Go away already!
Sorry, dear reader, I don't mean you, though it may be in your interests to keep a safe distance.
I'm talking about my cold. As the saying goes - I have a colt in by dose and a coffin by chest. Exceptionally annoying, because I have only recently got rid of the last one.
Of course I categorically state that it's NOT The Flu'. I have already written extensively about my dislike for the flippant way people with head colds always claim they have a bout of the dreaded influenza. It makes Flu' seem like something ridiculously mild, like a paper cut or an in-growing nostril hair.
(“Oooh, I had a flu' earlier today, just before tea, but it's gone now.”)
What I have is just a bad cold. An annoying cold. It's that sort of cold that makes your life a misery, then lies dormant in your system for a while, perhaps giving you enough time to hug and kiss your family and friends, thus converting them into miserable sneezing and coughing wretches, and then returns when you least expect it. BAM!
And the sad thing is that, as bad as a cold gets, it's not serious enough.
Really. It's not serious enough to put you on your back and have your family waiting on you hand and foot.
It's not serious enough to cause friends and acquaintances and perhaps the chairlady of the 'Sedgefeld Bobotie Guild' to queue at your door with steamingly delicious dishes and pots of health-giving chicken soup that Mrs Ed thankfully didn't cook.
It's not serous enough to allow you to set up camp on the WMCC (World's Most Comfortable Couch) and watch your whole 17hour Bay-Watch collection whilst your family goes to school / work before coming home to make you tea and mop your forehead.
No, it's what I call a 'Debilit Cold'. In other words it's only half debilitating.
You don't want to do anything, and you don't want to do nothing.
I hate being in the 'twilight Zone' of health. Really. I get so grumpy I'm like Mrs Ed woken up from hibernation with a migraine. Talking of Mrs Ed, she often thinks that having a cold affects my hearing, but that's just something I let her believe, because it's safer that way, isn't it?
Why? Ask any man. When you have an annoying head cold you really have to take the time to choose your answers.
For example, rushing into an answer to the simple question “How are you feeling?” can cause no end of problems. If you answer
“Oooh, terrible!”, you will most likely be hit with
“Well it would be really silly to be going out in the cold to watch rugby at the pub, now wouldn't it? I think you should really stay home and go to bed. Come on, up you go….”
Or worse yet:
“Ok, you need to swallow these two pills…. Done? Ok, now remember you cannot have any beer at all for the next 24 hours because the alcohol will react with the medication and you will die a sad and agonizing death.”
With this in mind the temptation is to go with the more heroic answer when hit with that question, and blurt out
“I'm absolutely fine thank you. On top of the world!”
But then you can be pretty sure the response will be
“I'm so glad you are feeling better, my Sweet I hate it when you are ill, and you've got so much to catch up on! Now you can take the rubbish out, and mow the lawn, and I really feel we need to start moving furniture about, just the really heavy stuff and only for a couple of hours or so, until I realize that it was perfect the way we had it in the first place….”
Or the agonizing
“So you can come with us? That's fantastic! We're going on a family shopping trip to George to find the MCM (Money Consuming Machine) a Matric dress, and shoes, and I need an outfit for your niece's wedding, and there's new stock in the nurseries now, and I'd like to buy PERFECT birthday presents for 16 of my friends you don't know, not to mention the 487 hours (or until death, which ever comes first) I will want to spend browsing around that shop of absolutely no consequence or interest at all except that it gives you a rather interesting urge to chew off your own arm…….”
So it really is a lose lose situation, having a cold. And of course it plays havoc with all the best plans, doesn't it? I was once warned that even the mildest cough can render any sort of athletic activity fatal!
“LISTEN TO YOUR BODY!” all the top sports medical advisors say.
So, being the serious athlete that I am, when I woke up at five thirty on Saturday morning and thought Wow, wouldn't it be nice to leap out of bed and do a 20km run, and perhaps swim across the lagoon, followed by a mountain bike ride to George, over the steep, back passes of course, what happened? I had to fight off the urge, naturally- having a cold and a tight chest made it just too dangerous, I HAD TO LISTEN TO MY BODY.
So in a fit of depression all I could do was roll over and force myself to go back to sleep, until about 11am..
Even then I couldn't even help Mrs Ed make the bed, or wash the dishes it would have been just too risky!
Don't you feel sorry for me? Worse yet, when I spoke to my body after lunch, it said it really felt I had to relax for a while in the horizontal position, and cancel all my exciting Saturday afternoon plans to clear out the garage. This was most disappointing because the old bearded dragon had been on at me for months to sort the garage out. It has admittedly been a total mess for the last fourteen years and we do now need somewhere to park the replacement Edgemobile out of rust's way. So, as a special treat to Mrs Ed (as I tried to explain to her) I had set aside the afternoon and the whole of Sunday to pack everything neatly in boxes, throw away all the old appliances, clear out all the expired paint tins and hang my tools up in alphabetical order….. really I had!
