Category Archives: HUMOUR

Close The Door (They’re Coming In The Window)


Some of my readers may remember this crazy 1955 hit song by Jim Low. The lyrics make no sense whatsoever, but no matter, there was a jolly, sing-along tune. This was back in the Olden Days, you understand, when you could hear the words and sing-along.
The reason the song came to mind was when I was sorting out my pics on my PC and I found the following pics, taken in 2017, whilst on a visit to my Durban family.
Let me introduce you to Scooby. He’s annexed the Boss’ Lazy-boy, master of all he surveys.

 

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Sometime Scooby gets locked out. Oh the injustice!

 

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But Scooby has a plan. Not worry. Where there’s a window, there’s a way.

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Scooby surveying his outdoor kingdom, being watched by his junior apprentice , Cooper. Cooper has also mastered the art of window-entry.

 

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Like I said: Close the door, they’re coming in the windows!

 

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Filed under HUMOUR, SHORT-SHORT's

I WANT ONE OF THOSE !


 

 

 

20180503_150433-2.jpgDon’t ask me why, but South Africa is obsessed with white cars. I would go so far as to say that seven out of ten cars that pass you on the roads will be white.

 

So when I saw the wonderfully bright pink sporty little number at Seaside Village, I was amazed. Isn’t it a zooty little number? Don’t you love that bright pink? Is it petunia pink? Or maybe bubblegum pink? Either way: its great. I prowled round it, phone at the ready to catch a few pics, and expected to find a commercial branding logo plastered on the side, but no. Glorious pink all round. I’d love to know who drives it.

 

And, P.S. I’d love a bright pink little roadster!

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THE ORAL BIOGRAPHER


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I was in the copy shop, waiting for the copier to spit out my papers, when I became aware of a persistent monologue to my right. The backview of the speaker showed a short woman, dark blonde hair in a ponytail, long sleeved white sweatshirt, blue & red floral leggings . Probably middle-aged, judging from the backview and timbre of her voice. Visually, nothing extraordinary. But the soundtrack? Golly-gosh-wow! Delivered in a normal speaking voice, not overly loud, but perfectly audible from the one metre between us. She was addressing the hapless young clerk behind the counter, whose face I could see. The clerk’s face  showed polite attention.
The monologue went this way – snatches of it, anyway:
He murdered her, but its still not come to court …. High court ….I don’t know why it takes such a long time …. I had to wait … fifteen years before my divorce, we were separated …. I had him deported … the police caught him at the airport … he never paid any maintenance, you know – only two months! I was married in Canada …. fifteen years ….
I am fascinated and astounded that people will cheerfully relate their life stories to complete strangers, over shop counters. And in queues, to strangers. Maybe this is the point? That the listener IS a stranger, and in no position to deny or challenge the storyteller?

 
I knew a young woman who was obsessed with a websites called SECRETS (or something similar; I now don’t exactly recall). She kept urging me to visit the website and look at the contents: anonymous people’s revelations. Clearly the idea intrigued her. Not me! Do I really want to be peering and poking through dark, shadowy corners of other peoples’ lives? Even for research purposes for my writing? No thanks!
Would I ever do my True Confessions recital, in public, or over a shop counter ? Never in a million years. How about you?

 
I’m born under the Chinese astrological sign of the Snake, which is classified as being secretive. A very good idea, indeed, in my view!

 

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EVERYTHING CHANGES


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Its well known that older people are often resistant to change, and find it difficult to deal with. Intellectually I’ve always known, and understood , that change is the one constant in life. An elegant paradox if you will, and one of the central teachings of the Buddha.
Yesterday I had change shoved right up into my face, by – of all people – my hairdresser. I’ve driven up to Melkbos for years, to my home hairdresser who gives me a perfect haircut for a modest charge. Wonderful! She understands my hair and is prepared to do a dry cut. In other words, I don’t have to go through the rigmarole of a wash and shampoo prior to the haircut. Fortunately I have very manageable hair, that falls into place easily and behaves itself.

 
She started to snip away and announced she and her husband were moving to a small town 97 kms up the West Coast, and  she was retiring. I nearly fell out of the chair. Bam! Out of the blue.

