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.