Will the real Captain Vokker please stand up!

This entry is massive, so get some wine or beers in…

Sorry for the delay, but firstly I would like to congratulate the winner of the recently held competition - namely, no-one. I did receive one entry at the count number 22245 by enthusiastic fan, Bill Flintrop, who added a short begging letter – ‘So I missed by a few visitors. It’s not only in Africa politics smells a bit off.’

This is of course very true, but I don’t accept rhetoric based on post-colonial whinging. Nice try, but rules are the rules. Ask Bob Mugabe. Better luck next time.

Well, I decided that with all the excitement going on in Zimbabwe, I should have another competition. All you have to do is guess the cost of a tin of peeled and diced tinned tomatoes in the Co-Op just down the road from me. If you think this is ludicrous, it is! Entries are limited to one per person. In the event of a tie, the winners will be tossed into a hat, and a rabbit will pop out with the lucky person’s name tattooed on its backside. I am sure you get the idea. If no-one gets the exact amount by Wednesday next week, the prize will be rolled over for another exciting competition. This time the prize has been upgraded. It is the same note but now laminated as to be a superb bookmark! Exactly like the one I am selling on Ebay at the moment.

Click here –

http://cgi.ebay.co.uk/ws/eBayISAPI.dll?ViewItem&rd=1&item=160226094644&ssPageName=STRK:MESE:IT

Oh, if your really bored, be a good ‘citizen’ take a minute (snigger) to ‘watch’ the amazing Ebay auction with one of the best descriptions of all ‘time’ by clicking here –

http://cgi.ebay.co.uk/ws/eBayISAPI.dll?ViewItem&rd=1&item=160226122860&ssPageName=STRK:MESE:IT

Okay, back to the competition… Simply use the comment button with your guess (in British Currency, not Zim dollars or Polish Zlotys), along with a name. I will notify the winner via this blog, and ask them to send me a postal address. How do you know I will not tell porkies? I will take a photo of the tin along with the till receipt and put it up here. Why go to all this bother? Good question, let me get another tin of beer and muse over a possible answer.

Moving on now, I would like to point out there are several reasons for the existence of this blog, but unfortunately due to severe damage to the cellular structure of my brain, I have forgotten most of them. Now I just do it for a laugh and hope that some people get a laugh out of it as well. People pay a lot of money to be amused these days. A television licence is a fine example. For an annual fee you are legally allowed to push a button on a plastic box which sends a signal to another plastic box which shows you images of black people living in abject poverty awaiting handouts and white people living in mansions advocating that those with television licences should do the handing out. The only thing in common is that both groups speak similar forms of pidgin English. Being a little philosophical here, doesn’t it make sense to give the black people free television licences? Would that encourage them to get a job and buy a TV? The local economy would boom and the entire community could feed off the good news!

Which brings me to the whole point. It might be a good idea to put up my own PayPal begging box. Beer is getting very expensive these days!

---

Amazing, you know the old adage, fact is stranger than fiction, but it has happened to me recently. I was dreaming away that Hilary Clinton was the President (I would like to add that I am seriously panicking as I have £2 bet at 5 to 1 on her, and it isn’t looking too good), but really 15 years younger than she is now, and she had heard all about me and I was invited to the White House.

She offered me a cigar and that’s when I woke up all confused and just then the phone rang! It was her! My therapist! She said I was a total waste of time and not to bother coming back for more sessions, because quite frankly, I was not right in the head. I readily agreed and said she had small breasts. Undeterred with my observations, she also added that she was sick to death each time she sees me as I do the ‘doggy’ on her leg as a greeting, whilst claiming it was a Rhodesian ritual dating back to the time of the war when we were forced to shag any dog we could corner in the discos on our R and R. (Rampant Rutting.)

Well, I did try and point out that it was her job to make me better, not just fob me off like a spent dog!

Of course, most of the above is a load of bollicks. It was just to prepare you to some more unbelievable happenings in my undiagnosed world of being a Bi-Polar sufferer. That’s the disease where you get confused between the North and South poles and consequently can’t use a GPS navigation system.

After checking out some Open University rules, I feel safe to show you this. This is supposed to be a play. To be honest, it is more of a sketch for T.V. It is very short and due to certain regulations I was limited to four characters and about 6 minutes of action. Please read this, as it is rather funny. I also give permission for it to be used by anyone, as long as I am recognised as the writer.

However, you can imagine my surprise when an article in The Telegraph newspaper the other day, really made me do a turn, when lo and behold, my parody is actually played out in real life! After you have read the sketch you will see a link to the real life of Captain Vokker.

Flight of the Feeniks – A Christmas Turkey

Starring-

CAPTAIN VOKKER

• Early fifties.
• German drunkard.
• Owner/ pilot of Feeniks Airlines.
• Wears a camouflage jump suit riddled with bullet holes.

DEVORA

• Fortyish male Californian.
• ‘Stewardess’ for Feeniks Airlines.
• Dim-witted
• Stereotype camp transvestite bimbo.
• Wears ‘60s PANAM stewardess outfit.

JAMMY JIMMY (JJ)

• Mid twenties.
• Black English con-man.
• Co-pilot of Feeniks Airlines.
• Rastafarian, attired in Bob Marley look.

DODGY BIN-LINER

• Age, ethnicity unknown.
• Male.
• Fanatical suicide-bomber.
• Prominent breasts.
• Dressed in a burka designed from a black plastic bin liner.Speaks with an Asian Sub-Continent accent
  

Scene One.

Christmas Eve 2009. The open frontal view of a shoddy aircraft cockpit. Soft lighting, small, coloured lights flash periodically from instrument panels. The backdrop of the partition wall to the cargo hold has a skeleton, in tattered clothes, attached to it. Preparing for take-off from a fog bound Heathrow airport, CAPTAIN VOKKER slouches in his seat, drinking from a bottle of whisky. JJ sits straight up, fiddling with the controls whilst staring out intently. A loud speaker hangs down above their heads playing Band Aid’s ‘Do they know it’s Christmas’. Off- stage are the muffled sounds of idling aircraft engines.

Captain Vokker (singing with chorus) ‘Do they know it’s Christmas time at all!’ (burps) Santa Vokker is here again, feeding the world! (laughs, takes a swig from bottle, sings along again) ‘At Christmas time it's hard, but when you're having fun…’

Music is interrupted by a crackled announcement from the Heathrow tower. CAPTAIN VOKKER removes a handset from the instrument panel and speaks into it.

Captain Vokker Devora, we now taxi, you belt the passenger, really good! The

bastard only paid two pound on thieving eBay for his ticket. (hangs up handset, turns to JJ) Okay, Jammy Jimmy, lets go! We are cleared for take-off from runway five. Follow behind the CIA’s 747!

Loud speaker continues playing song ‘ There's a world outside your window
And it's a world of dread and fear…’

JJ (with dread and fear) Me, Mon? You want me to fly this shit-bucket? (short pause) By the way, it’s Jay-Jay, Mon. Only the police and lawyers call me Jammy Jimmy.

Captain Vokker That is what I pay you for, Yes? (laughs and takes swig from bottle)

JJ (looking intently forward, whilst fiddling with controls) Okay Mon - erm, what that plane look like? It’s a bit foggy out there! I can’t see jack-shit.

Captain Vokker It has two wings and a tail. (short pause. Laughs, drinks from bottle) I am starting to think you downloaded your own qualifications from the internet… Who cares, if they were good enough to fool the flight authorities, they are good enough for me.

JJ (nervously) That’s great Mon, anyway, I know what a plane looks like, Mon. But what are its colours?

Captain Vokker It is painted white, has no markings and tied to the wings are loads of bearded darkies dressed in orange jumpsuits. (burps, head lolls drunkenly)

JJ starts to pull levers and various handles. Engine sounds off-stage increase in volume. Stage slews back and forth. Skeleton thrashes widely and loses its left arm.

