
And then the relies arrived to finalise the ‘deal’ and have a gay old time in Africa. So it started to drizzle and mist interminably, still no rain as such just miserable, and cold. This was NOT why Sis had come to Africa, and she was willing to complain. We had had such a jolly time the last time we went a wondering that it had been decided to do the same again, but this time through the Transkie down to Pletenburg bay where we were to stay in Howard’s shack on the beach.
Well that was the plan, which was not going well, I had tried to find lekker places to stay but it is not my style to book ahead, just go and see what happens, like last time, but I let slip and tried to book ahead, so the sort of alright came to the front, you only find the ‘other’ places when you are there, first mistake, and the weather was still very English.
We belted down past Ermelo to land in some dreary some star place with a pool near a dam but at least it was now hot and sweaty, still not to madams approval, Nick nearly caught a tiger fish and we had a massage before drifting down through the Transkie.
My my what a peek into the future that was, the place is a toilet, not a soul there knows about paint and the litter is indescribable, Butterworth and Umtata, old colonial towns look like they have been raped and pillaged, repeatedly. The weird part being that the citizenry seemed to be inordinately pleased with the result.
These wonders of mans lack of enterprise and ingenuity failed to entertain so we trundled off, I got arrested for going 180, which made the disgruntled sister even more critical of my arrangements for her visit. But we had fun waiting in the court listening to sad peasantry being persecuted and after some tears and recriminations we negotiated the Byzantine rituals of the New South African judicial system, much less scary than the one of yore! And escaped with a stiff fine, bummer.
The holiday almost immediately got much much better. Howard’s shack is very nice. Just the sort of place every communist has ever warned you about! Every millimeter reeked of a the pervasive perfume of Fuk-le-poor, positively reeked, with fluffy towels, massive beds, and every but every creature comfort the resourcefulness of man can conjure, we were satisfied, a great deal, for quite a few days.
Well that was the very extended holiday over with, and power outages, Zim, no rain, crime gone mad and generally every one getting a cold from the north etc rudely interrupted this bliss. The whole country went into a decline and as usual we all started to think about pastures new, even though we all knew that that was not really on the menu. It is the South African white lament, no voice, and no point and deeply concerned, touching really.
Howard was released from his personal hell with the legal world and cheered up so much that he felt constrained to lavish more loot on the farm, and I have entered into a phase of conspicuous consumption.
Quite hard work actually and takes up a whole lot of time, especially if the desire is to spend it well.

THE DISTRICT COMES TO ARMS

There are in the world of fiction many extreme characters both wicked and good, but it is rare to find such in real life, but we have one here, a wicked one to boot.

The other day Fishy Tim arrived here for a little dinner party and was fired up big time. He had left his most pleasant and convivial estate on some errand and gazing out over the idyllic scenery passing his Cruiser window clocked several porta-potties and big yellow machines grinding up and down on his neighbor’s property. Naturally he did a sharp turn to find out what was up?

He was informed, to his distress, that they were hell bent on erecting housing (see squatter camp) for 100 plus wekkers for the mine down the road!

He did a swift about turn, all thoughts of his farming activities forgotten to address this threat to his life and property. The phone lines got red hot as contacted the owner’s, who consisted of an entire family of conflicting intertribal interests and pitting the one against the other, prevented this horror from infesting his valley.
He was triumphant; he had the trucks stopped, the porta-potties dispersed, the enterprise and its cement consigned to the void from whence it had come. JOY was all abounding!
He was a hero, and we praised him.
This one would have thought would be the last of this episode. This flagrant misuse of land with no permissions or any consultation by a large and experienced company had already cost them thousands of Rands, which one would have thought would have taught them a lesson. In fact the entire episode had almost been lost in the mists of time when it transpired that they were back!
This time on my doorstep!
WB and Wankers Construction commissioned by Nko Mine a subsidiary of some other nameless entity controlled by interests far from those of us introverts tucked into this bit of wilderness, had managed to get hold of our local villain and negotiated to erect their slum, at huge cost to themselves and huge profit to the bad baaad boy of Uitkoms.
