Banner Picture: Sossusvlei, Namibia. Picture: PG Jonker

That thing of the Pharisee

Sunday, 22 February, 2015

I should have known it could not end well.

Picture this, nuh. I’m walking through a shopping centre, minding my own business. I reckon I have become rather good in dodging these sales people that spring a surprise on you and try to sell stuff to you that both you and them know you neither need nor want. I’m always embarrassed to try a new biscuit or whatever and to then nót buy it. So I do the thing of the Pharisee in the biblical parable of old and pass the other way.

So how this girl got it right, I do not know. But the next thing I know, this very beautiful girl had me by the arm and steered (more like pulling, I’d say) me to her open kiosk in the middle of the broad passage of the shopping centre.

At first I was totally flabbergasted by the strange sounds the girl made. After a while I started catching up on the accent. She was actually speaking a good English, it is only the accent that took me a while to realise it is actually English.

“I show you someteeng?” she explained. With the third attempt I understood. Strange, how quickly your ear can adjust. She then grabbed me by the hand.

“You see da lines on yourrrr nail? Everrrrybody has them.”

No sh*t, Sherlock, huh? I thought she was going to read the lines on my hand and tell me my fortune. Not so. The next thing she grabs this funny little brush and starts polishing / massaging / brushing my nail. When she was done, I had this very shiny thumb nail. She pulled my hand to her and pressed it between her breasts.

“Now notting weel take thees off,” she said with conviction. Well, I would hope so.

The next moment she holds something under my nose. Obviously she was now going to give me chloroform and abduct me and have her way with me. So I took a deep breath.

“Thees ees ceutex, ok?” she explained.

She grabbed my thumb again – well, actually for the duration of this whole exercised she never once let go of her grip on my arm. She was making sure I do not escape before she concluded her sales pitch. Another sniff from the cutex and my sinuses were as clear as it had not been in months. She attacked my shiny thumb nail with the cutex, but the shine remains.

Only now did I understand what she meant with “notting weel take thees off.” It was the shine that would remain, not her …… aaah, never mind.

OK, I understand now. And your point is? I wondered, but did not dare to ask.

“You know what happens thees month?”

Aha, trick question. I ran a few possibilities through my memory. School already started, holiday has come and gone, no rugby match to speak of, maybe an eclipse of the sun, I tried.

“No, eet ees Valentines day.”

O, shucks, good thing you remind me. I totally forgot. Oh, but hang on, it is also my wife’s birthday, I remember.

“That is good,” she swooned. She sells just the stuff that my wife would want. “And your daughter,” said she. “Do you have a daughterrrr?”

I hate it when people ask these personal questions. I always suspect a phishing scam in progress. Yet, I find myself mumbling a feeble “yes”.

“And how old ees shee?”

That is none of your business, I thought, but nevertheless find myself parting with this information too.

“Now see, because you arrrr my firrrst customerrr forrr today, I make you a verrrry special deal.”

So there is the lesson. One should not go shopping this early. It is the early worm that gets caught. But now just because (a) I am her first customer, and (b) she is very nice, she will now …

The scary world of the hearing

Thursday, 19 February, 2015


Since I can remember I did not hear excessively well. It was never too big a problem, really. I got by for five decades without major hassles that I’m aware of.

But then my family developed a hearing problem. They suddenly had a problem with my hearing.

Next thing I know I am ushered into the room of an audiologist. She sat me down on a chair in this small room (more like a closet, really) and closed the door. But with her outside, looking in through the window.   I just knew this is trouble. I mean, why lock me up in a sound proofed room if you do not intend doing something to me that is going to make me scream.

I meekly obeyed her orders after she gestured to me to put a set of head phones on that was in front of me.

Well, it did not turn out too badly. She ran a few words past me that I had to repeat to her. Just to have fun I gave her a few wrong answers. After a whole battery of tests she allowed me out of the closet again. She concluded that I do not hear well. No sh*t, Sherlock! She suggested hearing aids to alleviate what she termed “the problem”.

She presented us (yes, my wife would not allow me to go without her in case I did not pitch) with various options. Inside the ear. Outside the ear. Inside and outside the ear. Colour coded, you name it.

