The Happy Sun

Once upon a time there was a place called London. London was a very big city, in fact it was one of the biggest cities in the world. Lots and lots of people lived and worked in London, some were lawyers, some were businessman, lots were cleaners, and even more were administration assistants, but all were miserable.

London was a very cold place where no-one smiled and nobody was happy. The skies were always grey, and it was always raining. Then one day the sun came out and everyone smiled.

The End

Snoworthy

I felt kind of bad saying that there wasn’t enough to write about the snow. After all I have been waiting rather impatiently for the past few months to see these little white flakes. So here it is, my snow report:

There are so many ways to describe it; one would be to imagine a down feather pillow bursting after a rather heavy pillow fight. Another would be to think of frozen bits of cotton falling from the sky, or when it’s not that thick, think dandruff and you’ve got it.

Sometimes, like today, it looks like the world is a snow globe, but I suppose that only happens when you’re inside and looking out. When getting snow blown in your mouth and eyes, a snow globe is the last thing you think of.

Another thing I’ve noticed is how useless an umbrella can be during the snow, snow unlike rain, doesn’t fall straight down, being light as it is, it blows sideways as well as in any other direction that the wind feels like taking it. So you could get snow blown up your nose, inside your coat, and straight at your face, if they had mobile shower curtains then none of this would happen.

The best part about all of it is waking up after it’s snowed during the night. To explain what it feels like to open the front door and see that the colour white has invaded every bit of life outside is not that easy. As freezing as it may be, this sight seems to warm me up. When saying that I wanted to see snow, this is what I meant: white covering everything, thick layers of it hanging onto plants, replacing green grass, lying on roof tops and window sills, covering cars but as cool as all this may sound, there is one downfall. Walking on snow when it isn’t knee deep should be considered a health hazard, every morning without fail I am guaranteed to slip and almost fall on my ass about 4 times. If you’re not wearing hiking boots then you’ve got no chance, take my advice and if you don’t want a wet ass then walk like a fairy disregarding the laughter and pointing that goes on around you.

New additions to the Oxford Dictionary

Before I forget its been snowing in London, on and off for the last week or so, pretty cool, but not too much to write about though. So these are those new additions I was telling you about:

Intaxication: Euphoria at getting a tax refund, which lasts until you realize it was your money to start with

Reintarnation: Coming back to life as a hillbilly

Bozone (n.): The substance surrounding stupid people that stops bright ideas from penetrating. The bozone layer, unfortunately, shows little sign of breaking down in the near future

Cashtration (n.): The act of buying a house, which renders the subject financially impotent for an indefinite period

Giraffiti: Vandalism spray-painted very, very high

Sarchasm: The gulf between the author of sarcastic wit and the person who doesn't get it

Inoculatte: To take coffee intravenously when you are running late

Karmageddon: It's like, when everybody is sending off these bad vibes, right? And then, like, the Earth explodes and it's like, a serious bummer

Glibido: All talk and no action

Ignoranus: A person who's both stupid and an asshole

Copyright note: I dont own the copyright to these words, someone else does, I just cant remember their blog address, guess that makes me an ignoranus. oops

The revised edition

Yesterday's post as you all may have seen was somewhat narrow minded and simplistic, this seems to happen when you get too caught up in an issue. So here are a few errors that I have managed to see now that red is not the only colour I'm seeing.

The politics of today is dominated by monkeys, hypocrites, capitalists, and tyrants - I suppose this has been true for centuries, always will be, and is not exclusive to my lifetime.

pig dog - ? that just made me laugh, and still does everytime I read it.

probably care less about Jewish history - in know way slagging off jews, I was just making a point

I don’t think all journalists are bad, those that do flower reviews, or report on dog shows and the weather are fine by me - I forgot to mention the other handful of journalists that actually had a cause, eg. those that aided in exposing apartheid for what it was and trying to bring an end to it

London's worst newspaper

Since graduating a couple of years ago, I’ve kind of distanced myself from the politics of today, and the countless controversial stories populating newspapers, television, and general conversations. While studying, I tried to focus more on what I was actually studying than contemporary politics, stuff that was ancient history: the civil rights protests in Northern Ireland of 1968, British Colonialism, Russian Communism etc. I found this content much easier to ‘analyse and interpret’ (this statement reminds me ‘American History X’.