 

I managed not to burst into tears, which was what I felt like doing. I wished her well and thanked her for years of beautiful haircuts, not to mention the plant cuttings she had given me over the years. We share an interest in gardening, you see. Apart from the excellent hair-cutting skills and the gardening, I like the woman: a no-nonsense middle aged Afrikaans vrou*. We’d chat about our families, and local neighbourhood events. She always alerted me to the date of the next mammoth pre-Christmas Church Fete held by the NGK in Melkbos.

 
You knew where you were with her. You might not always agree, but hey! I only saw her at seven or eight week intervals, so it wasn’t crucial.
I’ll miss my hairdresser. And the worst thing is, I now need to find another home hairdresser in my area. Sigh. This older lady is not enjoying this particular change in her life.

*vrou = wife, woman

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ANOTHER USE FOR THAT FEATHER DUSTER


 

20180112_102042 (2)Whilst pounding away on the treadmill at the gym today, my gaze roaming idly over the car park, I spotted a middle-aged man, dressed in his gym kit, meticulously dusting down his car with a feather duster. Well, I thought, here’s a conscientious citizen who isn‘t wasting precious water during our drought crisis , by washing his car. He’s dusting it instead. Good for him! And let me add, the car was a modest 4-door family sedan, not a fancy Porsche or anything.

Another worthy citizen’s large, white sedan was parked in my neighbour’s driveway this week, and the dust begrimed passenger door was decorated with a finger-drawn large daisy and the words : I’m a water warrior! Yes you are, dear citizen, please keep up the good work.

If you don’t own a feather duster, and you live in the Western Cape, I suggest you dash out and buy one now. Furthermore, they are an excellent tool for trapping large spiders and shaking them away outside the house. Apparently the spiders’ hairy legs (shudder) get all tangled up in the feathers.

You never knew feather dusters were such a multi-purpose tool, did you?

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TO BLOG OR NOT TO BLOG? THAT IS THE QUESTION


Catching up on my WordPress Reader I found a number of Bloggers reviewing their 2017 blogging year. At one end of the spectrum was the unbelievably dedicated, productive Alec Nevala-Lee who revealed he has written a 1 000 word blog post every day of this year. Respect, Alec! How did he do it? We all know perfectly well how he did it. He single mindedly sat down and applied himself until his daily piece was written. This, mark you in addition to his work as a novelist and freelance writer.

 
At the other end of the spectrum I read a post by 746 Books in which Kathy confesses that 2017 was not a productive blogging year for her. She said it had been difficult to carve out time for writing on her blog, and that her reading (she’s a bookworm, like me) progress had been unsatisfactory. She wondered whether she should stop blogging altogether? These salutary thoughts on her 4th Blogoversary.

 
I know how she feels. Whilst I am not in her league when it comes to compulsive book buying, it is a factor in my life. Let’s face it, I’m more of a reader than I’m a writer. Then I read Ann V Klotz post titled Writing is Everything. Do I feel that way? No, I don’t, but part of me wishes I did. The title is a little misleading, in that she details the myriad events that keep her from the keyboard. I know the feeling well!

 
I am experiencing December fatigue after a busy year. The end of November and beginning of December are always hectic in South Africa. On 16 December the entire country pretty much shuts down – industry, the building trade, anything that is not retail or hospitality related. Try getting anything done between now and 08 January 2018. Fuggedabtoutit, as the Americans say. So the build up to 16 December is frantic. Everyone trying to get projects completed before shut-down. Social clubs and organisations cramming in their year-end staff parties/thank-you ceremonies/ etc. By December 16th the nation is in a soggy heap, ready to go on holiday and start (or continue) partying.

 
Do I feel like blogging? Not really. Hopefully by January 2018 I will have rested and recovered, enjoyed a relaxing Christmas Family Visit in Durban, and be ready to resume my blogging . Meanwhile: Wishing all a peaceful Festive Season with your families and friends, and a happy, healthy New Year.
Over and Out.

 
Oooops, no, not quite. My alter-ego and companion Chocolat has a few scornful final words to add to my post: She says: My Personal Assistant should do as I do . Life really is so simple : find a comfy, sandy spot under the shady karee tree, and relax. Saunter indoors for a cooling sip of water and then continue napping on the PA’s feather duvet. What’s all the fuss about?

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INBOX AT ZERO ?