It turns out the stuff costs what I got for the last car that I traded in. So I suggested that we just get the largest possible dummy hearing aids in a neon fluerescent shocking colour. Then everyone can see I have hearing aids, and they would then automatically speak up. Problem solved.

I heard my wife say something that sounded like “cheap skate”, but I must be mistaken. She’s normally a kind lady, but she was rather firm in advising me that my idea is not a good idea. Nobody ever listens to me.

In any event, after some hassling, haggling, and serious discussions with my friendly banker, I eventually left the audiologist with a hearing aid in each ear.

Man! What a scary world I entered.

The audiologist and the receptionist bid me a friendly farewell. But why they had to shout is beyond me.

I might have mentioned previously here and there that my bakkie has let me down from time to time. But she is now fine, really. But suddenly I hear noises from the engine (and various other places) that I have never heard before. Before I got to the first traffic light I had to do breathing exercises to calm myself down. I was just convinced the bakkie is at the point of total collapse.

Once I took out the hearing aids, though, the bakkie was fine again.

Upon my arrival home I could hear a huge fracas going on inside. That’s not our style. We’re normally quite a docile bunch. I stormed into the house to calm everybody down, only to find them sitting around the dinner table chatting amicably. But why is everybody shouting!

I went outside into my garden just to collect myself. There, in the quiet remoteness I started relaxing. Being outside earshot of everyone, I even allowed myself to let a soft little flatulent escape. Absolutely simultaneously someone else let rip with a really loud fart. How uncouth!

I jumped, startled, and looked around to see who crept up on me, but there was nobody. I was still alone. Oh, my! I’m starting to hear things!

These things happen, you know. And these gasses can really be a bit of a bother sometimes. So unfortunately I felt the urge to let another little one of these fellas escape. Again I hear this thunder around …

Holiday over

Wednesday, 11 February, 2015

Real life

This year I have a house sitter who stays in my house, looks after the dogs, keep the pool clean, water the garden, and in general check my property to the exclusion of burglars.

One morning he sends me a message that his car had been stolen from the garage. Fortunately (for me) it turned out to have been stolen not from my garage, but from his parents’ house.

We always want to know where our kids are. Gouritsmond is probably the safest place in the country, but still. It is a bit uncomfortable, though, when the kids WhatsApp you 04h00 in the morning to advise that they have returned to their tents.

Life savers guard the beach every day. Usually there are no strong currents at Gourits, so I would assume them to become very bored. One afternoon at the sea, though, they seem to have a perfect little storm, so to speak, with the backwash and the current being just right for people to get in trouble. We witnessed them collecting a little girl being drawn in by the backwash. She was not really in serious danger, although she probably might eventually have been had it not been for the life saver’s quick response. Apparently she was their seventh save for the day.


Camping seems to be a bit of an equalizer between classes. Granted, you could arrive there with very luxurious equipment. But in general the whole camping setup would appear to make the difference between the have-a-lots and the have-less fade away.  Except if you are an avid angler, there is not necessarily much to do that really has to be done. Everything can wait. Meaning that one spends time with neighbours and friends that in the ordinary rush would not have happened.



Whilst preparing the fire for the after dinner roly poly on old year’s eve I got a call from a relative. He’s coming over for coffee tomorrow morning. “Is after eight all right?” he asks.  Of course I say it is fine.   I mean, of course he is kidding. Who comes for coffee anywhere near eight in the morning of New Year’s morning.

Well, it turned out he does. Just past eight he and a friend pulls up at the camp site. As it happened this was the hottest day of the holiday, and by that time we could not stand the heat in the caravan in any event. Even at that hour we did battle finding enough shade for us to have our coffee without breaking a sweat.

Leaving, but not on a jet plane

That last day before leaving for home always turns out the same. In spite of our undertakings to ourselves to enjoy the day to the full, half way through the day we find ourselves starting to slowly lose the holiday feeling and starting putting things right for the big packing that would happen only later the evening.

And when that is done, it is a juggling exercise to organise the stuff so that enough space remains to still sleep that one last night.