The politics of today is dominated by monkeys, hypocrites, capitalists, and tyrants that do what they want when they want with absolutely no interference if their country has nothing to offer anyone else.

Journalists are free to shove their mike in whoever’s face they choose, but just dare push them aside! What about their rights!? Their freedom of speech? Blah blah blah, I’ll keep to myself what I would really like to say to them, and tell you that I don’t feel a thing for that ‘poor journalist’ who got likened to a ‘Nazi P.O.W soldier’, shame! If you didn’t stick your mike in his face and hound him like the pig dog that you are, he wouldn’t be calling you names! To say that you were offended is absolutely ludicrous, at 20-odd, you probably care less about Jewish history than putting out your trash. Journalists are there to cause/create sensationalism, problems, controversy and many other issues that would obviously not be news worthy if they didn’t blow things out of proportion.

So what I’m getting at is the ‘The Evening Standard’, one of London’s more popular newspapers, and a newspaper that seems to have a vendetta against Mayor Livingstone, now I don’t know much about the man, but if the people put him there then he cant be all that bad. Journalists need to know when not to step over the mark, and harassing one of the most senior public officials clearly crosses that mark, when there is no news to be gotten, or scandal to be uncovered then leave them alone. This paper clearly sets out to provoke the man so that they can sell more papers.

I’m tired of ranting now, but you get the point I’m trying to make, and before you criticise me, I don’t think all journalists are bad, those that do flower reviews, or report on dog shows and the weather are fine by me. And if you say that 'The Sun' or 'News of the world' are contenders for worst newspaper in london, I wont argue, theyre just as bad.

It’s only a South African thing!

Yesterday, like I do everyday, I walked to the station after work to catch my 16:35 train to Upton Park. After work I am normally quite tired from all the days’ hard work, ok maybe not ‘hard work’ but still enough to make me tired. My fingers start aching after searching the net for the whole day.

So there I am, walking to the station, completely oblivious to my surroundings and almost inside the station, when I stop to look around at the poster advertising today’s ‘evening standard’, what caught my eye, was the big picture of a little black boy. Normally I wouldn’t turn around to look at a picture of a little black boy, or any other little boy for that matter. But this little black boy, didn’t look British at all, in fact just by the small glimpse that I got out the corner of my eye, I could tell that he was African, snot running down his nose and tattered clothes. So to cut a pointless story about a poster short, it was advertising a free supplement (which I still haven’t properly read) about holidays in South Africa. What gets me is the picture of the boy, how on earth is this supposed to promote South Africa? Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining about that, there are already enough tourists in the country and with all the foreign investment causing me to pay more for everything, I’m glad the snot nosed boy was promoting my country.

So I went up to the man, paid my 40p, took the paper, and asked if the supplement was in the paper? ‘It’s only a Souf African fing’, he says as if I wouldn’t be interested in it, but pointed to a pile of supplements lying behind him. I picked one up, and replied ‘I’m South African’, he was instantly apologetic, his face filled with regret, mine with laughter and big smiles, I thought it was so funny, I look and sound (over here) so English its scary. All this while he was completely ignoring the grumpy looking business man waiting patiently to hand over his hard earned 40p for one of London’s worst papers.

‘No worries’, I said, took my supplement and descended into the darkness known as tower hill tube station.

Bus stop Meerkats

I’ve been meaning to write this entry for a while now, but haven’t been able to find a decent photo, so to avoid forgetting what I wanted to write I settled on the one below.

