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Tuesday, September 30, 2008ALL MY BAGS ARE PACKED....................... All my bags are packed, I'm ready to go..................cue Peter, Paul & Mary..............singalong now folks.......................computers are tone deaf, so warble away! Some months ago, Mike & I decided we'd like to do some riding (on a Harley of course - duh!) at home in Souf Efrica. We knocked out a route, then told some friends about it. Chirps of "can we come too!" abounded & next thing we know, we've organised a tour for 9 people - wooohooo! Tomorrow morning, us 2 Saffies, 2 Canadians, an Emirati, 2 Americans, 1 Pole & 1 Englishman are setting out from Abu Dhabi on what will hopefully be one mega experience! We're taking in Joburg, Tzaneen, Pilgrims Rest, Nelspruit, the Kruger National Park (had to hire cars for that, bummer!) & Hartebeespoort. This part of the trip will be on the bikes & will be over 10 days. Sadly, some of the group have to get back to the Sandpit after this, but for 4 of us, we carry on down to Durban, then Coffee Bay & finally Gonubie, my home town in the Eastern Cape. 3 of the remaining 4 then also have to head back to the Sandpit, while I go down to Port Alfred to stay with Dubs & Pup for a week. (Pup, I hope you've got everything ready for that bread puddin'!) Along the way, we'll be having a surprise birthday for someone, who's wish to see South Africa is on her list of 'Things To Do Before I Die'. Also on the list is a wedding, provided the Imam is who he says he is & the necessary paperwork can be notorised. If it happens, I will ask the couple concerned if I may write about it. If it doesn't happen, then y'all ain't missing much! Apologies for not linking all the names/places on our trip - I just haven't got time :-( I would like to thank everyone who commented on the previous post about the damage to Eish! - we still don't have any clues as to who may have done such a mindless thing. Mike is still going to enter Eish! in the upcoming Middle East HOG Rally 'Best Bike' competition, scratch & all. He's worked long & hard on his bike, customising it & isn't gonna let a scratch stand in his way. So y'all, be good while I'm away y'hear! My apologies for not commenting on as many blogs as I would've liked to just recently - trying to get everything organised has left me with very little spare time on my hands. Eid Mubarak to my Muslim friends & readers. And for UAE folks, I'm told that the Friday magazine on the 10th of October, will have an article about some dumb blonde with a Harley in Abu Dhabi..................................  
Sunday, September 28, 2008IF I CATCH THE BASTARD If I catch the bastard who scratched Mike's bike, there'll be no need to call the police. Just call an ambulance, cos I'll break the fucker's legs to start with, then every single finger & then I'll probably give him/her a few good whacks to the head with some rather heavy boots. .  I've posted a very polite request over on the UAE Community Blog & have offered a reward for info which would lead to a prosecution. I dunno if it'd get that far, cos if I get my hands on the bastard that intentionally made that scratch on a bike that's worth Dhs120,000 ($30,000 - ZAR240,000) then I doubt very much there'd be a need to prosecute. I really am not a violent person, but the ignorant fucker who did this has made me want to inflict all manner of physical violence. Naturally, when I've finished, I'll stand back while Hubs has a go. I'm bloody furious & that honestly, is putting it mildly. I'm gatvol of the attitude & arrogance that seems to purvade the UAE during this month of Ramadan. Every man & his cat (there being very few dogs here) is moaning about the traffic - where the hell has everyone come from all of a sudden? I've only been out on 2 rides this month, simply because the standard of idiot drivers behind the steering wheel of a car has gone from abysmal to downright fuckin' deadly. Both yesterday & today there were accidents at the junction outside our apartment. On Thursday night, it took me 30mins to travel ONE block in the car. Drivers push in, taxi's stop on a whim & block traffic & arseholes park in bus stops, so the buses have to come to a halt in the road. Hooters blare, zap signs are more common than stop signs & no one gives a shit so long as they can get to