So this time we decided to short circuit the whole exercise. A day before our scheduled departure we got up at first light and started packing. By eleven the morning everything was packed, the caravan hitched, and ready to leave.

Oh, not quite. I still need to check the caravan’s rear lights. Normally it works. I always hope it does, because save for scratching the contact points with sand paper, I have no remedy for the event that it does not work.

The trip home goes somewhat slower than with a jet plane, I’m afraid. Just short of five hours later, covering the 360 km at an averaged GPS speed of 76 km/h we arrive home. Thankful for a very nice holiday, and for the tow vehicle not playing up …

Holiday Season 2014 – Part 2

Saturday, 10 January, 2015


Preparing food is nogals a big thing when camping.

I’m not much of a cook, but under the watchful eye of my wife I can these days boil water and even some more without causing injury.

Braai is, of course, the preferred mode of cooking. A conditio sine qua non, so to speak, for camping.


A lamb chops and wors combination is a good start. The chicken kebabs we got from the big shop in Mossel Bay went down well. Only, we too late realised that the red bits on it were chili that the chef chose to add to his spices. We don’t actually do chili.

Potatoes, buttered and covered in feta cheese and then wrapped in tinfoil to bake in the coals make a fine side platter.

For quicker food we make pasta, or resort to vetkoek and mince. OK, to go even quicker we sommer attend Koffiestories, the new coffee shop at Gouritsmond.  They serve milk tart pancakes as a novelty.  Pancake filled with milk tart filling.  So what you see is pancake, but what you taste is milk tart.

Potbrood takes a bit of time, but it can in itself make a principal meal.

One morning our angler neighbour’s fishing expedition came to nought, and we decided on an impromptu brunch.  Brunch in the form of sausage, eggs, tamato, pineaple, greenpeppers, onions and toast all done on the pan on the fire.

Die brunch pan

No, not all at once.  Step by step, until you get to the end result.


My neighbour, being the avid angler, comes home from time to time with fish to braai.  These, I’m told, are called “silver”, although it is red.  Perfectly logical mos.


For the past many years a friend donated a lamb for a spit braai for old year’s eve. Due to bad weather, though, the lamb was this time reduced to tjops, ribs, and leg of lamb. The ribs were made in a potjie, with onions, where it simmered for three hours to make for marvelous rib.  Well, so I’m told.  By the time I got to the pot there was nothing left!

This was followed up by roly-poly desert also made in the potjie on the fire.  I managed to get the ‘before’ picture.

Roly Poly

There was no time for the ‘after’ picture.  I did not think the empty potjie would count for an ‘after’ picture.

In the beginning we used to stock the caravan up before coming to Gouritsmond. It turns out, though, that meat is somewhat cheaper at the local shop than in town. So from time to time we got some really good steaks to grill on the coals.

One morning my wife went to buy steak, but she was advised by the lad manning the power tools there that he cut his hand, and there will be not further meat cutting for the day. Which is probably not a bad idea. I also thought one might want to wait a day or two before you buy meat again. Just to be sure, you know.

Some 7km away is the Stoepsit restaurant pretty much in the middle of nothing. That turned out to be a rather nice hangout. The kids went there for a dance on old year’s eve.

My neighbour does afval potjie (tripe) but swears by one butcher only from whom he sources his afval. I don’t do afval, although I have to admit his end product looks rather appetizing.

Christmas dinner with the family at Montagu is an elaborate affair. It actually starts with the previous evening’s dinner with a braai. Having the meat still simmering on the coals by 22h30 is not strange.

Christmas dinner consisted of chicken, leg of lamb, mustard jelly, cucumber jelly (no, really) roast potatoes. The previous evening’s Casata ice cream is equalled by grandma’s trifle and ice cream.

Ok, I guess you know what this is?


Yeah, I …

HOLIDAY SEASON 2014 – part 1

Wednesday, 7 January, 2015

Getting the wheels ready

Last year my holiday ended with my whole rig and my family being delivered at our house by a tow truck.

Travelling in style

The thing with these little discomforts is that it normally makes for good reading. Afterwards.