This news rapidly spread through the entire community, which was universally, shocked, shocked and appalled. The thought that a huge crowd of wekkers (see young black men) was to descend onto them did not please and delight. This bigotry was naturally hidden behind heartfelt claims to be concerned with the quality of water, sewerage and other PC areas such as planning permissions and good citizenry, but basically they did not want a bunch of young bucks wondering around unsupervised eating their cattle, raping their women and murdering them in their beds!!!
NO, NO, NO. Fuck that!!!!!
And neither did I.
As you can imagine this inspired a great deal of spirited conversation and debate. Mr Craw’s personal history and the many slights he had inflicted on virtually every person in the district were aired again with renewed vigor. People huddled whispering in small groups looking over their shoulders, with a renewed sense of community and purpose.
Nothing like the work of the devil to unite!
A group of ‘concerned citizens’ constituting representatives of the local Boer Verineging (farmers union) as well as our local Tourism Association who had dissuaded a convoy of heavily armed bakkie's rolling onto the offending parties patio, had instead approached this terrible man to politely enquire what the devil he thought he was up to? Which incidentally we all knew, but they wanted to hear it from the horses mouth.
Sadly I was not present myself, but it was reported that the delegation were received with minimal hostility, Itzk our local plumber was immediately accused of being the instigator. Mr. C is nothing if not aggressive in his debating techniques.
He admitted that yea verily indeed he was to import 100-150 murders and cattle thieving rapists into the heart of our area, with the heartfelt wish that these interfering busy bodies should keep their collective noses out of his business and their presence off his farm. He felt that there was NO need to mention this to those who would be murdered, robbed and raped by his new tenants. He intimated that this was ‘his’ farm and he could do whatever he wanted and what were they so twitched about? He lied and fabricated stories of his deep concern for all his beloved neighbors concerns, he assured them that he had sought permission from the council, but was unable to produce any documentation. He assured the gathered that the sewerage would be removed by the council’s honey wagons, if it transpired that the plastic septic tanks were inadequate to the task, and in short was less than willing to roll over and lose the fortune that he would be paid to spoil our lives.
Our delegation left to digest this information, and to pass on to their respective congregations the awful news. The local lines hummed with screams of indignation and concern. We were not pleased. The consensus was to shoot him, insult his wife, poison his cattle, and report him to the press, the council, the police, anybody and everybody. Action was being called for in shrill tones. It was settled however that we would hold off till the delegation had consulted with the authorities and that a letter would be sent. I am sure that this gave our scoundrel sleepless nights, not!
Well I for one was not satisfied. I felt a somewhat a more forceful reaction was called for than a mere letter but I was prevailed upon to restrain myself, even our local firebrand the Afrikaner Welshman Mr. Itzak Davies felt that we should do this the ‘right’ way so the letter was sent, all formal and precise listing all our grievances.
I none the less got hold of my legal eagle who also advised me not to send my digger down to trench his road or to do any other impetuous and foolish things such as had already, on many occasions forced her to interrupt her profitable legal biz to bail me out off. Instead I was asked to get a petition signed by all to keep me quiet.
This took me on an altogether different adventure, back into the past, Getting signatures in this area is not like in some urban jungle, where you can be a minor irritation to people on the pavement, here you have to travel, far, very far with the likely hood that the incumbent you are visiting is on a hill and far away so when I heard that there was to be a Farmers festival at the local hall I was dead pleased. I could catch these elusive folk at play and in a group.
Well let me tell you this was something to behold, I rolled into the place which consists of a prefab building like a low barn, hidden from civilization in the depths of a blue gum forest, you have to be in the know to know it is there. The crowd had already started to burn meat and drink. Young bucks scampered with rude health about the place with their gee gee’s and rugby balls while the girls helped their mothers with the cooking and the ‘men’ gathered in groups drinking brown drinks.
A veritable wave of ‘who the fuck is this’ swept over me as I approached but fortunately there were a few that knew me and I was brought into the fold. No adulation or even much civility let alone drink, food or any hospitality was offered, although they did welcome my petition and even asked for more for the next day when the main proceedings were to happen. I was very aware that I was an English, Jewish stranger in a very peculiar world. I made a hasty retreat the whispers behind me deafening in their disapproval.
The next day I brought more petition form for the disgruntled to sign and was faced with the full might of the local commando, on their horsies with their women in voortrekker outfits, a domineeee (Afrikaans priest) flag poles with ‘Vier Kleur’ (four colour) flag flying no SA flag let alone the New SA Flag and it was only the threat of an instant lynching which prevented me breaking into “Inkosi Sikele” when they sang ‘Die Stem”.