JJ Where we going, Mon?

Captain Vokker (laughs) We going to where all you kind of people come from…

JJ (amazed) We’re flying to Brixton Prison! At least it’s quicker than London Underground and a lot safer, Mon.

Captain Vokker No, you idiot! We fly to Africa, the home of rich tyrants and poor bastards! Tyrants pay me to deliver guns, so they can starve their population into submission. And at Christmas, the charities pay me to deliver food-aid to the poor bastards. Crazy world! (laughs sarcastically, takes swig from bottle)

Pause, loudspeaker plays – ‘The greatest gift they'll get this year is life…’

JJ Hey, my great, grand-daddy got stolen from the Congo, Mon. We kept it in the family - every generation been stealing ever since. (laughs) My sister got life for stealing an Arab prince’s crown jewels in Soho. She cut them off with his own Rhino-horn knife for not paying for the services rendered. (laughs) Not so bad, Mon, lifers are let out after seven years.

Captain Vokker (sighing, swigs from bottle) We have family tradition also. My father fly in the Luftwaffe. He was sent to drop relief parcels on the 6^th Army at Stalingrad. The idiot got lost in thick fog and dropped two million condoms with twenty thousand copies of Hitler’s ‘Mein Kampf’ on Timbuktu. I laughed so hard when he tell me the story. The Muslim peasants are still pissed off and shoot at the German rally-cars on the way from Paris to Dakar.

Pause. JJ is struggling with the controls, stage slews again, off-stage engine noises roaring and spluttering.

JJ Those rich eBay bastards put me in jail for eighteen months, Mon.

Captain Vokker What you do? Sell hashish? (laughs, takes sip from bottle)

JJ I got caught washing windows. (struggles with controls, mops brow, to himself) Oh Mon, I am wishing I never take this crazy job!

Captain Vokker You get jail for washing windows?

JJ No, Mon. (laughs) I tried to wash twenty thousand copies of Window’s Vista software, all stolen. (pause) This flying malarkey isn’t that easy! (stage slews violently as JJ pulls levers frantically) On the pc flight simulator I played with in prison, I flew the Concorde into the Taj Mahal!

Captain Vokker Not bad! (takes swig from bottle) In 1980, I was so drunk, I crashed a plane into Harare Stadium, Zimbabwe, in the middle of Bob Marley’s Independence concert. Lucky for me, the police were still white, so I got away with it. (laughs) Those Rhodesians were a great laugh.

JJ Never heard of the place.

Pause. JJ fumbles between his feet and produces a small teddy bear dressed in boxing shorts and gloves and props it on the instrument panel.

JJ This is Cassius Clay, my lucky mascot.

Captain Vokker Get rid off it! That teddy will be trouble! If they see that in the Sudan, we will be lucky if they just lynch us, (short pause) after cutting our hands and feet off. (laughs wickedly)

JJ hurriedly takes teddy and hides it, then fiddles with controls. Stage slews softly. Off-stage, engine noise increases.

JJ What’s the heading Mon, after we take off?

Captain Vokker Ask Bones, the navigator.

CAPTAIN VOKKER points over his shoulder at the rocking skeleton. JJ turns and looks.

JJ (laughs nervously) Aah, he seems a little dead, Mon!

Captain Vokker Poor old Bones. He was my co-pilot till last Christmas. He caught Jungle Bunny Fever and he rabbit all the time. At every stop, he go hop, hop! He got bad ‘JuJu’, started barking and shit in plastic bags and throw them out the window. I get him to England hospital just in time to save him. Then he get MRS super-bug from the hospital and it eat him inside out! I shoot the poor bastard and promote him to navigator to keep him here as part of the skeleton crew. (laughs uproariously and swigs from bottle) Bones still give me a hand. If right arm points down, that means south-west to Africa. Then we wait for Devora to bring tonight’s menu and we know exactly where in Africa we are going. He digs food from the boxes we are to deliver, for something to eat. After all, charity begins at home, I always say. (laughs)

JJ (facing now forward. Sarcastically, mimicking Vokker) That is so Cool! (to himself) Holy Haille-Sell-Asses, I am doomed, Mon! (makes sign of the cross) Okay, I think this is runway five, I dim the lights for take-off.

As lights dim into darkness, JJ pushes controls forward, stage slews and off-stage engine noises increase.

End of Scene One.

Scene Two

Almost simultaneous time frame. Cross section of cargo hold on same swaying stage floor. Soft lighting. DEVORA stands centre stage by back- drop of cabin partition wall, replacing a handset and facing forward in audience and BIN-LINER’S direction. BIN-LINER sits slumped in a deck chair besides food- aid boxes, stage right at an angle. Off-stage sounds of labouring aircraft engines.

Devora Well, sweetie, Captain Vokker says I have to make sure you’re belted in now.

Bin-Liner Shut-up, you decadent Western whore! I kill you!

Devora Tut-tut, if I was your mother, I would wash that filthy mouth out with soap. (approaches BIN-LINER) You don’t seem to have a belt. (looks about) Well, I can’t seem to see anything to secure you with, so…

DEVORA fumbles in his blouse and pulls out a bright pink bra and after a struggle ties BIN-LINER to the deckchair, pinning his arms. DEVORA returns centre stage.

Devora Well, that’s better! (staggers on his high heels as stage slews) Well - I am Devora, your lovely stewardess. Do you like my hair? (pats at hair) Well, anyway, I am here to make sure your flight is really, really pleasurable. So, a grand welcome to you, Mister Dodgy Bin-Liner, on Feeniks Airlines! (blows kiss) I will now perform the safety regulations. (giggles coyly) Feeniks Airlines has an excellent safety record, not even terrorists dare fly with us. This aircraft is equipped with one escape route, the cargo door at the back. (points) However (pregnant pause), if you feel your cargo needs some escape, I might let you root in my back door. (sniggers)

Bin-Liner (screaming) I kill you all! Filthy slut! Allah, save me from this filth!

Devora (waves a finger at him) Ooh, such a naughty little boy! I couldn’t help but notice those large breast implants you carry. Did you have yours done by Dr. Feelgood in Los Angeles? He does all the stars… He did mine also, filled them with two pints of silicone - each!

Bin-Liner (shouting fanatically) Shut-up you whore! Mine are filled with nitro and glycerine, and made in Pakistan by the Islamic Jihad Unpopular Front for the peaceful revolution against western capitalism and degenerate debauchery.

Devora (pause) That sounds like an interesting club. Do they have swinger parties? Anyway, I heard they stone people like me over there. I’m surprised you took the risk - you are so brave! (short pause) Now, during the flight, should there be a sudden drop in pressure and you are short of breath, (makes obscene mimicry of oral sex) you will be supplied with one of these.

DEVORA produces from behind a carton an oxygen bottle with a mask attached.

Devora Even if you’re smoking hot, you must put it out before you can suck on this. (waves mask and giggles)

Bin-Liner (struggling against his bonds, screaming hysterically) Allah, Allah, give me strength to send these infidels to hell!

Devora (ignoring outburst) We don’t carry any lifebelts, as we fly mainly over desert, but we do carry some blow-up camels. (laughs) That was a joke, so - finally, I will demonstrate the KAG position you will take, should we be about to crash.

DEVORA spreads his legs wide apart and bending over, pushes his head between them making loud kissing noises, then returns to standing position.

Bin-Liner She-devil!

