Long day out - WPASS 100

It had been an interesting journey to the startline. Dangerous Davo hadn’t been on his bike since he quit the Epic after his sponsors all fell away in rapid succession. Schticky Stevo had sat on his ass with a fractured scaphoid and then an elongated femoral patella ligament. Training had been condensed into two babbelaas induced paddle sessions in this funny craft the K2 (AKA the purple turtle, doing his first race since I picked him up at an auction for R400). A Saturday start at noon saw us assuming the mantle of wannabe rockstars, hitting the pubs Friday night when there was still packing and preparation to be done. Enough equipment to find Livingston was thrown in the back of a bakkie and we were on our way to the mission dorpie of Genadendal, and the start of 2007’s WPASS 100.

row row your boat

Neither of us had done anything like a 100km adventure race, and it showed by our embarrassing logistic setup in the hour before the start. With 10 minutes to go, Stevo was battling a leaky valve and didn’t know where his headlamp, or car keys were. In a mad rush I ducttaped the valve to one side to stop the leak, it lasted the full 60kays this dodgy way. Somehow we got on the line with seconds to spare and we were off, ahead lay a:
4km run
15km river (and I use that definition loosely) paddle
60km MTB
25km hike

the locals checking out the scene..the hike is in the background

We were the only team to do the sneaky shortcut to the first PC by crossing the river, my pre-race recce did not show up the knee deep quicksand and pretty soon we were wet, dirty and last. It’s a relative term in a race with only 9 teams (2 of them on the ‘Lite’ course), and we all arrived within minutes at the first transition – the paddle on the Riviersondereind. Interestingly there were a bunch of locals hitting the klippies round a braai who had already nicked the one team’s croc and were beating a poke-slow and ultimately unsuccessful getaway down the river.

For those unfamiliar with paddle craft, there is a loose tradeoff between speed and stability when choosing your steed. You want to be on the fastest thing that you can keep upright, and this was actually both of our first times on an actual river. It was reassuring that we got over the first weir unscathed with teams swimming on both banks. There were sections with hidden sandbanks, twisty routes through papyrus forests, the odd rapid and a few flat open sections. Disaster struck quickly as the right pedal hinge sheered off totally in a tight section and we were swimming. No excuses from me, as I do treat the boat worse than a cheating ex-girlfriend, no such thing as time wasted on maintenance. Just like the competitive male model industry, things are tough if you are not an ambi-turner, and a MacGyver plan was hatched. A strip of duct tape was wound onto the control wire, which was pulled over the right knee. It was uncomfortable, but kinda worked in the easier sections. The paddle had its moments; a few narrow escapes from under tree branches, a mid rapid swamping, and lots of missions into papyrus beds – but somehow we got the turtle to the transition. We weren’t even last, with Uge’s Quinton swearing like a trooper at his boat/team/river behind us.

The awesome side of this little event/sport now showed up. The organizers had transported our bikes and 1 crate of kit to the transition. We gooied the k2 down, kitted up in our bike stuff, had some spagbol and were on our way. Schoolboy error #2 showed us up rather quickly. A waterproof map holder only works if you actually close it, and our route map was a soggy mess that would pass as any homework ‘my dog ate it’ excuse. Luckily we were with two other teams, and with the temperature in the mid 30’s and a stiff 20knot breeze, it made sense to stick together. We caught up with another team at a missing pc which had been swiped by locals. There was a fairly long climb which we came off rather well, stopping for a quick dip in a farm dam to stave off the heat. By now we had pushed into second place and hit the Dirtopia downhill with some vigour. We had another bummer when Davo punctured halfway down, the culprit was a now battered porcupine quill. Good thing he changes flats quicker than Jacob runs to a post-coital shower and we got to the next PC still ahead of the pack. It’s prudent to note now that the leaders had about a 90 minute lead and it was really a race for second. It’s really handy when you throw training, experience and talent into the equation and those boys really mocked us hackers.

Back to the race, we were now facing a big decision, there were two PC’s a hundred meters apart, separated by 30m of river. We got to the first PC clipped, and Davo found another puncture, Stans tubeless really is worth every one of the five hundred bucks you throw at it. I scouted for an easier crossing upstream but returned with another team and looked into wading across. With bike above my head, I turned around once it got to chin level. The other team proceeded to swim their bikes across; not easy (or clever) I thought. By now quite a pile-up had emerged and some bright spark noted that you could swim there and back to your bikes, which we all then did. It involved a bit of Rambo papyrus rushing, and a swim with leadlike mtb shoes on. The last 15km was a real slog into the wind (we passed the bike swimmers, who got a karmic puncture for abusing their bikes) and one had to try not look at the sheer mountain we had to tackle next. We pulled into the transition in second spot to as much cheers as you can get from 10 tired race supporters, and slowly set about getting food and changing. A 40 minute turn around time is not quick, and we let two teams overtake us here. We weren’t overly fussed by this, as we just wanted to finish and our lack of training would really hurt us if we pushed on at this point.

So bellies full and warmed up after scraping a kit inspection (fair enough, it probably did look like we might take all week-end to knock off the remaining leg) we headed up the hill in the falling light. The hike route seemed just as navigationally straightforward as the rest of the race, and sure enough we all took the same route up, up, up and over the mountain and down the other side. We paused for a great sunset. Such a great sunset that it's getting two sentences here, as it just spread over the valley in pinks, purples, oranges and all that's in between. I’d throw in a third, but you had to be there.

It’s probably a good thing it got dark, as it was a long way up. The stat was quoted as 1800m vertical in 16km, not too sure how that works as it was a 22km roundtrip but you don’t need numbers to explain that it was steep and relentless. Sure enough we all took the same route, when actually there was a longer but much easier option. Hindsight is great, we were on the circular Genadendal two day trail; where one route is up and over, the other more around the mountain. We all felt a little silly as Mikey had gone to great lengths to point out a farm that should be avoided on the easier option, but I think it also had a bit to do with the map in two pieces as the flatter option was much harder to conceive. Anyway, lesson learnt (again) that route planning is just as important as overall fitness.

Along the way we crossed a few rivers, and saw plenty of huge insects to keep the mind off the task at hand. We had missed the only junction and actually let two more teams past whilst we backtracked. The team pulling up the rear did the same, but spectacularly bundu’d up the mountain much to the amusement of all watching the roaming headlights from below. Finally we saw the leaders on their way down and could gauge how long the leg would take us. Disappointingly they were running, full of smiles and cheers – ready for another lap. Of course they would be in bed before we returned.

It’s never easy finding a PC in the dark, but this one was a massive rock that appeared out of the blackness, our oasis in the desert, and a welcome sign that we could turn around and go home. The race for second had three teams just 20 minutes ahead of us at this point, but there was no fight left for a chase and that was the last we saw of them. When we eventually pulled into the school at the finish there were a few tired souls around, a cup of coffee and a great muffin to munch on whilst we recollected the last 14 hours of madness.

pretty bushed, its 2am

All in all it was a really good event, well organized by volunteers who do it because they just love the sport. First prize is a T-Shirt and a bottle of wine, awesome! CapeStorm gooied a few prizes in as did Constantia pharmacy. Mike had to do a lot of running around and switching to the course due to the original bike and paddle being logistically washed out two just weeks earlier. I think the only reason why there are 9 and not 30+ teams is that December is just too busy a month, in every other respect it’s an event and club worth supporting. Well done to Owen and Hano for making us all look like amateurs with a three and half hour winning margin.

Take the phone and run

So it’s the worst Christmas for years if you’re a retailer. The NCA has cut the easy credit card hand out scheme that got people spending (much) more than they really had. I found another way to get some credit, and am yet to find the catch.

