For The Best Friend, to drive her nuts.

The rules of cricket:

You have two sides, one out in the field and one in. Each man that's in goes out, and when he's out he comes in and the next man goes in until he is out. When they are all out, the side that's been out comes in and the side that's been in goes out and tries to get those coming in, out. Sometimes you get men still in and not out.

When a man goes out to go in, the men who are out try to get him out, and when he is out, he goes in and the next man in goes out and goes in. There are two men called umpires who are out all the time, and they decide when the men who are in are out. When both sides have been in and all the men have been out, and both sides have been out twice after all the men have been in, including those who are not out, that is the end of the game.

PATTOTE: Catch up or be caught out.

Snarky cricket moment #2

During the SA/Scotland game, Mark Nicholas putting paid to Darryll Cullinan's weather forecasting abilities: "We're back and it's sunny skies [after 10 minutes of rain]. No sign at all of the fierce tropical storm predicted by Darryll." Then he rolled his eyes.

Well, I found it funny anyway.

Return to perfection

When I was about five we lived in a tiny little town on the Orange River. We spent our weekends on the river: fishing, camping, swimming. The river moved slowly and quietly. The only sounds came from the piet-my-vrous, doves, cicadas. They combined to make the hot, high-pitched buzzing of summer. I remember peacefully floating on inner tubes, the big black ones. You smelt the river, the trees, warmed rubber and it was perfection.

Yesterday I experienced it again.

Cricket Highs and Lows

Weekend High:
Herschelle Gibbs hitting SIX sixes in one over. Until now, it was a hypothetical situation. Now it's legend.

Weekend Low:
Bob Woolmer's sudden death after Pakistan crashed out of the world cup. Woolmer was a great man and this is a terrible loss. I feel so sad for his family, and for the cricketers in the tournament who knew him so well.

Tick! Tick! Tick! Boom!

And the countdown to our first World Cup game begins. We play the Netherlands tomorrow. By all accounts the Proteas are confident and upbeat. The Lucky Helmet and I are feeling quite confident and upbeat as well.

Graeme Smith has been making lots of statements about how we have left the "chokers" tag behind. All I can hope is that our previous psychological weakness has been left behind, that we have the mental werewithal against teams like the Aussies, and that we can remember that we are the best team in the world.

It's incredibly important that we beat Aus in the Group A clashes. We need to finish in the top slot going into the Super 8s so we can take the points in with us. Should rain come and wreck the parade, we want no surprises. You hear that, rain god? NO SURPRISES! The Lucky Helmet and I are watching you carefully.

FAVOURITE SNARKY CRICKET MOMENT: Daryll Cullinan commentating on the Australia/Scotland match. "Well, at least Australia has broken their losing streak."

PATTOTE: Better living through not being chokers.

Happy First Birthday Me

A year ago this month I started up this blog. I'm not sure what the original intent was, other than to publish my myriad opinions on everything. I'm not sure that this blog has been a success, entirely. I know I have my readers (hi mum!), but from a writing perspective, is it being all it can be?

Shouldn't I be using it to write deep introspective pieces on what's happening in the news, in addition to the fluffy fluff pieces? If I have opinions, I should be able to formulate an entire 400/500 word post about it, shouldn't I?

This point is pretty moot anyway, considering my severe lack of any kind of posting of late. I guess I'm saying, I'm working on it. Stay tuned.

Whistle while you work

The painter hanging outside my office window was whistling Beethoven's Für Elise.

Resolution #3: Stop clicking your knuckles...

...at least in public.

Out of deference to all your finer feelings I am trying to stop clicking my knuckles. I love clicking the joints in my fingers, just so you know. And the link between it and arthritis is inconclusive. But I will from now one just be clicking happily in my own company. And in the company of my deskmate who doesn't care.

PATTOTE: Better living through a nice snapping knuckle.

Dreamy Beatles

I had the craziest dream the other morning. I was at a huge festival of some sort and I was surrounded by The Beatles (minus John). They were young and still had their 60s haircuts, but were dressed in clothes for our time. Oh and George's hair was nattily moussed and gelled. Anyway, they're getting ready to go up on stage to perform (for me!). I very firmly tell them I want George to sing, because he's my favourite (he still is). Ringo gets all upset and they all start fighting.

PATTOTE: Better living through The Great Goat. Even The Beatles can't get enough of me!

Cricket World Cup

So my world cup fever is starting. I'm being positive but I think SA are in with the best chance they've had so far. We thumped Pakistan and India this past season, and are showing consistency in bowling, batting and fielding. And finally we're leading from the front rather than getting into trouble and relying on the middle order to rescue us. This could be our year!

The 15-man squad will be announced tonight. Here's who I'm picking and what I think of their abilities:

1) Graeme Smith (Finally found form. It's so vital for Smith to lead from the front, and with AB de Villiers in as well, he's needed to stabilise the top order. I'm grateful that he's stopped sending himself into bowl, because that always smacked of desperation).

2) AB de Villiers (I'm a huge fan. He's a gorgeous stroke player and lovely to watch. He's also come back from the doldrums of the India tour. His biggest failings can be put down to youth. He goes out in stupid ways because he picks the wrong balls or finds himself on the wrong foot. He looks like he's been working really hard and it's been paying off. And let's not forget his amazing fielding).

3) Jacques Kallis (There's no question here. And last night's game was just one more illustration that if he wants to he can belt 4s and 6s all over the place. He's allowed himself to gather a reputation of a slogger. I hope he'll let himself take a few more risks. His bowling is pinpoint accurate as well. Even when he's not taking wickets (which he has been of late, 2 in the game at Wanderers) he is economical. Worth his weight in gold).

4) Herchelle Gibbs (Can't leave him out, he's the fielder they can't go without. But oy, his batting record has been spotty. We'll see, because when he bats, he bats. 438 anyone?).

5) Ashwell Prince (He's developed the reputation as one of our middle order rescue guys, a reputation we hopefully won't need. He's nippy between the wickets, and with one of the big hitters on the other end - like Justin Kemp - is perfectly capable of winning a game on his own. Once again, let's hope we won't need him to do that. Every team needs a dependable unflashy player; Prince is ours).

6) Shaun Pollock (Do I really need to justify his place in the team? Oh, ok. Accurate, lethal, can swing the ball on a pitch that does nothing for anyone else, and can bat as if his life depends on it. 5/23. That was his most recent haul. From a man they were calling a has-been a year ago).

7) Mark Boucher (As indispensable as Pollock. His keeping skills are rock solid and his batting is inspired).

8) Justin Kemp (He's made a name for himself as the big hitter and has been compared to the awesome Brian McMillan. And his bowling goes as unsung as Big Mac's did. He took 2 wickets yesterday and has been making breakthroughs throughout the season. I think he's a useful change bowler and they should use his heeeeuuuuuggggeness more - he can thump a 6 out of the park).

9) Andrew Hall (Floats in and out of the team but always performs. He can bat and his bowling at the lower order is always productive. He pins them down and gets them out. He's going to be very valuable in the attack in the West Indies for his ability to restrict runs.)

10) André Nel (I've never been a fan of Nel, who often falls on the ludicrous side of aggression. But the man get's wickets. He'll have to, have to, have to work on his accuracy though. Extras lose matches).

11) Makhaya Ntini (As indispensable as Pollock. He's fast, he's innovative and he's good. He can also rotate the strike should we run out of batsman).

12) Charl Langeveldt (Has worked hard to become a really good death bowler. Can also bat if needs be. Also takes catches regularly. He'll play an important role if they allow him to).

13) Paul Harris (I haven't seen a lot of him but I think he's a spinner worth watching. The only really good and effective spinner we've ever had was Pat Symcox. I think Harris shows talent and he could be very useful).

14) Roger Telemachus (He's been tried and tested and he's fairly dependable as a backup bowler. He can get punished quite badly though because of bad line and length. But he's useful with a bat and adds depth to the lineup).

15) Robin Petersen (I'm not a fan. I don't think he's lived up to expectation but he spins the ball. And has performed with the bat in the past. We need another spinner but I think I'd rather go with the unproven but more exciting Harris).

PATTOTE: Better living through CRICKET! I'm very excited.

My First Poem

When I was five I took part in a poetry eisteddfod. I had to memorise a poem, stand up in a long room and declaim it to the best of my dramatic ability. I remember one little girl (frizzy red hair, Christelle maybe?) bursting into tears. Yes, I was an insufferably smug little brat. Anyway, I still remember the poem:

"Ek tel my katjie op my skoot
en streel haar sagte pels.
Woer, wir, woer, wir spin sy,
dis hoe sy met my gesêls."

I practised it clutching a little white stuffed cat; The Mother and The Father claimed props would aid the drama. "Ek tel!!!!! My Katjie!!!! Op!!!! My skoooooot!!!!" or something to that effect. Never has a cat been more movingly stroked. Or painfully strangled. Your call.