Devora That is the end of the ‘Kiss Ass Goodbye’ demonstration. Now this is the best part - looking for dinner! I will now show you the various choices. (starts to sing ‘At Christmas time it's hard, but when you're having fun…’

DEVORA, swaying his hips, starts dramatically to open boxes whilst still softly singing out of order lines from ‘Do they know it’s Christmas’. After looking and reading out loud the doner/destination details printed on them, he theatrically shows objects from several boxes’ contents to BIN-LINER, whilst commenting on each donation, before returning them. Throughout the demonstration the plane occasionally sways, along with off-stage changes to engine noises. BIN-LINER periodically fights his restraint.

Devora Let’s see what China is sending to Mali. Oooh, how sweeeet! Look! There is a lovely, juicy lamb chop, some chips, peas and carrots. Shame they are all plastic and unsuitable for children under three - they might choke on the generosity. (laughs, pause, new box, sings ‘Where nothing ever grows No rain nor rivers flow...’) With love from Uncle Sam to the people of Somalia. This comes from my people. (pause) How boring, just hundreds of bags of microwavable popcorn. Leftovers from Chilly Clitoris’s Presidential campaign are my guess. I don’t like her, far too bossy, but I do fancy her husband. He did love to suck on a good cigar. (giggles) Did your people like him too? (pause, new box, sings ’Here's to you, raise a glass for everyone...’)

BIN-LINER makes loud gagging sounds.

Devora (continues undisturbed, sings ‘Where the only water flowing is the bitter sting of tears..’) From Save The Planet, for the people of Dafur. No surprises here. There’s a little booklet called ‘How to save your environment and grow your own genetically modified beans’, by Hal Bore. Comes complete with seven lucky seeds to create your own magic beanstalk! We had these last year. Full of helpful tips, you know. It said, for example, if your land suffers constant drought you should urinate on your planted seeds, as this also acts as a fertilizer! Amazing, huh? (pause, new box, sings ‘Feed the world, let them know its Christmas time…’) Not sure where this came from, writing looks Japanese to me. (pause) Dehydrated sweet and sour, researched whale meat, with a built in MP3 player! No batteries though. These Nips are really smart. (pause, new box, sings ‘At Christmastime, we let in light and we banish shade...’) To Zimbabwe from the United Kingdom. Ooh look – it’s a vacuum packed roast midget Christmas turkey. Oh isn’t that just so cute! I wonder how they got them to grow so small. It says, ‘With love from Olly James’s happy turkey farm, all scanned with radium to kill bird-flu viruses’. Ooh, I have had one of these. Mind you, it took ages to catch (short pause) and it squawked horrendously when I stuffed it. (laughs)

Bin-Liner (screaming) I can not wait to blow you up, you filthy whore!

Devora Oooh, I can’t wait either, you sexy beast! (continues poking around in boxes, sings ‘And in our world of plenty we can spread a smile of joy…’) Yuck! This sounds disgusting. Tins of foetal lamb soup from Afghanistan. So that’s what they do with all the unborn lambs after they skin them to make those funny hats. I don’t care where it is supposed to go. Poor little lambs! I will get Captain Vokker to throw them out over Timbuktu.

pause, starts on new box, sings ‘And there won't be snow in Africa this Christmas time…’

Lights start to dim. Off-stage engine noises increase.

Devora That means we will be taking-off any moment now. I must get myself into blast-off position. (winks)

Lights dim to total darkness. Off-stage engines reach take off crescendo then reduce in volume. There are sounds of muffled struggling and giggles.

Bin-Liner (screaming angrily) Don’t touch my tits, you decadent whore! They are pure dynamite!

Devora (delightedly) Ooh, promises, promises!

Bin-Liner (shouting hysterically) Once I get my tits out and mix them, you and your gang will get a big bang.

Devora Don’t be coy, let me give them a quick grope. It’s Christmas after all.

Short pause. There is a loud explosion and a bright flash followed by darkness. The curtain comes down to the sounds of Band Aid ‘Do they Know it’s Christmas’, at the line -

And the Christmas bells that ring there are the clanging chimes of doom
Well tonight thank God it's them instead of you
Feed the world

Let them know it's Christmas time again
repeat then fade.

The End.

And now read about the real Captain Vokker…

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/main.jhtml?xml=/news/2008/03/07/warms107.xml

Should I stay or should I go?

Okay – this was done in a hurry, but I thought it rather appropriate. So for your entertainment, may I present Mad Bob in, Should I Stay or Should I go?

There is an interesting comment about all the shenanigans by Peter Godwin in today’s The Independent at -

http://www.independent.co.uk/opinion/commentators/peter-godwin-the-desperate-throes-of-a-master-electionrigger-803497.html

While We Wait

Yes, I know. You are all on tenterhooks waiting for the results of the Zimbabwe election. At the moment the only news to be had is 15,000 pieces of baggage are stacked up in a huge mountain at the new terminal 5 at Heathrow airport. Presumably they belong to fleeing ZANU (PF) hierarchy members. A search of various web sites has produced comments from all three presidential candidates saying the same thing, ‘I won’, ‘I won’, and ‘I won’ and ‘Any one fancy some won-ton soup?’

This is nail-biting stuff. Well, it is for us, as the Zimbabweans ate all their fingernails years ago! In fact, an old Rhodesian expression ‘fancy a good nailing?’ which did mean getting a hiding, has now become a Zimbabwean invite for a cup of nail soup!

Anyway – as it is Sunday and you all have time on your hands, you thought it might be informative to pop into lore’s blog and see if he has some updates. Well I have. I managed to get today’s exchange rate. As you can imagine, due to the circumstances it is a little volatile –

1US$ is equal to Zimbabwe Dollars. (Er, the counter ran out of digits, so please add four zeros)

Also, for a bit of a laugh - I came across this interesting website with the name Uncyclopedia. It is a very clever spoof of Wikipedia.

Check out this entry –

http://uncyclopedia.org/wiki/Robert_Mugabe

and this one

http://uncyclopedia.org/wiki/Rhodesia

and, sadly, last but not least –

http://uncyclopedia.org/wiki/Air_Zimbabwe

Vote For Me and See What You Get For Free!

Greetings my fellow Zimbabweans.

As you know, today you will go to the polls and vote for me to remain your leader. It is not in your interests to even consider voting for anyone else. Only I can save you and what is left of your family from being colonised again. Imagine, you would have to work for a pittance and take orders from a White ‘Baas’ who would beat you and have sex with your wife at anytime.

Since I have been in charge, more than 80% of you now no longer have to work! Soon we will emulate successful lands such as the very Democratic Republic of the Congo, where they have worked so hard to make sure that 99% of their population no longer have to work. I and my politburo members have to work of course. Such is our burden of responsibility, but we do so with joy in our hearts, as we know our efforts reap joy and happiness among you all.

Because of our brilliant economic plans, there is no need for most of you to get up early in the morning to go to work. Now you can just ‘hang around’ waiting for handouts. Today, because it is such a special day, I have decided to give all of you presents of grandiose abundance. All you have to do is simply click on the gift and save it to use at any time you like.

We all love a good fry-up, so please except this traditional Zimbabwean breakfast dish (the British imperialists stole the recipe, just like they did in India with the curry) -

You need to drive to the polling station? Please, here, have a Rolls Royce. (You can keep the plane as well.) These were made in Zimbabwe before the arrival of the British land thieves who stole the factory and shipped it to their mud island -

You want a new farm? There are plenty to be had now we took them back, click as many times as you like -

Short of a few Bob? (ha ha, excuse the pun), want to go shopping and need some coin?

Click here -

Tired of cooking? Need a Cook-boy? Well we no longer use that derogative racist term. We call them Chink-boy now. Here, click a Chinkie or two, every well run African land should have several millions of them. Very useful, they even come with their own plastic bags! -

Should you be a complete simpleton and still insist on voting for one of the other pretenders, then you better get a tire which my boys will set alight so you will look like one of these sell-outs –

Finally, I recommend a book by Tim Butcher called Blood River. He recently travelled the entire length of the Congo River and reported of the incredible achievement of the government there who have managed to put the clock back to a time before there were any. If you go to his website

www.bloodriver.co.uk

there are some wonderful pictures of the unique system of African reverse progress.

