More seasonal annoyances

Summer should be a time of exuberance.  Why?  There is plenty of sunshine for one.  For 5 days in a row you can lie in front of the telly and watch cricket.  “After the game dear” becomes an even more nebulous concept than normal.  The ladies dress for comfort, as they do in winter, but the effect is more visually stimulating than 5 layers of jerseys and jackets.  Clearly another instance where Less is More. 

Living in the holiday town of Langebaan summer is not quite the joy it should be.  I moaned general about it here.  A seaside holiday town tends to attract extra visitors during school holidays.⁽¹⁾  It therefore makes sense to the local merchants to increase the quantity of goods for sale in their stores.  More people, more items, same space.  Now we can all get to know each other a little better, because my trolley and yours will have trouble passing in the aisle with the extra table laden with Christmas puddings.  Manufactured by a Chinese company normally producing paper weights and doorstops.  One of the local supermarkets changes their layout to force the direction of the queue to the pay points.  An admirable and necessary action.  However, it now bears a strong resemblance to the maze at Hampton court.  Once in this labyrinth there is no turning back.  Better go without than try to return against the human tide towards the aisle of milk. 

Holidaymakers have different shopping habits than locals.  Concepts such as quick and efficient were left at home with Rover.  Fair enough, they don’t know the layout of the store, or town if they are driving, so are liable to make sudden stops, left turns, u-turns and returns.  Ok, so I forgive them slow and indecisive, but there are more hazards to holiday shopping.  When a couple of families vacation together the women go to the shops in packs.  Now it is purchasing by committee.  “Susan, shall we take the big bottle of sunlight liquid or the small one?” 

“Well, Mary, we don’t want to run out, but we mustn’t waste, must we?”  At home (where arguably they belong) they know how long a bottle of dish washing liquid lasts.  Now it is the habits of different size units, much more braaing than at home, restaurants and take-aways.  So every purchase becomes a debate.  My favourite brand vs. yours.  Smoked beef or Slat and vinegar?

As the children are not in day care or school they also swell the ranks of shoppers.  I don’t mind the children.  They know what they want.  All the sweets they can comfortable carry.  It is just that young children tend to be quite short.  And they are fast.  As I tend not to look down so much when perambulating, I can easily knock them over.  So now I am constantly on the lookout for their presence.  All this concentrating making shopping even more tiresome than usual.  And then you encounter Fred.

Fred does not normally do the big shopping at home.  He is easily spotted.  He is the one that looks like a polar bear in Pretoria.  Clearly not in his habitat.  Every product is carefully examined before being plonked into the trolley.  As if Fred has any idea about the normal price, but he wants to do good.  Sometimes he gets that surprised look in his eyes when looking at the size of a can or condoms.  You get these in extra large?  Mary just buys the medium ones, but the R/g is much better with the bigger ones.  I will demonstrate my shopping prowess with the extra large.

Despite encountering all this I persist, only because the queues at the fast food outlets are even longer.  At the till they have seasonal staff.  Here I also try to be patient, I know what it is like to be new in a job, but it does not make queuing any more enjoyable.  With my over priced purchases now in newly bought plastic bags ⁽²⁾ I make my way to the trusty Honda.  In the parking lot the last vestige of patience gets swept away by the infernal wind.  If I try to Canute the wind I will come to the same conclusion, albeit not so reverent. At least in winter the rain keeps the wind and tourists away.

(1)    This town nearly triples it’s population in December

(2)    Yes, I know.  Bad boy!  Erhm Bad middle aged man!

Boney M Season

Boney M season.  I am against it.  Chiefly because of the Boney M music, but also, I don’t worship at the altar of consumerism that has taken over a religious festival.  God knows I am not religious anymore, but the concept of forced presents and family annoys me.  People expect bonuses.  People expect presents.  Why?  Where does this expectation comes from?  What monstrous coalition of malevolent forces drive this evil desire?   And then it got personal.

I received an electronic invitation to spend my drinking money at an online music and book retailer.  In my naivety I thought they have rather clever regressions matching advertising with my previous purchases in their emporium.  Targeted advertisements mean I will be mildly temped by the products.  Sadly NO.  They send me the some generic advertisement.  Now that does not make me feel special at all.  Here is what they wanted me to buy instead of whisky.  The comments are a combination of my own and that of my friend Ferris.  We mostly like similar things, but music is not one of them.  Oxtail is another.

Susan Boyle:  So to the great surprise of the world you don’t need to be pretty to have talent. ⁽¹⁾  She sings OK, but is not exactly the best ever.

Now 56: Now I go back far enough to remember when my brother bought “Now that’s what I call music”  Not volume 1, or the first.  Just the title.  Ferris reckons that you play the DVD and mute the sound as the videos mostly feature young ladies gyrating about the place in skimpy outfits.  The music will just spoil the effect.