You might have seen Makro, Game, Hyperama advertising their ‘Cash voucher’ deals that come with a cellphone contract purchased instore. Having to shell out a bunch of cash for some big-ticket items for my new bachelor pad, I looked into it further at Makro, and here’s the deal:
Week-end everyday contract (R200 activation + R135 x 24months)
Free nokia ring ring phone (value R300)
120 off peak minutes
R2900 gift voucher
Do the math and for R200 upfront you get all that. I looked at it as a way to get an upfront loan that I pay off over 2 years.
Some simple sums gives you: 200 + 135*24=R3440
Some better sums with Excel takes interest into account {PV(8%/12, 24, 135)}+ 200 = 3184.

So that’s it, in present terms you get all the above for R3184, what is the catch?
a)R2900 gift voucher doesn’t cost them R2900, assume an average 30% markup on store items and it’s costing them R2070.
b)They’ve done the research, and the average spend will be well over the R135/month.

Of course I’m a geek and went for a fancier phone, but my 3G enabled Samsung still came with two grands worth of spending money, which I immediately spent. If you need to buy anything big, can discipline yourself to only use the free minutes and don’t mind waiting around for about 45 minutes then it’s silly not to go for it.

What's even worse is the people who still pay R3000+ for a fancy pre-paid phone.

Long day out

Ignorance is bliss, pity we know we are in for an ass-kicking.

So despite some early interest from the Amsterdam mtb phenom and the paddle guru, it's just dangerous dave and the singletrack steve taking on the wpass 100.

Dave's been hitting the sauce ever since Tito got a firm grip on his balls, and well I've been rather inactive since the scaphoid/patella fiasco. Throw a 65/35/20 bike/hike/paddle at us, and we're in the dark for sure.

Being a fairly low-rent event, there's unlikely to be more than 10 teams, so prizes are a definite if we finish. Having a look at the weather report, and it's better to run away. It's going to be hot, and then rainy at night..

.....Genadendal here we come..

The Waiting is Over

When Lance pulled into Paris for magical win number 7, it must have been tempting to stick it out for another year and obliterate the competition again. Instead he took the brave decision to quit whilst he was still at the top of his game. Sport is full of heroes who just couldn’t see when to quit and ended up with not a bang but a wimper.

sh1t Dave before he was a loser

Now poor old Dave really has had a rough few weeks. Firstly he loses the Dave-off at the Muizenberg Festival of Beer (drat, where’s the link? must discipline those lazy staff reporters). So to all and sundry, he is now known as Sh1t Dave.

tuffies if you missed it

Then he rocks up to Sassu ’08 with the air of an expectant rockstar. Sure he’s been part of an all conquering Laser team that has a win streak heading back to a time when beer was R50/case, but reputations alone don’t get you round a course. Don’t forget the two year break since Sassu ’05 and a six month ban under a regulation Rule 69 violation. With boats only materializing on the week-end and not much in the way of stiff competition, sh1t Dave still decided to forgo any training and jet in from overseas the day before the regatta. He’s an old hand, putting the finishing touches to a Ph.D he expects next year, which will put an end to the eternal life of a student (hence SASSU retirement).

Predictably the UCT/HIV team skip into the final and face up against a Maties team known better for off water antics. Hardly stiff opposition to our multiple gold winning hero, and the real moniker being Richard ‘Snailtrail’ H-S being in the wynboer team. Now Snailtrail got that nickname from sh1t Dave himself, when he was regrettably a UCT sailor (we all have our flaws), and a ‘poke slow’ teammate of sh1t Dave.

Well the maties romped home to a win in perfect conditions, sh1t dave was reduced to tears and ordered a funnel on exiting the arena. The longest minute of his life (just pipped ahead of the 200 minutes his poppie took to fill her immense bladder) ended him a mere mortal, and loser for his final curtain in sassu competition.

In the days following an unexpectant loss like this, normally scapegoats are found and soulsearching reveals the reasons for the agony. However this time it was quite clear, as much as sh1t Dave was a part of the mean machine, the real star player all these years was Craig ‘Selwyn’ Sterling. With Selwyn now following the career path in legal fraud practitioning, there was no-one to carry Dave to gold anymore..now that we really think about it, he’s fortunate to crawl away with silver.

Thabo vs JayZ

ok, about time for some political commentary again. Remember kids this
is a two horse race for ANC prez, which is not necessarily SA prez.
it's all very Yanky with two candidates, but the neutral observer
would go for Tokyo in a heartbeat:
* badass rich black businessman
* blonde poppie trophy wife
* has his own TV show
* first name will give him kudos with the Japs
* surname is way better than Zuma (the Sex Whale)

Judy would be the new Winnie, what has Zanele Mbeki done for you
recently, I ask? As for brother JZ, he has about 4 at the moment (and
was married to the cow that is Nkososana) so you can hardly tick that
box

Twilight Madness

So the team got kitted out in company colours and lined up for the annual Community chest Twilight challenge.


It's a 4.5km loop from Grand Parade through Long Street and Company Gardens. And because there are 23 000 people, it is not a run, but a monumental piss-up!


Only took about 15 minutes/1 beer to get over the start line.


Some dodgy dudes in Long Street.


Some would say that trolleys are cheating, who are we to complain?



All in all, a great night out, course done in a blistering 105 minutes

Another great sale

So we missed the Great annual CapeStorm sale with the Rocking The Daisies clash.

Lucky lucky First Ascent did the same thing, with a secret email campaign. It was carnage..check all the kiddies lining up for their christmas presents!


Of course the usual whim purchases of don't need/must have stuff took place, but just managed to stay under the 1bar mark...Definitely money well wasted

no más de Pedro

Ardent followers would remember the Germexican's little retreat which was recently chronicalled here. There's been a fair amount of interest in a follow-up, and I did look into it, but with 10 days of meditation there just wasn't much substance for a full-blown post. He does have a neat 10cm gash on his stomach now (right about where your kidney is), similar to the one where they removed my appendix....fishy indeed.

What will be of more interest to the general public is what has transpired since Pedro has returned to the real world. In a secrecy shrouded international trip he has indeed finally emerged with what looks something like formal employment. There's a definite movie script in it, as it involves private jets, surgeons and oligarchs.

I had heard enough and had to put my foot down, we all know what happened to all who lived with Yuri the Russian earlier this year, so the kid is out the surf shack from January. He mumbled something about getting kitted out with the vegan in some little base not far from the ocean.
For those of you who can do maths, it'll be plainly obvious that that makes one free room available in the fine pink establishment down south. We're only looking at bikini models for now, but will be willing to put you on the waiting list if your credentials match up.

it had to happen

Following my incredibly successful fantasy rugby Super12 team of 2005, '15 Burgers- no fries' is no mean feat. Now despite being SA's most valuable player (according to those of us who actually understand how the game works) the Incredible Schalk is no Bobby when it comes to marketing himself.

The ridiculous hairdo and his OUTsurance profile will always be hard to emerge from, but this could be a step in the right direction. Of course there's no co-incidence in a fast-food product being backed by a dude who famously has no respect for his own body or health.

Gloria bares all

I really can't believe it. It's an absolute no-brainer like the advantages of shimano's rapid rise gear shifting(google it if you're lost). Gloria has got be the greatest relationship I've ever had. She wants for little, and gives plenty in return. Did I forget to mention that she has NEVER gone premenstrual on me? If you're still not convinced that she is the greatest girl on the planet, then i suggest you read on.

So the other day we were soaking up some rays with Cape Town's social set at Muizenberg's surfer's corner. We'd gone for a little spin on the newly revamped Supertube and I shot a 19 on the back nine of the golf course (sorry, I forget we have two, that should read the BLUE course).