For my non-Afrikaans speaking readers: I put my kitty on my lap, and stroke her soft fur. Voer, vir, voer, vir, she purrs. That's how she talks to me.

Nothing to add

I have nothing really to add today, other than to say come Monday I will be trying to post everyday, whether I have anything to say or not. I know, you're all reeling in disbelief, but occasionally even I have nothing to say. In the meantime I'm planning my weekend. This will include sleeping, chocolate, packing, repacking, cutting myself on cardboard boxes, getting wrapped in masking tape and watching the cricket on Sunday.

For those you playing at home, I'll be the one wearing the green helmet.

PATTOTE: Better living through doing nothing.

Waa's daai?

I met a brand new taxi driver this morning. He was all bright and shiny and had a new car smell about him and everything. He stayed under the speed limit. He checked his blindspot! Everytime the guard told him what the next stop was he asked: "Waa's daai?" And all the passengers sighed. It was a long trip.

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

Woohoo!

The final Harry Potter book is being released on July 21 this year.

Where will I be then? Must pre-order!

On the Move

Yesterday brought several surprises:

1) My citizenship application to the UK will take 4-5 months, not the 3 months originally stated.

2) When it eventually is processed my passport will take another 6 weeks.

3) My lease ends earlier than I thought so I have to be out of my flat end of Feb.

4) I can only ship my stuff in April so it has to be stored until then.

5) I may still be stuck in South Africa in June because my South African passport is in the clutches of the nefarious British Home Office.

All in all, not the best fun day ever. Thankfully, I've found a furnished month-to-month let from beginning of March, so that's one thing off my mind. It means living with just a suitcase of clothes for God only knows how long, but I can deal with that. Someone at work is also happy to take care of my boxes until I can get my shipping organised. Der Fuhrer is skipping at the fact that he doesn't have to interview anybody yet to replace me. I just want to leee-aaaa-vvvv-eee.

Traitor

I am the Benedict Arnold of bibliophiles.

I've started to sell off my books.

To cull the herd.

I don't want to talk about it.

All I'll say is that emigrating had better be worth it.

Deeply ashamed

I'm a very bad person. Even though I consider myself socially aware and environmentally conscious, when I checked out my biological footprint I discovered that I am personally using 7.3 hectares of space every day to live:

CATEGORY GLOBAL HECTARES
FOOD 0.7
MOBILITY 1.5
SHELTER 1.5
GOODS/SERVICES 3.6
TOTAL FOOTPRINT 7.3

IN COMPARISON, THE AVERAGE ECOLOGICAL FOOTPRINT IN YOUR COUNTRY IS 4.3 GLOBAL HECTARES PER PERSON. WORLDWIDE, THERE EXIST 1.8 BIOLOGICALLY PRODUCTIVE GLOBAL HECTARES PER PERSON.

IF EVERYONE LIVED LIKE YOU, WE WOULD NEED 4.1 PLANETS.

Holy ecological disaster, Batman!

Resolution #2: The F-Word

Using the f-word is not a suitable alternative to a failure of imagination. You're smart, come up with something else. You're tough, deal with the situation. Maybe meditate? Who the fuck knows. Actually, never mind. This resolution is bound to fail, because sometimes shouting FUCK loudly is the only thing to do.

PATTOTE: Better living through smarter adjectives, and the occasional: "Oh for fuck's sake."

It's very hard to explain

Now, the thing you need to know about me, Great Goat and future leader of the world, is that I am not particularly maternal. I don't hate children with a fire-breathing rage or anything, but I have limited patience with brattiness and whining gives me a headache. So I have an ambivalent attitude towards having my own kids. Being told, "You'll change your mind when you have your own," bugs the shit out of me, because it just makes me want to say screw you all, this oven is closed for business. But yeah, I can take or leave procreation.

But God, I love my nephew. I haven't even met Jamie yet but I'm totally fascinated by this tiny person who represents the next generation of my family. I love that he's apparently developing Ellis ears (see dumbo-esque), that from certain angles he's the double of my sister, from others the double of his dad. I've never had any sort of exposure to kids growing so I'm flabbergasted at how fast they develop and how much personality they seem to have at such a young age. And sure, I'm eagerly awaiting the day I can start the long process of indoctrination (Cool auntie Elize, not so cool auntie ****, cool auntie Elize, not so cool auntie ****).



I guess I'm just looking forward to being an aunt. I'd rather he just call me Elize though.

Corporate Paedophilia

I read an article in the Cape Times recently about underwear lines available in South Africa for girls under ten. This underwear include bras for children as young as two. Yes. Two. Retailers have defended the articles as "what the customers want". One of panties available for little girls had the words "spoil me" with an image of black cat on it. What kind of customer wants to put that on a 5-year-old?

The tshirts for children with words like "Broken Flower", "Porn Star", or "First Desire" are barely noticed anymore, but are a frightening example of the hypersexualisation of prepubescent girls.

Yes, girls do develop early in some cases, and yes there should definitely be lines available to them. But no baby needs a bra. And the article discovered that while the average girl's first bra would be a 32A, what the companies are selling is only 25 inches. This is not recognised in the industry and can damage a young child's soft tissue.

In a country with such a high incidence of crimes against children, why would we want to encourage girls to send out messages they don't understand? I'm not in any way saying they're "asking for it". I'm just saying that there are disgusting psychos out there, and instead of finding the happy medium between baby clothes and slutty kid's clothing, the big clothing companies are encouraging an environment where children can be exploited because they don't know any better and their parents just don't care.

Alexander McCall Smith

I've just finished 44 Scotland Street and am rapidly working through the 21/2 Pillars of Wisdom, after polishing off the Number 1 Ladies Detective Agency series, and I have to say, I love him. His books are such a lovely breath of fresh air, and I deeply appreciate the fact that he can make me laugh out loud.

I think it's the graceful simplicity of his stories and writing that appeal to me most. They're human and interesting but completely unpretentious. Pretentiousness is actually the punchline of many of his jokes. Making fun of people who think they're a cut above everyone else or know absolutely everything are beautifully characterised and then completely eviscerated.

21/2 Pillars of Wisdom is not my favourite of his books, but highlights in parts what is used to great effect in the rest of his work. Nothing really happens; it's like Seinfeld with three Germans. A blundering fool, fixated on the wrong priorities, convinced of his own superiority, and the trouble he gets into as a result. Will he learn from his mistakes? Will he even be able to recognise them? That is Smith's genius right there.

PATTOTE: Better living through the fictional lampooning of people we hate in real life.

P(re) M(enstrual) S(cariness)

Every month I fall into the Slough of Despond, a big scary pit of very sad darkness which for one days looks inescapable. And every time I fall into the Pit of Very Sad Darkness™ I'm convinced there's no escape and that I'm going nutty.

Of course, this is total crap and by the next day I'm a little morose but just groovy again. And then I forget about it for a whole month and freak myself out when it happens again. So this time I'm blogging it, and I'm laying in a store of Evening Primrose Oil for the next time. I'm very tired of the Pit of Very Sad Darkness™.

PATTOTE: Better living through other suggestions for combating PMS. And unpanicking The Mother who, on reading this post ,will freak out.

Jane Austen's Life

I've just finished Claire Tomalin's biography, Jane Austen: A life. I really enjoyed it. Tomalin's writing is well researched without being too academic, and very accessible.

However, I think she places too much emphasis on certain aspects of Austen's life, so I don't agree with all her conclusions. If Austen feared abandonment, it was predominantly due to her being sent away to school so early, rather than being put out to nurse. I know Tomalin draws on both of these, but I put more faith in the second factor.

That said, I think she did a brilliant job investigating a really enigmatic woman, supported by research into the family and the times. It's not just a biography of Austen, but of Austen's England, and Austen's family - all of which feature so heavily in her work. To understand one is to know the other and that's well demonstrated.

I also enjoyed reading more about Aussten's character. Her narrative style is so sly and witty, and it was so lovely to see that part borne out in her life.

My visit to Chawton and Bath last year really brought the story alive too. I want to go back there, as well as go to Steventon and Winchester Cathedral.

Now, until I find collections of her letters, I'll carry on rereading her novels. It's fascinating how you can read her work at 16, and then again at 25, and come away with such completely different opinions of her characters and plots. She's a tricky, intelligent writer. I admire any author who can make you like and hate somebody at the same time. Yes, Fanny Price, I'm glaring at you.

Next up: Howard's End by EM Forster

PATTOTE: Better living through books, books, books.

Resolution #1: Be more subtle

Subtlety is not a dead art apparently. And when some bizarro random character wanders over to you and Leigh, 30 seconds after you made under-your-breath comments about how said character should never ever tuck his lumo green tshirt into his jeans, and starts chatting you both up despite admitting that he is in fact unemployed and cheap, it's probably a better idea to only start laughing AFTER he's out of earshot or your direct line of sight.