If you ever stand at a bus stop in London this is sure to be the first thing you will notice, buses approach a bus stop from one side only (like in all other countries, what a revelation!), and will obviously not drive into oncoming traffic to pick you up, if you wanted to travel in the opposite direction, you would simply cross the road and catch the other bus travelling in that direction. This however does not stop people from looking one way for the eagerly awaited bus, and then the in the opposite direction, as if by some miracle or other, the bus now drives against traffic. If you’re waiting for the bus, I can guarantee that it will approach from the same direction that all the other cars are travelling on that side of the road. Yet every day I stand there and smile because every day the same people look one way, and then just as eagerly look the other way, for some reason I find this hilarious.

If Chris is reading this, he should get what I’m saying when I say that they remind me of a bunch (just found out that it is in fact a ‘colony’ of meerkats-thanks to Ask Jeeves.com) of meerkats! Never looking in the same direction, at least one always looking the other way, and then suddenly switching. If you’re not from South Africa then you would probably call them prairy dogs, same animal, same mannerisms.

The Bus stop Meerkats!

Stormers 0 Snow 1

As strange as this score may sound, it’s kind of what happened yesterday. Last week sometime I found out that the Stormers were coming to London; yes that’s the investec Stormers from South Africa. They were coming to play the London Wasps, probably the equivalent of a super 12 team. How often is this going to happen? Maybe once every couple of years, now this is what adds salt to my wounds.

Having tried to organise some fellow country men to join me on this trip to see our hometown boys smack the snot out of London’s excuse for a rugby team (unexplainable patriotism talking there), I realised that it wasn’t going to be an easy task. Some didn’t have money, some were sick, others couldn’t care less about rugby, and others just weren’t interested enough. So this left me and Abu, a fellow Durbanite, yes all stereotypes apply, on our way to see the game.

I think it is probably quite common for people to feel a lot more patriotic about their country once they leave it, now this makes no sense at all, as why couldn’t you feel the same while living in your beautiful country? Probably because you take a lot for granted and don’t have time to feel patriotic. Some people come to London and don’t feel a smidgen of patriotism, trying only to forget ‘that horrible country’, I feel sorry for these people.

Back to the journey, the game being played against the London wasps, was not in fact taking place in London, how stupid I thought, but once again you remember that the English have their own way of doing things (no offence to the brits, you guys just have an odd way of doing things). So on to High Wycombe we go, luckily it isn’t too far out of London. On the train we happen to meet Joe, not as in Joseph, but Johaness, he says people can’t pronounce his name. Joe was friendly enough, and after a long conversation about nothingness and things you hear every time you bump into other saffers, we disembark and Joe offers to show us where the bus stop is that is going to take us see the much anticipated game.

A bit of confusion and a bus trip later and we’re almost there, but upon leaving the bus I notice a little white ball of cotton looking stuf fall next to me, about the size of a pinhead but noticeable. Snow? I ask Abu, nah, can’t be, but a few steps later and there’s more of this cotton looking stuff falling to the ground, not enough to cover the ground but enough to realise that it is snow. Most people would laugh at us calling it snow and actually getting excited about it, but we did, it was the first time I’ve been in snow. A few minutes later and it stops, almost before even started. Disappointing!

We carry on walking towards the stadium, only a few hundred metres from the entrance and we notice people leaving the stadium, no… this can’t be happening. But when you get that sickening sinking felling, there’s no denying what is happening. Still choosing not to accept what looks to be the inevitable, I ask some old man and his son, already knowing the answer, but unable to stop myself from asking: ‘excuse me, what time is the Stormers game?’ ‘Stormers game? Just finished, kick off at 12, they won 63-22’. Rewind time please!? This cant be, I’ve missed it, probably the only chance I would have got to see the stormers play in England, 3PM and the game is over, what an ass I feel like!

I blame it on the internet, I downloaded a form with travel times and game times etc, I probably read it wrong. I’m too upset to make this entry funny, but thought I’d tell you all so you can laugh without me having to hear it.

Before I forget… this entry’s title and the upside of our day? Just after getting the wonderful news, it was like the clouds literally burst, and the cotton masses suddenly surrounded us, a mini snow storm, yay!