Now Muizies is really coming back in flavour these days, the honeys are wall to wall and excitement is high with the impending opening of a 'Sinful' ice cream store. So we were fooling around with the volleyball net when things got a bit competitive. Now mixed doubles volleyball is all about the ability of your chick to dig and the boy to spike. Now G can dig with best and my spike might as well be a surf report, but we were playing against Neil and Kerry, who do this stuff all the time. We lost the best of five at 23's in the fifth, which is naelskraap if you know your volleyball scoring. The consequence of defeat was of course a skinny dip, and Mr McKenzie had his fancy pancy new Cybershot out in a flash to document the evidence. Gloria is quite comfy with the camera and seems to have no skaam when flashing assets.

Now I'm not the jealous type, and I'm happy with the 'look but don't touch' rules. Now some people might have problems at work viewing these pictures, as they are shall we say only with bikini bottoms on. So if you're under 18, i'm only warning you once.

Oh yeah

more of that please

that's enough now

Gloria has a Stalker

I like some of that



Well I've had some serious complements about my uber hot fiancé Gloria since this post.

So much, that it's going to be Gloria week here at team Deep South.

first up, and I hope all facebook addicts are listening up here, it's a dodgy world out there. I can't believe some people will leave some seriously personal information hanging out like dirty laundry. Just incase you think I'm paranoid, check out the totally random dude who is now totally stalking Gloria.

White Heart and Lame

Yip, not sure how he found her, but his name is Sam, he's a british yob who supports Tottenham Hotspur (a soccer club) and his local tattoo parlour.

So hot right now

Deep stuff, bru

I'm pretty sure he's a soccer hooligan and on the FIFA blacklist of known riot inciters. So we need some feedback here, does Gloria accept the friend request?

Well if that ain't a message

Those crawlies stand no chance

So there we have it, quota within an hour of the West Coast Rock Lobster season opening.

Could it be due to the local knowledge of where the large kreef are hiding, maybe the delicious combo of fresh pilchards, snoek heads and seaweed extract?

Possibly so, but we do now have the fastest kreefing boat on the Weskus now, we were at Dassen with nets in the water before most of the okes had even launched. We lost one engine on the way back with a fuel issue, but with 7 250's we looked like a floating Habana.

In from the deep

The hippie bunny huggers take another body shot as we are all excited
with the annual kreef pillage which started at sunrise this morning..

Good thing for us kreefsmokkelaars aren't as skilled as
perlemoensmokkelaars and there is a season for us to enjoy the finer
things in life. So how do you get your hands on one of these furry
monsters? There are many ways, we'll highlight the legal (but not
necessarily easiest) ones.
Buy a licence from your friendly lost office (about sixty bucks); then
get some snorkelling gear and head to cape point or find a boat with
suitable nets at kommetjie or houtbay. Hey presto! You have quota
(almost as easy as the 'roof).

Now for the fun part – steam the suckers in a thumbwidth of saltwater
for 9 minutes. They should be red like a barmy army cricket fan after
a Kallis double century by now. You might hear a high pitched
squealing noise during the process. This is not cause for alarm in any
way. Of course you threw them in the boiling water alive (they're
fresh, i hope), but they are very very definitely not screaming for
help in there. If they had capabilities of oral communication, I'm
pretty sure they would protest as soon as you took them out the water.
It's of course steam escaping from the carapace and a good sign that
your pot is hot enough.

Allow to cool (or splash with cold water), and butterfly the bad boy
to remove the pooptube. Garlic butter, whiskey mayo or even Nando's
perinnaise, the sauce is a hot topic. I always go for a second
opinion. Repeat process from second paragraph ad nauseum or easter
week-end.

Revenge of the Nerds Part VI

Wow, somehow this is the 100th post, and I can't think of a better subject to bring in such a heady milestone.



I hope Santa is still monitoring this page, I want one....turn your bog-standard X-Y scope into an analogue clock..I KNOW!

If you don't realise how mindbogglishly groundbreakingly awesome this is, well then you'll never understand, so explanations are futile. Just watch the movie series, the jocks lose everytime.

More info

Keep those Sundays free

ok, so here's another of those good reasons to be a capetonian. What an awesome line-up?...the tickets are the same story, on sale from friday morning....expect Seether to be sold out by lunchtime, and yes they are actually pretty good acousitc. check this one out:



Funny that Appletizer have dropped out after long support, but who really needs sponsors for this, it's always packed!

25 November
Vusi Mahlasela *
2 December
Old Mutual Encounter
Chris Chameleon & Neo Muyanga
9 December
Love Jones
10/11/12 December
Michael Bublé
13/14/15/16 December
Carols by Candlelight
23 December
Flat Stanley
30 December
Plush
31 December
94.5 Kfm & Drostdy-Hof New Year’s Eve Concert
Freshlyground & Dr Victor and The Rasta Rebels
JANUARY 2008
6 January
Seether *
13 January
Fokofpolisiekar
20 January
Watershed *
27 January
McCully Workshop
FEBRUARY 2008
3 February
Old Mutual Encounter
Ismaël Lô
10 February
The Parlotones *
17 February
The Rudimentals
24 February
Arno Carstens *
MARCH 2008
2 March
Old Mutual Choral Encounter
9 March
Goldfish *
16 March
Old Mutual Encounter
Karen Zoid & Selaelo Selota
23 March
Cape Philharmonic Orchestra *
30 March
The Jonny Cooper Orchestra
APRIL 2008
5 April
UCT Rag Concert
6 April
Louise Carver
Ticket Prices:
Standard ticket price R40
Concerts marked with * R50
Old Mutual Encounters R50

beware the careless whisper

The hippies really are in for a torrid time on this site. They really
had it coming to be honest.

My mexican flatmate tells me he's gonna be away for a week to ten
days. That normally means he has an epic surfari, transkei drugrun or
housesitting on his menu. This time it's a little different. He's
going on a 'retreat'. It's what guys like Billy from Green Day have to
do when they can't take rehab anymore and need to find inspiration
elsewhere. I think Hunter S. was on a permanent one. I know I'm going
to be subjected to endless stories in future about this pending week,
I fear it is going to be Pedro's "Band Camp". The real irony is that
it sounds like he's not going to be doing much.

It's on a farm somewhere near the gamadoelas, and every day is started
at 4.30am for coffee and biscuits. They then sit around till the main
meal of the day, round noon. In the afternoon they each have a half
hour one-on-one session with the main guru. Then it's off to bed after
sunset. The rules are quite simple, no talking or gesturing between
each other - ever. No phones or any other contact with outside world
allowed.

Of course once I was finished laughing (took a while) I had to ask if
I could slate him about it. His reply didn't really matter, as it's
pretty much fair game. We figured that the only legal form of self
expression left is farting, which is actually not too dissimiliar to
the crap he normally talks about.

The big wtf amongst many is that the week is free/gratis/mahala.
There's no such thing as a free lunch, even if it is lentils and boot
leather. Does anyone out there know how to check that you still have
both kidneys?

We'll have to keep an update on this one, I do hope he keeps his mouth
shut and makes the full week. That's mostly because I sublet his room
out to the Swedish bikini team on their pre season training camp.

what to do when the russian mail-order option is too much commitment

So the whole facebook thing was getting a little tired, and required
some spicing up. Sure it's great for organising events and seeing
who's doing what, but does it really do more than just pull email,
flickr/picasa and youtube into one easier platform. Not really, and
the backlash has started in earnest; most companies are blocking it
and users are reducing their interest or unsubscribing totally. So a
little research project was started to see how much people monitor the
feeds, what they will react to and the extent of their gullibility.