After our rather peculiar mode of arriving home, I was under pressure to have the family transport upgraded to something that the family would perceive as more reliable. My seventeen year old vehicle with 290 000km’s on the clock just did not do it for the family any more. I was not yet convinced that a replacement was called for.

But I was overtaken by events. Our second set of wheels (also older than a decade) suddenly needed acute repairs that simply did not seem worth its while. So I had to replace those wheels. And thus, I still have my trusted bakkie.

But in a bit of de ja vu I started experiencing mechanical problems on my bakkie just in the month before departure. With three weeks to go and all moving parts in the starter circuit already replaced with new ones, I still had a problem getting the bakkie to start when hot. My auto electrician then performed an experimental repair that he believed would solved what turned out to be a voltage drop.

Problem is, I would only finally know whether it worked when the bakkie travelled a bit. Which would mean that only on the first leg of my holiday travel would I know. So just to be sure we decided that the second set of wheels has to travel along as a back-up vehicle. It did remind me of the mechanic to whom I spoke shortly after I acquired my bakkie many years ago. He said of course I can go do heavy offroading in Kaokoland with said bakkie, as long as the tow truck went along.

The departure is the now well known drill, ie getting the caravan out without taking bits of gutters, gates, walls and bougainvilla along. After doing this for ten years, we now seem to have got the hang of it.  We now get it right without the shouting and the cursing that the neighbours used to complain about. There is just no replacement for experience.

After the pit stop at Worcester it was with trepidation that I started my bakkie again. And walaa! It started! It seems like my autolec actually got the problem fixed! I am happy to report that, in the end, the bakkie gave sterling service.

Off to sea

At Gouritsmond’s annual library book sale I buy two books for the quiet moments of the holiday. Robert Ludlum’s Matarese Circle, and Geoffrey Archer’s Eagle Trap. I’m not sure either of these gentlemen would be happy to know that their works of art are being sold for the equivalent of the princely sum of some 17 British cents (R3) each. But then again, with the strength of the Pound Sterling one never knows. I certainly got a lot of value for my money.

Holidaying at the sea, of course, makes it mandatory to go to the beach.

On day one I accompany my 12-year old just to check on him. When his older boet was that age the two of us got swept away by a strong backwash that came close to turning out tragically. So I prefer to keep an eye on the chap.

Gourits strand

For the occasion I don my brand new garish red trunks. It seems to hit a nerve on the beach. I cannot help but notice the people taking cognisance of me. Some even openly point at my larnie swimming trunks. Although I profess to be a humble man I have to confess that I do have an ego. Which ego took kindly to the attention of especially the girls on the beach. So I put a bit of a …

One Trick Donkeys

Wednesday, 10 December, 2014

OK, maybe they have more tricks up their sleeves.  But I witnessed only the one.  The one where Gloria and Poppy carried our picnic stuff over the Polka Hills farmlands.

In the winelands between Kuilsriver and Stellenbosch, Swiss born Luca and Ingrid Bein run a private wine cellar which they feed from 2,2 hectares of Merlot grapes.


Source:  Map data ©2014 AfriGIS (Pty) Ltd, Google

The farm is situated on the Polkadraai (Polka turn) road.   The road used to be the road connecting Kuilsriver and Stellenbosch.  The Polkadraai was a notorious bend in the road claiming many a not so sober student victim.  It still is a notorious bend, but it has since been bypassed with a dual carraige way going pretty straight now.  The road is still known as Polkadraai, though.

Luca and Ingrid’s wine making is a rather scientific affair, making use of precision viticulture.  No, I have not idea what it is either, but it sounds mighty grand.  From what I understand it includes having arial pictures taken of the vinyard in red and infra red range,  from which they can judge the performance of the grapes, resulting in them being able to bottle four distinct Merlot’s from these 2,2 hectares.

But what Luca and Ingrid also do, is to take groups on a donkey walk picnic.

Setting off from the cellar, you walk about five kilometers through the scenic vineyards of some of the Polka draai farms, with the donkeys Gloria and Poppy carrying all the goodies for the picnic.

Polkadraai heuwels

Source:  Map data ©2014 AfriGIS (Pty) Ltd, Google

Ingrid and Gloria

False Bay viewThe notorious Polkadraai.


