Tuesday, October 30, 2007

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.

Thursday, October 25, 2007

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.

Tuesday, October 23, 2007

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.

Monday, October 22, 2007

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.

Friday, October 19, 2007

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.
 
 

Friday, October 12, 2007

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

Thursday, October 11, 2007

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.

Tuesday, October 09, 2007

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."

Thursday, October 04, 2007

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!

Wednesday, October 03, 2007

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.