This is it, or is it?

Reading all the blah blah available and watching some of the limited coverage on TV leading up to today’s election, one wonders why Mugabe even bothers.

The old fart rants that should he sort of lose, which is theoretically impossible, he won’t accept the result, nor will his commanders of the army or the police. If he then wins as predicted, all his best mates (leaders of other dodgy regimes), will rush to congratulate him, giving him his tiny mantle of legitimacy, and the status quo remains.

But, and it is a big but, what will happen if the locals actually decide to kick-up if they decide that they have been robbed yet again and face more of the same? That is the big question.

Let us see what happens tomorrow and the next few days.

----

I have been away, thus the lack of postings. Sorry about that but there will be a few coming in the next few days.

$750.000 Dollars To Be WON!

Yes people, I am willing to give back to my readers something that they have given me; mainly, not a lot!

I have decided to run a competition. The first prize is an amazing three quarters of a million dollars! All you have to do to claim your prize is to win the competition. That way I eliminate the losers. To win is very simple but you need to be clever, so it is not clever to enter the competition if you’re a bit simple.

If you look at the right hand column you will see a green counter. Every time some one takes a peep at this brilliant blog, it registers them and the number goes up. Well, soon it will reach the artistic merit of 22222, so whoever is that one, two two two two two… er… two, gets the prize. To prove this (and I tried it out, so it works) highlight the counter, save the image, and send it to me in an email ( lore-data@hotmail.com) with a maximum word count of 100, as to why I should give you the prize. (Winning comment will be put up on my blog along with a picture of the winner with his wad of cash, should he send me one.) Please note that thanks to Google analytics, I can see any daft twats who decide to keep clicking till they reach the number. Should that be the case, I will disqualify anyone doing more than 5 hits a day.

Just in case you may start to get very excited, I would like to point out that your prize is a brand new, hot off the press, Zimbabwean 750,000 dollar note that is, at today’s rate, worth about 3 British Pence. The stamp will cost me more!

The competition is genuine and I will post the prize.

The Gokwe Kid Strikes Again

How someone’s innocent search for a DVD film caused uproar in the art world.

Ooh – I was planning on posting some other stuff, but it can wait, as I have sensational news! Yes, little me, the infamous Gokwe Kid, the greatest bush detective ever, has unearthed a scandal of all scandals!

Regular readers (if I have any), may recall that I was checking out the Tate Modern art gallery a short while ago. Who cares, you might say!

Anyway, in the cellar, they got this giant crack in the floor. Now, it cost serious money to put it in there. Last year, some artistic Brazilian genius was given some serious bucks (tax-payers, by the way), to create this.

(Hey, you lot. Give me a tenner each, you can come have a look at the cracks in my ceiling. Women only!)

So far, so good – what’s the big fucking deal about a crack in the floor, besides it must have cost £1000 a foot? Very simple, I, through my pure genius of detection, think the whole thing is a sham! Okay, I admit that when I went and looked at it, I was seriously tempted to deposit the wrapping from my POLO sugar-free sweets in it, but was put off by the amount of refuse already in there. The point I am desperately trying to make; is that I think, the giant crack was plagiarised.

In other words, the Tate gallery fell into a very expensive void which was about as original as Hot Cross buns with an extra 25% more currents for free. How do I know this? Well, that’s another story. It all started, long, long time ago…

Once upon a time, in Zimbabwe, my step-mother, along with her late husband, supplemented her income by being a movie extra. One day, a movie company decides that riding the anti-apartheid ticket was always good for a few bucks and seeing that Zimbabwe was sort of like South Africa (having lots of black people living in huts and a few whites living in mansions), they went there in 1989 and made a film call A Dry White Season. Based on the 1979 novel by Andre Brink, it starred Donald Sutherland and a cast that includes sexy kitten Susan Sarandon (Tell us about it Janet!) and Marlon Brando. The story is the usual genre – Blackman good, whiteman evil etc and all bundled up in the millenniums favourite word; Racism.

My Mom was head of history at the exclusive, private St Georges college in Harare at the time. That’s the same one where Peter Godwin went. Most of her pupils, right up until she ended teaching last year actually, were black. The sixth form whites were also used as extras, popped in South African Police uniforms and had a merry time running around kicking in the doors of black peoples huts. There is one scene where Donald is at a rugby match. The camera zooms up on him in the spectators stands and for a few seconds there are Mom and her husband standing behind him chatting! Great stuff. As Mom will be arriving any day now, having had to flee Robb’in Bob the Hood’s madness for a while, I thought it would be cool to get a copy of the film. That way we can both weep over the locations that were once called home. Sniff, shed a few tears.

Unfortunately, there aren’t any DVD cheepies up on Ebay at the moment, so it will have to wait. I have a taped copy from long time ago, but it is in German.

BUT, what has this to do with the crack in the floor? Well according to the blah blah on the Tate’s own website (So read on, you are going to learn something.) –

Doris Salcedo’s Shibboleth is the first work to intervene directly in the fabric of the Turbine Hall. Rather than fill this iconic space with a conventional sculpture or installation, Salcedo has created a subterranean chasm that stretches the length of the Turbine Hall. The concrete walls of the crevice are ruptured by a steel mesh fence, creating a tension between these elements that resist yet depend on one another. By making the floor the principal focus of her project, Salcedo dramatically shifts our perception of the Turbine Hall’s architecture, subtly subverting its claims to monumentality and grandeur. Shibboleth asks questions about the interaction of sculpture and space, about architecture and the values it enshrines, and about the shaky ideological foundations on which Western notions of modernity are built.

In particular, Salcedo is addressing a long legacy of racism and colonialism that underlies the modern world. A ‘shibboleth’ is a custom, phrase or use of language that acts as a test of belonging to a particular social group or class. By definition, it is used to exclude those deemed unsuitable to join this group.

‘The history of racism’, Salcedo writes, ‘runs parallel to the history of modernity, and is its untold dark side’. For hundreds of years, Western ideas of progress and prosperity have been underpinned by colonial exploitation and the withdrawal of basic rights from others. Our own time, Salcedo is keen to remind us, remains defined by the existence of a huge socially excluded underclass, in Western as well as post-colonial societies.

In breaking open the floor of the museum, Salcedo is exposing a fracture in modernity itself. Her work encourages us to confront uncomfortable truths about our history and about ourselves with absolute candidness, and without self-deception.

So, did you get that? It is all about ‘a long legacy of racism and colonialism’. Any bells ringing yet! So let’s presume that Salcedo wakes up one morning and says

‘Blow me down with a feather, why don’t we dig a huge black crack in a white floor and persuade everyone its all about bad white people.’

And the art world yanks at its hair, grovels to the floor and pronounces the entire concept one of pure inspirational genius. The price tag is so horrendous; it just has to be the ultimate in modern art. Think about it, most people pay to get cracks like that filled in!

OR IS IT?

I don’t think Salcedo thought up anything artistic. Someone has done it before! All Salcedo had to do was steal the concept from the original art work and pay some Polish labourers a few pounds to dig a crack and pocket the rest. The actual explanation for the work of art has also been given to her. Yup, you guessed it – A Dry White Season.

I discovered, whilst looking for the film, several copies of the book. But it is the hardcover version printed in September 1979 by publishers WH Allen, that really blew my mind. Without actually buying the book, I don’t know who did the art work for the dust cover, but…take a look at this!

There you go then. Who do I turn too? How can I profit from all this?

Friends, Countrymen and Fellow morons – lend me your beers!

