My Failure of a Lunch Hour

It all started yesterday. Well actually way before yesterday, as the car has had an interesting smell for a while. I needed a thingy to make it smell good.  Ah, an air-freshener, that’s what they call it. Never fear, Engen would provide. Alas, they had none. Moaned at the manager. He retrieved some from his desk and held a deck of them out as if he was about to do a card trick. Well the joke was on him because the flavours were printed on both sides. I proceed to annoyingly smell each one. Bingo. Lavender.  Got in the car and ripped open my Geeky Gecko smelly. ‘Stick Anywhere!’ it boasted. It did not stick.

Hungry. Have to buy veggies for tonight. Checkers will do. Arrive and dodge a plethora of school kids on the way into the abyss of groceries. Find packet veggies. Hungry.  A sandwich will do. Ham and cheese or chicken and mayo. Options are limited. I take both. Upon further investigation, the ham and cheese has little mould spots on it. Eww. Throw it to the back, choose another one.

Brainwave. Flashback to student life. Sta-Soft 1 litre concentrate sachets make the best car air-fresheners. I calculate where they are. They are far. Hungry. Begin the march anyway. Ow. Sore butt from gym. Go slower.  Closing in on the detergent section. There are so many choices. Too lazy to read the flavours. Randomly grab odd ones from the pile and sniff them until I find the right one. Bingo.

Return march. Hungry. Take short cut through toy section. It was a cul-de-sac. Fail. I am surrounded cheap junk. Kids are too spoilt these days. Surely they only need books and a tennis ball. Finally bust out the maze. Arrive at till and throw items on the conveyor belt. I notice I have bought ‘baby flavour’ Sta-Soft. Holy crap. I wonder if it’s made from actual squashed babies. Then I wonder about why I even liked the smell.

Race up to parking ticket machine. A woman is starring at it like it is giving her life advice. Hungry. Eventually hop in the car. Wait for man pushing several thousand trollies. Uneventful drive. Get to gate at work. Fumble tag. Drops by my feet. Attempt to retrieve tag. Cannot see anything with bladdy sunnies on. Remove sunnies, find tag, open gate. Parked.

Hungry. Thought about using the stairs. Waited for lift due to sore ass. I really must stretch after gym. Lift stops at ground floor. Fat lady waddles in and complains about her sore ass. It’s a dammed pandemic.

At last, my desk. Pop open ham and cheese and smash it in my mouth. Over-powering baby smell on hands. Mayonnaise explosion. Slight gag reflex. Thoughts of mould. Bread stale on edges. Close up container. Eat other sarmie in 0.6 seconds. Hungry.

FML. 

An Evening With The Buddingtons

Mr and Mrs Buddington live in a lovely old home in the suburbs where most of the homes are, well, old and lovely. Big lawns and shady trees are merely par for the course. Many homes have interesting pets and the Buddingtons are no exception. They have a goldfish, an alarmingly loud parakeet and two creamy Labradors.

They used to have a tortoise named Bismark too. He was quite a hefty chap. But one day he ran away and was never seen again. The Missing Tortoise’ flyer is still stuck on the lamppost at the end of their road. Mr Buddington has been meaning to take it down but it is the only reminder they have of their beloved Bismark. That, and his empty plot in the corner of the garden that Mrs Buddington is not quite sure what to do with.

The Buddington have two sons, Neville and James. Neville is more like Mrs Buddington and while James looks like Mrs Buddington, he has the mentality of his father. Both have since left home but they return for awkward family dinners every once in a while. On this night, they invited their friend Dmitri to join them for dinner before they went out to party.

The drive up the old bumpy driveway with the dogs galloping and yelping either side of the car was a new experience for Dmitri, as was the smell that tickled his nostrils as he walked through the door. What a delectable smell it was.

Despite his career as a policeman, Mr Buddington had always fancied himself as a chef. No dish was too complicated to attempt. Ribeye, haggis, muscles and many other exotic things had come out of that kitchen and they were all equally delicious and took aeons to make.

Dmitri followed his nose though the house and arrived to find Mr Buddington standing at the stove with a dishcloth over his shirtless shoulder, a spatula in one hand and a whiskey glass in the other. Mrs Flowers greeted Dmitri on her way to the fridge to find another beer for herself.

The telly was full of scantily clad ladies strutting their stuff on the runways of Milan. Or London. Or Paris. No-one could ever tell the difference. This is Mr Buddingtons favourite programme and even though he had been in the kitchen for the last two hours, no-one daren’t change the channel.