*(JAP Just a Paragraph: when I’m short of time and/or inspiration, I keep my blog ticking over with ‘just a paragraph; random thoughts, reflections, comments, ideas … little snippets)

 

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Inspired by a recent blog post on Medium D, I have been wading through the undergrowth in my Inbox, wielding my machete ruthlessly. I’ve had to Empty Deleted Items twice, and still the contents remain at over 100. Sigh. I wonder if you feel as overwhelmed by the flood of incoming mail as I do? I suppose the answer is to attend to each mail instantly or at least within 8 hours. But because my mail is not routed via my cellphone, this means I must be at home, seated at my desktop PC and prepared to spend time dealing with the InBox. According to the Medium D writer (didn’t note his name – sorry chap!)he had actually reduced his InBox to pristine white zero status. Hmm. Did he have his fingers crossed when he typed this statement? Is it even possible? He probably spends every waking hour glued to his screen. I wonder how long it stayed that way? Any suggestions?

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MY CHRISTMAS SURVIVAL STRATEGY


 

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I am re-posting my Survival Strategy as a Public Health Service to my frazzled Readers. ‘Tis the Silly Season, after all. The post originally appeared on 3 January 2017, but in the interim, my readership has changed. Have a laugh, and I hope you find some useful tips

 

I can hear my readers screaming: Gag that woman! Christmas 2017? Noooooo – we’ve just staggered away from December 2016. Please! Enough already!
Keep calm. Don’t panic. Make a nice cuppa tea and when you’re feeling calmer, continue reading. Okay. Everybody take a slow deep breath and we’ll analyze what makes (most) Festive Seasons less than ideal.

 
There’s so much to do isn’t there? The shopping, the decorations, the enormous lunch, the gifts, the hordes of relatives; the washing up; the clean-up; the family rows that sometimes last for decades. And, last but not least, Uncle George. Every family has one. I can see you nodding your heads. The awkward relative your conscience prods you to include. And then you wish you hadn’t.

 
Where to begin? Here’s my #1 tip:

 
1. Shopping: start now in January at the January Sales. I’m pretty sure every country has them. Big money-saver. Bung your bargains into a plazzie bag, write the names of the recipients on the plastic with Magic Marker, and stow in a dedicated, secret carton in your garage.
2. Failing the January Sales, make a big diary note around September to start attending monthly Craft Markets and keep a sharp eye out for Church Bazaars. You will discover unique handmade items, often at very reasonable prices.
3. Immediately after Christmas scoop up markdowns of gift wrap, tags and bags . Pop into that box in the Garage. Ka Ching! Saving money!

 
#2 tip : Decorations. Buy a Christmas wreath, attach to the front door and when somebody moans about the lack of decorations, tell them firmly that if they want more decorations, then they’d better get cracking and provide some, because this is the year you’re on strike. Trust me, the world will keep on turning without tinsel.

 
#3 tip: The Enormous Lunch. Announce around October that this is the last year you will be hosting The Christmas Lunch, and furthermore, this year, it will be a Bring & Share Banquet. Circulate the menu and insist that the diners commit , in writing, to one major item e.g. the turkey. You will provide the venue, crockery, cutlery, one edible item, plus coffee/liqueurs/choccies afterwards.
AND, the cherry on top – once assembled around the festive board, hold a lucky draw , the winner of which will be the host of next year’s Bring & Share Banquet. Propose an enthusiastic toast to the lucky winner.

 
#4 tip: Buy a dishwasher. Yes, you do need one. Don’t listen to anybody telling you they use a colossal amount of water, they don’t. Or that they will ruin the family silver : actually, yes, they will, which is why you will use perfectly good stainless steel cutlery. Ditto the same dire effects on the bone china. Take that heirloom 60 piece Royal Albert dinner service to the nearest antique shop and flog it. You have other crockery, for goodness sake. The proceeds will help pay for the dishwasher.

 
#5 tip: Secret Santa : Hold a draw around October where your Xmas Lunch guests will draw the name of one person, for whom they will bring one gift, to the value of … Fill in the magic number: not more than X. End of story. Your garage trove of gift bargains is for your nearest & dearest, or people like your hairdresser. You cannot live without a good hairdresser. So give him/her a prezzie.