I should be concentrating on proper things but just don’t seem able to at the moment. I am being constantly harassed by people with demands that unless I pull my finger out, I will be going nowhere. I find this rather strange because I hadn’t intended going anywhere anyway! I don’t actually have my finger up my arse; it’s up my right nostril! This is a very African tradition and is still used today whenever someone is confronted with a tricky question, such as

‘Why have you run over the cat with the lawn mower?’

Rather than tell the truth, the person questioned would place a finger in a nostril, gaze into the sky, and say,

‘Hoomba’,

in a sort of tone suggesting neither an answer nor an explanation. At this point the questioner would normally give up.

This is all beside the point. In an effort to expand my mind in a more academic approach than through tins of Carlsberg lager, I have signed onto another Open University course. It is called An Introduction to the Humanities. I realised I was in for trouble when I saw the mountain of stuff I am supposed to read, digest, comprehend and regurgitate in such a way as to prove I have some vague inkling what it is all about. I promptly had panic attacks and spent several mornings vomiting in the wash basin before I plucked up the courage to have a peep.

First bit is about art. Well, paintings actually. The idea is that I will learn to appreciate the difference between a painting costing £2 in a charity shop or one from Christies costing £2 million. Actually I always knew the answer to that one. It’s very simple. The £2 picture is the one you bought because you liked it and the £2 million one is the one you bought (presuming you have that amount of money lying around), because other people like it.

Well I had to look at a colour plate of a painting by Picasso and presuming that I have understood the course material so far, I could give a very good analysis of it.

The particular painting is called Girl in a Chemise. Amazingly, it turns out the thing is hanging up in the Tate Gallery in London, and entry was free! Perfect, so as I happened to be in London for a short visit to catch up on some serious drinking with a few pals, I zipped off to the place. Quite an experience I tell you. I got out at London Bridge underground and was thoroughly lost within seconds, but a kind chap showed me the way and because it turned out he had been born in South Africa I rewarded him with a pinch of the Piri-Piri biltong I had purchased at said underground for an astronomical price.

I hadn’t been around that part of town for a while and although the weather wasn’t actually at its finest, the sights are rather awesome. HMS Belfast, London bridge (the one the stupid Yanks thought they had bought), Millennium bridge (now no longer swaying), St Paul’s, Sir Francis Drake’s Golden Hind; it was just so cool! The Tate Modern is huge and I was rapidly running out of time. So I dashed up to the right floor, found the painting and stood there looking at it and attempted to draw up all my newly learnt skills. Now, as you might have noticed, I have put a picture of this painting at the top of this posting. Maybe take another good look, because guess what? My first reaction, which had me start to break down in hysterical giggles was this…

Amazing, Picasso was the first person to draw Beavis! In 1905! Sigh, I think I am really going to struggle on this course. Before having to dash, I had a look at the crack in ground floor. There must be some serious subsiding to get a crack that big! I don’t know why they haven’t filled it in yet because it is rather dangerous with all the people walking around!

Trying to find the nearest underground, I wandered over the Millennium Bridge, and turned left down Queen Victoria street. I suddenly had this urge to drop a coil and luckily for me there was a public toilet nearby. Sadly it is not very clean; in fact, the place was full of shit! I was forced to find a clear spot in the entrance hall. I took a photo of the front door, so anyone coming to London can be aware of the filthy place!

To wrap up today’s silly posting, I have been occasionally trying to help out my pal Rob who is doing his best to save the planet via Facebook with his Eco-Brigade. Members are signing up fast and furious with almost 1100 people joined but not many of them really having a clue what it is all about! That includes me, but never mind, any contribution that might help us from self extinction just has to be good.

I thought up this novel idea...

Here is a new and really sharp tip on how to save our planet. You do of course realise there are two ways to do this. The passive way, such as wiping your bum with recycled newspapers or the aggressive way, one of which is today’s example. We all hate the Japanese for slaughtering whales in the name of research, so why don’t we do the same! Spearing any old Jap won’t do the trick, you have to go for the rarer species; such as diplomats. All you need is a spear, a sharp fish filleting knife and a large placard displaying - ‘I am now cutting his innards out to scientifically examine them.’ Then simply spear one as it comes out of the embassy for a quick fag and as it flops, pumping blood all over the pavement, start opening him up with the knife whilst waving the placard about and shouting, ‘I do this for the embitterment of mankind’s knowledge of what makes a Japsy tick’.

Next week we will talk about whether foxes should wear fur coats.

I didn’t make this up – it’s impossible!

Zimbabwe is now producing headlines that are definitely stranger than fiction.

Reading through the last few days of the reports posted on the website www.zimbabwesituation, you get a feeling that it would be impossible to make the stuff up.

We have riots in church as a disposed bishop aligned to Mugabe refused to be deposed and used ‘bully boys’ to beat up the congregation –

The Anglican Church in Zimbabwe is beset by devilish behaviour, which has seen ousted Bishop Nolbert Kunonga barricade the cathedral and assault worshippers who do not support him.

All this has to do with money of course, but…
There are banks that have no money because they can’t afford to pick up the new notes from the Reserve bank, but know one is sure whether they have any either.

Because of inflation, now sort of between 68 and 150 thousand percent (snigger, how you get your head around this, I have no idea), they decide to print bigger notes, but because they got next to no ink or paper, there isn’t much of them around. Rumours are that there is a 10.000,000 (ten million) dollar note.

Zimbabwe has joined the crusade of doling out larger denominated
notes. The $10 million note, introduced last month, is the largest note, not
only in Africa but in the world, which analysts say is embarrassing.

In fact, money is so rare in Zimbabwe that one place you can get it is on EBay! For example, if you enter the item number 110222191472the seller informs you that he has –

NEW $250000.00,$500000.00,AND $750000.00 NOTES WERE RELEASED AROUND XMAS TIME AND ARE VERY VERY HARD TO COME BY INDEED.

Although the three notes have a street value of approximately 8 British pence, at the time of this posting, he will let you have them for £20.00!

Another chap, with the amazing name of robbybob (Robbing Bob Mugabe perhaps?) item number - 330210749162is selling one 750,000 note and has bids so far up to and over £10.

Hah hah hah, this is incredible! Only this could happen in Zimbabwe!

---

As you might have heard, there is suppose to be an election in March -

An unusually large number of newly-formed fringe political parties
have emerged since the beginning of the year, all promising to turn around
Zimbabwe’s fortunes once elected to power.

We have the United Democratic People’s Constitution (UDPC), Zimbabwe Integrated Party (ZIP), Voice of the People/Vox Populi (VP), the Zimbabwe Development Party (ZDP), Progressive Anarchy Party (PAP), Let’s Party (LP) etc etc.

The latest on the scene is - I Have No Party (IHNP), which, as we have just learnt, is run by a stray cat called Simba Mukoni. He is a brave little pussy taking on his old Boss Rob Mugabe. Makoni has already been officially declared a ‘sellout’ by the ‘war veterans. In Africa that word, ‘sellout’ is normally a death sentence. I wonder how long it will take before the former politburo member accidentally stalls his car on a railway crossing.

There might not even be an election in March. Well, not until terms have been well hammered out. I.E. - the shit hammered out anyone who has even a hint of upsetting the apple cart. Of course, pointing out that there are no apples in Zimbabwe to put in a cart is just western propaganda.

Just in case there is an election, Bob has been handing out loads of presents to the top boys in the police and army.

Zimbabwe’s police chief Augustine Chihuri this week told senior
officers to back President Robert Mugabe reminding them the veteran leader
had given them farms, resources and other perks, authoritative sources told
ZimOnline. According to our sources one officer, Nonkosi Ncube, who is in charge of police in Mashonaland East province, turned down a white truck she had been allocated insisting she preferred the truck black.
She was assured she would receive a car with the “right colour” next week
when middle-ranking police commanders would receive their vehicles.