where they want to be. Then they double or triple park & fuck everyone else. . I am truly sick of it. . Before I went out to a meeting on Thursday night, our apartment building security phoned me to warble on about 'must move car........must move car'. I was parked in a normal, vacant parking space in MZ underground carpark, as I do, every day. I went down & the building security chap was having a little hissy fit because of where my car was parked, but couldn't explain because he can't speak more than 6 words of English. I got down to the carpark to find 2 cars not only blocking me in, but blocking the access road of the car park. I approached one driver & asked what the problem was. Funnily enuff, he suddenly couldn't speak English either, but indicated to the other car (blocking the way) & that I should speak to the driver. (Well, I would fuckwit, if I could see him......................I don't have X-ray vision & can't see through black tinted windows.) . I approached the other car & the drivers side window opened about half way. "Salaam aleikum" said I, "What's the problem?" "You're in my space" said the driver & pointed to where my car was parked. "Your space.............er..........sorry, but I don't see YOUR name on the bay anywhere?" "Yes, but I always park there, next to my motorbikes. I pay for my space!" he whined. "Well" I said, battling to control a rapidly rising temper, thanks to his bloody arrogance "Y'know, I also PAY for my parking space. I ALSO like to park next to MY motorbike, but if a space isn't available, then I'll park where there is a vacant space!" which was swiftly followed by "If you INSIST on parking in a particular place, then you must make arrangements with security or the municipality, not tell me I must move my car!" "Ahhh, yes, sorry..............sorry" . Sorry my fuckin arse. His apology wasn't worth the breath it came out on, but his arrogance is gonna be his undoing one day. I hasten to add, that if I find out it was him involved in scratching Eish! as a 'screw you bitch' payback, he'd seriously better not go to sleep.
Thursday, September 25, 2008BEFORE I SOD OFFI've got a whole heap of things to do before I sod off next month....................ohhhh..................did I mention I was clearing off outa the Sandbox for nigh on a month? In my next post I shall tell you all about where I'm going & what mischief I will hopefully be getting up to..........wooooohoooo! I just need time before Tuesday to do that post - eeek - time's running out! A very good friend of mine in SA sent this joke to me recently (dankie Lady) & I had a good chuckle over it, so what better to do than share it with y'all. Enjoy!  The Stuttering KittyTeacher is explaining biology to her 1st grade students. 'Human beings are the only animals that stutter,'she says. A little girl raises her hand. 'I had a kitty-cat who stuttered', she volunteered. The teacher, knowing how precious some of these stories could become, asked the girl to describe the incident. 'Well', she began, 'I was in the back yard with my kitty and the Rottweiler that lives next door got a running start and before we knew it, he jumped over the fence into our yard!' 'That must've been scary', said the teacher. 'It sure was', said the little girl. 'My kitty raised his back, and went 'Fffff, Fffff, Fffff'.....................And before he could say 'Fuck Off', the Rottweiler ate him!'
Monday, September 22, 2008THE VERY GOOD TASTE 100   1) Copy this list into your blog or journal, including these instructions. 2) Bold all the items you’ve eaten. 3) Cross out any items that you would never consider eating. 4) Optional extra: Post a comment at www.verygoodtaste.co.uk linking to your results. * For the record, stuff that I've eaten will be in green. ** Instead of crossing out items I would never consider eating, I've put my feelings about them in brackets. It's so much more descriptive than a mere line through the word don't you think?) The VGT Omnivore’s Hundred: 1. Venison (eeew, firstly it's meat, plus it's meat that looks at you - no thanks) 2. Nettle tea (no, but I do remember the stings from 1962) 3. Huevos rancheros (kwik wiki ref: nope) 4. Steak tartare (I'd french kiss a skunk before I ate that) 5. Crocodile 6. Black pudding (Congealed pigs blood..........fuck off!) 7. Cheese fondue 8. Carp (many moons ago) 9. Borscht (I prefer likkle baby beets fanks) 10. Baba ghanoush (throat siezes at somminc resembling semi-solid snot) 11. Calamari 12. Pho (nah, I'll stick with Tom Yung) 13. PB&J (peanut butter & jelly) sandwich 14. Aloo gobi 15. Hot dog from a street cart 16. Epoisses (if it smells like week old smelly socks, I don't eat it) 17. Black truffle (never had the opportunity that I remember?) 