It was all a bit sad, the last hoorah of a small and forgotten people lost in the wilderness, made one wonder how they used to be so scary! How the mighty have fallen.
Well the pagan season of celebration and drunkenness is upon us so the saga rests till all the brews have been drunk and expelled, wives have recovered from their beatings, the food has been digested and children have been sent back to school when we will return.

BOYS GET TOGETHER TO MAKE A DEAL

With all the excitement of this destruction in my life it was a relief that the I just had time to turn my slashed and tortured paintings to the wall, when Nick the Baron arrived at Tambo/Joburg/ Smuts airport and I could flee the farm and have a very expensive dinner.
Always a great consolation in times of stress.
Some few months before, Howard, having enjoyed his bundu investment, a lot, fallen in love with the place, and with some disposable loot in hand, which he felt would be well spent on such foolishness as Francis’s little dream in the bush, wanted to up his shares.
Which is nice.
He had ammo and Nick didn’t, so he needed to get more of the pie to justify such investment and Nicko who had an urgent need to turn left on a plane again, was very amenable to such an unexpected return on his investment. It seemed that this would be an easy and pain free negotiation.
Now in this world of real estate when ownership is discussed the thorny subject of ‘value’ comes racing to the fore. How do you put a price on a piece of rock, weed and vermin? A thorny and vexing question, as the sums discussed, even at the lowest level were considerable!
I was dispatched to get an evaluation, and old man Winkler the local lad in this department came measured, um’ed and tutted, drank my coffee and showed me what local farms were selling for. Very gratifyingly high, his assessment was sent to all, one party was delighted and the other not so. So the not so one (wid de mullah) asked his chum to look at it, his chum did nada, days and weeks passed, with no resolution, e-mails, sms’s were shared, the philosophy of the farm was discussed, the nature and size of the money involved was explained, substances were shared and things said under the influence, both parties went into and came out of their respective coma’s to chuck in their latest theory of life and everything into the pot.
I was a little cow between 2 old and cautious bulls that insisted on snorting and pawing the ground across the valley. In short we were arguing between 6 and 16! A bit of a gap.
So after a few months of this inter continental bickering the Baron realized that his presence was required in the actual field of play, so there I was at the Airport to fetch him. Taking Greg to give moral support we ended up in a Chinese restaurant.
THE CHINA MEETING
The venue, a communist style minimalist hall brightly lit with nary a shadow to be seen. We let Nick do the ordering, being a trencherman of note and a cognosti of the archaic world of Chinese menus, we even got saki to ease the negotiations.
Naturally with two such reticent chaps as H & N silence fell like a curtain over the table, interspersed with glib tales of no consequence. We chattered and gossiped away like a bunch of old ladies.
I had decided that I must let them get on with it and not push the situation. But they were very coy and retiring, 2 virgins on the verge. It was all I could do to not stick a fork in the pair of them.
The fags came to my rescue as I was bursting to get things moving, so Greg and I departed to the street, to have one.
“Round 1” was rung on a handy glass.
We left them looking at each other as though they had NO idea what they were there for.
Returning we found them looking flushed and strangely intimate, worrying, but obviously some ground had been covered, at the very least foreplay had been indulged!
At that point vast amounts of food started to arrive. Do not leave Nicko in charge of a menu if you are unwilling to eat a lot. It was very impressive show, so much so that a book club of ladies in a nearby table wanted him to do the same for them. A feast indeed!
Between all this Howard managed to insert plaintive squeals about how he was being irresponsible spending all this money and Nicko tried to look sad and poor, but not desperate, between mouth full’s of wonderful oriental grub. Quite a trick it was a sight to see.
The truth is that both of them had decided what was what long ago and this was all some sort of complicated tango to see who would lift their skirts first. Now between a pair of sexy young girls this can be a good spectator sport but between these 2 old bruisers it got dull quite fast and the deal as had been first mentioned so many months before was left for being slept over for one last night, thankfully confirmed the very next day!