Josh Groban:  Did he create the music of my youth?  Then why should I listen?   He may be pretty, but is a few operations away from doing anything for me.  Although, apparently his music helps to lower the inhibitions, amongst other things, of the ladies.  It can be advantageous to be nearby in such an event.  If you are an unattached lady susceptible to the music of one J Groban, please send me your contact details.

Michael Jackson:  Isn’t he dead?  How come he is still releasing CD’s? 

Kurt Darren:  an uncouth, unfashionable and/or unfortunate male.  Not my words.  From this dictionary.

Bok van Blerk:  He went to Hoerskool Die Wilgers in Pretoria.  Rival high school to the one I went to.  What good can come from there? ⁽²⁾

Afrikaans is groot:  Afrikaans is Big, direct translation.  Afrikaners are big.  Especially this one.  That would be a better title.  The market for this in Perth, Australia is apparently rather big.

Liefling:  What is this?  A Ge Korsten revival?  He is also dead.  Dead men shouldn’t sing.

And then a book with the translated title of  “Cook for the freezer”.  Rather cook for the stomach.  What will the freezer do with it?  Grow fungus slowly?  As Ferris has it:  The freezer is for keeping stuff prior to cooking.

As a supplement to my seasonal disgust I take a prat fall.  In front of  witnesses.  Any Afrikaans tribology book will describe the mixture of water, hydraulic oil and painted cement floor as Snotglad.  In English it would be described in a typical understated way as “Extremely slippery”.  As I came lumbering down the stairs my number 12’s encountered said lubricant.  The horizontal speed of my feet then proceeded to exceed that of the rest of my body.  Resulting in my orientation rapidly changing from perpendicular to parallel to the floor.  As I soaked my left side from boot to butt in the oily water, I realised a design flaw in the human body.

During my rapid descent into wetness I unconsciously used my elbow as a shock absorber.  A function that the original design does not adequately cater for.  As the day wore on I became more conscious of my instinctive mistake.  From previous experience ⁽³⁾ I knew that it will be worse the next day.  But, for the third time in my life I was wrong.  It started that same night.  In bed I wrapped my iced wine bottle cooler round my elbow for pain relief.  As I embarked on my journey to dreamland, the thought crossed my mind that my arse will be really sore tomorrow.  Fourth time.  My behind, clearly, was designed as a shock absorber.  No pain at all.  At least a partial vindication of some of my lifestyle choices. 

The schools are on holiday.  My town is filling up with vacationers.  This biannual event tests my patience, but bolsters the local economy.  When the queues subside in mid January the retailers and restaurants will once again be able to charge me the newly increased prices.  In the meanwhile I will keep my head down.  And look closely where I walk.

(1)    Just look at me.  But not if you’ve eaten recently. 
(2)    My sisters went there, but whether they are any good is still a matter of dispute.
(3)    It can hardly be future experience.





 

Bubbles and Blondes

There is a special relationship between women and champagne.  It took me several long and lonely years to figure this out.  I am an expert at obfuscating the obvious to myself, therefore not greatly surprised at the time it took me.  And I have pronounced on sloth before so no surprise that I haven’t made much use of this knowledge.  So I take other men’s wives to taste bubbles.  Mostly because I can’t take my own.

Once a year the piquant town of Franschoek holds a bubbles festival.    Bubbles as in sparkling wine, not soap bubbles.⁽¹⁾  The first weekend in December provides balmy days in the valley enabling an afternoon in the sun sipping wine.  It is also a social occasion and the ladies dress up.  And down.  Hemlines goes up, necklines down.  I just enjoy the view.

Quick technical bit.  Sparkling wine is a wine with lots of CO2 bubbles in it.  The gas is in solution in the wine and at higher pressure than atmosphere.  So it wants to get out of there.  The gas can get into the wine bottle in three ways.  Forced carbonation, Sodastreaming the wine in the bottle and putting a cork in it.  A more expensive method is to prevent the CO2 formed during secondary fermentation to leave the tank.  Thus pressurised the wine is bottled.  Both of these will (or should) be labelled sparkling wine.  The most of expensive and original way is to let secondary fermentation take place in the bottle.  Then tilt the bottles to collect the yeast.  Freeze the yeast in the neck, take out the cork let the pressure blow the yeast out and quickly put a new cork in.  Wines made in this way in the Champagne region of France may be called Champagne.  Same method in the Cape produces a Methode Cap Classique (MCC) ⁽²⁾. In short Champagne and MCC are sparkling wine, but sparkling wine is not necessarily MCC.  The bubbles festival has MCC and champagne.

The Blonde, Legs and a friend of Legs, all blondes, climbed aboard the Honda.  Off we went to have some bubbles.  Some stereotypes were reinforced on the day.  The women dressed up, this man did not.  Also not one of the women was ready on time.  And none of the blondes are stupid.  OK, strictly writing that is not reinforcing a stereotype as such, but more of a debunking.  Moving swiftly along then...  All three women were dressed in a fashion that made it difficult for me to maintain eye contact.  They knew what to wear to accentuate the positive. 