PATTOTE: Better living by being nice to random characters who could turn out to be axe murderers should you laugh at them.

Christmas Helmet

All I've ever wanted was a cricket helmet. I want to wear it as South Africa powers through the world cup. And I love the grille bit in front. I can't explain the longing, but I've wanted one ever since that poignant school holiday when I turned into a cricket nut, much to The Father's interest.

So imagine my surprise and wild delight when the greatest friend ever gave me this:



How much do I rock right now? It even has my name on it!

PATTOTE: Better living through custom made cricket helmets

Free books!

Kind of, anyway... I finally got onto the bookcrossing bandwagon when I discovered an official bookcrossing zone at the Coffeebean in Rondebosch on New Year's Day. I always keep a death grip on my own books, which is why I have about ten boxes of them to ship overseas for the Great Exodus of 2007. However, I'm coming round to the idea of releasing a few select ones into the wild and keeping track of them via bookcrossing.com

I released one today in Charley's Bakery on Roeland Street (and comforted myself with a shortbread biscuit). It looked so tiny and lonely and defenceless - even if it was only a rather shitty Silhouette book.

PATTOTE: Better living through free books and freeing books.

Good Vibrations

So a friend and I decided to go vibrator shopping at this nifty "sensuality" shop around the corner from my office. Not Adult World, which is cheap and nasty with oddly second-hand looking products. We wandered off to Whet, talking a mile a minute as per usual. We're still yapping as we breeze past the saleswoman behind the counter and come to a standstill in front of the wall o' vibrators. And all of a sudden...silence...as thoughts of "how the hell does that fit?" and "what does the kitty shaped attachment do?" flitted through our heads. The saleswoman (who had snuck up behind us by this point) had a good laugh and said that wall does it to everybody. They come in yapping and are stunned into silence. Fun shopping trip all round.

PATTOTE: Better living through...

Coming soon...

A picture of the best Christmas present ever!
A list of my favourite books of 2006!
The Great Goat's hopes and dreams for 2007!
Random facts to help you face the apocolypse!
And a report from the newly freed Siska.

PATTOTE: Stay tuned...

Shag, Marry or Kill...

or "Smok" is a game Der Fuhrer introduced me to. You pick three celebrities and you have to pick one to shag, one to marry and one to kill. It's hard enough when you realise that you're going to have to off Colin Firth in order to marry Hugh Jackman and shag John Cusack. But it gets nasty when you have to decide between three people like, um, Jack Black, Bill Cosby and Dudley Moore. Or when you have to pick between people you know. Tons of fun.

PATTOTE: Better living through mocking celebrities.

The Lowest Common Denominator...

...and how tabloids are perpetuating the existence of same.

I think people live up to expectations, so journalists and newspapers should expect more of them. Tabloids think their readers are dumb, so their readers expect the newspapers to be dumbed down. I'm not even talking about which celebrity is screwing around with which sheep. I'm talking about the crappy stories, the terrible headlines, the completely heinous crimes against grammar and punctuation, and, even worse, the ad hoc slanging about which brings two languages into disrepute.

The media has an obligation to audiences everywhere to be erudite and intelligent. When we start dumbing things down in a misguided attempt to access the "people", we are selling the "people" incredibly short. If people don't read newspapers because they're disinterested that's fine. I don't understand it, but let's just add that to the long list of things I don't understand. But aiming lower to up circulation is not the answer.

Of course, PATTOTE continues to acknowledge that people do idiotic things. But they should at least be well informed idiots.

I'm not dead!

I feel fine! I feel happy!

Scene from a taxi

The Daily Voice is, to put it mildly, crap. It's one of a number of truly trashy tabloids (tm me) that have proliferated in Cape Town of late. it comes complete with page three girls, complete in their kaalgat glory.

So this morning on my way to work I noticed a guy with his (two, maybe three-year-old) son. Dad was trying to read the Voice. Kiddie was insistently pointing his finger at the naked girl. In fact, he was pointing so hard at the..erm...nippular area, I was surprised his finger didn't poke straight through the paper. What was going through his mind? Breakfast?

Dear Anonymous

Beansprout, I know who you are!

And it's S-P-O-O-N-E-R-I-S-E. Not "spoon and rise".

Now you get your update.

Love and kisses

Liz

Family Jokes

The Parents have finally come on board the information extra super hyper awesome highway and learnt about the beauties of IMing. Infinitely cheaper than smses and phonecalls, and you can drink a cup of tea, work and talk at the same time. Brilliant!

As fabulous as yapping on the phone is, there is such a sense of urgency to get all the vital information across the subtleties of family communication are somewhat lost. Writing allows those subtleties some space again. IM gives me the illusion of being in my parents living room, drinking tea and playing scrabble, falling about into hysterics with The Mother and The Sister while The Father looks on in annoyance trying to get us back into the game.

My family are great laughers/snorters/gigglers. The family in-jokes keep us laughing long after the jokes stopped being funny and bind us together in our own Ellis-oh-Elize-tried-to-strangle-Juanita-but-she-turned-out-ok-our-dogs-sit-up-on-dining-room-chairs-and-our-car-was-mauled-to-pieces-by-a-field-mouse kind of way.

Every group has in-jokes. Laughing together to the exclusion of another is a societal tool really. Chummy cameraderie and a shared history gives you a sense of belonging to something. Not knowing what the joke is leaves you alienated and alone. Maybe the neanderthal who didn't get the latest woolly mammoth story got stomped on? Who knows. But knowing the joke gives you the power to allow another person in. Not to sound all portentious, but knowing the joke equals survival.
In some ways gossip serves the same purpose, but I don't think sharing gossip leaves you with the same feeling of security that laughing at an old joke does. The same secure feeling you got when you were little and lying in bed, listening to the theme song of Dallas, or LA Law or The Golden Girls and heard the quiet hum of your parents talking.

Family In-Joke 1: We were outside playing when that happened

I was about 6, The Sister was about 4, and we really were outside playing when The Parents called us into the sitting room and lined us up. Somebody had carved a little drawing into the polished coffee table. "Girls, who was it?" asks The Father. I shake my head - my drawing was WAY more advanced than that. The Sister said: "We were outside playing when that happened." Guilty party, table for one. So now when you're trying to evade guilt (Who used up the last of the milk/toilet paper/hot water) you were outside playing when that happened.

Family In-Joke 2: You're all right

The Father (God love him, and I do) is a tough man to please. Certain compliments can only be chipped out of him with an ice pick. So when he says: "Ja, you're all right", he means all the mushy stuff The Mother usually says. So now if you want to give a grudging compliment it is proper ellisiquette to just say: "You're all right." As in: "Dad, don't you think Siskey is a clever dog?" Dad:"She's an all right dog."

Family In-Joke 3: Yoghurt position

The yoghurt position is any position you're in that is extra comfortable and you're not moving any time soon. Yoghurt is of course a corruption of yoga. There are a couple of those corruptions. We speak of satsuma wrestlers as well. And flamingos are high ducks.

Family In-Joke 4: "Put down that book!"

Related to In-Joke 3, this is yelled whenever you're taking too long with anything. Been in the loo too long? "Put down that book!" Still getting dressed after an hour? "Put down that book!" Been in the bath for a while? "Put down that book!" Of course, the fact is that more often than not, I have a book to put down. Sue me.

Family In-Joke 5: "Girls, come here!"

This hearkens back to days of yore, when The Sister and I would be deep into one of our games and there would be a call from The Mother to "come here!" She just wants to "tell you something!" And after dragging our heels, and leaving the ruins of our game behind, we'd get there only to be told: "I love you!" Cue much groaning and stomping off. We were ungrateful little brats.

Are you an African?

The Father sent me this:

"Hi. We have a new guy working with us.He is a black Zimbabwean. Father was an Englishman so he speaks English without a Shona or Ndebele accent. Victor, who is Tanzanian and speaks Swahili, does not regard him as an African because he does not speak an African language!! I on the other hand, am African, because I speak an African language, namely Afrikaans!!! Is this crazy, or what?"

Discuss...

Evergroan

Hell is being stuck on a taxi playing Will Young's Evergreen on loop.

White chick

While crossing the taxi rank at Cape Town station this morning, one of the guys yelled: "Hey! Abelungu!"
It's only since my regular forays with Habitat for Humanity that I've discovered that abelungu means "white people" in Xhosa (for your interest, the singular is umlungu), because when you're working gangs of kids follow you around shouting it.
Because I recognised the word and the fact that I was the only umlungu in the vicinity I answered, which I think surprised the yeller. Unlike the word amaBhulu (which is Xhosa for Boer or Afrikaner), abelungu/umlungu has no negative overtones. It's just a catch-all word.