Aah, such a crying shame huh..lol, and on the same date of postings we have this –

The World Food Program has scaled up its operations in troubled Zimbabwe
amid a deepening food crisis that threatens 4 million people with hunger and
starvation, the UN aid agency says.

And I also found this…

Kelly David, head of the UN Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs (OCHA) in southern Africa, told IRIN.
"In Malawi, international partners are seeking about $17 million," OCHA
said, adding that flooding had hit 15 of the country's 28 districts,
affecting more than 152,000 people; over 700 cholera cases have been
reported so far and the situation would likely worsen in the coming weeks.
In Zambia $18.5 million was requested to assist 20,000 people, and in
Zimbabwe $15.8 million would be needed to help a further 15,000.”

No problemo, I am sure Bob Geldorf and Bono are writing out cheques this very moment!

Last but not least, they have had to open one of the sluice gates at Kariba to reduce the pressure. It will increase the flooding downstream, but I suppose it is better than the wall falling over. What amazed me was that they managed to scrape the power together to open it…

The Good and the Bad of Kenyans going Mad.

U.N. observers in their department which cover African genocide and wasting money on silly projects, report that machete deaths are lower than expected due to the use of Chinese Imports. Observers flown out to the troubled area, first class, met several of the peace loving tribes embroiled in what looked like post-colonial extended birthing pains.

A senior spokesman for the N’Bonga Slashers tribe, Innocent M’Killa, was quoted to tell them

‘The Chinky shit is useless. Very cheap but the blade is poor metal and the plastic handles snap whilst hacking legs off.’

He went on to demonstrate by striking one of the photographers on the head. Whilst it made an impressive slash, it failed to pass through the skull and the machete had a noticeable warping in the poor quality blade. Innocent M’Killa went on

‘See, he not dead. In the old days, when we were Mau-Mau and hack legs of White farmers’ wives off, we had locally made blades by Lewis Cohen and Brothers of Nairobi, but after we kick the colonial oppressors out, the firm moved to Israel. When we take over from this corrupt government, we will get them to come back. We will bribe them if necessary.’

Meanwhile, the animals in the national parks are grateful for the sudden drop in tourists arriving to gawk at them. Gono the Gnu explained that it is was pure hell being in the industry.

‘Every morning and early evening, the air is thick with dust as hundreds of mini-buses drive around full of bug-eyed charter tourists, with cheap cameras. Worse is when they entrap us. I lost my Auntie last year. The drivers work together and create a trap with some of us stuck in a circle of mini-busses with a pride of lions! It is worse than gladiators in the coliseum!'

The damage to the second highest industry supplying valuable foreign currency (the first is aid, but that mysteriously disappears to Switzerland), was more than apparent in Mombassa. Gigolos on Diani beach are complaining that the lack of overweight, middle-aged frustrated white women to service is giving them serious concern. Their spokesman, MaBigDik, said

‘I would have maybe 40-50 of da bitches a month, but now I am being forced to keep fit by fucking the monkeys and I am worried I might catch some bad disease.’

Sadly for Kenya, world interest to their problems have now been diverted to Chad, where the locals are hell bent on doing what they do best – run around killing people in the name of whatever. This is amazing when you consider that the possible next President of the USA was fathered by a man who once owned a goat in a Kenyan village.

……

When I read about the latest shenanigans in Chad, I was struck by some déjà vu. Okay, when it comes to Africa, they got more coup d'é·tat or take-overs etc., than we have tax increases, but I was sure I read recently about such an event that had me in tears; it was so tragic. After much searching, I found it and reproduce it in its entirety.

Rebels Immediately Regret Seizing Power In Zambia

LUSAKA, ZAMBIA—

Only hours after assuming control of the deeply troubled country in a bloody coup, members of the United Deliverance Front admitted Monday that they might have made a "huge mistake" by seizing power in Zambia.

After months of combat, the United Deliverance Front has this morning taken command of one of Africa's most beleaguered nations, installing itself as the supreme ruler over 11 million desperate, ailing, and angry citizens," UDF leader and new head of state Uwimana Kowrt said. "Dear Jesus, what the hell were we thinking?"

According to Kowry, who claimed that plans to overthrow the ruling administration "made sense at the time," celebration was cut short Monday morning when the victorious rebels realized that they were now in charge of a country crippled by drought and widespread food shortages.

"For years, we watched our beloved homeland suffer from strife and infirmity, knowing that something drastic had to be done," UDF second-in-command Ngoube Mtumbe said. "Why we decided that that something was to take over this godforsaken graveyard of a country instead of just getting the fuck out, I'll never know."

"We did not sign up for this," he added. "Seven-hundred-thousand AIDS orphans? Come on!"

Mtumbe, a UDF fighter with over 14 years of demolitions experience and nearly three hours of administrative practice, said that members of the rebellion were so caught up in the bloodthirsty struggle for power that they lost sight of what it would mean to be in power in a country as terrible as Zambia.

The fact that there wasn't a single standing railroad bridge, power station, or radio tower for us to destroy should have been a pretty clear sign that Zambia wasn't exactly the most stable of places," Mtumbe said. "Our supposed capitol building doesn't even have a front door, for crying out loud."

Mtumbe, who was trying to figure out what paperwork was necessary to declare a national state of emergency, said he was still kicking himself for killing countless U.N. peacekeepers well-acquainted with the complicated relief process, and for decapitating the Minister of Transportation, who was "obviously in that position for a reason."

The mood among UDF soldiers quickly worsened when they realized it was up to them to pick up the pieces after a very recent and destructive uprising.

"And to think we were so proud to catch government forces in [the city of] Harbel by surprise," UDF General Gahiji Boshoso said. "Those lucky bastards were probably just as relieved as they were shocked that anyone would want to be in charge of such a nightmarish wasteland. Even parts of Nigeria are better than this, and that's one of the worst countries on earth."

Added Boshoso: "Would it have killed us to take over Estonia instead—you know, a country with running water?"

Though the group went to the trouble of training an army of largely underage soldiers, purchasing military weapons on the black market, and steeling themselves for atrocities of war, many said they would never have gone through with the final assault had they realized just how dire the situation in Zambia was.

"After losing so many friends and family members, and ruthlessly slitting the throats of more innocent civilians than I can count, I expected my reward to be a little sweeter than this," said Kowry, who claimed that he wished dealing with the World Bank Food Program was as simple as assassinating former ruling-party loyalists. "None of the blood that covered our streets nor the carnage that choked our cities could have even remotely prepared us for these pathetic annual GDP figures."

"Frankly, we're amazed there was even a president to overthrow in the first place," he added. "All we can hope for now is that another band of utterly naïve rebels comes along to put us out of our misery."

Source – The Onion

http://www.theonion.com/content/node/56093

Tycoon Van Hoogstraten arrested in Zimbabwe

Good News From Zimbabwe!

It is rare to see a headline like this, but this is really good news. Okay – admittedly after you read the article about my dearest best friend (not), he won’t be spending much time in one of Mugabe’s jail, but still, it is nice to see the bastard squirm a bit.

This great news is being posted in most news web sites. I lifted this from the Observer. It makes great reading. It is also worth checking him out on wikipedia -

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nicholas_van_Hoogstraten

In 1968, at the age of 23, this piece of nasty work was reputed to be Britain’s youngest millionaire!

Mugabe apologist is accused of flouting currency exchange laws and possessing pornography

Jamie Doward
Sunday January 27, 2008

The Observer

The notorious property tycoon Nicholas van Hoogstraten has been arrested in Zimbabwe on charges of breaking the troubled country's currency exchange laws and possessing pornography.