The first time I went to the festival I had clear ideas about what would happen.  I would like the local bubbles better than the fancy French stuff.  We have sunshine, they don’t up in Champagne. Sunshine is good.  It was a jingoistic outlook on vino.  Luckily the alcohol served as lubricant, because when that paradigm shifted, it shifted a long way rapidly.  The champagnes were fabulous.  Bollinger, Taittinger, Mumm and the widow Clicquot.  All wonderful.   I realised that in this case sunshine might not be an asset.  A bit like skin cancer then.⁽³⁾  After the pain from that revelation subsided, I realised that MMC producers don’t try and emulate the French.  They can’t.  The raw materials are too different.  What they make are cracking good times in a bottle.

At the first festival I also discovered the sounds and looks of Sterling EQ.  Since then I wanted a cellist for Christmas.  The cellist changed since then, but my sentiment did not.  I also want a violinist.  I just looove classical music with a modern interpretation. Looking at my tasting notes I found the Shiraz from Nitida a little strange, everything from Krone delightful especially their flagship.  Villiera is just my favourite wine producer and their bubbles are house wine for the play group.  My favourite wine maker remains Ms Melanie van der Merwe and her Tanzanite wines, though they were sadly absent from this year festivities.  I hope it is because the wine is sold out and not other reasons.

This year I bought a very different Sauvignon Blanc based MCC from Bramon.  Wine from Plet, Not your normal wine growing area.  A bottle of Genevieve also hopped on board.  And once again a bottle of Nicholas Charles Krone Marque 1 from the House of Krone.  To my palate the best local bubbles and well worth the price.  His day job is winemaker at Groote Post, but I also made a donation ⁽⁴⁾ to the Lukas Wentzel retirement fund with his eponymous MCC.

Food at the festival is delectable.  The only way the strawberries could be improved is if it started it's way into my body with not my own hand, but that of Claudia Schiffer.  Slightly troubling is the fact that the only water they sold at The Bubbles festival, was still water. 

(1)    That would make it a foam party.
(2)    Notice the portentous French spelling.
(3)    A R100 to the charity of your choice if you can find any work published before this where skin cancer is favourably compared to champagne.
(4)    OK, bought a bottle

A less than satisfactory day

It wasn’t a very good day.  Actually for the most of it, it was pretty sh1tty.  I spend 7 hours on the plant watching other people trying to fix equipment.  And some of my colleagues were not interested in helping or learning.  To what end should I direct my energy?  To test a product I don’t really believe in.  I am trying to be open minded about it, desperately not wanting to be the “We have always done it this way” old fart.  Make that middle-aged fart.  The good part of the effort is that it is good to see a guy being very good at his job.   Three goods in one sentence.  Is that good?  Moving swiftly along, no need to dwell on my vocabulary.  After battling for two hours, we called the cavalry.  Nothing like 30 years experience applied well. 

So, 7 hours since I had a chance to do my own work, all he other doors on the corridor closed (poor me, pity me for being there late) and I get to the inevitable inbox.  Just to get a note from Finance that the BOM (Bill of Materials) I worked on, confused them.  It differed from the budget.  Mainly, as it turned out, because the budget is useless.  Turns out the budget was deliberately wrong.  Why the H E double Hockey Sticks do I bother?   So even before we start the year we know we will overspend. Deliberately.   I feel like a salmon swimming upstream against a torrent of mediocrity. ⁽¹⁾  My own output rarely comes out above average so I have been needlessly feeling guilty over that.  But why, WHY do we bother doing something we know is half arsed?  Why don’t we just skip it?

Waiting for my food I had a beer in a new place in the mall.  There at least I had the privilege of seeing someone else not having an entirely brilliant day at work.  The bartender had problems with remembering orders.  Asking questions: “Which whisky is the best? She said she wanted whisky on the rocks, with a slice of lemon.”  I had to point out that if they add lemon to it, it really doesn’t matter which whisky you use.  Then the cook came and helped himself to a beer.  I wondered if he was legally allowed to drink it.  But he had difficulty with the bottle opener, preferring to use a lighter instead.  Signs of a misspent youth I thought, except he hasn’t finish spending it. 

To cope with this glorious day I turned to the thing that rarely disappoints.  And here you think alcohol.  WRONG!  Comfort food.  It must, however, be said that what comforts me is not the food of my youth.  Mother was not that good in the kitchen.  These days I turn towards the east where the three wise men came from.  Bearing gifts of sushi, fried rice and crispy duck.  Pair the wasabi with Sauvignon Blanc and happiness spreads it way from my large stomach.  Comfort indeed. 

(1)    Salmon at least swim upstream to have their version of sex.  I know I will be screwed, but not in quite the same sense.