Well this pleased me as the farm would get some more loot, Nick was pleased because he could go home with some wedge from his ‘African Investments” and Howard was pleased because I was pleased and the truth be told he had acquired himself a gentleman’s estate for a keen price and with no aggravation for him, that these acquisitions normally engender.
THE ITALIAN MEET
With the value established, the price agreed, all that remained was to sign the grey stuff and all would be well ……….HA!!!! Life should be so easy. We gathered again this time with Kim the legal eagle in tow to set it all up, and all had a very convivial time. This and that came up; archaic points of law and tax were discussed with great interest. An endless stream of dissipated punters approached Howard, being a bit of a rock star in the gambling firmament; Kim took notes and babbled on her phone. We ate food.
Leaving this I thought that all was settled. There was no further need for any discussion, addition or any delay in the finalization of the task, and within in days if not hours all would be done and I could strike another job off my endless list!
I am such a girly!
Now after 6 weeks have passed nothing but nothing has been achieved. My deal has disappeared into that strange void between lawyers and accountants with their complications. The propensity of both parties to be a combination of vague and nit picky at the same time consumed more time. Creating, as we are spread far apart, endless complications and confusion with a long delays created even in this electronic age as both sides like to read these things slowly and at leisure and then do nothing for a while too.
There is a down side to being the plaything of wealthy men.

DAMNATION AND DISASTER

Troubles have a tendency to sneak up from behind, and my latest brush with woe was no different.
Once again it was a lesson in ‘Beware of what you wish for’ as it tends to bite you in the backside. I had been complaining that what with the advent of loot on the estate, life has been wonderfully smooth and as such not much to write about, so I should have suspected something when a week ago the ex arrived at my door step.
It has been a year or more since last we were an ‘item’ and much water has passed under the bridge, so I was cool and calm with a promise in my heart to be ‘nice’. A pleasant evening was passed, too pleasant, as then she decided to extend the occasion, paradise being a hard place to leave.
She picked up my phone, message or what ever and clocked the message that the present incumbent had left, sent etc, they might even had words, however, whatever transpired between them,
It was………..DOOOOM
I had gone to the neighbors leaving my cell at home, (mistake) to fetch my dog that has a tendency to stray, leaving the house in peace and tranquility, with no inkling of the storm that was about to break. In fact quite the opposite as I had encountered, on the way home, some neighbors, who have bought an adjoining property, who were causing a not so minor ripple in my equilibrium with queries about the new fence line, who were pleasingly quiet over the issue.
Some time before, they visited me to enquire if I would be amenable to them installing a footpath through my place along which they intended to send 40-70 hikers a day!
When I expressed less than wild jubilation at this prospect they got all snooty and left me threatening and demanding type paper a week later.
I just hate that.
I have learnt that it is best to keep my mouth shut in these affairs I sent them a reply saying I would send them a reply, and rushed of to: -
1. Fishy Tim. The country king. Who directed me to peek at the general surveyors plan on my wall, DUH that showed the road firmly within my property, PHEW, and advised me to tell them to go forth and multiply.
2. Howy, my new WK (white knight) told me to go and buy their farm! Which I thought was super cool.
3. Kim, my legal rotweiler who also thought that they were trying their luck forwarded me a letter to present them, which was so back in your face and scary that even though it was addressed to another I got twitchy. She was all steamed up to eat their children.
4. Back to Fishy, consulted neighbors, got all worked up at this invasion, went back to everybody in fact, several times, even offered the local legal beagle some folding money to give me his opinion and procrastinated in the hope that it would all just go away, as I am sure that in the field of law and detail I am always wrong. I don’t do that sort of stuff.
Weeks went by and just as I had forgotten about it they came back to enquire what I wished to do about their demands, bummer. I was still unwilling to send Kim’s letter, as there would be no return from that! It is very scary and we would NEVER be able to deal with each other again without several other parties involved, tedious and expensive. None the less I did feel we were in a strong position legally wise and was not constrained by thinking that this would expose me to any great trial and tribulation, quite the opposite in fact, but I hate a fight, so I got my very tactful and cunning chum Howard to dictate what I thought was a very clever letter to them.
Dear (Tedious Neighbor)
I was hoping that you had forgotten about this little thing, but I have taken an opinion (I loved that) and think that things should just stay as they are, but if you wish to pursue this let me know.