So a second profile was created with a clear sanction to be my new
superhot girlfriend.
She had to be smoking hot, but obviously not someone too famous.
I went with Melissa Theurieau, she's a french newsreader, and fitted
the bill perfectly (to quote Ali G, "i most definitely would"). I'm
prepared to swap the William Webb Ellis trophy and Riaan Cruywagen for
her, the frogs must be well informed these days. A 'random scene'
picture was easily found. (of course now I digressed to other
newsreaders of note ).


I went with a name that was easy to prove the whole charade was a
joke. Gloria Stits (glorious tits) was born. Surprisingly only one
person(A) picked this up.

I let another person(B) in on the act, and she wanted to know how
Gloria could replace a tangible. Real-life girlfriend. The advantages
clearly outweigh the negatives if we peruse this list:
super hot (+)
doesn't waste my time when not required (+)
never nagged once (+)
I see her when I feel like it (+)
doesn't mind if I go out drinking with the boys (+)
never queries any of my actions (+)
writes nice things on my wall (+)
doesn't mind if I score other girls (+)
super hot (+)
I could go on, ad nauseum, but you get the point
now for the negatives
Not a good cook(-)
only told me jokes i already knew (-)
had a funny name, someone asked if she cleaned windows (-)
Of course (B) asked what it was like having a girlfriend where I
hardly got any action. Unless you're dating a nympho, it's normally
easier just to go to Tin Roof once a week round midnight. (as Standard
Bank would say: Simpler. Better. Faster.)

Like many girls, I did get bored with her, so I staged a messy
break-up. In facebook terms it was totally fugly. My wall was abused
beyond repair (that's a lie, I had to go delete the bad ones, like any
normal grieving boyfriend would). (E) sent me her commiserations (and
a personal comment on the tragedy of going from a romantic week-end to
full break-up in a matter of hours). I replied to her saying I
wouldn't miss her and she was a cow.
To keep it interesting, that night I scored Gloria's sister. I wanted
to call her Villuptia, but i thought that was pushing it a tad far.
I got a lot of high-fives from the boys for screwing around with my ex's sister.
In keeping with the week that was, of course I got back together with
Gloria the next day.
Then later the next week we got engaged (at about this time I seemed
to have lost all sense of respectability, and was going to milk it
till it dried up).

So what did she achieve in her three weeks of existence?
My last girlfriend removed me as a friend sometime (hard to confirm
that Gloria was responsible, but I'm sure she had a hand in it).
Had a few conversations with friends, (C ) was totally oblivious and
actually sent in a friend request to her. (D) luckily bluffed me into
revealing her identity eventually, but not after inviting Gloria to
his birthday party (tried in vain to hire an actress for the night).

What did we learn about facebook?
it takes a while before most people react to something
some people react to everything
some people monitor their notifications, and then approach you in real
life rather
a lot of boys like to see a player playing at the top of his game
it's ridiculous what you can sneak past some people
if you have to lie about anything, learn how to cover your tracks

So it's all out there now, who knows what backlash will come from the
realisation that i was fooling around....but if you think online
girlfriends are the way forward, look her up and 'add her to your
friends list' (she's a two bit slut who'll stop at nothing for some
cyber hanky panky)

if not and you want to improve your french, then I recommend a heavy dose of Melissa

The great organic swindle.

We should have shot all the hippies when we had the chance, nowadays
there's no humane way for us to get rid of them and I fear they are
taking over. This whole global warming thing is giving them
unparralleled exposure as every Tom, Dick and Hannes is doing their
little bit to save the planet. I stress 'little' there, as spending
twenty bucks a pop to convert your entire lighting setup to CFL's is
the electricity equivalent to farting against thunder.

So Rocking the Daisies was termed a Carbon Neutral/Green festival.
Tickets were printed on hemp(but I still got a receipt), you could
cycle there for reduced entry fee (but fine to drive home). There was
little difference to last year's unGreen (is it brown?) festival, and
the final nail was that they planted five olive trees on the property.
Spare me the effort of pointing out how ridiculously pointless the
whole exercise was.

So what does it mean when your shop item has 'Organic' emblazened on the cover?
Anyone who did matric science would say there is Carbon in the product.
The hippies will tell you its grown with love and not chemicals.
The realist will point out it's almost twice the price.

When you buy champagne, by law it comes from the Champagne region of
France. Made anywhere else it must be called Methode Cap Classique
(sparkling wine is just a fancy soda stream experiment). Similarily a
bottle of Estate wine must be made from grapes grown on the property.
Locally there are draft regulations for the term Organic, but there's
no recourse for defaulters jumping on the bandwagon. So if you really
feel strong about it and want to support the whole process, you still
have to do your homework by reading labels, researching organic
websites and talking to hippies(filtering out the bullsh1t in the
process).

By now you're wondering what the biltong picture is doing there.
Woolies now have free-range droewors. It's pricey (R50/180g), but at
least you know that Daisy got to chill in a nice field before she was
butchered for her meat. I'd like to know what a non-free range cow
does to while away the hours in their batteries.

On the subject of wors, did you know that there is a difference
between 'boerewors' and 'b/wors'. It's not just due to space
constraints on the label. The first is subject to ingredient
regulations and the second could be anything.

Bok's parade route

ok, 43 people are joining Schalk and Jake as they finally get to come
home on Sunday..here's the schedule...Forries pub lunch anyone?
Sunday 28 October
18h30 Arrival at the Cape Town International Airport
19h00 Departs for team hotel
Monday 29 October
06h15 Selected Springbok players to SABC
07h00 Morning Live interviews
10h45 Team departure to City Hall, Cape Town
11h15 Team arrival at City Hall
11h30 Players greet Capetonians from balcony of the City Hall Mayor to
deliver speech
12h00 Players board bus, start of street parade; From Darling Street
right into Adderley Street; Along Adderley, right turn into Strand
Street; Up Strand Street and left into Long Street; Along Long Street,
right into Buitensingel; Up Buitensingel and right turn into Loop
Street; Along Loop Street and right into Hans Strijdom Avenue; Left
turn into Heerengracht at the Fountain Circle, right turn into Hertzog
Boulevard; Along Hertzog Boulevard, onto M3 to Woolsack Drive turnoff.
13h15 Woodsack Drive turnoff, down towards Main Road, turn right into
Main Road; Along Main Road and left turn into Boundary Road, Newlands
13h45 Arrival at Newlands Rugby Stadium. Team enters the stadium,
parades World Cup to Capetonians. Handing over of Webb Ellis Trophy by
John Smit to SARU president, Oregan Hoskins on the field; Team enters
the Function Room for brief function

2 cups in 5 days

So who's not feeling very proudly south african right now? We've had
the sportsglut's smorgasboard recently with the T20 and RWC keeping
the soapies off the tv schedule. In the interest of weaning off the
feast, the crew settled down to possibly the last time Bafana bafana
play in the Cosafa cup. That's mainly because the competition is
finally dead and Thabo doesn't dig 'the boys the boys' as a moniker.

So Cosafa cup, hey? basically a mini worldcup between all the southern
african teams. So we resort ourselves to the traditional superhouses
Botswana, Swaziland and Reunion. Kinda like the local rugby
superleague where maties have to go through the motions against
Kraaifontein, Strand and SK Walmers.

Surprisingly the Zam anthem is also Nkosi sikelel' afrika, but there
weren't that many people at Springbok Park to notice. Hopefully a few
more arrive for this week-end's currie cup final. Let's put this whole
thing in perspective:our home based players with a brazilian coach
playing at a stadium named after either a town on the N7 or the
national rugby team. Despite the patriotic fervour, there weren't many
bafana bafana or even springbok shirts in the audience. The colour of
choice was actually the green and white hoops of Bloemfentein Celtic,
which is a replica of an irish influenced soccer club from Scotland's
Glasgow.