18. Fruit wine made from something other than grapes (my dad's homemade wine - fekkin brutal, especially when I was a kid) 19. Steamed pork buns (streaky bacon & bangers are my limit for pig meat) 20. Pistachio ice cream 21. Heirloom tomatoes (can't say for sure, altho it's possible) 22. Fresh wild berries 23. Foie gras (sod off - visions of lung-butter & snuff mixed to a spreadable consistency) 24. Rice and beans 25. Brawn, or head cheese (Brawn = BARF & visions of 'head cheese' being syphillis related) 26. Raw Scotch Bonnet pepper (when someone offers to pay for new dentures, I'll try it) . 27. Dulce de leche (no, but I wouldn't mind trying it) . 28. Oysters . 29. Baklava 30. Bagna cauda (anything with anchovies is enuff to make me puke) 31. Wasabi peas (If I need snuff, I'll ask me dad) 32. Clam chowder in a sourdough bowl (on the 'To Do List' when I go to the USA, when I'm all growed up in a coupla years time) 33. Salted lassi (WTF is this? kwik wiki search......looks like type of vomit, albeit watery, so it's a definite no) 34. Sauerkraut 35. Root beer float (got as far as a root beer sometime in the early 90's & still trying to get rid of the after taste) 36. Cognac with a fat cigar (do I look like Churchill??) 37. Clotted cream tea 38. Vodka jelly/Jell-O (I'll stick to dagga cookies thanks) 39. Gumbo 40. Oxtail (fuck right off!) 41. Curried goat (*shudder* no fuckin goat would get near my taste buds!) 42. Whole insects (not intentionally, but the odd fly might have got in by mistake) 43. Phaal (Hubs - take note!!!) 44. Goat’s milk (white-ish version of brake fluid - disgusting) 45. Malt whisky from a bottle worth £60/$120 or more (smells like mouldy socks soaked in stagnant water...........nah, not even before 1977 when I stopped drinking) 46. Fugu (Poor Puffa! Never!) 47. Chicken tikka masala 48. Eel (bollocks...........still have nightmares from me dad holding a wriggly fucker up to me circa 1967) 49. Krispy Kreme original glazed doughnut (how sad am I?) 50. Sea urchin (my dentures couldn't handle it) 51. Prickly pear 52. Umeboshi (now I know why the Nips in Kenya were such sour little fuckers) 53. Abalone 54. Paneer (not that I remember, altho 'tis possible) 55. McDonald’s Big Mac Meal (half-guilty as I've eaten the chips & bun but not the cardboard they sell as beef) 56. Spaetzle (not that I can remember, but I have slept since then.................) 57. Dirty gin martini (gin yes & martini yes - many moons ago - but the whole thing together, nope) 58. Beer above 8% ABV (leave that to Hubs - his record is 14%. His liver is still clapping from 1998) 59. Poutine (slap chips & gravy I can handle; topped with cheese = 3mth supply of Rennies followed by colonic irrigation) 60. Carob chips (If it ain't choblit, I ain't eating it!) 61. S’mores (why ruin it with bloody crackers???) 62. Sweetbreads (bugger off.........I'd rather suck on a bag of nails) 63. Kaolin (???) 64. Currywurst (altho sausage in curry sauce at a Doncaster chippy in 1978 is a contender in this category) 65. Durian (Not sure.........if this is the same as the 'Custard Apple' I had at Kisumu Municipal Fruit & Veg market in 1999 it was fuckin 'orrible. I'm still trying to get the fur off me teeth.) 66. Frogs’ legs (no soddin' way............poor little paddas!) 67. Beignets, churros, elephant ears or funnel cake (Sounds the same as vetkoek to me?) 68. Haggis (I'd staple my mouth closed before this beastly stuff got anywhere's near me) 69. Fried plantain 70. Chitterlings, or andouillette (the contents of a colostomy bag hold more appeal) 71. Gazpacho (next time I'm in Spain................) 72. Caviar and blini (I'd give it a bash) 73. Louche absinthe (there's cars in Lebanon running on this stuff) 74. Gjetost, or brunost (in no particular hurry to try it) 75. Roadkill (nah, I left it all for the starving masses..............they needed it more than me) 76. Baijiu (close contender to Witblitz and/or drain cleaner. My liver's stuffed enough thanks to malaria) 77. Hostess Fruit Pie (served by Stepford Wives methinks) 78. Snail (I tried one once in 1989. I swear the slippery little bastard is still trying to crawl up my throat) 79. Lapsang souchong 80. Bellini (no appeal) 81. Tom yum (wikkid!) 