 
#6 tip: Uncle George/Aunty Maud: Using part of your loot from flogging the heirloom silver and the EPNS gravy boat, cunningly book a table for the old fossil for a slap-up Christmas dinner at a local hotel. Naturally you will book taxi transport. You will of course break the good news in the form of a fictitious Raffle prize? Anonymous Benefactor? This way he/she can’t possibly totter through your front door on December 25th. Fingers crossed.

 
#7 tip: Buy a large diary now, yes, on 2 January, and map out your Defence Plan for the next Christmas jollies. Work out your strategy, diarise, execute, and relax. Oh, and a P.S. Don’t think you can get away with running your diary system on your mobile phone. Bad idea. They tend to get lost, stolen, dropped and broken. But your hardcover diary stays safely at home, and the Magic Strategy is preserved.

 
#8 tip: One last essential pointer. At the next mammoth bottle store sale, stock up on a couple of bottles of your favourite relaxant – sherry? (very seasonal), brandy? (warming and cheering) gin? (good for cooling G&Ts for those of us in the Southern Hemisphere) . Hide your haul in the Garage Box, and start medicating around 15 November. You should be in a relaxed frame of mind for the upcoming festivities.

 
Finally:   for mercy’s sakef, do not lose that Diary!

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THE WORST THING ABOUT OUR WATER CRISIS (JAP)*


 

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Do you know what I hate most about Cape Town’s water crisis? Not the two-minute-only showers, every other day. Not watching my garden dry up and wither away. Or only flushing the toilet once a day (although this runs a close second). So what else could possibly be the problem ? I hear you ask. I’ll tell you. Dishwashing. Huh? What? Dishwashing?? Yes. You see I own a dishwasher and have done for years, ever since I immigrated nearly 40 years ago. Being a single parent, working all day, maid-less for the first time in my life, and since dishwashers were on the market, it seemed the obvious solution. Which it was. Brilliant solution. But the machines use an awful lot of water, so …. Need I go any further? There! I’ve got that off my chest. I can see you shaking your collective heads as you click CLOSE. We all have our personal stumbling blocks, and this is my current one.
*(Just a Paragraph: when I’m short of time and/or inspiration, I keep my blog ticking over with ‘just a paragraph; random thoughts, reflections, comments, ideas … little snippets)

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THE PLEASURES AND PERILS OF SOLO LIVING


I’m going to start with the pleasures, before I get on to the topic of the perils. I enjoy living alone. I’ve earned it. After years of boarding school, followed by life in a girls’ hostel, then marriage and family, having my own solo space is a privilege and a joy. Plus, I’m a cranky old lady with an equally cranky old cat, so not an ideal housemate. Chocolat and I have worked out a harmonious sharing agreement. She dictates, and I salute. Works well.

One of the solo pleasures is having control of the TV remote. I never have to watch sports programmes which bore me witless and neither do I have to endure horror movies, or ultra violent crime series. And, perhaps best of all: I don’t have to endure the male habit of surfing restlessly from channel to channel, flicking endlessly from programme to programme, just when I’d started to watch and enjoy something.

Another major pleasure is being able to eat meals ad lib, ad hoc and add plenty of fruit and yoghurt, please. For one glorious week, after my younger daughter’s wedding, I ate trifle for breakfast. I left others squabbling over the left-overs from the braai*, and quietly removed the remnants of the luxury trifle. The most sinfully delicious  breakfast week ever.
Now I have to relate one of the perils of solo living, having cheered myself with happy reminiscences. Bolstered my courage, as it were.

Spiders. Big, enormous spiders. Lurking ominously on the bathroom ceiling. At nine thirty at night. I don’t do well with spiders. Little ones I bravely swoosh into an empty jar and hurl them outside into the garden. But a spider the size of a teacup saucer? Uh-uh. Not going to happen.

My knowledgeable friend tells me it must have been a rain spider. Thanks for the helpful info. That night, I neither knew nor cared. The crunch was: the spider and I could not remain under the same roof. Especially as I was preparing for bed. Can you imagine? An inquisitive spider exploring my entire house, including my bedroom ? Aaarrrggghhh.

Summoning every speck of courage, I armed myself with a broom and despatched the insect. Awful. And then I had to sleep with my bedside light switched on all night, just in case … irrational, I know. Ridiculous – I know.

I told you, I don’t like spiders. To the extent I’m not going to Google a pic to head up this post. I just can’t. Consider this a public exposure of my Achilles heel.

*braai – barbecue

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