Taking a lead from the scottish league, the score was 0-0 after 90
minutes. praise Jah we were spared extra time and it went straight to
penalties. We pulled through with a 4-3 win, despite Moeneeb Josephs
doing his best impersonation of a Wright brothers biplane. For those
who moan about quotas in rugby, the token whiteboy missed the one
penalty. The security guards were the first to congratulate the team
(they had a headstart on the crowd) and pretty soon it was a mad dash
for the sanctuary of the change rooms.

With less than 1000 days to 2010 kickoff now, it looks like our best
chance of a quarterfinal place relies mainly on a ridiculously easy
group, some magic from Madiba and a waitress called Suzy.

basking in the afterglow

So whilst the hangover of RWC07 is still in attendance, we offer the
penultimate instalment of this years coverage. It's quite a task being
a well-known reader of the game, but the burden is worth it by
imparting sideline knowledge to even the most clueless of supporters.
Total strangers come up to me in the street to get my opinions and
views on pertinent issues in the world game. As a bonus gift to the
loyal readers, we clear up some grey areas and relive some highlights
today.

* Well the try that wasn't. It'll be pushing for #2 spot behind
Maradona's "Hand of God" for little reason beyond the fact that the
poms are indeed twats. I personally felt that Dickinson would give it
(but there's a reason why TMO's are not allowed 10 beers before they
make decisions), it was as close as you'll ever get to a 50-50 call.If
you want to see what a bad TMO decision looks like, watch the ARG-RSA
semi again. Cueto's foot was on the ground and lifted up somewhere
close to the touchline. The reason it took so long was because the
french editors couldn't understand his instructions for a
frame-by-frame view. They don't have TMO in French Rugby, and this was
a very low-rent move. If he had given it, would it have made a
difference? Definitely not the 7 extra points they are claiming, as
Jonny W kicked the penalty they got from the immediate advantage.
Probably not the conversion either as the penalty kick hit the posts
anyway and that was from 20 metres in. So we are talking about a 2
point decision here. 15-8 final score. Of course Cueto (what a pansie
surname, btw) still maintains his instincts tell him he scored. Yes he
could tell that his toe never touched chalk whilst 115kgs of bull
shoved him sideways. like I said, TWAT.
* there's extreme irony that in finishing the 'IRPA try of the year',
Takudza Ngwenya made the 'IRB player of the year' Bryan '11' Habana
look very ordinary. Bryan did the right thing by shepherding him
towards touch, but didn't quite expect the absolute burst of speed -
an outside break is a truly beautiful thing. Great try, but not
exactly a factor in a plenty-nothing scoreline. For me the obvious
candidate takes the prize for poise, execution and absolute result. Of
course we're looking at the injury time, come from behind move, that
involved the entire Bulls team to turn around the Super14 final. That
move puts Bryan on the shortlist for 'try of the decade'.
*For the first time in living memory Derick Hougaard loses his title
as the SA rugby player who receives the most BJ's. Fair enough it was
a world cup year and he wasn't in the squad, nor did his team make the
currie cup finals. The rise and rise of Frans Steyn looked like
swinging it the way of the 20 year old wonderboy who can do no wrong.
Sure enough he had it for the taking, but was pipped by one of his
Sharks teammates for the dubious title. Butch has been around the
block, and whilst he doesn't get as many opportunities as Frans(or
ever did) his conversion rate is pretty close to 100%. He is an
absolute dog, in the true Maritzburg tradition and we salute him
proudly. The continued irony of BJ Botha not even making the top 50
never goes unnoticed.
*So what's the greatest thing left behind by Jake? The value of the
Springbok Jersey. Whereas Straueli broke records for new caps and
centre pairings we had a team with 600+ collective games between them.
Chop and change at your peril.

Rugby in Black and White

So not surprisingly the game of rugby is the topic of choice at every office, hairdressing saloon, restaurant table, taxi etc. as the whole nation emerges from a collective hangover rarely seen on any other day than January 1.

It is a real pity that it will be a long time till we repeat the success of 2007. It looks that the political maneauvoring that made Jake's job 'one that is designed to kill you' (his words) an even harder task post RWC07. We should be celebrating a great victory after meticulous planning and preparation, instead we are probably looking at the premature death of our National Rugby team.

We could embark on a journey as the dominant force in the world game for an extended period. England and France are a mess, Australia have lost a lot of their top players (and they don't have many to start with) and New Zealand are looking at a massive shake-up and clear-out. Even the Argentinian emergence will take a hit as retirements and continued tri-nations exclusion hamper them.

Instead we are going to see the demographic make-up of the 1st XV become an even hotter politcal potato than it already is. The same idiot who told JW to stay out of politics, is already complaining that the winning side was too white. The whole Jake vs Luke saga was just an indication of the mess that is going to be our starting line-up. If the wrong people get their way, not even the newly crowned IRB player of the year will make the starting 15.


We could be accused of half-empty glasses, but it's a unfortunately the reality. The name Bhutana Khompela is going to become well known. The biggest selling book this christmas? - 'Black and White': Jake's take on what goes behind the scenes. Enjoy the heady days while they last.

My blood are green #3

an even better thing about the select readership is being able to
plagiarize stuff that is itself already plagiarized. (incidentally
rugbyheaven.co.nz have changed their url back from rugbyhell.co.nz,
which was their immediate reaction to the loss to Les Bleus)

Want to know what the others think of the Boks? Rugbyheaven.co.nz's
Marc Hinton gives his view.

That was how the All Blacks could have played. Should have played. An
exercise in clinical finishing, punishment of opposition errors and
how to play front-running rugby. The Springboks are the team New
Zealand could have been, if they were good enough.

That's the stark realisation that struck me after watching the South
Africans secure their place in next weekend's World Cup final, and
with it, surely, their second global title. Only a rugby god with a
cruel sense of perspective would reward the limited, if gritty,
England side with a second straight crown.

It's been impressive stuff from the Boks, pretty much throughout the
tournament. They made the most emphatic of statements with their 36-0
dismantling of England in pool play, lost concentration a bit with
their second-string outfit against Tonga, took care of the rest easily
enough and then survived a Fijian comeback in the quarter-final and
were good enough to win easing away.

Then, when it really counted, when they were up against a legitimate
threat, which Marcelo Loffreda's Pumas assuredly were, they took their
game up a level. They pounced on two intercepts, punished the
Argentinians for an error in possession for another and put Bryan
Habana into all the space he needed for the fourth. Meanwhile Percy
Montgomery – one of many individual success story in this Boks lineup
– kicked the goals with unerring precision.

The Pumas, like the French, were a team that could have been a real
handful if you let them. But the Boks never let them get a sniff. Each
time they'd look like working their way back into the match, the South
Africans would strike, either with a try or a penalty, and move the
buffer back out. In the end the Argentines were left playing a game of
catchup they were ill at ease with.

It was impressive stuff by the South Africans who I think will win
next weekend's final with some ease. Having spent some time around
them the week of their quarter-final in Marseille, I got a fair sense
of what they're about.

There's a real purpose about these Springboks, a feeling that destiny
is theirs to take. There's a slight inclination to take their eye off
the ball when they sense they don't have to produce their very best
(ie against Fiji) but when they know their A game is required, they're
good enough to deliver it.

I also don't think they've produced anything near their best since
that shutout of the English. Even then their forwards took a bit of a
knock back that day, conceding a couple of tightheads at scrum time
and struggling to impose in their normal physical fashion.

I expect them to respond in style in the final. And if that happens,
with the Boks' ability to finish, and to collect points at regular
intervals, they could pull away from an English side that needs to
keep the score low to have any chance.

There's no doubt that the All Blacks could have cut a similar swathe
through this tournament and, by rights, should have been squaring up
against them in what would have been an epic final next week.