If I went to that same taxi rank and yelled: "Hey! Black people!", would the response be the same? Should I be as offended and annoyed as I am when someone whispers: "Hey, girly" in a queue? I don't find being identified by my race offensive. I find being labelled because of it wrong and aggravating. Does allowing one label let all the other labels in?

Who(us) Dunnit(us)

I've just discovered the the Falco series by Lindsey Davis. I've been wanting to read about this Ancient Roman Private Eye for ages but haven't been able to find the first book (The Silver Pigs) anywhere. And you all know how much I loathe reading books out of order. But at last I found it, finished it and have embarked on the others.

The gist is that Marcus Didius Falco is an informer in Rome under Emperor Vespasian. He has all manner of cases to solve, which he does with a helping of his truly terrible luck. The books are funny and touching spoofs on the old gum shoe detective books.

I love the patter and the plots, which are complex but absorbing. I especially like the author's lack of coddling. She writes; it's up to the reader to understand.

PATTOTE: Better living through discovering entire new series of books that will take me a few years to complete.

RIP Red Rocket

The Red Rocket is gone!

Long live the Rocket!

PATTOTE: I miss my car!

According to the Furher...

Spitting is Love
Swallowing is True Love
Gargling is just showing off.
PATTOTE: Better living through yeugh.

Tiny girl in Pink Tutu Astounds

I was walking the little powder puff through the neighbourhood the other day when I heard some high-pitched shrieking. As I passed a nearby gate I saw a little girl wearing a pink tutu pretending to be an opera singer. She was serenading a dog - arms outstretched, standing on her tiptoes. When she saw me, she paused and smiled a bit. As soon as I passed out of sight, she went right back to singing.

It's all in my head.

Allow me a little whinge, please, as migraine weather has arrived and I now have a public forum in which to vent. Those who don't suffer from migraines can smirk: "Oh, it's just a headache," as much as they want. When they've curled up in a fetal position in a dark room, been slowly driven mad by one tiny little crack of moonlight, or thrown up so badly they almost lost an eyeball, then I'll consider their opinion.

I have heard varying reasons for migaines. The most reasonable explanation (according to a neurologist I once visited) is that there is a dip in serotonin levels, causing neuropeptides to dilate blood vessels in the brain, causing the headache. Migraines are characterised by pain on one side of the head. I usually feel nauseated, irritable, sensitive to light and sound, and can't take being touched in any way. I have occasionally had numbness on one side of my body but it's not a regular part of the attacks.

The most difficult part of treating migraines is that...there isn't any real way to treat them. You can try to prevent them, and try to reduce the number you have and their duration. I use Maxalt, which is rizatriptan, with a lot of success. But it only works if you take it as early into the migraine as possible.

Unfortunately the triggers vary hugely. Mine are chocolate, cheese, flashing lights and stress. I've also recently discovered that overprocessed junk food adds to your chances of getting them too.

And of course, I've indulged in all of these delightful things in the past while. And now I'm paying for it badly. I suppose the good thing is that now I can come back to this post and it can be a deterrent.

Until then, I'll clutch my sunglasses and sleep. Whinge over.

What's really destroying the US

These children have no chance of becoming responsible, intelligent adults. Read Bill Maher's insightful and incisive commentary here.

PATTOTE: Better living through politically incorrect US commentators.

Cricketing Obits

Peter the Lord's Cat and Other Unexpected Obituaries from Wisden is on my list of must-have books. Wisden's is more than just cricket - it's an institution of wonderful writing and understated English wit. And isn't that just the best title you've ever read?

Spot the errors.

If you can name the two things that are incorrect in this picture, you get a small island come my glorious revolution. But not TOM. TOM is exempt from survival.



PATTOTE: No bad spelling allowed

I'm the baby...

...you gotta love me.

http://s51.photobucket.com/albums/f363/Liz_Isabella/?action=view&current=MOV00020.flv

Gibbs avoids arrest

Herschelle Gibbs finally faced the music in India, where he has been wanted for questioning since the match fixing scandal broke in 2000. He's avoided arrest by helping the Indian authorities, and provided them with the names of 3 former national players who were involved. So now he can help us to victory in the Champion's Trophy. But I want to know who those three additional players were. And whether Gibbs will be spared criminal charges. He was already punished by the UCB, after all.

The Ellis Family Bush Telegraph System

11:02am I talk to The Sister. She tells me The Parents will be visiting for a few days. I tell her a joke.

11:30 am The Parents phone. They tell me they're going to visit The Sister for a few days. They tell me a joke they heard from The Sister. Yes, my joke. I tell them that is my joke. They say The Sister laid claim to it.

11:38 am Cue outraged phone call from myself to The Sister's landline. The landline is engaged.

11:39 am Cue fuming phone call from myself to The Sister. She picks up on the cellphone. The Mother is on the Landline warning The Sister that beans have been spilt re owner of the joke.

11:40 am The Sister talks to The Mother and Myself, one in each ear. We agree to let bygones be bygones.

1pm two days later The Father calls. The Mother is at work and he is getting a sneaky chat with me ("I won't tell if you don't"). He tells me the fun they had visiting The Sister, The Sister's Fiance and Curtis-the-Fetus. He says The Mother will call later.

4pm The Sister calls. She tells me the fun they had while The Mother and The Father visited.

10pm The Mother calls. The Father is asleep and she is getting a sneaky chat with me ("I won't tell if you don't"). She tells me the fun they had visiting The Sister, The Sister's Fiance and Curtis-the-Fetus. Goodnight, they'll call again for the regularly scheduled Saturday chat.

Who has a chance to miss anyone in this family? We're always talking.

Take a walk on the weird side

Those of you who know me also know that I have a latent interest in healing techniques and new age-y stuff. Some of it makes me want to roll my eyes. Other aspects - particularly the tai chi concept that what is in the mind is then in the body - make sense. To me anyway.

So pyschosomatic partial cynic that I am, I wasn't sure what to expect from the healing workshop that I attended this weekend. it was more rewarding than I thought it would be.

I learnt:
1) That people will always come back.
2) That nothing bad happens when you face what you're feeling, no matter how overwhelming it may be.
3) That a touch on the shoulder is more comforting than I have allowed myself to believe.
4) That the evil part of me is determined to hear dodgy euphemisms in everything.

Dystopian pleasure

Just been reading an extract of The Discomfort Zone: A Personal History by Jonathan Franzen. It's very good and excruciatingly honest. I find Franzen's work hard to read but very rewarding.

Useless Information

I was tagged by Marissa to write down 20 random facts about myself, so here they are. I'm going to tag Kristy (so that she'll update) and anybody else who's keen.

1) I once almost chopped my left middle finger off with an axe.
2) I sometimes sing to myself before going to sleep.
3) I like skipping and hopping down passages.
4) I like to imagine my funeral, and regularly write my eulogies.
5) I have flat feet and can go through a pair of shoes in less than six months.
6) I practice what I'm going to say before I speak on the phone, because otherwise I get tongue-tied. A great bonus for a journalist.
7)The first dream I remember having was when I was four. I was trapped in a house full of white statues and their arms kept falling off.
8) I have a little sniffle everytime I look at a picture or video of my nephew.
9) I've always wanted to play the piano.
10) I like slogan tshirts and want an entire collection.
11) I can't do Embrace the tiger, Return to the mountain in taichi without falling over.
12) Berg winds make me grumpy and aggro.
13) I have fake eardrums.
14) I bruise like a peach.
15) I enjoy telling really bad jokes because they get a great reaction.
16) I really love making an entire room of people laugh.
17) I often feel that my entire life is a dream and I will be waking up at any second.
18) I have a birthmark that stretches around my middle.
19) I try not to cry in movies because I'm afraid people will laugh.
20) I like going to movies on my own.

PATTOTE: Better living through information you can now use against me

The following scenes may not be suitable for sensitive viewers

My name is Sadie. I'm a gingerbread person - a politically correct biscuit for the 21st century.



Oh no! Someone ate my arm!



Oh no! Someone ate my other arm!



My perfect liquorice boobies! She ate my perfect liquorice boobies!



I guess I'll quit while I'm ahead.


PATTOTE: Hee hee hee.

So you think you know Jane Austen?

Apparently...I don't. I got 12 out of a possible 18. What kind of a bookaholic is that?

Take the quiz.

Books Books Books (2)

I went through to Stellenbosch this weekend to celebrate Marissa's birthday with an Alice in Wonderland-worthy tea party at a place called Cupcake. The party was brilliant. However, the true find of the day was Verbatim, a gorgeous little bookshop inhabited by two ladies who talk a mile a minute and have an opinion about everything...
I bought Master and Commander and Post Captain by Patrick O'Brian, The I hate to Housekeep Book which looks amusing, and Somerset Maugham's collected short stories.

