The Abseiling photos

Abseiling down Table Mountain

So you thought abseiling was for pansies? No? well I did, until today (20/12). Now I definitely put Abseiling in the extreme sports category. Granted, it may not be as fast as jumping off a bridge attached to a bungie or out of a plane attached to a parachute, or as soaking wet as white water rafting (it can be if you include water falls in the picture), but it is definitely safe to say that Abseiling is not for pansies.

After a few years of my friend Max an Abseil Africa employee trying to get me to go down Table Mountain I eventually agreed. The only reason for my change in answer is that after a while of living in one of the biggest cities in the world I crave a bit of nature, a bit of sun, and now it seems the extreme.

So after a rather gruelling walk up Table Mountain (see me panting like a tired dog and max sprinting up the rocks) we got to the top, in fairly good time I’m told too. What was nice though is that even though my clear lack of fitness was shining as bright as the evening star we weren’t overtaken by other climbers once, instead we overtook everyone we came across.

So after reaching the top I start thinking that maybe this abseiling business isn’t as easy as I thought, but there’s no way I’m backing out now. So after a short lunch break we made our way to the east facing mountain side, before I even look over the side my harness is on, safety rope attached and I’m getting closer. We get to the ‘jump’ point and I’m feeling nearly as comfortable as I did 10 minutes ago. It’s a long way down and there is no one else other than me controlling that rope, suddenly it doesn’t look so sturdy, so I get a very short briefing, ‘hold this piece here, arch your back, keep your legs fairly wide apart, and feed the rope with your right hand’ that’s it, hmmm right, still not sure about this.

So I start, rope in hand other one clutching the clasp like a beggar clutching a 1 dollar bill, damn I’m scared, yip I’m definitely scared, and no I’m not a pansy.

It was awesome, but what max failed to tell me is that halfway down, as can be seen from the photos, the cliff face suddenly disappears and there’s a massive gaping hole! Oh #$%^@$, what now?! Freefall.

It was sweet, and I’d definitely do it again… in 4 days time to be exact.

Don’t Feed the Models

I’m not one for guy magazines, to be honest one of the only magazines I ever read is the Cosmo, from time to time I’ll pick up an FHM, and then once or twice a year I buy the Mens Health, which I think, aside from the Cosmo is the best magazine out there.

In this months issue there was a great article about the night life in Cape Town, Camps Bay specifically, for those who haven’t been to Cape Town yet, think the hottest trendiest strip of clubs in any city and you’ve about got it. Its also righto n the beach front and overlooks some of the most amazing sunsets.

To quote the writer on the people in these kind of clubs “… wearing there overtly branded sunglasses at 9pm on a rainy night” now you know exactly what I’m talking about. What makes places like this so much more ridiculous, is the fact that there’s a really overweight, not very attractive, but disgustingly rich bastard with a gorgeous blonde perfectly toned model on his arm, and what does it say on his t-shirt? ‘Don’t Feed the Models’

Another one joins our world

After not too much convincing I managed to get one of my oldest friends, a Mr Ronald James Wishart Junior, blogging, hes new to our world, so check his blog out and comment on it, say anything, funny, perverted, whatever, just go say hi. Ronald and I were in school together, and hes recently come over to London, just before I left, :P so hes still there, and writing about life in the freezer.

http://www.ronaldukwishart.blogspot.com/

Long overdue update

Yeah yeah, I know, I’ve been pretty bad, but I promise I’m gonna try and update my blog at least once a week, now that I’m semi settled over here.

So, about my diet. I’ve always been a sandwich kind of guy, and living in London the sandwiches I made were boring, mostly due to my own unwillingness to but the extras. But now that I’m home? The fridge is packed with the good stuff, all different types of cheeses, left over chicken from the braai (barbecue) last night, bacon, roast beef, gherkins, pickled onions, lettuce, loads of different sauce and relish type things, so right now I’m eating a killer sandwich!

Without getting all weird and ridiculous now, what doesn’t go on bread? I love bread.
So besides my diet of over indulgence, what have I been doing?

Car hunting, not nearly as bad as I was dreading, it only took 3 weeks and I found one, of course that was after test driving a few overpriced pieces of sh1t.

Yesterday has to be one of the highlights since being back, Camps bay beach baby! How I missed that, of course there were a few extras this time, it seems a year away can be a long time, because when I left the nude beach was Clifton, about 5 minutes from camps bay, but wither due to Clifton being full, or people being generally more open about ‘things’, the nudists have over flown onto camps bay, so yesterday I got to see lots of strange ladies boobies, it was nice, ha ha. Lying on the beach, big mountains behind me, hot sun beating down, waves breaking right on front of me, and sand in my mouth definitely beats London, I don’t know how I lived without it for so long. So hows the sun in Thailand treating you marsh?

I’ve also started gyming, yes, me, the lazy movie watching bastard. I figured since I’ve got so much time on my hands over the December holidays I may as well do something ‘productive’, so now I play squash, which absolutely kills me every time, there are muscles on my upper leg just reaching my ass that I never knew I had, damn they can hurt me, so basically what I’m saying is that I learned the hard way that stretching does have its benefits. Other than squash, I use the elliptical machine, say it again, sounds weird doesn’t it? E-lip-tical, makes me laugh, ha ha. Yeah, so its really a running machine, this also hurts me, I’m beginning to think that I’m far more unfit than I originally believed. I blame Dayne and those long afternoons spent in the Spanish bar drinking Amstel.