Now I must admit I’ve been a bit remiss…

I haven’t posted in quite a while but I did try last night.

I put together a mildly humorous post about time travel and medieval menus, but (and you have to believe this) the Internet ate it.

I don’t know if it was the 15th century recipe for jugged rabbit (it’s a bugger apprently keeping those jumpers in the jug)  or the sub standard humour but when I tried to update the post it, well it, this is so absent minded it just… went away.

So I’m going to have to start again.

No menus, no jugged hare, just rambling. As if you’ve ever expected anything else.

So without any more rib rattling excitement here are my thoughts about the last four weeks.

The last month has been filled with the excitement of the Soccer World Cup. Living in South Africa during the last month has made each and every day a parade of noise, vibrant colour and joy. Wherever you went the sheer happiness of this country was on display. I have never seen our people more full of pride in greeting the visitors who ignored the gloom and doom that usually surrounds this Southern tip of the continent.

I attended a quarter final of the cup at Soccer City (the newly revamped stadium in Johannesburg) where the opening game and the final were played. I cannot explain the pride I felt on seeing this shining example of what South Africa is capable of when all the engineers, workers and our usually lackdasical government all pull together.

In the company of my brother and his mate, both based in Singapore we saw the stadium for the first time and they both were in awe, it hovers in front of you like a someting from a Steven Spielberg extraveganza, supposedly a Calabash, representing the melting pot of South Africa’s cultures, but in actual fact appearing like a  space ship. It promised an otherworldly experience and my gosh did it deliver.

The two brothers outside the stadium; I’m the better looking one

It was a wonderful evening.

Our visitors and little Zakumi

But I have some gripes.

First of all; Budweiser, fuck you. If Americans accept this as beer then you need to accept that your contribution to world cuisine is the hot dog. Don’t argue when the Italians claim the pizza, don’t moan about anything to do with food or drink, just shut the fuck up. And don’t mention your other contribution to the food court, McDonalds. I’m happy to come around to your house and cook you a proper burger. Ronald and the rest of his LSD inspired crowd can come around to join us, let’s see if that McBurgler can run as fast with a cricket bat up his…

But the most strident, most frienzied objection of worldwide audiences was leveled against the Vuvuzela. An Object of great rage. How can this thing, this odious noise polluting object be allowed to interfere with television audiences, how dare the fans be allowed to exercise their right to excitement and fervour on the night of the game when you’ve paid a fortune for this LCD, 3D high definition screen and 7.1 surround sound?

Well here’s a tip, you’ve learned to put up with laugh tracks on some of the most mind numbing, throwaway sitcoms in the world, so you can at least do your best to put up with a droning sound. It seems to me that if you’re watching reruns of Friends the humming is probably coming from inside your own head so you should be used to it.

Harrumph.

As S.W.M.B.O accuses me of saying when the world is either ignorant or simply ill informed.

For anyone older than 35, just try it;  quietly, a “Harrumph”.

It’s great. For best effect ensure your feet are up and a cup of coffee in hand. A quick glance at the TV news and a shake of the head will bring instant results.

You old farts.

Until next time.

Steve