PATTOTE: Better living through adding more books to my already precariously piled shelves.

A sign of things to come?

This morning I tried to put the iron into the fridge.

PATTOTE: Better living through a crazy great goat

Foiled Again

Justice took another nosedive today when the Jacob Zuma corruption case was struck off the roll. The judge said the state's case lacked evidence. The state believes that it still has a case and will continue to investigate in the hopes of bringing an indictment at a later date.

This is very frustrating, especially after the whole Aids fiasco. The judgement also lends credence to his claims that the government is setting him up. He has manipulated the negative publicity he has received perfectly, creating a little niche for himself as the wronged struggle hero. Rather than his political career being in tatters, he can make a new stand. I hope that the ANC still blackballs him for their national executive, despite the continued support the Youth League is giving him. I don't know what will happen if he enters politics again, but his signature song is "Get me my machine gun". Do we want that in a position of power?

Laughing - but dying on the inside

Seen today in the submissions pile:

"amaizing"

I didn't know I could twitch and laugh at the same time. Progress!

PATTOTE: Better living through correct spelling - and laughing at creative attempts.

For your Information

An addition to my post yesterday. Here is a link to the pope's full speech. Were his comments taken out of context? Is he spoiling for a fight and now getting what he deserves? You decide.

Or Else

I've been reading about the outcry among Muslims after Pope Benedict's speech, in which he is reported to have quoted an obscure medieval king who labelled Islam cruel and inhumane. The pope has a propensity to overestimate his audience, often delivering incredibly complex and academic speeches to people who are only half-listening. After the reaction to his speech broke, he stated that he never intended to offend anyone and that his comments had been largely misrepresented. However, some sections of Muslim society are demanding that he withdraw his statements completely and apologise. Or else.

It's the "or else" that worries me. This latest outraged reaction has been widely reported as coming from the extremist Muslim minority, and it is they who are getting all the airtime and all the newspaper space. That minority is holding the rest of the world to ransom. Support us "or else". Publish our point of view "or else". Print pictures of us burning effigies and flags "or else".

And it's not the non-Muslim world that is suffering because of that attitude. It's the million of non-extremist Muslims that are caught in the middle, in a world where dialogue now consists of fury from one side, and silence from the other - or else.

Personal Ads

I've aways said that if I were to place a personal ad it would be:
"Neurotic Virgo seeks one more thing to worry about."
You?

Oh, irony!

So Marissa and I are walking along on Friday afternoon, pavement bustling with rush hour traffic. We're discussing the fact that everybody looks so adult and together. And as I say: "Yes, well, we all look poised and confident on the outside, but on the inside we're a mess," I trip and land flat on my face. That is where poise will get you.

PATTOTE: Better living through two bruised knees, a giggling friend and soothing pots of tea.

Counting Crows

Ok, I'm going to be upfront and say that the biggest reason I came to love Counting Crows is because Adam F Duritz writes so many beautiful songs about someone called Elisabeth. Admittedly "Elisabeth" must have done some serious damage, because those songs are always a little desperate and painful. Desperate, painful and beautiful. But outside of the kick I get when I hear him singing to Elisabeth, I have a deep affection for the group's lyrics.

They remind me a great deal of TS Eliot's work. Words, upon words, upon words, in an order you never contemplated but comprehend nonetheless. TS Eliot always makes me feel that I'm on the edges of understanding and that at any second I'll get it, and the secrets of the universe will be opened to me.

The two songs by Counting Crows I love most are "St Robinson in his Cadillac Dream" and "Wish I was a Girl". St Robinson feels to me like having a dream that leaves me feeling content and happy, and trying to have that dream translate into reality. Sometimes real life is such a let down. That moment between the dream and the waking up is perfect. There's the potential that today will be the day. Real life could be the dream.

Wish I was a Girl means a great deal to me, largely because of the lines:
"I wish for all the world
That I could say
Hey, elisabeth, you know I'm doing all right
These days"

At one stage I would have sold my soul to hear those words directed at me. Now, of course, I'm a big person and I understand that this is a song about letting go. A song about reassurance. Now these lines strike me:
"For all the things you're losing
You might as well resign yourself to try and make a change"

Nothing stays the same. What you lose, you regain at another time, in another form. The only thing you never lose completely is you. I'm the only person who knows me inside out. I find that comforting.

PATTOTE: Better living through Counting Crows, because they are totally going to live on my island one day.

Encounter at the ATM

While waiting in line at the ATM the other day, this young guy joined the bunch of bored looking people. He smiled at us all, nodded his head a couple of times and said: "The Lord Jesus loves you all."

And that was it. Short, to the point, and he returned to perusing his bank statement.

The fine art of waking up

As far as I can tell you get two kinds of "not morning people". You get the sort who can't function at all before 10am - speaking to them will garner you a grunt and that's about it. Then you get the sort that can function fine, but the getting up part is a nightmare.

I'm the latter. It doesn't matter what time I go to bed, when that alarm goes off I'm barely concious. I hit snooze multiple times. I bargain with myself over whether 15 extra minutes would really kill me. I come up with elaborate schemes to wake myself up without actually having to get up immediately (the latest being putting the light on after the second alarm but keeping my eyes shut).

Of course I'm annoyingly compos mentis even when I'm trying to avoid getting up. I talk a mile a minute every day of my life, and straight through the night as well. Why would I not grumble loudly to myself as I try to find the off button on my alarm?

PATTOTE: Better living through those of us who are "rubbish in the morning" (quote unquote).

Atomic puns

Oxygen and Hydrogen walk into a bar. Gold is sitting at a table. They say: "AU, get outta here."

Snark snark snark...

Books, books, books!

Marissa gave me three new books to feed the addiction. They are:

Fever Pitch by Nick Hornby (to fill out my collection)
Everything is Illuminated by Jonathan Safran Foer (a book I wanted to read forever)
and
Vanilla: Travels in Search of the Luscious Substance by Tim Ecott (which sounds decadent and fascinating)

I can't wait to get in there.

PATTOTE: Better living through libraries, especially mine.

Going to hell in a handbasket

I love this saying. Not only are things going to hell, they're going in a pretty container, probably with bows and flowers attached. You just can't get much more pear-shaped than that.

PATTOTE: Better living through me, cause the world is going to hell in a handbasket.

Frodo "blah blah" Baggins

I'm reading Lord of the Rings at the moment. I'm about half way through The Two Towers and enjoying the book more than I ever have before. I think JRR Tolkien's books fall into that category where, unless you're the right age and in the right frame of mind, you just fail to get into them.

That said, Frodo and Sam are working on my nerves big time. It's traitorous but true: I hate the main characters, and arguably the main point of the books.

But seriously, they're going to destroy the source of all evil. This should be riveting stuff. Perhaps my theory will mean that when I reread Tolkien's work in ten years I'll update with Legolas "blah blah" Aragorn "blah blah".

PATTOTE: Better living through rereading the classics.

Please do not complain about the pictures...

...there's fuck all I can do about them. Once you've all seen them, they're coming down anyway.

Dial 1-800-CANINE

So I phoned my dog on Saturday afternoon. Ok, ok, strictly speaking The Mother and The Sister went to visit Siska at the scene of her incarceration and phoned me and let me chat to her over the speakerphone. So I talked to my dog on Saturday afternoon.