The move is being seen in some quarters as part of a plan by Zimbabwean President Robert Mugabe to seize his once close supporter's multi-million-pound business empire, which spans mining, tourism and property interests.

Police detained Van Hoogstraten after a raid on his home last Thursday, charging him with collecting rent on his properties in foreign currency. Zimbabwean law prohibits the payment of foreign currency for local goods and services.

The arrest represents an astonishing reversal in fortunes for the multi-millionaire father-of-five, who divides his time between Zimbabwe and Hamilton Place, his half-built, £40m mansion in Sussex, from where he runs the British end of his empire. Van Hoogstraten, 62, has made much of his money in Zimbabwe, thanks to his close relationship with Mugabe's Zanu-PF party. He owns about 200 residential and business properties in Zimbabwe, according to the police, has significant investments on the Zimbabwe stock exchange, and reportedly owns an estimated 600,000 hectares in the country.

However, crippling inflation has sent Zimbabwe into political and economic turmoil. The country's central bank chief, Gideon Gono, recently blamed the crisis on 'cash barons', whom he accuses of hoarding Zimbabwean dollars and exchanging them for foreign currency.

According to the police, when arrested Van Hoogstraten was in possession of US$37,586, 92,880 South African rand and £190, as well as 20bn Zimbabwe dollars, worth around US$3,333 on the black market.

In what seems to have been a carefully orchestrated media operation by the authorities, news bulletins showed police parading Van Hoogstraten before state television cameras holding wads of money. 'Van Hoogstraten is being charged under the exchange control regulations for charging a service and dealing in foreign currency,' said Zimbabwean police spokesman Wayne Bvudzijena.

He added that the tycoon had demanded six months' rent in foreign currency from his tenants, one of whom had been an informant. 'The police informant had been asked to pay in the region of US$8,000,' Bvudzijena said, adding that the tycoon also faced charges linked to pornographic material found in his house. If found guilty, Van Hoogstraten will face a fine and be forced to hand over the foreign money, according to local media reports.

Until recently Van Hoogstraten was a firm supporter of Mugabe and has boasted of his close relationship with the President. He has said Mugabe was one of the first people to offer him congratulations on his release from prison after being jailed for manslaughter. He has also criticised newspaper reporting about the regime in Zimbabwe.

There was speculation last night that his arrest may have more to do with Zimbabwe's changing political landscape than his alleged currency violations. David Banks, a close observer of political developments in Zimbabwe, who has met Van Hoogstraten and advises MPs on the country's state of affairs, said it had always been a question of when, rather than whether, the tycoon fell out with Mugabe. 'This is a brutal dictator who murdered friends and colleagues when they threatened his grip on power, so why should he worry about what happens to Van Hoogstraten?' Banks asked.

With elections due in March, Van Hoogstraten's arrest was a political move designed to shore up Mugabe's position, Banks suggested. 'Mugabe is running out of patronage,' he said. 'There is a shortage of sweeteners he can offer to try to buy support. His arrest may signal Mugabe intends to start seizing Van Hoogstraten's assets.'

Van Hoogstraten's arrest is the latest in a long line of clashes with the law. In the Sixties Van Hoogstraten - who has referred to his tenants as 'scum' - was jailed for four years for arranging for a hand grenade to be thrown through the window of someone who owed him money. In 2002 he was convicted of manslaughter and sentenced to 10 years in jail after a business associate, Mohammed Raja, was shot and killed by two hired hitmen. He appealed against the conviction, which was overturned in 2003. In 2005 a civil court ordered that Van Hoogstraten pay the murdered man's family £6m in damages.

http://observer.guardian.co.uk/world/story/0,,2247693,00.html

A Mad Genius is Dead

Okay… Bobby lost his marbles a long time ago, but man oh man, could he play chess or what?

I rushed this together – a small tribute to someone who gave me so much excitement in 1972 when I was a kid playing chess.

Time Out!

Just an amazing quickie…

I have been watching on TV and reading on-line with great interest the run-up to the American Presidential elections. I came across an article which did some mud slinging about Bill Clinton’s old days and his habit of wanting to stuff as many voters (female) as possible with his own brand of political zeal. By following some of the sleaze, I blundered upon this YouTube. For the life of me, I cannot fathom the point of it!

My conclusion…Americans are seriously scary people! This film is a boxing contest between a woman who was prodded by Bill’s middle leg and a woman who tried to break a leg of her closest rival. This is so bizarre!

Tonya Harding vs Paula Jones

Jumbos, then and now.

Sitting in the delayed plane at Heathrow, as I peered through dense fog outside the window, noting the shivering deported asylum seekers strapped to the wings, my thoughts wandered to the early ‘70s when I first flew in one of these monsters of the skys…

I was a small kid going to see Mummy in the UK. In those days it took ages to book, pay and get a ticket. I think my Father had to book almost a year in advance. There would be all sorts of paper work involving foreign currency allowances etc, but one day the tickets would be there to be picked up. They were really impressive. A thin little book, full of flimsy sheets of paper, all with red carbon on the back.

Then the day would come and the whole family traipsed to Salisbury airport to see me off. Checking in was a breeze. No security scans, no daft questions, no men with lollipops checking your genitals. In fact, time and mad Arabs have reversed everything. Now you can book online in seconds but need hours to actually get on the plane. In the early ‘70s it was all so romantic. After checking in the luggage the family would go up to the ‘observation’ balcony. There we could gaze down on the brand new Boeing 747 of South African Airways and smell the fumes of avgas whilst I sipped a rare glass of coke and my parents drank tea. Then the flight would be announced and I would pass swiftly through customs and immigration, walk across the tarmac and board the monster.

I remember that first trip on the Jumbo very well because I was the kid from hell! Using my natural charm (whinging, moaning and wailing), I was allowed to check out the cockpit, wander around First Class, including a visit ‘up-stairs’ and after much yowling, was escorted through the duty-free at Jan Smuts airport (the plane first went back to SA), to purchase huge amounts of chocolate. Back on board, I was forced to part reluctantly with £1 for a pair of earphones to listen to the on-board entertainment. This was a real con. The music was piped. The ear phones were nothing more than hollow plastic tubes you stuck in the armrest and the other end in your ears. You were also supposed to give them back! No chance of that. In fact I managed to thieve three more pairs which I flogged for 50 pence each to my fellow inmates on the return trip.

There was plenty to keep me entertained. Between wolfing down copious amounts of chocolate, I made frequent visits to the toilets. Inside were loads of plastic bottles of fancy stuff like Ode-To-The Toilet, Channel 69 stinky stuff, little bars of soap with the cool SAA springbok logo, hand creams, face creams, all beautifully embossed. I thieved the lot! My hand luggage under the seat was bulging. If I had had more space I would have taken the cool looking life jacket as well.

The service was excellent. Every few minutes I would push one of the buttons on the armrest and a white servant would appear to take yet another order for a tin of coke. I poured the stuff down my neck as fast as they could be delivered. Dinner was superb. A lovely huge chunk of steak, but things went slightly wrong in the middle of the mid-flight film. I even recall what it was. 40 Carats It was about some old hag messing about with some young dago, when suddenly, without warning - I vomited. Buckets of the stuff! Coke, steak and chocolate streamed out, all over the seat in front and all over me. I had a huge stinking puddle of the muck filling my lap, with partly digested lumps of steak bobbing around like fishing corks. I landed up moaning in pain, stretched out on the floor by an emergency exit. The servants flatly refused to wash my trousers and I had to try and clean them up in the tiny sink, where much to my disgust, I discovered some bastard had stolen all the soap!