At the picnic spot the donkeys are unloaded.

Eseltjies rus

The blankets are put out.

Komberse uit

And the table set.

Tafel gedek

In between our hosts give some running commentary on the scene, the production of wine, and other interesting facts.

Ingrid & Luca

Then you do picnic.

And taste their wines.

Bein Merlot

And have a nice time.

Whilst tasting their wines.

The donkeys have a rest.


And then, much later, you walk back to the cellar where you started off.  However, the route is planned so that the stretch back to the cellar after the picnic is down hill and very short.

The wall in the cellar displays proof of the Bein’s wine making acumen.




O, and don’t forget:  don’t mess with the donkey’s parking space, nuh.



Saturday, 25 October, 2014

A kiddies concert

I have by now become accustomed to Durbanville Preparatory school’s annual concerts.  This year was no exception.  And it matters not what concert they come up with, there is space for everyone to participate.

On Friday night we sent to see one of the series of concerts.

Roar!  (Lion King).

We arrive early and get our seats with a good view.  Excitement abound.  A family ranging three generations moves into the seats in front of us.   The father takes place in front of me. Now I have only a view of his bulk in front of me.  With a bit of gymnastics I can see past him.  But it is a bit like going  to the drive-in and to have to park behind the only tree in the middle of the parking area.

The concert kicks off with the majestic music of Circle of Life.  The props and costumes are cunningly done.  Giraffes, leopards, zebras, and of course the lion clan.  It is a sea of movement, colours and sound.  The kind of stuff that gives you goosebumps.

The elephants remind me of my first encounter with the world of performing arts.  In my first grade I was a mouse in the consert.  We were dressed up in overall kind of suits, with mouse faces of carton to be stapled behind our heads with pantyhose.  I can’t remember much of the concert.  As you can imagine, the grade 1 mice would not have had the most exciting part in the concert.  I do remember, though, that the teacher accidentally put the stapler right through my friend’s ear.  She then accidentally put the other stapler through his other ear.   She said it was an accident.  Yeah, right.

But I digress.

Some of the songs deviates slightly from the script, with tongue in the cheeck use of other songs.  Such as the SABC news jingle for the Morning Report.  Some Afrikaans music and Mango Groove songs render a very African and Afrikaans character to the play.

There is so much to see, with so many actors and constant movement.  Sometimes one misses the good stuff.  Like the young Nala pulling faces behind the back of Zazu, the annoying bird.  And the hiena’s laughter remains infectuous.

Sometimes the greatest fun happens in the background, albeit unintended.  Obviously the main characters had been chosen based on their ability to act.  Leaving those making up the background numbers sometimes, well, less than expert actors.  So, concentrating on the background actors really render some gems.  Here one would dance in the wrong direction, or be totally off rhythm. Some of the boy fireflies clearly were not comfortable dancing with the girl butterflies. I see a great future (although it may turn out to be an impossible feat) for local dance schools to prepare some of these boys for their matric farewell dance ten years from now.

The scene where the buffalos take out Mufasa is so well executed.  In spite of the buffalos remaining on one spot whilst simmulating movement each with two painted buffalo heads in their hands, it is a lively and realistic scene.

In scene 7 we meet Pumba and Timone.   It must be great fun to play these two oddballs. The two actors clearly enjoyed themselves, their faces telling the story more vividly than any dialogue could.    All the costumes were expertly done.  But I felt a tinge of jealousy for Pumba’s costume.  Man, how cool was that.  I can just imagine myself walking through the local mall dressed in that suit.  But then again, given the current spate of mall robberies I’ll probably get shot before I can get near a jewellery store.

The music and choreography are brilliantly paired.  On Waka-Waka we had Rafiki and two unidentified grade one actors doing a brilliant rendition of Shakira at her best.  And eventually, on the beat of “Everybody …

December Holiday – Part 1

Monday, 4 August, 2014
2013 – 2014 December holiday

The onset of the holiday

It was the first morning of the holiday that I woke up in my caravan. Today is Madiba’s funeral. In Qunu. But no, we have not been invited. Otherwise I would mos have been there. So now I’m at Gouritsmond.