There are many old things in the Buddington’s home. It made Dmitri feel like he had stepped into a time machine. Old guitars, old wooden boxes, old carpets, old photos and old furniture that looked brand new. But you weren’t allowed to sit on the vintage stuff even though the other couch in front of the telly was broken. There was even an old mostly dead bonsai tree with a green shoot sprouting out its base. It was hanging on to life like the Buddington’s were hanging on to a bygone era. 

Eventually dinner was served along with drinks. Neville and James drank sweet fizzy drinks while Mr Flowers sloshed more whisky into his glass and Mrs Buddington dashed off to the fridge again, all the while wondering if there was any more cold beer.

It was the tastiest meal Dmitri had eaten all year, though it was only January. Unfortunately for him, he had finished his dinner long before anyone else and Mr Buddington was only just getting through his first lecture on corruption in government. Everyone listened tentatively to Mr Buddington’s points that were sprinkled with dashes of light racism, though his silver moustache was holding some back.

He never asked what time the younglings had to be at their next engagement, because no matter what time that was, dinner would most likely be served about half an hour after they needed to be there in the first place. 

The Warrior Within - Warrior Race Review

When I fell in the cold mud for the umpteenth time, I questioned my very state of being. Why am I here? Why we do this to ourselves? Why do I even have legs? The African sun beat down on my dirty face as I stood up and tried to move forward, the mud almost sucking my once blue Salomon’s off my feet.

Event #5 of the Warrior Series took place at the scenic Holla Trails just outside Ballito on the 3^rd of August 2013. The race featured 3 events on the same day. Warrior Brats was a chance for the young ones to get involved in the action over a 500m obstacle course. The immensely popular Warrior Rookie was a 9km run with 15 obstacles along the way. Finally, Warrior Black Ops, described as ‘the beast of all obstacle courses’, was 21 km of mud, cane trails and cargo nets with over 30 obstacles.

When I signed up for the Black Ops, it was advertised as an 18km run. Having completed a fairly demanding 16km trail run in stunning Shongweni Dam a couple weeks prior and having a regular gym routine, I felt fairly confident going into to the race. But after having seen some of the obstacles in the arena and heard that we’re running an extra 3kms for free, the butterflies in my stomach woke up.

The race briefing was led by a fired up American guy who loved yelling. He reminded us that while it was a race, we should all help each other out on the obstacles. Following that, there were a few war-cries to get the runners pumped up and then off into the chilled morning winter air we went.

The first few obstacles were quite tame. Then came the mud. There were four 8 foot mounds of earth with 6 metre stretches of muddy water in between. I hopped in and didn’t even touch the bottom. I’m sure there that’s where everyone lost their energy gels, water bottles, caps and really anything else that wasn’t attached to them. By the last bottomless trench, my supposed moisture wicking vest was more of a hindrance than anything, so I hung it on a post and bade it farewell.

There were many obstacles over the 21km. To take you through each of them would take almost as long as I took to complete the race. So, in the interest of time, I will take you through the memorable ones.

The first obstacle that had some fear factor was the barbed wire mud pit. It required one to leopard crawl through the mud under the barbed wire. All it needed was an M60 machine gun on full auto firing over the wire and I guess it would have been just like every World War Two film you have ever seen, except with less shouting. Soon after, the drainage of my shoes was tested again as we scaled a 20 metre tower and had to jump off the top into more water.

There was a climbing wall and some ropes before the next obstacle of interest. We had to choose a log and flip it end over end up a hill. Just as I was getting into a rhythm, my log flicked up and whacked me in the chin. I got quite a fright and there was some blood, but after a quick check everything seemed to be where it should be. I asked the marshal to check my teeth and while he wasn’t exactly a dentist, he said I had nothing to worry about. 

After some pretty single track next to a little stream, we arrived at the tire drag. This was properly gruelling. You grabbed the rope around the tire and dragged it through the warm marsh. The endless switchbacks funnelled traffic which really churned up the surface and your tire would inevitably full with water making the going tough.

The sun was really pounding down now, and there was no breeze in this part of the trail. There was some respite with the river crossing. We simply had to pull ourselves across using a big rope. On the other side, there was a picturesque campsite overlooking a dam with a dead tree perched on a small grassy knoll in the middle. The cool down and the endless green scenery made this an enjoyable part of the race.

