Love+observations

1) There is a facebook group called 'Writer's Guild South Africa'. I wonder, who is this other-worldly writer that comprises a whole guild? Does he/she have a hunting knife strapped to his/her shin? A single writer doth not a whole guild make.

2) Blooka Palooka's leg is better, much better. The recovery was so quick and miraculous I have decided to give her a guild unto herself. Well done tough lass.

3) Last night I watched a b-rate horror movie whilst eating chocolate ice-cream out of a mug with a long spoon.

4) I'm too afraid of short-crust pastry to even try and mix a batch.

5) All my friends are insane.

Observe, you won't regret it.

24hrs of strange world

A mate of mine was thrown out of a doctor’s office for saying ‘oh crap’ on the same day that I read about PETA being up in arms over the Super Mario games. PETA claims that these games condition us to be cruel to animals and the doctor’s office…well goodness knows what they claim.

Having been a wild child in my youth I have been thrown out of a great many places – serious places, like airports – but to be unceremoniously told to leave a health professional’s practice for saying ‘Oh crap’!? It makes little sense to me. They would do better with a swear jar or something.

In other news (all in the same 24 hours) an ex varsity professor of mine died – he died in April already but I only read about now. He was terrible to me, and was subsequently involved in a literary scandal that had the local academics in a frenzy of squinting-eyes carefully combing argument and counter-argument, picking out the bits that proved or disproved to write it all down again paraphrasing for their own benefit. This prof failed me for a subject I earned a first-class pass for later in my Honours year, and a subsequent bursary to Masters (the dreaded thesis I am now so deftly avoiding). I wrote him a very nasty bit of literature this year that I had every intention of not only sending it to him, but to everyone he had offended. Thank goodness I didn’t! People have short memories: they wouldn’t have remembered me as the wounded student who bravely leapt to the defence of the brilliant famous authoress – but instead the viper-tongued little witch who insulted an ill man (with all past indiscretions promptly forgotten). The main reason why I only read of his death recently is because I decided to look him up so that I could get his email address and send him my vitriolic input anyway. Thank+goodness I never save anyone’s details.

The headlines worried me: 'In Memoriam', 'Melancholy and light', 'Stephen Watson, guide, teacher, friend', or worse the Times blurb that one of 'South African's finest writers and poets has succumbed to cancer'.  Regardless of his treatment of me, and others of my gender who speak my language - we owe the man a bit of respect. The sort of respect that we illustrate with good grammar and no cliché's. As for the idiots at the Times: the greatest respect you can pay this man, the least you owe him, is to learn to English please.

Still in the same 24 hours I tracked down a friend who I had last seen six years ago, and had little hope of ever finding again. A maze of Womens’ Union members, small-town promotional websites, a complete stranger who hadn’t lived in the area for 40 years and finally a local pastor – paid off. Who would have thought?

The strangeness finally reached a culminating point when I picked up the rubbish bit of fiction I am currently reading in an effort to avoid my thesis and read the following line: ‘No makeshift weapon could hope to be as deadly as the well-flexed hands of an angry baker.’

It is 2hr17 in the afternoon – we have some ways to go yet.