But when it counted the New Zealanders could not put away an inferior
team. They could not make their dominance pay. They couldn't punish an
opponent struggling to stay in the match.

But there are also many more differences. This is a settled Boks
outfit. Graham Henry never gave his men a chance to go anywhere near
that state of comfort.

It's also a match hardened one. Most of these men played the entire
Super 14, the majority right to the very end, where, fittingly, two
South African sides fought out the final. When they needed a little
break to recharge the batteries, it was given them during the
meaningless test season, which was nothing more than a phoney war.

Do these Boks looked tired to you, as Henry insisted his All Blacks
would have been if he'd asked them to play maybe as many as 13 matches
in the Super 14? Like heck they do. There's a spring in their step, as
there should be with a world title right within their grasp.

As mentioned I expect them to win easily in the final. For Os du Randt
who is looking to bookend his remarkable career with World Cup crowns;
for the incomparable Victor Matfield who's off to play his rugby in
France; for Fourie du preez, the most complete halfback of this era;
for Montgomery who has reinvented himself as a classy test fullback;
for that fantastic skipper of theirs, the redoubtable John Smit; and
for young talents such as Bryan Habana, Frans Steyn, JP Pietersen,
Juan Smith and Schalk Burger who deserve the ultimate reward for their
endeavour.

But most of all I expect them to win because they're a balanced,
motivated, hardened, effective rugby team who can play whatever style
they have to in order to win a test match.

The addition of Eddie Jones was also a master stroke that cannot be
overplayed. Not only has the Australian's tactical acumen been vital,
but the pressure he has taken off Jake White as a confidante and
co-conspirator has been immense. The Boks coach, finally given an
offsider he respects, likes and is invigorated by, has been in his
element this World Cup.

Who knows, maybe as New Zealand continues its fruitless search for an
All Blacks coach with the vision and veracity to bring back the World
Cup, they could do worse than cast their net the way of the Boks coach
who will be looking for a new job after this World Cup. Seems to me
like the guy knows his stuff. And apparently he loves the New Zealand
rugby culture.

Won't happen. I know that. Doesn't mean it shouldn't.

My blood are green #2

one of the best things about having select readership is that I can totally plagiarize other peoples stuff wihtout getting into trouble!

 

England doesn't deserve to win the Rugby World Cup because it is, in fact, a crap country. Its population comprises of a bunch of poms with skew teeth; a wrinkly old queen housing a really stupid accent, and who presumably smells like mothballs; and skin white enough to make Omo proud. The remaining 90% of its population is Pakistani and Chinese (whose native countries can't even play rugby, probably because they're also crap).

"England" is such a ridiculously dumb name; I mean, it doesn't even provide a hint as to where on the planet it might potentially be located. At least with "South Africa", you're provided with a head start. (Unless, of course, you're American; in which case, you'll understandably need a few more clues.)

Unlike England's rugby team, which is more commonly known as "England", our country's rugby team has a damn cool alias: "the Springboks". It has pride; it has balls; and most importantly, it doesn't sound gay. Note that the "British Lions" is something different. Which, by the way, is additional evidence that they're a shitty nation, since the best the limeys can do is to include an African animal in their pseudonym. I suspect it's directly a result of "British Colonials" or "British Queens" sounding about as domineering as Thabo Mbeki's stance on Zimbabwe.

Furthermore, Johnny Wilkinson (who never smiles, possibly due to his skew teeth) always looks like he needs to fart, before he kicks a penalty. That, and he resembles Heath Ledger. (Who is Australian because his English forefathers were imprisoned there. Hence Australia being unbelievably kak at rugby.)

Finally, we have biltong. They have peanuts and raisins. (The latter being for the more daring mavericks).

My blood are green #1

Cast your mind back four years. Dolf Straueli had butchered the Springbok jersey into a lotto handout, and SARU did their best with their 'My blood is green' campaign. Kamp Staaldraad was an embarrasment never recovered, and poor Corne Krige had to pretend like he thought the coach knew what he was doing. Geo and Quintin didn't quite gel as roomies either. Hardly outplayed by eventual champions England (they needed a charge down by Will Greenwood to put them out of reach) we succumbed to tournament favourites New Zealand in the quarters.

 

What a difference four years of consistency makes, but it looks like a bizarre form of tall poppy syndrome will have Jake on his way out by monday morning, win or lose. I heard it earlier in the season that we have to win this game, as it might be the last chance we ever get. Lets hope the ANCYL and Bhutana Khompela and as dumb as they seem.

 

 

you wanna put that thing where?

You know who I’m talking about. He drives a green VW Polo, black Arnette sunnies glued to forehead and despite working in some finance position spends more time on the ‘book than on the books. About the car, there’s a really big white canoe thing permanently on the roof (is it bolted on?) with the ubiquitous ‘Men’s Health’ stickers. They’re out there in their hundreds (with maybe different yet similar cars and sunnies) and there’s more coming.

In a bizarre twist, they actually like using these things in the sou’easter. Maybe it has something to do with downwind races being the best ones, but the season runs from October to April. Of course most of the derision is from the damn Men’s Health sticker pasted all over them. When you sing up for the series, you gotta paste one on your boat. Now having done a fair amount of events this year, I’ve had my share of goodie bags. That translates into lots of Tastic Basmati rice, magnesium tablets, Arnica samples and too many back issues of Men’s Health magazines (I’m still wondering about the appetite suppressing toothpaste I got for totalsports challenge).

(rant)Men’s Health is essentially Cosmopolitan with the requisite chromosomes swapped. Despite the size of the volume, the copy is dateless. This is basically because they say the same regurgitated stuff month in month out, and of course there’s always some way to ‘get better abs’. I don’t know how the subscribers haven’t clicked onto this yet and formed a protest of sorts. I’d actually be wary of anyone who admits willingly paying for this rubbish on a yearly basis.(/rant)

So following the tried and trusted beat ‘em/join ‘em maxim, I scoured the peninsula for a bargain ski. I even went to the trouble of making everyone enter a magazine competition for me. I figured it’s a buyer’s market in winter and had a few criteria to follow: stable+fast+cheap+good condidtion+adjustable.
Now adjustable is very important, as it helps for resale value and you can lend it out to people with different leg lengths.

I got the buyer’s market theory thing a bit wrong, and had to throw out the adjustable and tone down the stable requirements. And of course I never put looks into it (pity, that). In the end I picked one up from gumtree, go poke around and see how much it cost me if you want. Good news is she’s a Fenn, and even a Mako at that. She’s quite, um err, unique..and in need of a name. suggestions welcome

Howlett takes tomfoolery to a new level

It's time to break the silence on that little tournament going on in France. I heard one of the funniest things ever on saturday..Hard man Jerry Collins being compared with a chocolate..the 'Top Deck'. Speaking of the world's best, they gone and it is ours for the taking, but they really do everything at 100%.

 

All Black star Doug Howlett's Tuesday-morning arrest by London police has been put into perspective after it was revealed that the winger and some of his Kiwi team-mates racked up a whopping £12,500 bar tab at Heathrow's Hilton Hotel.
 

According to London's Daily Telegraph newspaper, Howlett and some of his All Blacks team-mates - who were knocked out of the World Cup by France at the weekend - had been in the hotel's foyer bar for some time, where they racked up their monstrous bill.

Howlett - the leading try-scorer in New Zealand's Test history - allegedly then went outside where damage was done to two cars.

One Hilton Hotel staff member - who refused to be named - told the Telegraph: "There were about five to seven players drinking in the bar. They looked as if they were pretty down in the dumps after they lost and they ran up £12,500 bar bill over several hours.

"It wasn't just them, it was other members of the squad as well and it included food.

"They were behaving themselves while they were in the bar, but then for some reason, a couple of them decided to go outside and that was where it all kicked off.