Some nice open running lead us to some tire flipping, after which we were told to carry these 20kg sandbags to a point and back. The problem was that point was about 250m away. No matter where you tried to carry the bag, if you lost your concentration, you started to tip and the bag would fall. The uneven ground made things tougher still.

Heading towards the end of the race, I was suffering big time. My stamina had left me and there was no company around to tag along with. The monotony of the dirt roads and the crunching of the gravel seemed to never end. There was an interesting route change when we turned right into the sugarcane where a metre wide channel had been cut through the tall cane for at least 500m. The trail jinked left and right and you could never see more than 3 metres in front of you. I felt truly away from it all.

After making it to the final water table, I found it bone dry. I learnt later that nearly 80% of the water and energy drinks had been stolen a day before the event and the race organisers had tried to get as much as they could in a short space of time. Either way, this didn’t help me as I my mouth was dry and I really needed a drink. My lack of liquids was showing as I began to cramp as well.

The final obstacles of the course were soul destroying. There were about 6 of them all within the final kilometre or so. The 20 metres of alternating height monkey bars was where I lost my sense of humour. I tried a couple times and ended up in the mud. If you can’t complete an obstacle you pay for it in burpees, anywhere from 25-50 depending on the severity of the obstacle. I got down and did my burpees.

One of the final obstacles was less of a challenge and more of a lesson in pain. Nicknamed “The Taser”, it required us to run over thick mud and through live hanging wires. There were too many to dodge, and too low to crawl under. You simply had to grit your teeth and sprint through. Whilst trying to psych myself up, watched people face-planting in front of the jeering crowd. The shocks were rendering their legs useless. I got zapped right near the end and my left leg went dead straight. I stumbled but mange to catch myself after a few profanities.

There were many chuffed people posing for photos at the end with their mud stained faces. I was not one of those people. After chilling out for a short while, I made my way to the car and checked my chin in the side mirror. It was still bleeding and very dirty so I thought its best to let the medical tent have a look. After successfully avoiding stitches, I recognised a few people from varsity days sitting in a forlorn circle with various joints strapped up. Apparently the cargo net had fallen down because there were too many people on it.  “It was terrible. I was crawling through bodies” said one.

Overall, despite the water shortage and collapsing cargo net, it was a very successful event that made waves throughout the trail running community. To see people so broken at the end but already getting amped for the next one in the series means the creators are really onto something here.

One Giant Leap For Real Estate

The moon has fascinated mankind since we first crawled out the ocean. There is evidence that suggests man was using the moon as the basis for the oldest calendars, dating back as far as 30 000 years.  Ever since Neil Armstrong took those first fateful steps on the spherical hunk of rock, we have wondered about what opportunities lie within.

 But who owns the moon? According to the United Nations’ Outer Space Treaty, all of outer space is an ‘international commons’ and a ‘province for all mankind’. More importantly, the treaty forbids any state from claiming territorial sovereignty. 62 countries, including all those that have achieved space flight, have signed the treaty. So it would appear that most agree that the moon shouldn’t belong to any one nation. 

However, the more recent Moon Treaty revealed the true colours of these space-faring nations. Basically a follow up of the Outer Space Treaty, the Moon Treaty bans, amongst other things, any military use (including weapon testing and military bases), any resource extraction by any one state and bans any commercial activity on the moon. Interestingly enough, of the 13 countries that have signed the treaty, none of them are space nations.

Taking that into account, it is safe to assume that property rights on the moon are still up for international debate. Rather unsurprisingly, an American by the name of Dennis Hope has taken advantage of this debacle. Hope is the founder and owner of the Lunar Embassy Corporation, the self-professed ‘leaders of extra-terrestrial real estate market’. Hope’s company has sold real estate on the moon to over 3.7 million people for around US$ 20 per acre. Apparently he allocates the land by closing his eyes and pointing at a map of the moon. Interestingly, Hope has not hired any estate agents.

Hope is also an upstanding man. He actually wrote to the United Nations stating that he was going to sell lunar property. Hope waited patiently for their response and when there wasn’t any objection, only then did he hatch his plan. Even though the ownerships claims are dubious at best, this clearly illustrates the demand for property on the moon. If the prospect of lunar property tickles your fancy, you can purchase your spot here.

Hope is currently attempting to form the Galactic Government which will function as an autonomous moon government, complete with its own currency named the ‘Delta’. If successful, the land claims Hope has sold may yet be legitimised.

Either way, you may not be too far away from purchasing that bachelor flat in Lunar Lane with a panoramic view of the Sea of Tranquillity.  