82. Eggs Benedict (separate ingredients are fine - together, slightly nauseating) 83. Pocky (sounds acne related..........wiki search tells me different: not yet) 84. Tasting menu at a three-Michelin-star restaurant. (I won't settle for anything less than 5 star dahhling) 85. Kobe beef (I'd chew on 25 used teabags before I ate that) 86. Hare (not after having to eat rabbit when I was a sprog. I still need therapy) 87. Goulash (feck off............can't abide the sight of the revolting stuff) 88. Flowers (nearly ate a nasturtium once in a salad in Kenya, but managed to avoid it) 89. Horse (no friggin way...........never) 90. Criollo chocolate (???) 91. Spam (yuk, ate it as a sprog) 92. Soft shell crab (crawly little bastards can stay on the beach thanks) 93. Rose harissa (???) 94. Catfish (same as barbel, fuckin 'orrible bottom feeders - fit for baiting other fish & sod all else) 95. Mole poblano (Hubs, find a recipe!!) 96. Bagel and lox 97. Lobster Thermidor 98. Polenta (if it ain't North Sea cod I don't eat it) 99. Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee (normally administered by I.V.) 100. Snake (Just the thought has sent shivers down my spine & I'll need extra couch time now, thanks to the anticipated sleepless nights.) I'm a bit of a sad wench, considering I've only eaten/drank about 25% of the things on this list. Check the worry in my eyes! So tell me, what is there on the list that floats your boat or makes you want to visit the porcelain bowl? Labels: cockroach clusters, crippled frogs, ideas for enemas, voluntary hunger strike
Tuesday, September 16, 2008AWARD THINGY Not so long ago, fellow Blogger Fancy in Sweden very kindly gave me the above award. To quote her, she said I was "not ordinary and you are not boring and you live in a strange place called Abu Dhabi." Hmmmm, well with a bit of self-analysis here, to be ordinary is to be sane & I cling to my insanity, even when I sleep. And yes, Abu Dhabi is a strange place............if I didn't have my insanity, I don't think I'd be here. Fancy says I make her smile & laugh.........well darlin', that gives me the greatest of pleasure! (I never paid her to say this...........honestly!) Anyway, getting back to the Award Thingy, I now will pass the flame on to 5 of my favourite fellow Bloggers. Making the choice hasn't been easy, as there are so many wonderful folk out there in the Blogosphere, plus I had to wait for the money transfers to come through first y'know................ In no particular order, I send the Award Thingy to: Electro-Kevin Typically British (we all have our problems, never mind luv) our Kev is married with kids, is a hard working bloke & BGB (Bloody Good Blogger). He's not afraid to say his bit on the state of the YooKay, has a wonderful sense of humour & is waiting for the day when the Yoonian Jack changes to Burberry colours innit. Well worth a read. Hangar Queen I've read the whole of Devin's blog. What she has done has taken insurmountable courage, strength & determination. Born a man in Ireland, Devin is now a woman, living in America. Some may arch their eyebrows & think a transgendered person is a freak - well let me tell y'all, read Dev's blog & find out for yourself that it simply ain't the case. Life In The Pub John Greenwood is an incorrigible lunatic in a wheelchair, who tells incredibly sick/lame jokes & spends his time ordering his dear old dad about in the garden, whilst he props up the bar in his local pub, the Merrie Monk. The antics of the usual crowd & payback from Di the barmaid are priceless! Kaya My very special hormonally challenged friend here in the Sandbox! What this woman puts up with is enough to make me want to take her out & get her plastered, but then I'd end up on the Taliban's hit list. She's sharp, she's funny, she's got attitude & she's got a heart with an infinite capacity. Fingers - The Whine Guide I think by now, Fingers has registered the trademark of being an Utter Cnut. He's so fuckin sharp he rips himself & others to shreds, especially in his 'comments'. If you're into sado-masochism & enjoy typically Antipodean humour, then Fingers is your man.