Yours etc
Me
Well it had been a while since I had sent that and when they saw me riding Howard’s multi thousand Rand quad, while they were on cheapo Chinky ones I think, settled the matter. They being of the sort who looking at such a machine, with a nutter and his dog aboard nog al, which they had coveted in boys magazines, would be inclined to think that I would not be a push over like Wimpy or Lina.
So it was with light heart I returned home to find the ex in a state of high dungeon, having digested the truth that I was now seeing some one again, it was fine while she thought I was right handing it alone on my farm but this new knowledge changed everything.
She was as mad as ten cats in a sack, like she had just caught me in flagrantly, most disconcerting. Positively blew me down with a feather.
We had seen each other what 5 times in the last year; she had even got engaged to be married. I mean What the fuck?????
The old chestnuts were trotted out with great vigor (can you women not find some new complaints about men???)
1. I am a bastard, a lying, cheating swine!
2. I have stolen the best years of her life!
3. I broke all my promises!
4. I never loved her!
5. She gave everything to me!
6. I took advantage of her!
7. I Stole her money!
8. She loved me totally and like no other. Oh and I never loved her!!!!
9. I Tortured her!
10. I called her ugly!
11. I called her fat!
12. I am a bastard!
13. I am a very very enormous lying cheating swine of a bastard! ! ! ! !
14. I will die old ugly and alone.
15. She doesn’t need me and can have any man she wants.
16. She is NOT mad, drunk or on drugs and I have told the entire planet that she is.
17. I am a pervert, gender bender and S&M nut case, and wanker. (Which is true)
18. That I made her love me and that I am a bastard
19. I hate her children (which is not true)
20. Oh and that I have never done anything for her, given her anything, just take, take, take and I am a bastard too.
Being a sensitive and Jewish man I believed every word she screamed at me.
And on and on she went, building herself up into frenzy, calming down and then starting up all over again. Fell asleep and drank the bottle of cheap plonk that had hidden in my shelf for a couple of years, and started in again, and again and again, getting more and more enraged.
She realized that after what she had already said, let alone what she still had in mind, this was the last chance she would ever have to exact vengeance on me. She knew that when she left I would roll over and go to sleep. Which was true but she was getting to me, it took my all to not get mad with her, and the fact that this was not an argument rather a spilling of bile and there was nothing I could say or do that would not send her into an even bigger frenzy, did not help.
This went on well past my bedtime, a never changing monotonous out pouring of ugly ugly hateful words. The sadness of our parting dragged out and flagellated time and again. A stuck record in a rut of very real pain. It was hideous, frightening and very very sad.
Questions with no answers, demands with no possibility of satisfaction and lost dignity.
I eventually behaved badly and slapped her when the bottles started to fly around, shamed myself, the triumph in her face after that was the worst thing I have ever seen. She knew she had made me do this unforgivable thing. Like saying fuck to a bureaucrat, you have lost.
A bad bad day and when she finally passed out I was so relieved I could have wept.
Next morning I thought she would get up and go, so I went for a long long walk but NO she was waiting with none of her anger dissipated by a good nights kip, in fact she was madder than ever and was now hell bent on having me arrested for assault and attempted murder! I might add that I had given her such a wimpy wake up smack that there was not a mark on her, I had wanted to knock her lights out, I really did. I determined that the best course of action was to just shut up and eventually after many false starts she left.
I was so relieved I followed her on the bike to ensure that she was actually gone, I needed to see her leave the property, and determined that I could do with a lockable gate fitted ASAP, which was confirmed when I returned from taking the guests for a quad bike ride to compensate for the screaming and slamming of doors, SHE was back!
OH lordy lord.
It transpires that she had decided to have me arrested for assault and gone to my local cop shop, who had sent her away to return when she had been without booze for 24 hours. Obviously they took her vicious assault seriously. She had overcome her fear of this dreadful beast of a man, me, and was determined to stay till then……….OH lordy lord…..immediately starting in on me again too, so I fled, took my book and bolted, tail between my legs to stay with Fishy Tim.
I knew that another night with her and I would kill her, well not really but I just could not face her pain any further, could not face the truth that one way or the other I was a part of it, and could not do anything to ease it.