Royal Tots Break the Bank

If the press and Facebook are to be believed there was only one baby born in recent times - Prince George Alexander Louis of Cambridge. As his royal parents proudly showed him off to the legion of photographers who had been camping outside the hospital for weeks, one thing became clear, the little dot wasn’t all that impressed by the proceedings. Pictured frowning in one shot and positively bawling in another, the little boy who has literally been born with a jewel encrusted silver spoon in his mouth has no idea how privileged he is and how fame and fortune are going to enhance his life.

It can be said with a fair amount of confidence that finances are going to be the last thing he is ever going to have to worry about. This got me thinking…how do the ultra-wealthy take care of their offspring and more importantly, what extravagant gadgets, nursery equipment and other baby requirements are available to those who want so much more for their little bundles of joy?

A quick search on the Internet quickly highlighted that buying ‘in’ baby and toddler equipment is all the rage and includes everything from extravagant nurseries and suites for toddlers to jewel encrusted dummies.  One Jeweller even went as far as making a 250gram platinum dummy worth in excess of a staggering R800 000 (used, one can only hope, merely for decorative use)

Then there were the cribs. I guess it’s never too early start your youngling on the path to luxury with pampered living. First up, we have the Intellicot which has as much gadgetry as your latest smartphone. This crib boasts automatic features such as a raising mattress to save your bad back, air circulation to keep baby at the right temperature and a video monitoring system so you can check on your bundle of joy whilst counting your money.

For those who want yet even more luxury for their precious little one, there is the Majestic Carriage Crib. It goes for around R100 000 and is available from the aptly named Posh Tot store. Needless to say, its solid cedar frame and frilly bits will let everyone know your baby is indeed a perfect princess.

Simply having an extravagant bed for your tot is never going to be enough, they must be rollin’ in style too. The techie stroller collapses with the push of a button and is ideal for those who need to make a quick getaway from the pesky paparazzi. Want to stroll around the neighbourhood after dark? No problem, this little treasure comes complete with headlights and a screen that indicates the speed that is being travelled. Warning this particular model is not recommended for formula one drivers or highly competitive parents.

However, if you want your lil’ pimp to have street cred, you should consider opting for the Aston Martin’s Silver Cross Surf Stroller. Sporting the same leather used in their cars, aluminium alloy wheels based the Aston Martin One-77 and an air-ride suspension system, this stroller really is a cut above the rest. There are only 800 available exclusively from Harrods, so you better hurry.

These luxury items are just the tip of the iceberg and there are literally thousands of items costing thousands of Rands available. Perhaps, however, it really is worth remembering that children who get to experience these fancy ‘toys’ are no more special than the thousands born into poverty every day.  Let’s take a moment to think about them and consider how their lives could change if they received the same amount of media attention as those born into a life of privilege.

Don’t Get Caught In The Daily Grind

Whilst stuck in traffic on my morning commute, between tapping the steering wheel and staring into space, I noticed how many cars around me have just one person in them. At about the same time, a minibus taxi came buzzing along in the emergency lane. I could see the anger in the few faces around me, but really, if one thinks about it, those 16 people in that taxi also have a job to get to on time.

Traffic is slowly eating up South African roads as well as our valuable time. For some poor souls in the dense areas of Johannesburg, a two hour drive to and from work is not unheard of. The bad news is that due to our general lack of public transport, curbing this issue will prove difficult as there are just more and more cars on the road.

Added to this is the rising cost of fuel. In fact, the South African Petroleum Retailers’ Association suggests we may be paying R14 per litre by next year, which is sure to put an even bigger dent in our pockets.

How can we solve this? Well something that could alleviate traffic and save us money, to some degree, is carpooling. Carpooling was first introduced in the US during World War Two as a rationing tactic. The idea is sound: You share a ride with someone driving to the same location. It lowers fuel costs, reduces the cars on the road and is more environmentally friendly.

A quick internet search lead me to a number of carpooling websites in South Africa. While none of them are particularly eye catching, they are being used. One such site, Carpoolking.com, has over 8000 listings and nearly 15000 registered users. There are also many carpools advertised on the ever popular Gumtree.

So let’s get back to that taxi driving on the yellow line. While it may be illegal and make a lot of people angry, that’s potentially 16 less cars on the road. Imagine half the people at your workplace carpooled, that would be even more cars off the road. And unless you’re running the eTolls, the less cars on the road, the better.