A sad day for us again. Yet another of our kitty companions had his timer run out. Last week we had Skink treated for an upset tummy – possible virus – and it was noted his kidneys were starting to give trouble. Cortisone injection and antibiotics later, he still continued to deteriorate. Last night was spent on our bed as normal, and he had his long session of stroking while he purred like a two-stroke before I was allowed to go to sleep. I could tell that as usual he was ready to issue a pointed comment with one claw (he would draw blood!) if I hadn’t given him full enough measure.

          He was violently sick this morning, though, and by afternoon we could see that he was really poorly. Much Better Half and I took him back to the vet, who said that further quality of life was unlikely, so the awful decision had to be taken yet again.

         Here we have pictures of the three we have lost so recently. Skink, then Skink with his beloved brother Mo who went last year, and finally Eddie-Puss who left us on 11th.   Go well, guys, and thanks from the bottom of my heart for sharing your lives with us.  There was a lot of companionship, love, and fun.

Small things amuse small minds. Small things that amuse me by getting bigger are therefore increasing my intellect?

I am fascinated by one of young R’s Christmas stocking-fillers which came out of China with instructions as follows:

After take water stick it in for the excitement and enjoyment of the swelling.

Yes. Quite so. After placing that little dinosaur in a glass of water and leaving him for a few days he does, indeed, react like an American fast foods addict. I do, think, though, that the instruction should be kept in close proximity to the toy to avoid any possible misunderstandings.

          I had to collect my copies of my new novel.

Yes, after this long and difficult labour, and all the pain and screaming, the delivery has finally taken place. Forest Circle Quest is real, it’s actual; (very nearly) all of it is satisfactual. 

         Shops will be  infected    infested   in stock in due course. Of course, those peepholes not due to wait the course can squeak to me and ve vill course der plan to beink made.

          Then I had to do some print investigations regarding the now-completed first draft of Immy and the Dragon.  Those seem promising.  Anyway, let me see if I can give you hereunder a preview of this brilliant follow-up to War and Peace, and ask if you can guess which of our esteemed bloggers is the talented artist!

          I then had to dash to collect some stock up another end of town, and arrange for delivery to yet another. In fact, the only direction I hadn’t got involved in so far was out to sea. (That was still to come.) When I tried to print the invoice, the printer said one of its cartridges was emp-per-tee, so I also had to dash to get a new one. I was also chasing up a batch of my CDs which had needed re-doing.

          With all of this, I still managed to dash into the library to return an overdue book, and thought I’d grab another while I was there. I went to the Fantasy shelf as usual, but for some reason my eye was instead caught by a SF novel of Arthur C Clarke – with a title I didn’t recognise. I haven’t read SF in ages, but something made me grab it. I looked inside, and burst out laughing. This is what I read on the flyleaf:

‘… an event that has haunted the world: the sinking of the Titanic’

          I mean, if you consider all the synchronicity I’ve already had from that wretched boat (see here), this becomes absurd. Never mind the world, that ship is haunting me, personally! It won’t leave me alone. If I saw a horse named Titanic running in a major race, I think I’d have to bet my boots on it.

          Oh yes, and we had a visitor when I got home.

 Colonialist February 2012 (Letterdash/WordPress)

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          The current photo theme being ‘Down’ comes when I am up to my ears and up to too many other things (but not up to no good) to really get down to it. However, my favourite down which gives me an upper is from home to the beach. Let me find a random one of hundreds of pictures taken involving the supreme effort of taking a few steps out of the lounge to take this rather impressive pond which takes up the bottom of the garden. Very taking. No mis-taking, that! 

          Of course, the ‘Down’ most in my thoughts at the moment has a TON of interest attached. I think I am going to be severely hooked on the Downton series – and I don’t DO television. Well, not normally.

 Colonialist February 2012 (Letterdash/WordPress)

          On 9^th December I heard from Younger Daughter that a friend who rides at a riding stables in Amanzimtoti had told her there had been an incident there where one of the instructresses had been attacked, stabbed, and nearly raped, but had been saved by her horse. I asked our Community Oriented Police co-ordinator whether he had any further information, saying that the horse deserved a medal, but he simply put my email on the circuit.

