The Barber Shop

Recently I decided to go for a haircut, as my hair was starting to resemble the kind of undergrowth you expect to find on a forest floor. Unfortunately I had yet to settle on a regular barber. So I decided to see what barber shops are available in my area, picked a conveniently located one, and off I went. At first all appeared rather normal. Four barber chairs lined up in front of a wall-length mirror, and three barbers attending to the masses. And when I say masses, I mean masses! I had to wait quite some time before my turn finally arrived. I felt a sense of confidence growing in my chest. Yes! If they are this popular, they must do a good job!

My turn finally arrived, and I plonked myself down in the barber's chair. Because explaining what I want takes too long, I usually whip out my ID book which contains quite a nice picture of my regular hairstyle. The barber squinted at it and then proceeded to trim my hair with a pair of scissors. What concerned me is that the snipping never stopped! Not even while the scissors weren't in contact with my hair. Even while examining my hair from a different angle and thus not actually cutting anything, the barber would keep making snipping motions with the scissors! I wondered if he was about to go all Sweeney Todd on me!

Thankfully he did not resemble Johnny Depp and I couldn't spot Helena Bonham Carter anywhere, so that made me feel slightly better. Especially after he then set the constantly moving scissors down and grabbed his clippers. Things were going well! This was familiar territory! I relaxed into the chair as he set about further trimming my wild mane. Eventually he asked if I was happy and then whipped out a cut-throat razor. All of my Sweeney Todd nightmares came flooding back! Especially since he then pulled out a leather strap from under my chair and proceeded to sharpen the blade on it. I didn't dare move as he started cleaning the stubble from my neck using his razor! I felt certain that, if he sneezed, their walls would become an interesting shade of red, and I would fall gently onto the floor in a puddle of my own bodily fluids! But no, he expertly wielded his weapon, and by the end of it all it was the closest shave I have ever experienced! So I firmly believe that I have now found my regular barber. But if I ever walk in there to find Johnny Depp winking at me, I shall turn right around and run for the hills.....

How The Proud Have Fallen!

So recently I decided to visit a restaurant that I had not visited since my school days many many many many (okay, I'll stop now) moons ago. I had fond memories of my favourite meals, and the friendly and efficient service that we received. So armed with my nostalgic musings and happy childhood memories, I paid them a visit.

The first person I saw was either extremely inefficient at applying makeup or was auditioning for the role of the Joker. She had so much makeup on that I was afraid her face might crack. The fact that she was constantly attempting to do a friendly grin, but failing miserably, terrified me slightly.

After seating me she took my drink order, and promptly got it wrong. Seeing as I do actually enjoy the beverage that she mistakenly brought me, I said nothing. I then proceeded to order a starter, which arrived within two minutes, proving that making food from scratch has gone out the door. Thereafter I ordered my main meal, which usually comes with a variety of choices (peri-peri, lemon and herb, garlic and so forth) and expected her to ask me which flavour I wanted. But no, she went "Very good" and wandered off, leaving me wondering exactly what I was going to receive. The end result was not too horrifying but still not up to the standards set by my memory.

The service too left something to be desired. My waitress would disappear for lengthy periods (probably trying to fix her makeup) and then reappear suddenly and without warning, causing me to grab my knife (butter, unfortunately) out of pure survival instinct. I actually heaved a sigh of relief when it was time to pay the bill and get the hell out of Dodge!

So not the most pleasant experience, which left me thinking that, if you have fond childhood memories of something, maybe leave it in the past......

We're All Going on a Summer Holiday

Actually, we have gone and come back again.Two weeks of relaxing at the coast, with nothing to do but swim, eat, sleep and breathe. This was also the very first time ever that our little angel set foot on a beach. And she absolutely loved it! So much so that she'd bolt for the water while we were setting up our umbrella and laying down our towels. Then we'd have to drop everything and run after her lest she jumps into the ocean and swims to New Zealand. Having never seen the ocean before we thought that the waves crashing on the shore would freak her out. But no! Apparently our little angel is fearless! Even when the waves crashed over her she was enjoying every second of it!

Unfortunately, the holiday town that we vacationed in suffered from the same problem as other holiday towns the world over.......over-inflated prices! I wanted to ask a few of the restaurant and shop owners if they knew what the prices were everywhere else in the world. Or if they just made it up as they went along. It was ridiculous!

But thankfully, over-inflated nightmare prices aside, it was a very enjoyable two weeks. Our little angel got to visit the sea and play in the world's biggest sandbox. We got to relax and take it easy. And now that we are home again, we are ready for the next phase.......wishing we were back at the coast!

Somebody Save Me!

Right, now that I have the extremely catchy theme tune to Smallville stuck in your head, I can continue. Over the weekend we had to take our little angel through to a different province to go stay with her grandmother for a couple of days. Not usually a very difficult thing to do. But on the way there, my lovely companion's Honda Jazz decided it was bored, and started messing about with the gauges and various indicator lights, just to liven things up a bit. As this wasn't affecting the engine, we carried on with the journey. After dropping off our little angel and enjoying a spot of brunch, we set off back home. Only now the dashboard frequently looked like a Christmas tree and the engine was losing power periodically. We were hoping to at least get home before it cut out, but no such luck. About 75km from home, it finally died. Being a man I hopped out, opened the bonnet and had a gander. I fiddled with this, and tweaked that, but nothing could resurrect the now completely dead car. And I adopted the universal stance of everyone ever stuck at the side of the road.....