Me: Siskey! Siskey! Baby girl! Googoo gahgah!
Siska: [thinks] What's the buzzing?
Me: [getting frantic, the dog has forgotten me!] Siskey! Baby! Siskey! [whistles loudly]
Siska: [puzzled] Hiking lady?
Me: [relief] Yes!
Siska: [still puzzled] Where are you Hiking Lady? Lady-who-owns-the-handbag-full-of-sausage-roll-dog-treats and Lady-who-smells-of-baby-powder are both here but I don't see you.
Me: Well, I am rather far away. I'm talking to you over the cellphone. You know, the boxy thing that looks like a toy but isn't.
Siska: Ohhhhh
Me: So, how are you?
Siska: Same old, same old. When you've been on the inside as long as I have...
Me: Yes, about that...
Siska: You lied.
Me: Well, it wasn't a lie exactly...
Siska: You lied.
Me: You exaggerate.
Siska: [does remarkable subliminal imitation of Liz's gooey Siska voice] What a good girl you are! You deserve a holiday. Yes you do, yes you do. And because you're a special doggy who deserves a holiday I'm sending you away on an all expenses paid trip to the Ryslip Hotel and Country Club. Five star accomodation, meals, hiking trails, new toys, tons of food.
Me: [defensively] You get fed!
Siska: You lied. You put me in a wooden box and the next thing I know I'm being unloaded at the "hotel", except its labelled quarantine facility! And the people talk funny! [wails] They called me fat!
Me: Calm down...
Siska: You lied.
Me: Ok, ok so I lied. It was for your own good. And you can't tell me you're not having a good time.
Siska: [sniffs] I guess not.
Me: [patiently] How's Squeak?
Siska: He's all right. He likes it here and he has a new friend. Lady-who-owns-the-handbag-full-of-sausage-roll-dog-treats brought a new one. She keeps saying he's orange. Could you tell her I'm colour-blind? But he's very nifty. And I have my bone, and my balls, and my rope and my bed and everybody loves me here.
Me: Way to be modest, Siskey.
Siska: It's not my fault I'm beautiful. Lady-who-owns-the-handbag-full-of-sausage-roll-dog-treats, Lady-who-smells-of-baby-powder, Man-who-likes-to-terrorise-me and Other-man-who-looks-at-them-all-like-they're-mad tell me so all the time.
Me: [mutters] We've created a monster.
Siska: There are dogs here, you know.
Me: Really? At a kennel? How odd.
Siska: I've never been a dog person.
Me: Strange that.
Siska: They're very loud.
Me: So shout back.
Siska: Oh, I do. The book club is great. Then there's the music forum. And a Toys We have Loved retrospective. We have a debate every day...
Me: [interrupts] A debate? You're a bunch of dogs. What could you possibly have opinions on?
Siska: [huffily] Excuse me, we are a bunch of dogs from all over the world. We discuss lots of stuff. Lots of important stuff.
Me: Like?
Siska: Uh...we discussed what kind of cat George W Bush is like. Why vacuum cleaners are scary. Whether retrieving sticks makes us smart or makes us slaves. Begging: the ends justify the means. Stuff.
Me: Who's a clever girl?
Siska: [smugly] Oh, stop.
Me: I have to go. I'm sorry I lied.
Siska: That's all right. I really like it here. It's better than the big farm in the sky.
Me: Ok, go get Squeak!
Siska: [...]

PATTOTE: Better living through black labradors with toys on the brain.

Singularly Uninspired

I know, I know...my propoganda has come to a grinding halt, but even future dictators get writer's block (although we usually have our spindoctors, er, eliminated, for it). So in the interest of assuring you all that I am alive, here is a little roundup:

Where am I?
I'm sitting at my desk, waiting for the Fuhrer to finish up pg 1, so that I can collect the newspaper and send it to the printers before I get a worried phonecall from them, tsktsking about printruns and distribution.

What am I doing?
You mean, other than quickly scrolling through the windows I have open on my desktop to pretend I'm working? Nothing.

What is next on the list?
It's either going to be collect, distil and send, or make a cup of tea and hide out with the admin staff. I'm leaning towards the tea.

What have I been listening too?
A group called The Weepies. Their discordant harmoniousness rules.

What have I been watching?
A lot of crap on DStv that I would usually refrain from, but it's there.

Where do I find the time?
Well, I'm dogsitting in a big-ass house and that much space is kind of making me nervous. And a little paranoid. And a little insomniac. So, I've been watching a lot of Wildlife SOS and Pet Rescue in addition to slavering over BBC Food. And Supernanny. And It's Me or The Dog. The latter make me worry about the future of humanity and plan my island sanctuary in more detail.

And when you're not watching crap?
I'm reading Cold Mountain and admiring Jude Law in my head. Lord of the Rings is up next. Again.

Immediate plans for the future?
To go home. Enjoy my day off tomorrow. Eat my colleague's sundried tomato and pesto dip. Put petrol in my car. See the new Pirates of the Caribbean movie. Watch a dvd called Gaia for work and write a pithy review of it. Remember to go back to my place to pick up my shampoo and said dvd.

Next week, we're back with a vengeance with a review of Cold Mountain, a transcript of the phone conversation I intend to have with the dog on Saturday and perhaps pics of the entire "putting a newspaper together" process. Never say I'm not devoted to the education of the masses.

PATTOTE: Better living, through, um, something. Sorry, the situation of spindoctor is still vacant. And takers?

The Incomparable Jasper Fforde

Right now I'm reading The Big Over Easy by Jasper Fforde, a cautionary tale from the Nursery Crime Division of Reading Central Police. Reading, it seems, is the hub of nursery tale activity, with gingerbreadmen committing heinous crimes, and the Three Little Pigs getting off for the murder of one Mr Wolff. This is the first book in the series, and DI Jack Spratt and DS Mary Mary are investigating the mysterious death of Humpty Dumpty. Did he jump off the wall or was he pushed? I haven't figured that out yet but so far the book is very funny. There are tons of references (Humpty's landlady is Mrs Hubbard, and his next door neighbour is the narcoleptic Willie Winkie) and even more puns. I like them, they make me feel smart. The next one in this series is The Fourth Bear, and it features a blond who comes along and ruins the Bruin bear family's life. Heh!

The other series Fforde writes is much the same. The books feature a literary detective called Thursday Next. In the first book, The Eyre Affair, Next investigates the kidnapping of Jane Eyre and other literary characters. Fforde has created this awesome little world, where all that matters is books and the characters in them. Shakespeare fans have streetfights with Marlowe fans, and everybody takes bets at Shakespeare performances to see who will win the next fencing match. I'm going to start Lost in a Good Book as soon as I figure out who offed Humpty.

The writing is brilliant, and now that I've seen Reading, even funnier.

PATTOTE: Better living through anthropomorphised animals and unfzskably surreal situations.

Ruining the Mystery

I'm reading the new Nora Roberts book, Angels Fall. It's really, really good. I'm trying to figure out who the murderer is and, while I have my suspects, she's not giving anything away in this one. So all in all I should be enjoying this book experience.

Except the book is completely riddled with spelling, grammar and punctuation errors, and they're driving me crazy. It's really jarring to be ripped out of an atmospheric thriller because quotes are the wrong way round, the last letter of a given word has become the first letter of the next word, or, as in one memorable paragraph, words are missing completely. Sentences need conjunctions and prepositions people, it's not a voluntary thing.

If the story wasn't so good, and if it wasn't against my policy to dump books half way, it would be gathering dust somewhere. But I need to know who the murderer is.

PATTOTE: Better living through grammar nazis.

Blogging the Baby

Curtis-the-fetus arrived after concerted effort from his mother, who was pretty tired of being pregnant judging by the bored smses I've been receiving. I'm biased, but I think he's lovely.



Happy birthday Jamie Luke! I hope you grow up to like chickpeas, lentils, museums and Manchester United. And congratulations Juanita and Gareth. I'll stop calling your son Curtis now!

Why Dubbya should be gagged

Oh dear

So Bush makes an arse of himself again. Not only is his logic infallible - if Syria stops Hezbollah, then the fighting will end in Lebanon, nothing to do with Israel at all - he treats Blair like rubbish and talks over him. Chewing away, talking with food in his mouth, he insults Kofi Annan and almost makes it sound like Condi is on her way out (ousted or to Lebanon, who knows). This is a politician?

PATTOTE - Better living through a benevolent dictator who will keep the microphone off.

Literary bums

The Father sent me this email yesterday (punctuation his):

"Hi. I must tell you this quickly. About 07:30 this morning, one of the lesser-known-rough-sleepers came to Willow House asking if there was any chance of a cup of coffee. I said to him, that if he waited until 08:00 he could have breakfast. He then asked where I was from and I said: "South Africa". He went to his bag and took out a well-read, well-worn copy of Andre P Brink`s book [A Dry White Season]! Have a nice day. Love. Dad."

How cool is that?

PATTOTE - Better living through lesser-known-rough-sleepers with an eye for good reading.

Wha?! update

The Fuhrer suggested that the keyword search may have something to do with the song that plays when Shaun Pollock comes out to bowl or bat. For the person searching, the song is Nkalakatha by Mandoza. Just so you know.

Wha?!

Somebody recently found my blog searching on google's Australian site with the keywords "Shaun Pollock favourite song". Now, I'm a fan but his favourite song? Who in the what now?!

Zorro

I've just finished Zorro, by Isabel Allende. I enjoyed it immensely, as I have all her other books. Not only am I a fan of Zorro himself, but her recreation of his character is pretty flawless. Foppish, hypochondriac dandy by day; masked defender with whip by night.

Zorro has an unswerving sense of social justice and a sarcastic tongue, a lethal combination. Allende sets the scene, with the colonialisation of Mexico by Spain, the subsequent mistreatment of the the existing population, and the proselytising missionaries. Zorro himself is a mestizo, a half-bood, and it allows him to exist in both worlds. Each world gives him the knowledge he needs, but both worlds also need him.

I found Allende's matter of fact comments through the stories very amusing; her dry humour and practical opinions in the face of Zorro's flair for the dramatic brings the reader neatly down to earth.