Well, 36 years later, here I was in another giant vomit bucket, but I wasn’t feeling sick – this time I was shitting myself with fear and people could smell it. Heathrow is stuck bang in the middle of west London. If the plane runs out of runway, it ploughs into enough houses to make way for the new Olympic stadium. Not like the runway in Salisbury all those years ago. Did you know, that at that time Salisbury airport was the longest in the world? The story goes that SAA phoned the airport and told them that if they wanted the new Jumbo to land there, they would have to extend the runway. The bloke on the phone in Salisbury said it would not be a problem, but after hanging up realised that he had forgotten to ask exactly how long it should be.

Too embarrassed to phone back, he hazarded a guess and reckoned a couple miles should do it. In fact, when they finally ran out of tar to lay, at an amazing 15502 feet (2.9 miles!) it went into the Guinness Book of Records as the longest civil runway in the world that no one had any use for. I also recall that in the same edition, Rhodesia also had the world record for the largest farm, somewhere in the lowfeld, where every cow had about 200 acres to get lost in.

Anyway, Dec 2007, back in the giant sardine can, the plane just went on and on and on. The engines were screaming, I was farting and after what seemed an eternity, the thing finally lumbered up, grazing half a dozen chimneys in the process….

The headphones were free this time but not worth stealing. The movie selection was impressive but sadly blew up in the middle of watching Casino Royale…

To be continued

Here is the next YouTube from Nambia.

Finally, to end today’s posting, I have been asked to tell you about my mate Robert Fowler and his ambition to change the world whilst based in his newly purchased lodge in Victoria Falls. He wants to revolutionise tourism by making it eco-friendly. This he has decided to do via Facebook. So if you use Facebook, search for Ben Gula's Eco-Brigade

Quite a few people have joined. There is a rather disturbing video about ‘canned’ hunting.

Next thing is to try and arrange some free lodgings at his pad. It looks quite cool.

Planes, Trains and Automobiles

What an end and start from one year to another! It seems to have been some time since I last wrote anything. One reason was writer’s fatigue, combined with a dash of blockage and wrapped up in a classical Bavarian diagnosis of the dreaded Nullbock-a-rissmuss disease. For those unacquainted with the dialect of the southern Germans, it means, Cant-be-arsed.

But now I return from scribblers’ paralysis to plague your brain cells with wonders of witless words, guaranteed to shift all that undigested Xmas puddings that are still putrefying in your lower gut. Hopefully you all had a wonderful festive season, drowning your sorrows with credit card subsidised alcohol, I had no such luck. Will 2008 be a better year? Better than what? I suppose you could think of your worst year of your life ever, and then say, ‘Well, I do hope that despite the forthcoming divorce, the house repossession, the courts appearance for tax evasion and the ever increasing unlikeness that the national health service will supply me with a liver transplant within the next 300 days; 2008 will surely be better than 1967 - as that was the year I ran over my pet rat with my bicycle.’

Look at the mystery picture below. Who is that man and what is his name? That bit is easy, because that is little me! But, where am I? Aah, welcome to the magical mystery tour. From the mental wasters of Northern Wales to the Desert wastes of Namibia, Southern Africa, I have been on adventures galore and even saw some pussies. Lions, that is, and best of all – I got pictures of places where even flies don’t bother going on holiday to.

To get there and back, I had to use planes, trains and automobiles. Just like the hilarious classic of that name, with Steve Martin and John Candy, my trip was plagued with misadventures and the occasional NBF. Just like in the movie, I attract New Best Friends (NBF) like starving Dafurian children attract flies to their dripping nostrils in every footage we see coming out of the place. (Jeez, let’s kick start the year with some serious anti-pc). I can’t help it! Every boring, lonesome loser homes on to me like I’m the best thing since the Salvation Army gave out tokens for the off-licence instead of pisshead’s soup. You know the type. As soon as you mistakenly make eye contact they pounce and inundate you with questions and have body language reminiscent to Michael Jackson watching a Johnson’s Baby Oil advert.

Another thing that is almost as annoying as having a NBF, is to suffer from LSQ syndrome. I have all my life and it is incurable. Long Short Queue syndrome afflicts the tiny percent of the population who will sweat buckets scanning and struggling through masses of people (like at Heathrow Airport) looking for the shortest queue to check-in , grin triumphantly around at having found it, and one hour later go into cardiac arrest as you realise your flight has been called and the queue you are standing in is being served by the winner of this years Rip Wan Winkle award for sleeping on the job whilst pretending to look busy. This is whilst your NBF behind you is trying to impress you with his knowledge of Wales by explaining that he was stationed once, in the early ‘70s, in Portmadog with the navy. This is highly unlikely as the place is barely big enough for a train station and the only navy I have seen in the place was on the side of a bottle of rum in the pub.

Well, actually, the bloke behind me in the queue at Munich airport on the 22^nd December was actually a rather witty individual. (The really bad NBF comes later.) An American, married to an Italian, flying to Milan for Xmas and flight delayed. Me? My flight back to London, after visiting the kids, had been cancelled. The Krauts pushed the blame onto the Tommies. ‘Zee having zee bad fock in Hit-row’, said the nice blonde, blue eyed supreme being, who reminded me of an Ayron poster pin-up for the Deutsche version of Brokeback Mountain , at Lufthansa passenger service desk. This was after almost two hours of queuing. Of course, what he meant was, ‘They have bad fog in Heathrow’, which could be, but what the hell has that to do with you bastards only operating one service desk? I kid you not, the efficient Germans are no more. By the time I was told to catch a ride (if I am lucky) with British Airways, the amount of people wanting to be serviced had grown to a weary line at least 60 metres long.

Things can only get worse. They did! Starving and dying of thirst, I was eventually tossed like the old rag that I am, on to some British Airways flight, that having been delayed more times than a Zimbabwean economic revival, had a pilot dead-bent on a suicide mission and attempted to land a plane crammed with petrified passengers on a runway covered in a mantle of fog thick enough to spread on a BA dried out bread bun. Anticipating this I cleverly emptied my innards prior to landing, thus, should the worse come to worse, the plane crashes, I wouldn’t be fried in my own shit encrusted pants.

Now safely landed, it should have been much ado about nothing until I realised I had no baggage. Well I did but that had disappeared, which, to put it mildly, was a bit of a pisser. Since I was flying the next day to Africa, this was a tad inconvenient, not to mention downright serious bad news! For the one and only time in my life I had separated my body from my file-o-fax. In it was every access code for everything. Nice one! Also my beloved Swiss Army knife. Any man knows, you don’t go anywhere without one of them. If you neglect to take one, sure enough, a horse will turn-up with a pebble stuck in its hoof and you are left embarrassingly explaining to its frantic rider, that as a former Boy Scout, you have failed miserably due to heavy fog.

There was also another small problem. The camera was also inside the missing suitcase, complete with the brand new 2GB chip. Just bought for this trip! Actually, this came as a blessing in disguise because it meant being forced to buy another one, and that’s when I did a clever thing. After checking out the various mini-digi toys at the Vat free shop in the departure lounge and concluding a modern 35mm beast was - a) too bulky and b) taking the piss on the price, a Sony Cyber shot was purchased. The latest. It is unquestionably the stupidest designed camera on the market. There are buttons in the way of thumbs and knobs that twirl around just by breathing on them. BUT it has one amazing advantage. This little mini SLR looker, has the most genius of Carl Zeiss lens, that zooms an incredible 38-380mm! Okay, the f stops aren’t exactly very clever, but considering its size and speed of reload, it is a babe!

With a 2GB card and set to 5 mill pixs plus, it is perfect for the very serious amateur.

So, I will tell you more of my adventures over the next few days, but to kick start the whole malarkey off, here is a 3 minute YouTube of the first part. I tried to dub in some Namibian Folk Music, but sadly the PC wasn’t having it.

Till Part Two. Stay tuned, there are more great pictures to come, including the amazing sand dunes of the SouSouVlei and more hilarious observations…