"I heard they were bouncing up and down on several cars parked just outside the hotel and that was when we phoned the police."

Howlett was arrested in the early hours of Tuesday morning, before being released on bail. He will be allowed to return to New Zealand only once the conditions of his bail have been met.

To his credit, however, Howlett owned up to everything, labelling it as "tomfoolery" gone wrong.

 

*********************

Ok seriously now, this looks a little bit spiced up, but join me in a little maths lesson with some forex thrown in.

12 500 British pounds = 174 491.863 South African rands

(i just typed in '12500 pounds in rands' in google search line...try it!)

 

They say 5-7 members of the team, plus a few more..lets put it at 15.

They say they had a bit of food, lets throw some bar snacks in, pretzels, burgers, slapchips.. sorry, FRENCH fries. These are big boys, maybe woodcock was there, put them all down for R2000 worth of food each.

Remember london is expensive, lets be ridiculous and put it at R200/drink (hard to get steinlager that far from christchurch).

so now to add up

175000-

30 000 (2 grand worth of grub each)

= 145000/R200 (price per drink)

725/15 (squad members there)

= 48 drinks/8 (they had been there..sometime)

=6 drinks per hour (piece of piss, really)

 

So that's all doable, just average it out so the big boozers (ie. all the maoris) could be making up for the pretty boy pansies (ie. carter/kelleher)

 

The bike sunscreen song

this got pulled off some site, i can't remember where...if you can look past the novelty value, it's quite relevant

 

If I could offer you only one tip for the future, sunscreen would be it. The long-term benefits of sunscreen have been proved by scientists, whereas the rest of my advice has no basis more reliable than my own wobbly experience. I will dispense this advice now.

Enjoy the power and ability of your body. Oh, never mind. You will not understand the power and ability of your body until they've faded. But trust me, in 20 years, you'll look back at photos of yourself and recall in a way you can't grasp now how much possibility lay before you and how fast you really were. You are not as slow as you imagine.

Don't worry about the missed training. Or trying to catch up, but know that catching up is as effective as trying to run before you can walk. The real troubles on your bike are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind, the kind that blindside you with 2 minutes to go on the start line.

Do one thing every day that scares you.

Train.

Don't be reckless with your bike. Don't put up with people who are reckless with theirs

Rest.

Don't waste your time on jealousy. Sometimes you're ahead, sometimes you're behind. The race is long and, in the end, it's only with yourself.

Remember the encouragement you receive. Forget the pain. If you succeed in doing this, tell me how.

Keep your old bikes. Throw away your old tyres.

Stretch.

Don't feel guilty if you don't know how to ride. The best riders I know didn't know at day 1 how to unclip. Some of the most skilled riders still fall off.

Get plenty of calcium. Be kind to your knees. You'll miss them when they're gone.

Maybe you'll crash, maybe you won't. Maybe you'll win, maybe you won't. Maybe you'll complete the Epic at 40, maybe you'll ride until you are 90. Whatever you do, don't congratulate yourself too much, or berate yourself either. Your choices are half chance. So are everybody else's.

Enjoy your body. Use it every way you can. Don't be afraid of it or of what other people think of it. It's the greatest engine you'll ever own.

Sprint, even if you have nowhere to do it but your driveway.

Know the road signals, even if you don't follow them.

Do not read nutritional advice. It will only make you feel guilty.

Get to know your club members. You never know when they'll stop to help. Be nice to your fellow riders. They're your best chance of finishing and the people most likely to stick with you to the end.

Understand that form comes and goes, but a strong base is something to hold on to. Work hard to bridge the gaps in geography and lifestyle, because the older you get, the more you will wish that you made the effort to get out there.

Ride on the road, but turn off before you die of boredom. Ride single track, but leave before it you get addicted.

Drink water.

Accept certain inalienable truths: Prices will rise. Bikes will get better. You, too, will get old. And when you do, you'll fantasize that when you were young, prices were reasonable, bikes were cheaper and children still rode bikes in the streets.

Respect your age.

Don't expect anyone else to push you. Maybe you have a race physic. Maybe you'll have a race weight bike. But you never know when either one might come unstuck.

Don't put too much in your pockets or on your back, or by the time you head out you will look like a beached whale.

Be careful whose bikes you buy, but be patient with those who supply them. Advice is a form of sales. Dispensing it is a way of managing the stock, embellishing it, glancing over the ugly parts and recycling it for more than it's worth.

But trust me on the sunscreen.

Even Thabo's on the book

okay, i know, another post on the 'book...but hey you saw it here first. I was friends with 6 Robert Mugabe's at once, but delted a few who where clearly fakes.

Diamonds are forever?

Okay someone is clearly lying here...forget Leo's 'Blood Diamond', i see a hollywood plot here.

 

Johannesburg - The discovery in North West of a gem touted as the world's biggest diamond, sparked a stir on Tuesday, but experts doubted the stone was a diamond.

The news prompted a wave of excitement because if the gem turns out to be a diamond, it would be the world's largest by far, twice as big as the Cullinan diamond discovered in South Africa more than 100 years ago.

Property developer Brett Jolly said he planned to have an accredited gemmologist verify within 48 hours whether the gem was a diamond.

"It's over 8 000 carats ... (but) I don't even know that it's a diamond yet. I'm a property developer, not a diamond miner," he told Reuters.

"We put it on a garage grinder and the thing won't scratch, so what can it be?"

The unpolished Cullinan, also known as the Star of Africa, was 3 107 carats when De Beers found it in 1905. The cut stone now resides in the Tower of London, set in the sceptre of King Edward VII.

De Beers is the world's largest diamond producer.

Jolly declined to say where exactly in North West the gem had been found and also would not identify his privately owned company as some shareholders had not been informed.

An official from SA's Diamond Board said it had no information on the discovery. Experts said the gem was probably not a diamond.

"I would say it's not a diamond from looking at a picture on a website," said James Allan, a former top-rated diamond analyst who jointly runs the small corporate finance firm.

"The crystal looks far too perfect and it looks like it's a fluorite crystal or something else. I'd be extremely surprised if it was a diamond."

T20 but a distant memory

yes it's been hard readjusting to life without live sport everynight on free-to-air tv. We'll just have to reminisce with this great vid of some T20 dancing girls, and the kid with the 'hot belter' sign..brilliant!


Speaking of cricket, our new selectors really are doing their best to make headlines, latest one leaving out Polly. We have a longer tail than a stegosaurous, with Nel (average single digits) coming in at 8. Boucher is going to have his work cut-out batting with these hackers in the future!

daisies, downhills and mind altering music

So there I sat with a rather unique festival-goers checklist:

Tent, mattress, bike, helmet, energy drink(beer), towel, camera, camelback, toothbrush.

 

I'd been given permission to ride up the 'killer' hill to the Dassenberg radio mast on Cloof Estate. That sounds like fun and something to do in the morning before all the bands and stuff that only start at 11am. Without a doubt, most of the ~4000? people there were doing massively unhealthy stuff to their systems; forget carbon neutrality, I would do my bit to offset the average health damage done. There were quite a few pairs of Cape Epic tents splotched around the campsite too; bystanders really do think you have done the race if you get out of one!(if she's hot, I say I've finished all five).

 

Despite all my group planning to get a posse together, but no doubt due to a really late night and some questionable hare drinking from 50/50 party mixes; I end up coasting in the obvious direction up the hill alone. Ja, I feel really kak but with about 4 hours sleep and 4hours and five minutes since I stopped drinking, I have to get going before harry hangover rocks up on the scene. At least I'll get to suffer in silence. I skeemed to go with the baggy-pant downhill style indolas, too much lycra and some dudes might call me a moffie.

