If you're in any way interested in the Lebanon Crisis please read this blog. Forget about CNN.
The World Cup is over, but as the Italians celebrate over the next few days, another world cup plays itself out at our home on the farm.
I’ve had crickets in my shoes and spiders in my stack of Jerseys. We found one snake between our feet one summer’s day, while I was cooking, and another seeking warmth from the approaching winters cold, behind the refrigerator. They we’re all photographed and returned to the veld.
We’ve always had field mice in the ceiling and lived with it, as we do with the mosquitoes and annoying flies during summer.
But the newcomers are downright intrusive and noisy. With them they bring filth and disease, not to mention the ability to spread wanton destruction wherever they make their home. Not unlike Nazi vandals let loose in a Jewish cemetery.
Yes, fellow citizens. Rats have invaded our home!
At first we tried to ignore the scurrying, up and down the length of the ceiling of the house. But, when they continued noisily into the early hours of the morning, and started entering the house, I decided to have a look see what can be done about the menace. Two nights ago I grabbed a ladder and armed with a piece of rubber piping, climbed up the ladder and eased open the trapdoor.
I had no idea what to expect, but visions of a fat albino rat in the corner, popping out newborn rat-vandals, every few seconds, did pass fleetingly through my vivid imagination.
So I decided to get the lead-light from the garage first. You know, so I can see where I’m going and not fall through the ceiling and land at dearest’ feet in the lounge. I should mention here that I have an absolute hate for the furry fuckers. I don’t fear them, I just hate them. (Some dignity restored, I hope)
Anyhow, back at the ladder, I opened the door, and shone the light around. I heard them scurrying in all directions and saw shadows rising and falling as I called back to my brother to hold the light so I could move freely.
In the middle against the nearest wall was The Nest. A large mound of grass and twigs, with a few dead mice in various stages of decay, scattered nearby. After we established that the rats had left the building, we started by plugging all the holes and cracks along the roof.
Little did we know that they were in fact hiding under the foam insulation around the geyser, and would be back to their semi-final playoff the moment we had closed the door and returned to the lounge.
The following night we returned to the lair and removed the nest and all the foam insulation, and closed more holes we missed the previous night.
And finally last night there was no noise at all. The rat poison we had left was all but finished, and the dead rats in the garden was a telltale sign that at least the stuff works. I will do some more cleaning over the weekend and lay out some more poison
Seb Blatter closed the 2006 World Cup Final on Sunday. Hopefully the Rat final ended last night.
At first I thought I would support France to win the World Cup Final, as I was very impressed with their improvement over the course of the Cup. But within minutes of hearing that France were the favourites to take the coveted Gold Trophy, I changed my mind and decided to support the underdogs, as is my nature.
It was a brilliant final and with Italy levelling the score, I knew it was going to be a cracker. Not even Zidane’s head butt-episode marred a thrilling Kick-off to Penalty-kick final.
What A twit Zidane must have felt like anyway. Either, a Not-Too-Pleasant comment was made of his Algerian Background, or mention was made of his mother making a killing in the red-light district.
I couldn’t care less if you had bad-mouthed my mother, I would have had a one on one with you, after the match.
It’s not the first time either. Back in Oct. 2000 he head butted Jochen Kientz in a Juventus vs. Hamburg, UEFA champions league match. Also remember the stomping of a Saudi Arabian in the ’98 World Cup finals.
Not to worry. He’s sure to apologise, if he hasn’t already, and be forgiven by his millions of adoring fans. That is the way the soccer-cookie crumbles. Marradona’s fans still blame everything but the man, when it comes to his wrongdoings. Why should Zidane’s fans be any different?
The whole world just loves to blame everything on the United States, and in particular George Bush, as he leaves himself open to so much criticism. For once however, I have to agree that his failure to push for the ratifying of the Kyoto Protocol makes the US no worse than those countries that have signed the treaty. 163 countries for instance, have ratified the Kyoto Protocol, yet those countries do no more or less, than the US or Australia that have not ratified the treaty, to reduce 
emissions.
South Africa was one of the original signatories, yet every morning and evening I’m treated to the most beautiful sunrises and sunsets to and from work, which are only more remarkable because the pollution accentuates the colours so well. The pictures(click to enlarge) are not of low cloud cover on the western horizon, but pollution formed into lines by a slow northern breeze that blows in from Soweto and the surrounding informal settlements
The most remarkable thing about this is the fact that all these households, including the informal settlements have electricity. Yet, they continue to buy dark coal from the street to burn in drums and old coal stoves. And how does Mbeki propose to teach newspaper vendors not to burn tyres by the side of the road to keep warm at 5 in the morning?
Sign what you want, but if you don’t make a concerted effort to educate your population as to what the long-term effect of their little indiscretions are, you can tear up the documents and use it to keep yourself warm in your corner office at the Union Buildings.
Have a nice day, and remember.. don't blame me for your second-hand smoke inhalation!
It seems that just as I slide into happydom, something always comes along to fuck my day up, right and royally. It’s pretty much a fuck up from day one, when you’re just not interested in people and all you want is to be left alone and do as you please. Wake up early, switch on ‘NFS-Most wanted’, and while away a few hours, pissing off cops, as you race around in a Lamborghini or Aston Martin trying to get to the top of the “blacklist”.
It’s never going to happen. People have different agendas, and no matter how much you try to appease everyone, there’s always a missing happy-chromosome somewhere, and my sweaty palms soon turn to dried up frustration. The house fills with other beings and I give up.
Maybe if I fix some things around the house, I’ll be rewarded with some free-time to do some work on my computer, but fixing the bed leads to fixing the bathroom door to fixing the timing on the car to being too damn irritable to change the channel on the TV because my free-wheeling brother ‘tells’ me to, and I fold back into the black velvety folds of my safety zone, for a minute or two before the screaming starts again.
From that which is mine, I get no pleasure anymore.
Take it all; just give me back the peace and quiet that is me.