After a while I stopped staring forlornly at the engine and got into the car to await the arrival of the breakdown vehicle. At some point a passing police officer stopped and asked what the trouble was. I explained to him that the car was completely dead, and he shook his head sadly and muttered "Eish, it's dead hey? Dead, dead dead." After I agreed with his extremely technical statement, he asked if we had organised some help. I assured him that we had, and he went on his way. After sitting in the summer sun in a black car at midday for two hours, the breakdown vehicle finally arrived. And finally we were heading home again! But at some point we hit stop-and-go traffic due to that old South African epidemic......road works. And that's when we learned how to pray deeply and earnestly!

The breakdown vehicle driver had either never heard of following distances or had decided that they were something that happened to other people! He would stop so closely to the car in front of us that I felt as if we were going to drive over them at any moment! My lovely companion just clung to my arm with her eyes shut. The driver, oblivious to our fear, kept jovially talking about this and that, and when my lovely companion dared to open an eye and let out a squeak of terror, he assumed that she was commenting on his story, which just spurred him on even more. Finally we managed to get out of the traffic and onto the open road again, and shortly thereafter we were deposited, sweaty and terrified, back home. After paying our savior we calmed our nerves with some ice cold alcoholic refreshment and once again came to the inescapable conclusion, there is no place like home!

The Eye of the Beholder

So finally, after 17 years of wearing glasses, I decided to get contacts. There are a variety of reasons for this. First off, every time it rains, I get drops on my glasses and hence I see spots. Every time I peel a potato or stand in front of the stove frying something, I get grease or juice on my glasses and I see spots. If I accidentally brush against my glasses with my finger, I leave a smudge and thus can't see clearly. Going to the beach meant I couldn't go into the sea with my glasses on, so I would have to leave them with my towel. Not a massive problem going in, but coming back out I would have to try and locate my towel again. This is a process of elimination whereby I would walk over to colourful blobs on the sand and squint at it, trying to determine if the blob in question belonged to me. This upset little children, and angered their parents, so my lovely companion and I came up with a system. I would go into the sea, play around a bit, and when I was ready to reach my towel, I would stand at the waterline looking lost until she came over to fetch me.

I finally decided that I was done with all the hassles of wearing glasses, so I made an appointment with my optometrist to get contact lenses fitted. Unfortunately, as I am not used to poking something into my eyes on a regular basis, it took us 45 minutes to get the first contact in. And a further 30 minutes for the second one. Then I had to go back the next day to learn how to do it myself. Which also took an eternity. I was very surprised at her patience. She calmly sat next to me, soothing me with encouraging words and gentle smiles. But if I could read her mind it would have probably been something like "Oh for the love of all that's holy! It's a simple procedure, why the **** is it taking you so long?!"

But I have finally mastered inserting them and removing them. I can walk around with confidence, and even dance in the rain with impunity. And at long last I won't scare little kids at the beach any more.....

But Why is the Rum Gone

So a while back I was sitting with a friend of mine while we were attempting to survive the horror game Alien Isolation. (You can read about that particular terrifying game here) Because a game as bladder-leakingly scary as that has a rather bad effect on ones nerves, some alcoholic refreshment was called for. So I had a brandy and cola. And then about an hour later I had a blinding headache. A short time after that, I decided that I hadn't had a good rum and cola in a while, so I had some dark rum with Coke. And once again, a blinding headache ensued. Even fruitcake and chocolate containing rum has me clutching my head and groaning softly shortly after consumption.

I discussed this rather uncomfortable phenomenon with a colleague of mine, one who is well versed and very skilled in the consumption of large amounts of alcohol, and he suggested that I do an experiment. I should try drinking clear liquors like vodka or gin, and then report back to him. That night I poured myself a double gin and tonic, sipped it down, and lo and behold, no headache. I tried a vodka martini or two, same result, once again there was a remarkable lack of headache. The next day after listening to my astounding results, he nodded his head sagely and proclaimed that my body did not like dark liquors. Beverages like brandy and rum should henceforth be eliminated from my alcoholic intake. Who knew this was even possible! I always believed that alcohol was alcohol. At least no-one will ever be able to ask me a very important question.........But why is the rum gone?!

New Year's Resolutions

It's that time of the year again. Everyone is relaxed after the Christmas season. It is a new year, filled with fresh promise and new opportunities! And it is also the time of year that we lie to ourselves like no other time! Common lies include "I'm going to quit smoking" or "I'm going to be healthy, I'm only going to eat salad and muesli" or "I'm going back to the gym so that I can lose weight and look like Hugh Jackman".

But then, somewhere around June, we realise that we are still puffing away, still eating cheeseburgers with extra everything and we still look like the bastard child of the Oros Man. The only exercise we get is going to the fridge for another beer!

Why do we lie to ourselves like this? Why do we keep setting goals that we never ever attempt to reach? Is it that we don't have the time? Maybe we are not motivated enough. Or maybe that couch is just so damn comfortable! "This won't happen if I get a personal trainer" you say. But yes, it will. You will show up diligently for one week, maybe two if the trainer is of the opposite sex and really cute, but eventually you'll stop altogether. So I suggest a personal trainer that won't take no for an answer, one that will show up at your house and drag you to the gym. One that will appear behind you in every mirror you look into.

Yes, Chuck Norris. This is a man that can play tennis against a wall, and the wall will lose. A man that can have a staring contest with the sun, and the sun will blink first. A man that can shoot down airplanes by pointing a finger at them and yelling "Bang!" So if anyone can get us to keep our promises this year, it is Chuck Norris! No matter where you hide, he will find you. No matter the excuse, he will roundhouse kick it out of you. And when he's done with you, you will have abs of steel, pectorals that can move mountains and a beard that can stop bullets! You will also talk with a cowboy accent and have the irresistible urge to kick people in the face. Okay, maybe this isn't such a good idea after all.......