          As a result I had reporter Tanya Waterworth asking me for further particulars. The riding friend said that the victim, Kerri, was traumatized and probably didn’t want publicity. I regretfully told Tanya that I felt it would be unethical of me to give further information without Kerri’s consent. However, I see that as a good reporter she managed to track the stable down and obtain an interview with Kerri’s mother, so I now have no hesitation in blogging the story.

          As I heard it, it was much as it appears in the front-page spread below. She was jumped from behind and stabbed when she fought back. Domino and Archie came running and went berserk when picking up that Kerri was under attack.  In fact, Kerri had been quite afraid of being trampled, herself. It had the desired effect, though, and the would-be rapist fled pursued by Domino, whilst Archie stood guard.

         As a prey animal, a horse’s first instinct is to run away from trouble. Usually a stand will be taken only if trapped, or in defence of young. Thus it shows the bond which develops between horse and rider, as well as the (usually underrated) intelligence of horses. They will place themselves in a dangerous situation, where the option of flight is possible, for the sake of their ‘human’. It cannot be ascribed to a transferred protection of young instinct, because horses regard humans as herd leaders rather than young, and expect appropriate behaviour from them (this is where lots of horse people go wrong, actually).   

          I am therefore convinced that the rescue was done quite deliberately, and that Domino, who chased the despicable thing-in-human-shape, and Archie, who then stood guard over Kerri, are true heroes.

 Colonialist February 2012 (Letterdash/WordPress

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          Extra regret – I’m late with this theme! So sue me.

          The first and most obvious regret relating to this picture of Mukurob, the ‘Finger of God’, near Asab, between Keetmanshoop and Mariental in South West Africa*, is that it is such a poor one. It is reproduced from a badly deteriorated slide we took in January, 1975. 

        The other regret is that this amazing sight may no longer be seen. The upper section of the sandstone formation fell in December 1988. Interestingly, a legend had grown among the Namaqua (a Khoi race now known as Nama) that its fall would signal the end of ‘white’ domination. The process for that was, indeed, well under way within weeks of the fall, although it took until 1990 for actual independence to be granted to what became Namibia.

        There is no regret about that adventurous trip, though. It was wonderful, and introduced us to a truly remarkable cat – the links may be found in the sidebar under ‘Ginger William of Orange’ in my ‘Settler’s Perspective‘ blog. 

*In Namibia, it no longer existed.

Colonialist February 2012 (Letterdash/WordPress)

Seeing that Sarchasm has so heartily recommended Tweeting as an intellectually stimulating exercise, I thought I would give it a trial run before I actually enter such a site.

mi tiny brain i wl now pit in tryng fr a litl bit nonsnscly wrdg it 140 charctrs 2 fit no ths is fr a real nitwit and maks 1 fl a prpr twit

That, according to my count, is exact. However, I must confess to being addicted to somewhat more leisurely and loquacious modes of expression, in addition to having a definite predilection towards correct and unabridged spelling; accompanied, it must be confessed, by some regrettable tendencies towards verbosity which are offset by an earnest desire to select the most appropriate verbal communicators. 

Colonialist February 2012 (Letterdash/WordPress)

(Subtitle, in chorus from Much Better Half and Sister-in-Law:

‘YOU CAN’T KEEP A GOOD SHIP DOWN!’)

        With the centenary of the sinking of the Titanic this year, it is natural that numerous references will be made to it. However, even without that fact, the number of times it has surfaced in some unrelated connections recently are rather synchronistic.   In family history research we were recently recalling my late mother’s tale of having watched the great ship leaving Southampton on that fateful voyage, and an elderly gentleman nearby remarking, ‘That ship isn’t safe.’

        Then we spent a weekend at Clarens, which has that spectacular rock called ‘The Titanic’.

        Today I was eagerly reading the blurbs for ‘Downton Abbey’ which premiers on South African TV on Sunday, and see that the plot starts with – you guessed it – the loss of the Titanic.

        Finally, I was skimming the index of my 2008 posts for something worth repeating, and saw that I had invented a list of one-liners (although some of them cheat by combining a few lines).   When I opened them, the first one I had written was also on this topic!

The one liner that goes down best – Titanic.

 Rats can’t stop a ship sinking, so they’re clever to desert it.

 When the pub runs dry, it is utterly unbeerable.

 When you get two for the price of one:

(a) it’s not something you want even one of;

(b) you only want one;

(c) the price of one has been doubled.

A professional skier’s career goes downhill fast.