There are two things I noticed about the novel. The first, that the story has a far more "western" flavour than, for instance, Portrait in Sepia and House of the Spirits. Of course, the story is following the character's life through North America and Spain so I guess it makes sense. It made her references to mysticism and magic more obvious. There was less innate acceptance and subtlety about different beliefs and more, "You are an outsider, so how could you ever really understand Zorro?"

The other thing is a minor quibble: after three quarters of a book dealing wih Diego's life, the climax was not particularly...climactic. Kind of a let down really.

Anyway, cool book. Read it.

How do vikings send secret messages?

With Norse code!

Licenced to uh...kill?

The Sister and Curtis-the-Fetus have passed their driver's licence. I say they have passed because The Sister said that the kid was whirling around the entire time. Probably in a flat spin (hah! pun!).

Here's hoping she doesn't perpetuate the family tradition of crashing into stationary beetles...

Well done Ms Ellis! I'm very proud.

The epitome of coolness...

...in my super-duper red hard hat.

And please - no comments about the size of this picture, I'm done battling with them.

High flying canine

It was with some trepidation and a few sniffles that I sent my beloved dog overseas today. She was fine, I was the mess. Her biggest concern was the fact that I packed up all her precious toys. While I was trying to hug her goodbye and, you know, bond, she was more interested in trying to get at the Pick 'n Pay packet carrying the precioussssesss. I will always have a vision of me sitting on the couch trying to tell her how I love her and how I'll miss her and her standing on the couch, front paws balanced on the back, trying to reach the table with her teeth, thinking: "Yes, yes, whatever. Now shut up and use those opposable thumbs."

The guy who came to pick her up was so kind, like he's used to overwrought owners plotting out worst case scenarios (I don' t accept his assertion, however, that doggy parachutes are illogical and expensive). The parting was short and sweet. She climbed into her crate with nary a whimper and just looked at me with her big trusting labrador eyes (drugged probably, rescue remedy will do that).

And then she was gone, her toys taped to the top of her crate, along with a sticker saying "One live labrador dog" - thank you SAA, I would like her to arrive like that.

PATTOTE - better living through little black dogs with very little brain.

The murky world of fanfiction

Ok, so I read fanfiction. Occasionally I might add, before Leigh starts in on her "you read Star Trek porn" spiel. The ghastly truth is that yes, I got into it through Star Trek. And can I just tell you that the world of fanfic is peopled with terrifying writers with varying degrees of talent. From the sad no-hopers who's prose clunks down upon us to the the fangirl squee-ers with their millions of !!!!!!!!!!!!!1111111!!!!!!!!!!!!! and ship names, you do sometimes get really brilliant fics, great stories in their own right, albeit based on someone else's imagination.

My forays to The Leaky Cauldron and Mugglenet in my endless quest for Harry Potter news also led me to this topic on The Werewolf Registry, which is a terrifying world all of its own. My favourite has to be the rip off of Japanese graphic novels. So awesome.

The net really is a wonderful scary place.

PATTOTE: Better living through clicking dodgy links.

Urban Legends

One of my blogline feeds is from an urban legends site which I find very entertaining. They covered two points that I found interesting.

1) The eagle's head on the US seal turns to the left in peacetime and the right in wartime.
Apparently this rumour really spread when Dan Brown wrote about it in Deception Point. According to snopes.com the eagle's head has changed direction in the past, from looking right (at the arrows it holds in its claw) to looking left (at the olive branch in its other claw). Or should that be talon? Anyway, the change everybody remembers was made by Truman after the Second World War. Documents predating that have the eagle staring right, but Truman decided that it fit the US post-war working for peace image to have it looking at the olive branch. The general populace (when they noticed) assumed it was a tradition, but it was a whim.

Speaking of US presidential whims, apparently the US missed the boat on going metric because Reagan couldn't understand how it worked...

2) There is a nine-letter English word that remains a word even as you remove succesive letters. Curious? It's startling. No, that's the word, startling.
Remove the l: starting
Remove the t: staring
Remove the a: string
Remove the r: sting
Remove the t: sing
Remove the g: sin
Remove the s: in
Remove the n: I

Heh!

PATTOTE: Better living through mindless trivia

Dinner for four

I hosted my first dinner party thingy last night. I've never hosted a dinner like that and it was pretty cool. I made my typical dinner, pasta with sauce. Of course, I also only followed the recipe partly before getting distracted and chucking every herb I could think of into the sauce. It came out all right, and after a couple of bottles of wine it ceased to matter anyway.

PATTOTE - Better living through dinner time indoctrination

The One with all the Friends episodes.

Friends is one of those all or nothing affairs. You can't just watch one episode at a time, you have to get a stack of videos or dvds and watch them all together. It's the perfect way to veg out because those jokes never get tired, and neither do the plot lines. Except maybe the whole Ross and Rachel thing which got old about half way through the first season, although it had its moments (Phoebe: "See? He's her lobster.") Best thing about Friends - Chandler and Monica getting together. That ruled.

There are a lot of people who didn't like Friends because the humour was "forced". I loved it because it was sarcastic and occasionally mean. And because I would love to be able to just throw one-liners around like that. Then I remind myself that it was a tv programme and no-one talks like that. And that nobody talks like they do in Gilmore Girls either. Then I have to remind myself that I know that it's a tv programme and practising one-liners in the mirror in case I ever have need of them is totally unrelated. And then I have to go lie down because personality disorders are tiring.

Anyway! My favourite episodes of Friends are:

The One with the Football - (Chandler: "Mini wave in celebration of me!" /does ridiculous dance)
The One with Chandler in a Box - (Rachel: "It's like inviting a Greek tragedy over for dinner.")
The One with Phoebe's Uterus - (Monica: "Seven, seven, seven!")
The One with the Embryos - (There are so many great lines in this episode, and I love when Chandler and Joey ride into the girls' apartment astride that fugly dog.)
The One with all the Thanksgivings - (The turkey and Joey's head. Heh.)
The One that Could Have Been - (FatMonica is so brilliant.)
The One where Chandler takes a bath - (It's a boy bath!)

The early episodes look so bad now though. That's what you get for dressing Rachel up in "fashionable" clothes...

PATTOTE - Better living through snarky one-liners.

How to while away a long weekend.

I fully intend to do as little as possible this weekend. I'm going to start the festivities by eating calamari and chips tonight and watching old episodes of Friends. Tomorrow I'm sleeping late and reading. On Saturday I'm going to the book fair (free entry!). Sunday is the distant future and I haven't planned anything yet. I'm going to get as much mileage out of the public holiday as possible. I hate public holidays generally; they stuff up deadlines and make it that much harder to get the newspaper out on time.

It has been mentioned that I don't update frequentlty enough. I promise to try and add as many rambling passages as possible, starting Monday. Belowe, belowe.

PATTOTE - Better living when I'm in control cause then there will never be public holidays ever again after.

Scary dreams

I dreamt that Cape Town was flattened by a chemical explosion. I only dreamt it once so I'm assuming that I haven't supernaturally caused the apocalypse.

Pattote: Better living through preserving the planet and ensuring my infinite existence.

I hate these things but...

I got this meme from Marissa, the queen of these things. She knows I hate them and yet also knows that somehow I'm genetically programmed to answer them.

1. Three best movies you've watched recently.
Shopgirl (I now really want to read the book)
Memoirs of a Geisha (I really liked the book)
The Anne of Green Gables collection (I still read these books)
2. Three favourite songs at the moment.
Rascal Flatts - Broken Road
Olivia Newton John - Cry me a river (don't even ask)
P.O.D - Let you down
3. Favourite dessert.
Apple crumble
4.(a) Two physical characteristics you like about yourself.
My eyes and my freckles
4.(b) Two physical characteristics you like in a significant other.
Collar bones and eyes
5. The most unforgiveable thing anyone could do is:
Humiliate me in front of others.
6. If your were to dress someone up as yourself they would be wearing...
My pyjamas (the blue ones) with a Western Province cricket tshirt.
7. Three favourite magazines:
Cosmo, Time and... I actually don't read any other magazines. I really like Men's Helath when I get hold of it.
8. A new favourite bad habit:
Resetting the alarm clock until I only have an hour to get ready and get to work, at which point I convince myself that I have to take the car.
9. Dream house:
Stone cottage set among trees with a stream nearby.
10. Which five people would you have with you on a desert island and why?
Jacques Kallis, Herschelle Gibbs, Shaun Pollock, Mark Bouche and Daniel Vettori. Calypso cricket season mon!