The crowd

Where I stood

South Africa house (it overlooks Trafalgar Square)

The man dressed warm (a good idea in London)

A Truly great day

Last week Thursday will probably be a day I’ll remember for the rest of my life. And no it doesn’t involve beer.

When asked “who would you like to meet most in this world?” answers will range from movie stars, famous sportsmen and women, to inventors and so on. I’m sure there are many South Africans that will agree with my answer, and unfortunately some that won’t. For me, Nelson Mandela would be the person I would like to meet most in this world, February the 3rd will be the closest I’ll have ever got to meeting the man.

‘Make poverty history’ is a big campaign that’s happening over here, organised by Oxfam and various other charities, and Nelson Mandela was at Trafalgar square to promote it, along with 1000’s of supporters. Seeing Mr Mandela walking onto the stage, one couldn’t help but feel the electricity that was immediately sent through the crowd. Upon writing this I quickly checked the internet to see if I could find a figure for the amount of people in attendance, 20 000 is what English newspapers put the figure at, upon reading the article further, I noticed that they too felt the electricity passing through the crowd. Now I know this is a very cliché statement, but when he came into sight, it was like every single person in that entire crowd just lit up. As old and frail as he is, and I mean frail, he could barely walk up the 3 or 4 stairs, he still has such a presence and magical charisma that 20 000 people can take time out of their day and time off work (me) to come and see him, and him only, the African drum bands were good, Jamelia was ok, and everyone’s seen Sir Bob Geldof, they were all there to see him, the ex-president of my country.

“As you know, I recently formally announced my retirement from public life and should really not be here. However, as long as poverty, injustice and gross inequality persist in our world, none of us can truly rest”- one of the first lines from Nelson Mandela’s opening speech.

I’m not going to go on and give a full account of the day as there are enough articles on the web if you are interested. This entry is just to say that I almost met the person I most want to meet in this world, and it was almost enough.

Beer =good, Cocktails =bad

Yes, another tale of drunkenness, but notice the length of time that has passed between this one and the last, at least a month, so I’m not doing too badly.

Thursday night was the Hudson drinks evening, Hudson are my recruitment agency and they invited all their temps to a local pub to thank them for working for sub-minimum wages while they lined their pockets with millions, just kidding, they’re a really cool company and I cant complain about anything, I think they look after their temps quite well, haven’t heard any complaints from anyone else. Anyways upon arrival I notice that the free beer (probably the only reason most people turn up) is Stella Artois, now for those of you in SA that still think Stella is a good beer, you’re wrong, its not! I will say that it is one of best tasting beers around, but waking up the morning after is enough to make you never want to see it again.

It is probably the only beer, or drink (other than Absinthe) that makes my head feel like it’s stuck to the rails on the underground while the trains drive past. So yes, many Stella’s later, as you never learn your lesson when it comes to free beer, I left only to be directed to more pubs: the Bierodrome, whose name is far cooler than the actual pub and the of course the famous Spanish bar!

So after too many pints, I made my way home, managed to get the front door open without too much difficulty, and let the wall guide my shoulder up the stairs. Waking up 3 or 4 hours later knowing that you have to go to work and that you have another potentially heavy night ahead is ‘not a nice feeling’. Nonetheless, I crawled out of my really comfy bed (when you position yourself right so that the rusty springs don’t poke you in the side) showered (helps a lot) and got to work on time.

Friday night- a fellow colleague’s going away drinks.

A place called the Pitcher and piano is where the night starts, but unfortunately didn’t end. Lots more pints with the good looking ladies from work (once again, no names), I left after having said so for the third time only to be dragged back to the bar for more punishment. Eventually I was out of the front door, and so close to being home that I could smell that burnt toast and cup of tea. This wasn’t meant to be, I tried phoning the other work colleague to say that I wouldn’t be able to make his going away drinks evening because I ‘was too hammered’ I remember saying. It didn’t take much persuasion to get me to change my mind, and a tube ride and a few minutes later I was at the T-bar, in Liverpool street. Now here comes the biggest disappointment of the night… it’s a cocktail bar! What does that mean? NO BEER! I don’t drink cocktails, what to do, what to do? Drink cocktails.