 

It appears, very quickly, that the road up the hill was infact designed by a fencer. Not the epee-swashing type, but the dude who had to erect the boundary between the farms. This is because the route goes almost dead straight up along the property demarcation line. Initially I actually thought 'killer ride' didn't mean I would die, but it became a distinct possibility. There are some long sections of concrete strip, and is infact too steep to ride in sections. Partly due to my sorry state, and partly due to bike control issues when standing up in granny leaned over front wheel negotiating culvert ridges.   No I changed my mind about halfway up, road is designed by fat farmer with map and ruler, built by person very scared of fat farmer.

 

I get to the top, and the view is all worth it. I can already hear them calling me a liar, but the road is only 3.2km, and must be +350-400m vertical gain. Being an engineer I am of course checking out the mast and wondering why the hell they built a generator hut only to leave it empty. After some brief introspection I start deciding what to do next. If I do the clever thing and ride home, I will have a ~8km ride and the possibility of personal injury from ramping drainage culverts at breakneck speed. There's another much smaller/older radio installation on the other side of a low fence, and a very faint track where a bakkie drives maybe twice a year. I can roughly see where it goes, and it looks like a real adventure.

 

 

So, aim bike downhill and start bombing down wet, grassy slope. Within minutes I am miles away. Without much plan or clue I just follow what seems to be rideable, and bank either way when confronted by fence. Seeing each other from afar, I run into a horsebacked farmworker. We're both equally stunned to see each other, but engage in a little chit-chat. He tells me a rough road around the mountain back to Cloof and points out the herd of cattle he's going to round up. In return I tell him that WP won the rugby the night before (totally winging it, but no-one loses to the Valke). Pretty soon I am back onto a dirt road that shows eivdence of a long and wet winter. Using the summit of Dassenberg as a rough guide I navigate my way back through to the farm, for what ends up being a really fun 27km ride. Lucky for me the Darling cellars tasting room has just opened when I swing past, and yip their Mzantsi Rose is definitely one to get the girls stuck into on a hot summer's day (the glass of ice-cold water a treat too). It's then a bit of a slog up the road into the wind, but I do pull into the campsite with back-up crew firing up the skottel for a full-cholesterol edition bacon and eggs fry-up.

 

 

'SM Oops'

We're all human beings, and we make mistakes. Who hasn't sent an SMS to the wrong person before? You click 'send' and on noticing your error, franticly hammer away at the 'cancel' button. Your phone might say, 'message not sent' - but it's gone, baby! Normally it's just a laugh, but when it involves matters of the heart it can get a little bit blunt. Here's the common scenario:

Boy wants to get in with Girl A. He writes a message to Girl B about Girl A, but because A is on his mind he subconciously sends it to her. Results can be disastrous (or beneficial). I've personally committed it with Natalie Two and the Red Herring. It's the ultimate Freudian slip, and I call it the 'SM Oops'.

Of course if you are a cheating lying bastard, then the truth outs quicker. None bigger or more famous, than old fatboy himself - Shane Warne - the man who put SMS dating on the map. After numerous 'kiss and tell' scandals involving local girls and actual text messages being reprinted in such worthy dailies as The Sun and The Mirror, his wife gave him a final chance. He's still playing in Southhampton, and the wife is with the kids in Sydney:

SYDNEY (Reuters) - The wife of former Australian cricket champion Shane Warne says their marriage reconciliation is over after he mistakenly sent her an incriminating text message.

Simone Callahan, who reunited last December with the spin bowler known also for his womanizing, told a woman's magazine she caught Warne cheating on her while he was in London.

As Callahan got the couple's three children ready for school in Melbourne, a text dropped into the inbox of her mobile phone, she told New Idea magazine.

"Hey beautiful, I'm just talking to my kids, the back door's open," the message from Warne said.

"You loser, you sent the message to the wrong person," Callahan sent back.

The looong week-end ahead

well, lets hope we all do our bit of braaing.

we'll be in the deep south, here to be exact
The Great Backgarden Ramble

Secret RWC diary

this is shamelessly stolen from Dan's World at iafrica, lets just say it's been a rough week. This is too good not to share, and not everyone follows hyperlinks.

 

Wednesday 12 September:

Schalk's got a four game ban! Unbelievable. He was sitting at breakfast looking wretched, solitary tear running down his cheek, and no one really knew what to do. Bismark eventually just went up and gave him a hug, and Schalk burst into tears; can't remember a worse morning in a Springbok camp. But these things work out, and there's hope for Schalk. Practice this morning was interrupted by a helicopter landing on the training field, which turned out to be Johann Rupert's. He's determined to get Schalk off at his appeal tomorrow, and has brought out quite a team: also on board were Johnny Cochrane, George Bizos, Corbin Bernsen from LA Law, and the guy who got Jacob Zuma off. Maybe there's hope for Schalk yet…

Thursday 12 September:

Down to two games! Not perfect, but Schalk's a lot happier, and so is Jake (although Bob looked strangely subdued when the news came through). He'll miss the England game tomorrow, but we'll have him back for the quarters. And we've got loads of support, with Springbok supporters all over Paris, which is great. The Minister of Sport also sent through an email to John, urging us to make the most of the 20 overs, and congratulating us on the win over the West Indies. Oh well, I suppose it's the thought that counts.

Friday 12 September:

36-0! What a game! We were pretty confident, but to win by 36 points, and keep them from scoring — unbelievable. We were all floating in the change room afterwards. Frans had swapped jerseys with one of the England guys, and snuck off from our debrief; ten minutes later, there was a shriek as he dashed back into the change room, pursued by half the England team. Turned out he'd crossed out the '2' on their jersey (part of their O2 sponsorship), and changed it to '36', before solemnly presenting it to Martin Corry. Furious Englishmen, and Jake and John had to apologise; even they had to admit afterwards it was bloody funny.

Saturday 12 September:

Day off today, and most of us went to the cinema. Gurthro and Bakkies went off to see a French film in black and white about a manic depressive painter dealing with existential angst in the immediate aftermath of post-war Europe, a searing portrait of human frailty set against a bleak landscape of monochromatic hopelessness; the rest of us went to see Rush Hour 3. Butch reckons Jackie Chan should have got at least three Oscars so far, and it's hard to disagree. Even if Bakkies and Gurthro think we're all philistines.

Sunday 12 September:

Had a quiet training session this morning (after watching Sky News over breakfast, and listening to the England reaction to the game — brilliant!); all of us were still on quite a high after Friday. Well, all of us except Jake — Wynand kept him up snoring most of last night, so the coach was a bit grumpy. Jake gets to choose his own room-mate, though, so he's only got himself to blame. Went to watch Bryan this afternoon doing a promo for one of the World Cup sponsors, doing a 100 metre race against a Formula 1 car. Was pretty cool, and surprisingly close — for the first 60 metres, the car just about kept up. Bet it can't sidestep though.

Monday 12 September:

Bit of a blow ahead of Tonga — Johann and Albert were doing pilates, and Johann managed to tear his calf muscle. Always thought those pilates balls were bad news. And finally found out why Eddie's been in such low spirits — apparently every single one of the Wallaby players has removed him as a friend on Facebook. That's really harsh — I mean, even Jake has Luke Watson as a friend (admittedly on limited profile). We all promised to make Eddie a friend as soon as possible, and he cheered up quite a bit. For an Australian, he's not too bad really.

Tuesday 12 September:

Jake confirmed the team today — Bob's captain for Tonga, although John will be on the bench just in case, as will Bryan and Monty. We all remember the Connacht game only too well, so this is a big one, especially after Tonga beat Samoa. They're pretty big guys, and also do one of those cute war dances, but we should be ready. Then Schalk's back, and away we go — I don't want to get overconfident, but so far, so good…