Dog logic

Sappy sounds

God Bless the Broken Road by Rascal Flatts

I set out on a narrow way many years ago
Hoping I would find true love along the broken road
But I got lost a time or two
Wiped my brow and kept pushing through
I couldn't see how every sign pointed straight to you

Every long lost dream lead me to where you are
Others who broke my heart they were like northern stars
Pointing me on my way into your loving arms
This much I know is true
That God blessed the broken road
That led me straight to you

I think about the years I spent just passing through
I'd like to have the time I lost and give it back to you
But you just smile and take my hand
You've been there you understand
It's all part of a grander plan that is coming true

Every long lost dream lead me to where you are
Others who broke my heart they were like northern stars
Pointing me on my way into your loving arms
This much I know is true
That God blessed the broken road
That led me straight to you

PATTOTE - Better living through- damn, I have dust in my eye.

Concrete evidence

This weekend I dug foundations and mixed concrete. I never knew that concrete was such a complex substance with so many finicky qualities.

Did you know:
1) That concrete can take up to seven years to set completely?
2) That concrete dries properly when it is kept wet?
3) That if it sets too quickly it will crack?

Neither did I.

PATTOTE: Better living through knowing the chemical make-up of cement shoes.

The Red Rocket

To know me is to know that I wax lyrical and swear vociferously at my car in equal measure. My lovely car, a red Chrysler Colt built when Noah walked out of the ark and Moses wore short pants. It leaks in the winter on the driver's side and makes nice squelchy sounds when I change gears. In spring little plants grow next to the clutch where I've tracked in mud. The back is a neverending morass of dog hair; the back window (attached to the door that doesn't work) is a morass of dog spit. The boot lock ripped away from the metal (probably because of rust) and is now tied down with some wire. This doesn't help the already flooded tool box which houses a couple of miserable rusty spanners and a hapless yale lock that only The Father knows the reason for.

My car, my beloved car, which for several months now has refused to go up De Waal drive in anything other than second. Which tackles speedbumps with a will but crumples on the way. Which has a second hand petrol cap that can only be replaced by me because I have the knack but makes all the petrol guys paranoid because now they think I don't trust them. Which had an irreplacable oil cap (although the tow bar cover worked for a couple of months) and now has one that cost me an arm and a leg and a fortune in petrol, driving around from spare shop to spare shop, where seedy men checked me out or gave me bewildered looks. An oil cap that still doesn't fit and has to have a bit of cloth fastened under it so it will stay shut.

My car, my beloved car, which had a nice service last week but stopped in a spectacular fashion on the M3 the other morning when I was already an hour late for work (typical). I had to call a tow truck, take it to a mechanic, the whole tooty. It's fixed now for the forseeable future.

The best part of the story? And why I love my decrepit, heap of shit, gift from my awesome parents car? Because the mechanic said when they test drove her she backfired so badly that people were ducking on the pavements. I would have paid good money to see that.

PATTOTE - Better living through rusty red cars with cool wing mirrors.

Another Harry Potter phase

I go through these Harry Potter phases every so often, when all I want to do is submerge myself in the Potter world and I voraciously suck up every iota of information I can find. There are other books that do the same thing; it's not just a Potter thing, it's a Liz obsessively getting into whatever interests her at the moment thing. I had the same dedication to Star Trek in high school.

The worst part about these little lapses into obessession is that I find it very hard to switch off after I've read the book or whatever. So I can keep worrying about the characters for hours after I've actually put the book down.

My favourite character from the Harry Potter books is Remus Lupin, the tragic werewolf with a heart of gold. I've loved him since JK Rowling first introduced him. She's written him perfectly as this lovely person with a horrible disease that makes him into a monster once a month. The rest of the time he's this mild mannered, quiet man who keeps a tight grip on his feelings and never lets anyone get close.

Maybe the reason I feel sorriest for him is because, like Harry, he has lost everything. I'm hoping the last book will bring the two of them closer (Harry is leaving school and he will need Lupin I think) and that JK Rowling will stifle any desire to kill him off.

The man seriously deserves to be happy. It's pretty cool that a writer can create this completely imaginary character that the reader ends up caring so much about.

The books I love the most are the ones where the characters are so alive I feel like I've lost close friends when the story ends. That's why I can read them over and over again.

Literary Lessons

Endless rows of endless faces
smudge life as far as the eyes
can see
peering to the bitter edges
trying to find the rest of
me

Endless rows circle faster
spinning swirling sicken stop.
One room, staring, at the walls,
blackness staring back.

TOMATOE

For some time I have been aware of an anti-PATTOTE organisation that uses propaganda and smear campaigns to undermine the glorious victory that is rightly mine.

The One Man Against The Overlord Elizabeth (TOMATOE) considers itself a kind of freedom fighter and does not hesitate to spread paranoia and discord amongst my followers. His refusal to pronounce my acronym correctly (it's PATTOTE not POTATO) is reason enough to incite my loyal followers to squash the TOMATOE.

But then I remember that he's had years to overthrow me and yet, nothing happens. Why? Because he can't stay awake long enough:



Happy Birthday Robs!

Here's hoping the year brings you the brilliant things you deserve.

What I did on my vacation: part the second

I've never properly understood pub culture to tell you the truth. The idea of your favourite local is a bit foreign, although I suppose sitting around in The Rat on a Friday afternoon is pretty much the same thing.

However, we went to a couple of pubs and The Sister's Fiancé is an aficianado of same, having been a chef in pretty much every pub between Banbury and the Lake District.

Pubs are definitely not bars; people go to pubs to watch the football, have a pint before going home or go there for supper. In a lot of ways pubs are like Spur (God help them). They're even franchised out; one of the most common lot are Hungry Horse which seem to be everywhere and come complete with jungle gyms outside and cherry machines inside.

What did intrigue me is that everything is self-service. Food or drink, you go to the counter and order it and then they bring it out (with a poor attitude I hasten to add). You don't even tip the barman for drinks. When I asked The Sister's Fiancé if I should he practically recoiled in horror so no wonder everybody working there would rather be elsewhere.

Atmospheres vary. There was the decorated-by-an-eccentric-aunt-and-her-scruffy-mutt-who-came-to-visit-at-the-table one in Pangbourne amd the run of the mill one on the way to Banbury where you had to wait for the leeks to grow and the potato famine to end before you got your soup.

On our way back from Chawton (Jane Austen's home - the signpost for Hampshire says "Welcome to Jane Austen country", how cool is that) The Parents and I visited Watership Down. We found this pub on our previous family holiday when I was 11. It was an accidental discovery brought on by six people crammed into a peugeot cramping at once. It's lovely, with a beautiful view and chickens scuttling about. There used to be bunnies around the back but the waitress told us they'd pegged it and the staff now prefer poultry. I was struck by the lovely conservatory-type dining room and the retro 60's toilet seat cover decorated with perspex flowers. And of course the Ploughman's Lunch. The most wonderful lunch imaginable with gherkins, pickled onions, pate, cheese and Branston Pickle, washed down with a nice cold Strongbow Cider. Made up completely for the lack of bunnies.

The other pub that I'll remember is lovely for other reasons. The Sister, Fiancé and I all went to this place in Stratford and munched an awesome lunch. In that moment, when we were just talking, rubbish and otherwise, I thought: this is my family.

This is my family waiting for potato and leek soup. The Mother, The Sister and I get giggly:



The Sister and The Sister's Fiancé get nauseating:



The Father just keeps his head down:

What I did on my vacation: part the first

I've always had a bit of a soft spot for ducks. They're rather pretty creatures with lovely eyes. My distrust of larger birds (ie geese and swans) was confirmed by several run-ins with my feathered compadres on my recent visit overseas. Have I mentioned to anyone that I went overseas? I've tried to be subtle about it. I failed? Oh well.

Anyway, my first run-in with the birds was fairly innocuous. This one in Henley-on-Thames was more perturbed by the sodden shoe someone had left behind than the psycho South African cooing, "Here ducky, ducky, ducky," attempting to lure him with salted liquorice and sherbet lemons. It's all I had with me, all right?



Things were waddling along nicely but my visit to Stratford-on-Avon nearly unsettled my fascination with water birds forever. In between admiring the lovely buildings, picking postcards of picturesque Stratford and generally mooching along with the Sister, the Sister's Fiancé and Curtis-the-fetus, we tried to feed the duckies with duck food (which was very obviously remarketed pedigree dogfood at 50p a pop).



Yes, yes, aren't they just lovely. Beautiful, graceful, elegant. Not shown, the gang of geese who sized up my defenceless ass and rushed me for the food. Also not shown, the Sister and I debating whether to flee or keep our dignity intact by feeding them really fast and hoping to get rid of them. Eventually we fled and ate icecream instead.

I never had dignity so it's not that hard to miss.

Return of a weary traveller

My visit to places far away has finally ended and I'm back. Upcoming posts will include: Top 10 cultural differences between us and them, How to navigate roundabouts without facing certain death, Swans: graceful creatures, murderous birds, and SatNav: the end of the modern family?

Stay tuned...