So many vodka filled cocktails later, and a nice pair of unwanted beer goggles I found the exit and made my ‘merry’ way home. The difference between Friday and Saturday morning?

No Stella=no headache.

That damn tall guy!

You know what I’m talking about, if its not in front of you in movies, or blocking your view at some celebrity swarming, he’s standing in front of you at a concert. Well unfortunately for you, I am that tall guy, as was again pointed out last night.

I was given tickets to go see the ‘Black Eyed Peas’ by a very nice lady (read raging party animal) at work who unfortunately fell sick at the last minute and could no longer go, fortunately for me two crisp, unused tickets for the Black Eyed Peas playing at the Hammersmith Apollo were put in my hands (thank you Narelle).

Upon arriving I thought I may get in to catch the last song, this was not due to my delayed arrival (something London does to you), but because of a line of people stretching longer than any other line of people I have ever seen, think two miles and you’re getting there, ok maybe a slight exaggeration, but it was long and very intimidating. To my suprprise the line disappeared within minutes, maybe I'm still thinking Cape Town queues here, as if I were back home that queue would have meant a good hour or two before I got in.

I think the longer you live in London the later you are for events, hence Chris arriving 35 minutes after the agreed upon time. This wasn’t too much of a problem though, as I got to the front of the queue, stood to one side and as so many English guys would say: “watched the lovely laydees go by”. Everything from your 8 year old punk rocker, to your 40 year old ‘hip’ uncle was there.

Eventually Chris arrived and we headed straight for the bar, only to be intercepted by a girl with whom he had been on a date no longer than 5 days ago. This wouldn’t have been too much of a problem if he hadn’t forgotten her name…oops!

A few beers later and we make our way to the standing stalls, and to our surprise realise that this means we can go right up to the front of the arena, but the uncomfortably grumpy and expressionless bouncers/bodyguards meant we stayed a good few meters from the stage, still I don’t think any closer was necessary, they were great spots.

And now we get to the title of this entry, after winding our way to the front half of the arena, we stop in front of a few girls and a stoner looking guy, my first thought is ‘this guy must be a saffer’, seconds later ‘oh no! come on guys, you’re not standing there’, where’s that coming from? I look behind me, next to me, above me, oh yes, look down, there she is, the little girl so short that she would have trouble reaching my armpit. The tall guy has struck, but nice guy that I am, moved one step to the left to reveal a gap through the crowd so that the fairly attractive ‘little’ girl could see the stage and not stare at my back for the whole night. The first thing Chris notices when the little girl opens her mouth is a familiar sounding accent, no its not Australian (too familiar in London, no offence towards any aussies, I like you guys, there’s just more of you over here than saffers) but South African. Of all the millions of people in London, and out of all the places we could have been standing, we end up blocking the few of a few hometown boys and girls.

The first thing to ask, when meeting a fellow saffer is ‘where you from?’, ‘Richards bay’ replies the guy… guess who’s a stoner? Anyways they were nice enough, and once the concert started all conversation stopped (Chris got his number before that, so hopefully we can get some of the photo’s soon) and our eyes became fixed on the band, or if you were entirely honest, the blonde frontgirl for the Black eyed peas (can I say frontgirl? Does that word even exist?)

To put it simply: “The band rocked!” The bass travelled through every fibre of our bodies, I haven’t been to that many live concerts before, but I know enough to feel when a band plays with more electricity than that used by their equipment. They didn’t stop break dancing, rapping, ass-jiggling (female only), ‘rocking the joint’ (I’m sure this line is from some cheesy movie) and generally having a fantastically fun time all night, well until they finished their act. It was really cool, its good to see a band that passionate about their music and have so much fun.