Sunday, September 14, 2008TATTOO ME.....................HELP WANTED I have a problem & I'm making a genuine appeal for a bit of help. I am not the least bit artistically minded, despite being able to slap a bit of paint on the walls & make it looked mottled.........hmmm. OK, my problem is that I'm trying desperately to make arrangements to have another tattoo done, with the tattooist near my hometown in South Africa. I'm going home in 16 sleeps time - yay! I really, really like the picture above - the design of it & the colouring. I sent the picture via email to my tattooist & he's replied most apologetically, saying that he cannot make a good enough stencil for the design from my picture, as it's too small. BUGGRIT! I can't make the pic any larger - I've tried, but it looks blurred & obviously not good enough to make a stencil from. BUGGRIT again! So, what I'm asking/pleading/quietly begging for is someone who is artistically inclined to re-do the pic for me. It needs to be big enough for the tattooist to make a decent stencil from it. Ideally, where the words 'Harley Davidson' (in red) are, I would like 'Live To Ride Ride To Live' (in the same kind of font) instead. Alternately, I'd be happy with just the HD logo bar & shield in the middle of the wings, with a scroll at the bottom of each wing, reading 'Ride To Live' + 'Live To Ride'. Any help will be most appreciated. Should someone come up with a 'solution' I will do my best to ensure that you get as much publicity as possible. If you want dosh for your effort, then a reasonable amount can be negotiated. Many thanks :-) Labels: Harleys, selling a kidney, tattoo me
Tuesday, September 09, 2008WHAT DOES LOVE MEAN?A few weeks back, my just-as-mad-as-me friend Kaya sent me one of those forwarded-fwd-fwd-fwd-can't-be-arsed-to-keep-typing-forwarded emails. I've read it many times since & each time, I smile & offer a silent "Awwwww". As we all know, kids say the strangest things..................they seem to have a particular knack at saying, or repeating, swear words at the most inopportune moments. I noticed such with Chikkin whilst in Ireland just recently. She quite innocently repeated "right bastard" after hearing one of us say the exact same thing - oops. (It bought back fond memories of her daddy saying ".........an' Mummy said fukkit" when he was still in nappies!) Being the sludge cranium that I am, I would never have thought to ask a small child - in the 4 - 8 year age bracket, a simple question like that below. The same kids, assuming it's real, have no doubt had many foot-in-mouth moments. I'm sure those oopsie moments are now long forgotten. What Does Love Mean? . A group of professional people posed this question to a group of 4 to 8 year-olds, 'What does love mean?' The answers they got were broader and deeper than anyone could have imagined. See what you think: 'When my grandmother got arthritis, she couldn't bend over and paint her toenails anymore. So my grandfather does it for her all the time, even when his hands got arthritis too. That's love.' Rebecca- age 8 'When someone loves you, the way they say your name is different. You just know that your name is safe in their mouth.' Billy - age 4 'Love is when a girl puts on perfume and a boy puts on shaving cologne and they go out and smell each other.' Karl - age 5 'Love is when you go out to eat and give somebody most of your French fries without making them give you any of theirs.' Chrissy - age 6 'Love is what makes you smile when you're tired.' Terri - age 4 'Love is when my mommy makes coffee for my daddy and she takes a sip before giving it to him, to make sure the taste is OK.' Danny - age 7 'Love is when you kiss all the time. Then when you get tired of kissing, you still want to be together and you talk more. My Mommy and Daddy are like that. They look gross when they kiss' Emily - age 8 'Love is what's in the room with you at Christmas if you stop opening presents and listen.' Bobby - age 7 'If you want to learn to love better, you should start with a friend who you hate,' Nikka - age 6 'Love is when you tell a guy you like his shirt, then he wears it everyday.' Noelle - age 7 'Love is like a little old woman and a little old man who are still friends even after they know each other so well.' Tommy - age 6 'During my piano recital, I was on a stage and I was scared. I looked at all the people watching me and saw my daddy waving and smiling. He was the only one doing that. I wasn't scared anymore.' Cindy - age 8 'My mommy loves me more than anybody. You don't see anyone else kissing me to sleep at night.' Clare - age 6 'Love is when Mommy gives Daddy the best piece of chicken.' Elaine-age 5 'Love is when Mommy sees Daddy smelly and sweaty and still says he is handsomer than Robert Redford.' Chris - age 7 'Love is when your puppy licks your face even after you left him alone all day.' Mary Ann - age 4 'I know my older sister loves me because she gives me all her old clothes and has to go out and buy new ones.' Lauren - age 4 'When you love somebody, your eyelashes go up and down and little stars come out of you.' Karen - age 7 'Love is when Mommy sees Daddy on the toilet and she doesn't think it's gross.' Mark - age 6