Teenagers with enough rope ’ll hang…out with the wrong company.

Does the bra cup always cup (keep) abreast?

If you have birds of a feather, where does it grow?

When someone doesn’t set you alight, they’re no match for you.

One man’s meat is another man’s source of income.

How can modern children ever lose if you can’t beat them?   and,

It is hard to beat an ostrich egg or sex.

If on a sticky wicket, why won’t you stick there for long?

Zimbabwean inflation has invented the unpoppable balloon.

Why do you call it a lift or elevator when it’s going down?

If a car had human body design problems, would it sell?

 Colonialist February 2012 (Letterdash/WordPress)

          I recently had an email from Australia to say that only one of my widget players in the sidebar works for them. They all operate perfectly for me, but then there may be cookies in my own computer which enable that.

          Therefore, I would be grateful if as many visitors as possible would do me the favour of trying a snatch of both – a few seconds of any track will do – and let me know in a comment whether music ensued or not. Do leave enough time for the buffering to start.  

          It may be that I need to reload one or the other of the widgets/links.

          Gorgeously pretty please-please-please, with chocolate topping and cherries?

I am reposting some of my ‘alternative’ Valentine messages, which I wrote in 2009 in an attempt to be ‘original’. Alas, I find that cynical rhymes have been done on the subject since the 1800s.  The idea is by no means new.  Millions of others have rebelled against the schmaltz.

Anyway, let me kick off with a new one specially in tune with South Africans. Those without SA backgrounds will get the drift.

Hey, chick, come be my Valentine,
‘Cause you are sommer maar divine -
All I ergspex
Is stax of sex,
And it will be, ja well, no, fine.

And the rest:

VALENTINE SLOW GUNS 

I know this is a corny line -
But won’t you be my Valentine?
The pay ain’t much, it must be said …
But there’s a lot of time in bed!

~

When I first saw you, sloshed with gin,
I thought the cat had dragged you in;
But now you look, without a doubt,
Like something cats would just leave out.

~

 To a barrel of lard:
Here’s a Valentine card.

~

I hope this card most truly fits
To show my love is true -
I quite adore those bulgy bits
You have in front of you.

~

Although you are laik
The back of a bus
You never should despair;
This card is to make
A bit of a fuss,
And show someone does care!

~

Rosie’s are pink, dilly dilly,
Violet’s are blue,
Your ones will shrink, dilly dilly,
When they’re cold, too!

~

Now at the time of Valentine,
Oh, darling, just a little line
To ask you won’t you please be mine -
A diamond one would be ideal,
But gold mines also have appeal!

~

Your eyes are like stars
(Which have all just burnt out)
Your teeth are like pearls
(Yes, the black ones, no doubt)
Your hair is a feature
Which I like the best
(A pity that most of it
Grows on your chest)
Your lips are like wine
Of which poets have talked
(How sad that your bottle
Is so badly corked)
Your ears are like shells
That one finds on the shore
(Those dirty great clam-shells
I rather abhor)
Your figure is rounded
(And quite like a ball)
Your feet are so dainty
(All shoes are too small)
But from all this loveliness
I must abstain …
(She’s a good side more ugly
Than what she is plain.)

~

My love for you is quite sublime -
I’d write a poem if I had time;
But I’ve a game of golf to play,
So I’ll do that some other day!

Feb 2009

Now, let me move onto the subject of that little nude archery exponent found on so many cards with or without hearts.  What everyone seems to ignore is that Cupid actually became the hero of a wonderful romance. To quote characters in my forthcoming novel. (COMMERICAL BREAK!)

‘This Pleasure;’ Trisha asked him, ‘is she the one also called Voluptas or Hedone, who is the daughter of Cupid and Psyche?’ The dragon turned his head to give her an approving stare, and nodded.

‘How can that be?’ asked Val, who wasn’t as clued up as his sister on such matters. ‘How could a tiny boy be a father?’

   ‘Oh, grow up! He grew up!’ snapped Trisha, not trying to be funny. ‘It’s all those silly Valentine cards and things that still show him as a sort of cherub that confuse everybody. Actually, the romance between Cupid and Psyche is one of the loveliest stories in all mythology.’ She grew a bit misty-eyed, while her brother simply eyed the mist. The closer they came to it the more solid it seemed. It was like a wall.      

 Colonialist February 2012 (Letterdash/WordPress)