I suppose I must have wanted her to punish me, I accept that I caused what happened. Somewhere inside of me I needed to cut myself to the quick, to slash and break the most precious part of me, the part that defines me more that I do myself. She did a terrible terrible thing and I was and still am bereft, and left.
I was further mortified by the fact that I actually thought that it was cheap at the price to get rid of her forever.
I have in my life been blessed with the love of many women and never had I caused such pain, it has given me more than pause to consider who and what I am. To think of all my relationships, with my children, not good, with my fellow man, distant and the truth that I am alone.
I felt a bit sorry for myself.
So I did what all men do and went after revenge, actually that is not quite true, I went and blubbed on every shoulder I could find like a big girls blouse. And the women particularly were all for throwing the bitch in jail. In fact I was roused enough to call my chum Insp. Brendon to come and witness the horror of it all. He was most gratifyingly enraged at the damage, being a man of less than feminist inclinations he was all for violence, he wanted to hunt her down and kill her for me, and on that subject asked me if it was the same crazy chick that had wobbled into his station on 10 inch heels, demanding that the surgeon general himself be roused from his Sunday braai to look in her mouth, where she assured a very confused Corporal N’Kosi he would find evidence of a brutal assault.
Which she was indeed.
So after all this, Brendon was disappointed as I restrained him from a bit of gratuitous violence, She was miserable because she had done something dreadful and unforgivable, and I cannot walk through my studio without flinching…doom and damnation indeed.

A LONG LONG DRY WINTER but Love is in the air

A LONG LONG DRY WINTER but Love is in the air
The sky is silver blue, bereft of moisture. Dry as a bone and life has been hard on man and beast. My sins and bad judgments have come to haunt me. My eldest unmarried son, no longer wishes to communicate with me due to his perceived sins of my omission and neglect, long past but still fresh in his mind. Even this modest diary has been censored (the correspondence that circulated in my desire to get in touch with him) due to the sentiments and ‘issues’ of my American cousins. In fact this cutting off of my stream of consciousness has blocked me for some time, but NOW I am inspired by both love lost and gained to write again.
Just to swiftly get up to speed we have had our first major disaster on the bovine field and Nkulu my biggest cow disappeared, with nary a sign to mark her passing we have hunted the kloofs and canyons from high to low but nothing has appeared. We even consulted the local witch doctor who also came up blank, it is all very mysterious, a cow is a large thing and even in my enormous garden it is something hard to lose. Posters offering a substantial reward have illisitaed no response and the finger of blame is still swinging too wildly to make any judgments of guilt.
Then Gearbox my fine old bull had a large metal cylinder stuffed up his rear end to stimulate some hidden nerve that made him come, and to our chagrin he turned out to be shooting blanks, even though he had managed to impregnate 20 cows. In the world of bulls this is seriously bad news and he had to go. I was not happy, Gearbox was a nice old fellow, and his condition left me with but 2 choices, I could take him up to Bardendorfs AUCTION house of pain and suffering to be loaded in among other doomed beasts to be turned into sausage and biltong, in what my fertile imagination pictured, could only be a most disagreeable and scary end. Or …….I could allow my chum Fishy Tim to come with his lads and a .38 and drop him where he stood, and considered the kindest thing to do.
Little did I understand the nature of this sort of country pursuit, which like most, seems to always constitutes more than was ever expected or desired.
Fishy Tim led me down the old farm path, again, having volunteered his and his men’s services to deal with Gearbox and convinced me that his ‘cunning plan’ would be the best thing to do, i.e. to humanely and kindly make Gearbox ‘late’ and that they would from this produce for me a large amount of meat, you have no idea how much meat, a truck load.
So after the late Gearbox had spent some 4 weeks in fishy Tim’s walk in freezer Norah, Poppy and I went down equipped with knives and plastic bags to carve him into manageable bits. What a fiasco that turned into, and the only consolation being that Gearbox was unaware of the indignity of his fate, but would have approved of the financial losses that his murder engendered.
A small amount of meat from the total was cut out for the Numzaan, me, and then while Tim and I enjoyed the early spring weather on his patio, our staff hacked and chopped him up leaving me with buckets of bits, with nary an identifiable piece to be seen, such as a rump or T-bone. I had taken down some Durban Poison that had got Tin whacked and frankly he lost the plot. Perhaps I just never realized how much of a cow is in fact inedible, as proven by the slab of neck I poorly chose for our lunch. So although I have some small consolation that I did good by my bull, I am down by the cost of him, a deep freeze to put him in and several days spent disposing of him, I thus highly recommend to any out there contemplating slaughtering a bull to reconsider.