'You really shouldn't say 'I love you' unless you mean it. But if you mean it, you should say it a lot. People forget.' Jessica - age 8 And the final one -- Author and lecturer Leo Buscaglia once talked about a contest he was asked to judge. The purpose of the contest was to find the most caring child. The winner was a four year old child whose next door neighbour was an elderly gentleman who had recently lost his wife. Upon seeing the man cry, the little boy went into the old gentleman's yard, climbed onto his lap, and just sat there. When his Mother asked what he had said to the neighbour, the little boy said, 'Nothing, I just helped him cry' That's what the kids had to say......................so now for the readers of my drivel who're all growed up, I'd like to ask you the same question: What does love mean to you? Labels: bitch sniffing, sickly sweet, stage fright
 One of my favourite fellow bloggers is Mutley The Dog Every now & again, he unlocks the lunacy in me, to such an extent that if I had the time, I'd knock out the first 30,000 words of my 'One Day I'm Gonna Write A Book' book. (Mutley seems to have that knack of setting me off on a roll.) This morning, I had a quick flick through various blogs & I came across one of his posts which made me remember something................a 'something' I don't think I'll ever forget. . . A few years ago, I was living on what was once an abandoned army housing camp in Malawi. The compound had been well neglected for quite a while, but it didn't take too long for the contractor (i.e the ruff-tuff-construction-company Hubs was employed by) to knock the camp back into shape. Houses were repaired, dirt roads were graded & the wimmin folk soon set about establishing homes & gardens & claiming back the grounds which had been over-planted with mielies (corn). . The ruff-tuff-construction company introduced much employment to a desperately poor local population & us wimmin folk in turn employed maids & gardeners. I had a young chap called Nelson, who was swiftly nicknamed Madiba. He was 20yrs old, had completed high school but never been employed. He came from a small family - his mother, an older brother & younger sister. He was from a different father to his older brother & I suspect from his sister - nothing unusual in that. When I first employed Madiba, I told him that if he ever stole from me, I would hunt him down (should he do a runner) & hold his hands over the stove or fire & I would make sure he never stole again, from anyone. I told him that if he needed anything, albeit money, food, clothing or whatever, it cost nothing to ask me & I would always do my best to help, which I did. I've been on the bones of my arse before, but have never stolen from an employer & I don't expect anyone to steal from me. I 'taught' him all the normal domestic duties & as I got to know him better, encouraged him to go back to school to better his 'passing out' grades. I tested him in English & he taught me as much Chichewa as my poor sludge could handle, which wasn't alot. I showed Madiba how to make muffins, which he thoroughly enjoyed. He always took some home to his family. His mother & older brother would send back messages or notes, thanking me for the cakes. The older brother was the sole provider for the family & he had a family himself, so it was a small but welcome relief that Madiba was taking home a salary at the end of each month. Both brothers were hell-bent on making sure their younger sister finished school & didn't end up like the rest of the village teenage girls - pregnant within 6mths of meeting the first boyfriend.* . About a year or so after settling in the bush, my little spot (house) had taken shape & my garden produced tomatoes, cauliflower, onions, mealies, green beans & bananas. Us wimmin would trade with each other & excess fruit & veg was always given to our maids/houseboys/gardeners. It was the done thing. One afternoon, I heard one hell of a commotion in the back yard.............several voices were shouting in Chichewa & my initial reaction was there was a bush fire. I opened the back door & saw Madiba & 2 other guys from the camp tearing around the back garden like they were possessed.............shouting...........pointing...........more shouting................... . "Madiba!" I hollered, "What the fuck is going on?" . A few seconds later, the running & shouting stopped as fast as it had begun & Madiba approached me, sweating profusely. "What's happening? What are you guys doing?" I asked. "It was a rat madam!" exclaimed Madiba "So, it was a rat..............what's the big deal?" I said. . . "It's meat" he said, extremely disappointed, as the rat had escaped. . . . I've never forgotten that. . . . * The sister succeeded in getting knocked up at the age of 15. The boyfriend made a hasty exit as soon as he was informed he was gonna be a daddy. Madiba & his brother were left with yet another mouth to feed.
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