The awakening is like after having received anaesthetics. The previous day’s travelling was not as uneventful as it should have been.  Then followed pitching tents, hitting what now feels like thousands of tent pegs, unpacking, repacking and all the rest.  It felt as if all the lubricants have been drained from my joints during the night. But, tadaa! It is holiday and I need not get up. I can’t.

Eventually I do manage to get out of bed.

Sitting in the wind under the gazibo feals heavenly. When sitting in the wind feels like an event in itself, you know it’s hot. And holiday.



Taking a leak

The heat has been broken by early morning showers. I wake up with a drop of watter falling on my arm. But I’m not sleeping outside. Paaah! My caravan leaks water.

Normally I set my caravan up at a slight angle to the rear. This is enough to cause water to leak off the edge of the caravan before it could form a puddle at the spot where it sometimes leak into the caravan. But I neglected to do so this time.

I get the last tube of silicon at the shop at the gate, and set to work to fix the leaks. I’m not the handiest of handymen. After a while I’ve got everything covered with the silicon. Mostly myself, but some bits of silicon did make it to what I identified as the offending areas. According to my dictionary what I am doing is termed scamp work. Well, it probably goes with camp work, huh?


I also tweak the angle of the caravan a bit. She now sits slightly on her haunches for a good leak. Of the water that runs from the roof mos now.

I’m now satisfied that the caravan will not leak again. As long as it does not rain.


Rare species

We often spot two rare species that are found here (so maybe they’re not so rare then?). The river hare and the tortoise. The one is quicker than the other.


Did you know that it takes the tortoise 13 seconds to cross a standard tar road? That’s if he takes his time and does not sense a threat in the form of a big 4×4 trundling down on him. Thén he can cut that time to 10 seconds. I’m sure this is information that you’ve been absolutely dying to know for years. Well, there you have it.

Unfortunately I have not had the opportunity to time the river hare crossing the road, but I can tell you for a fact that he is remarkably quicker.


To infinity and beyond

The Gouritsmond library hosts an annual booksale. Given the size of the town it is a remarkable sale that they put up there. We normally arrive in town in time for the booksale.


Paying between R5 and R15 for a book a R100 can solve all your idle moments for the rest of the holiday and beyond. Virtually to infinity and beyond, to quote Buzz Lightyear. Now we are geared for proper lazy holidaying.



Keeping busy

Down at the sea the beach services crowd is keeping the kiddies busy. Their master of proceedings proclaims that they will be building the biggest sand castle ever. All the pee-wees join in. I decided not to let them in on the secret, but I can sommer tell them beforehand, this won’t be the biggest sand castle ever.

Not even close.

Part 2 follows…

December holiday – Part 2

Monday, 4 August, 2014

Of bicycles and friends

The mechanics of bicycles, and more in particular of its brakes, have always been a mystery to me. Like most other things mechanical. As a safety precaution I don’t ride a bicyle of which I have worked on the brakes myself, so it has never been much of a problem.


But now our youngest is riding around with his rusted bicycle that we brought along. Fortunately he is unaware of my lack of confidence and experience in repairing brakes on a bicycle.   It works a bit like peace of mind: even if your peace of mind is based on false premises, you still have peace of mind. How cool is that.

So Kleinboet is happily riding around on his bicycle of which I fixed the brakes. I can think of no reason to shatter his peace of mind.

Then one morning our tea session with the neighbours gets rudely interrupted.

A boy of about fourteen arrives in a huge hurry. There has been an accident. Kleinboet fell on the tar he even bounced as he hit the tar he is bleeding and crying and does not look good it was an accident and he (the messenger) is very sorry he did not intend for Kleinboet to get hurt but oom must now come immediately please.

Few things can catapult one into action than a report of bodily harm to your kids. We rush over to where a crowd has formed. Kleinboet is in the middle, lying in the road. A fellow camper that might have been either a para-medic or a doctor reports that nothing seems to be broken, and that Kleinboet will survive. I pick him up (Kleinboet now, not the paramedic) and rush him over to the caravan so that we can attend to him.