Apart from the tragedy of my bull the winter has had also it share of joys and triumphs. Principle among these has been my encounter with an old friend.
Brave Liddle A has been in my life on and off for the last 25 years. We first met when I purchased a property over the road from her with the inevitable sharing of bodily juices that the young bi-pedal ape indulges in, when in close proximity. I was still in those heady days of yore a player in the market of sordid encounters and A was one of many that I enjoyed, but when she declared that she was keen to have off spring my enthusiasm faded and she followed her desires and got married produced swiftly the desired rug rats but was equally swiftly disillusioned with the father of said rats and so she re entered my little world, which at this stage was plumbing the depths of brass pipe smoking and transsexual power exchange. These plumbed depths were murky and dark but a hell of a lot of fun, but inevitably had, as all drug based love, to come to an end and though we continued for some time after that encounter a break was inevitable and dully occurred. So another 7 years or so passed and I having terminated a relationship and indulged in a long period of celibacy was pleasantly surprised at the enthusiasm I felt for this old chum, who too had recently booted her male companion, we were in short both at the right time and place for each other.
This was a strangely warm and cuddly situation and yet still imbued with all the excitement of a new relationship, so good in fact that I have been to Johannesburg many times to pursue her.
However life on the farm never stops, with the loot from my NBF’s internet casino pouring in we have achieved miracles that all the enthusiasm of an errant hippy could never match, the farm is fenced and waiting for the ungulate auctions to start to be stocked with the original inhabitants of these hills, the herd has been substantially added to with fancy stud ladies and 2 new young stud bulls to replace the late Gearbox, to satisfy them this summer. The late Gearbox’s offspring are gamboling about the place and this place that used to contain so few heartbeats is now thumping with life, all very satisfying.
I had thought foolishly what with my fancy new fire engine and extensive fire breaks that this year I would spare the estate of the horrors of fire but the best efforts were undone by some sad mad old man that wondered this hill cheerfully setting fires, and to add insult to injury I actually gave him a lift here, so the place is black, and I am filled with remorse as I was the one to make a bad decision which allowed the fire to get out of control. The truth is that fighting grass fires is a thing that needs to be done a lot to understand what is what.
The other great event on the farm has been the arrival of Mr. Wonder Boy Sibanwe.
My man Douglas decided on some African whim to disappear into the undergrowth leaving me short handed and irritated, but being a chap of infinite wit and sagacity I kicked the bushes and was informed that Jan Trekker my neighbor had chucked by his chap and that this fellow was available for low paid toil.
Now being a white man in Africa, my mission and reason for living is to keep African ladies and gentlemen employed, the universal outcome of these exercises being, I am sorry to say, at the very best mind you, one of mild disappointment. These collaborators in my schemes have managed with the wisdom of this continent to do just enough, that their pitiful wages, their services command, to if not actually fail at their appointed task, also not really quite doing it either. A rather cunning ability ensuring that we get used to being surrounded by people doing everything for us badly, so when I went to have a peek at Wonder Boy Sibanwe’s first contribution I was expecting little.
I cannot actually remember what this appointed task was but of this I know, that as I gazed at his contribution to the fiscals I perceived something I had never seen before.
1. The job was complete sooner by far than expected
2. The job was done to my complete satisfaction!!!
3. In fact better that I could have hoped for.
4. Maybe better than I would have done it myself if I was not so bone-idle!
This fellow had thought about the task, something never attempted before in my experience, had come to a plan, another first, executed it fast and efficiently, another unique manifestation and was ready for more, I was impressed.
However being a man who has seen new brooms working before who would rapidly loose their enthusiasm I kept my expressions of joy muted and allocated a more demanding task, which was again done with speed alacrity and efficiency as were all the jobbies I have set him since!
My joy was over bounding, I raised his salary to dizzying heights, gave him a bakkie to drive a new cell phone and now live in fear of losing him, in short I am in love. The sad part being that none but none of my resident staff have followed him down this path to wealth and privilege, to bad.
Well that has been my winter more or less and spring is here at last.