Between the groaning and clenched teeth Kleinboet reports that his friend was doing these cool tricks with his (the friend’s – take note) bicycle. However, he still needed to work on the execution of one of these tricks. The problem came when he executed this one particular cool trick with Kleinboet sitting on the handle bars.



Civilisation seems to be reluctant to let go of his grip on me. I receive a call from the security company that my alarm went off. Paaah! I counted on the criminals to also at least stay at home if they cannot afford to go on holiday. Over the next few days I get another few calls. Eventually, between myself and the guy staying in our house, we get it figured out. One of my newly installed beams outside picks up on the sun’s reflection at a specific time of the day. So now we can just bypass that zone. Problem solved. No burglaries.

I often think of Bob Dylan while I’m here. The answer my friend, is sitting in the wind. Or something like that.


Kids do the darnest things

The thing with kids, nuh. Eisj……

I know our oldest has his last working day today. He will drive down from Cape Town tomorrow. But I also know that he comes off work at noon today. And I suspect Ouboet of intending to surprise us by coming today already instead of tomorrow.

At one minute past noon I receive a WhatsApp from him on how to locate Gouritsmond on the GPS, which he has with him for exactly this eason. So I assume he is now underway. Which means he should be here by 16h00.

So from about 16h00 I take up station under my gazibo from where I can watch the gate of the caravan park. By 17h30 I’m rather concerned. No Ouboet in sight, and there is no movement on Ouboet’s WhatsApp. Although I don’t want to send a message to his phone for fear of him checking it whilste driving, I nevertheless do so, innocuosly asking …

December holiday – Part 3

Monday, 4 August, 2014

The retreiver(s)

I sometimes go swim lengths in the tidal pool.


One good morning this very happy Labrador becomes upset with me in the water. He probably thought I’m drowing, so he promptly decides to save me. Maybe it was a Retreiver. I don’t hink he thought it through properly, though. I had no intention of being retreived. Ouboet is also there and notices the problem. He decides to retreive the Labrador. The Labrador does not wish to be retreived either. Eventually the owner of the Labrador interevenes and takes away the dog.

He turns out to be the only effective retreiver of the bunch of us.

Just in time, though, because shortly thereafter the Big Retreiver arrives. Someone alerted the local law enforcement officer of the dog running amok at the pool.


Your mother…..

Our youngest parcitipates in the talent concert in the community hall one evening. Whilst busy with a bit of blues on his guitar, a slightly unruly guy with no front teeth in the audience chats away loudly with his friends. Ouboet asks him te tone down a bit. The guy does not like it at all and gives Ouboet the Cape oral version of the middle finger with reference to his mother.

The next morning my wife and I attend church to pray for us and the guy without front teeth. We are the only people there, though. There is no morning service that Sunday morning.

Pity you, larnie with no front teeth, nuh?


Gone fishing

Fishing is not my thing. Unfortunately Kleinboet really likes this pastime. He will have to work a bit on his temper, though. He really does not take kindly to any fish getting away.

I’m not much of an assistance, though. On occasion I sought the guidance of my very avid angling neighbour at the campsite. He suggested I buy some harders at the shop for bait, just to get the thing going. The exercise turned out no-good. My neighbour still finds it funny that the canned pilchards that I bought did not work well. What is it with him. And the fish. They were not interested at all. I mean, the seagulls were very happy when we ended up throwing them with the pilchards.

But then neighbour takes pity on Kleinboet and takes him along for a fishting trip on his boat. I join in. We travel up in the Gourits river before throwing out the anchor for a few hours of organised loafing.


Some fish seems to actually have personality. Nasty personalities, that is. While sitting there and waiting for fish to nible on the hooks, a shoal of flying fish comes, well, flying past. As if they are mocking us. I’m sure I saw one of them give us a rude sign, but I could have been mistaken.

Then Kleinboet gets a bite. Huge excitement! For the next many minutes Kleinboet battles it out with whatever is on the hook. The fish is not giving up the fight lightly. Now he is this side of the boat, then on the other side, back and thro. Eventually, totally out of breath, Kleinjan gets his first real fish on board. He looks like he won the lottery (but had to run to get it).


I’d say he had a happy look on his face.

Part 4 follows.…