“But now I can't do it, my love” I murmured weakly to her from the folds of my hammock “I HAVE TO LISTEN TO MY BODY.” To emphasise my point I closed my eyes in a grimace of disappointed discomfort, and lay back, breathing heavily through my mouth.
“Of course you do,” she smiled, dropping several pills down my throat before I could splutter an objection, “Of course you do…” she said again as she grabbed the freshly opened quart of amber nectar from the table next to me and poured it out over the flower bed, “I fully understand that you have to listen to your body,” she said as she nonchalantly pulled on the hammock rope knot, collapsing me into an aching heap on the floor.
"Tell me, what's it saying now?"
"It says it thinks you might have just broken its back..." was all I could groan.
Thursday, July 18, 2013
Thursday, July 4, 2013
Buying a car..ar..ar..ar
After being out of the 'Car Purchasing Market' for the last 10 years, the sad loss of our trusty delivery vehicle the Edge-mobile necessitated me venturing back in.
Being the techno-minded man that I am (I can sms, bbm and sometimes even manage to answer my cell phone without cutting the caller off) the first place I looked for a potential replacement vehicle (after the EDGE classifieds of course) was the Wobbleyou Wobbleyou Wobbleyou. The interweb. And wow, was I IMPRESSED! It makes it all so simple that even a mechanically challenged buffoon like me can find any sort of vehicle he wants … and there are so many wonderful bargains to choose from.
Or so I thought…..
After making note of numerous likely vehicles I finally chose the one that I believed would suit our needs… and boy did it look great. A 2nd hand, customized Ford F650 XLT V10 gas pickup, in shiny black with flames painted on the sides! “All the truck a man could need plus extras, for only 30 Grand” the advert read.
I deftly clicked on 'email seller' and asked the usual intelligent questions….
Did the furry dice hanging on the mirror and the horns mounted on the bonnet come with the vehicle?
Was it really as wide as it appeared in the picture?
I also asked if he was aware that he had mistakenly flipped this picture in his advert which made it look like the steering was on the wrong side.
Having clicked 'send' I waited for a swift reply, all the while doing a bit of research to see where Algansee was on the map. With such an Afrikaans name I hoped it was somewhere in the Cape so I would be able to bus there, pick up the pick-up, and drive back, all within a couple of days.
But I had to wait until the following morning before a message landed in my inbox. Apparently Algansee, Michigan, USA (population 2,061) is in a different time zone to us. And, as the seller pointed out (With a tad too much unwarranted sarcasm, I thought), even if I was prepared to pay him thirty grand (US Dollars!) for the pick-up, at only 12 miles to the gallon it might cost me a tidy sum more to drive the wretched thing back.
Who wants a vehicle with a naked lady painted on the front anyway?
So I resumed my WWW quest, this time asking Uncle Google to limit his search to 'vehicles for sale in the Garden Route, South Africa'. I must say this bought my options down somewhat, but there were a few available, and though they were certainly no Ford F650XLT's (and not one of them had any sort of flame motif) there were some that looked like they might serve the purpose, if the pictures were anything to go by….
Unfortunately, however, the same 'simplicity' that the internet offers car buyers, applies to some of the sellers too. Any buffoon, it seems, can SELL a car on the internet. One would have thought that there would be some sort of IQ test that one would have to pass before becoming an online vehicle marketer… but alas no. In fact, after a while I started thinking that perhaps 'Buffoonery' was a pre-requisite for selling a vehicle on the internet.
“Hello? I'm phoning about the advert for the Ford Bantam….”
“Er… Ja”
“Your advertisement says good condition, no rust , engine needs a little TLC…. What would that mean Does it need cleaning? A bit of paint? Or is it something worse, like replacing an air filter or something?” (Being under the impression that TLC was an acronym for Tender Loving Care, I was secretly hoping all I had to do was immerse the engine in a nice hot tub with bath salts, rub its back for a while and perhaps bring it a cup of Horlicks)
“No man, the engine's good. It's er… not got any problems… it's just the gearbox.”
“Oh, the gearbox needs TLC?”
“No… The engine needs a gearbox.”
And so it went, from vehicle to vehicle, seller to seller.
“Hello? The VW Caddy you advertised on the net?”
“Yes sir?” “It says brilliant condition?”
“Yes sir, absolutely top condition. Not even a scratch, and the engine - one of the best runners I've ever had.” “Great! No TLC needed?”
“No sir!” “Perfect. Well I am very interested, just tell me one more thing… ummm… if you don't mind me asking…. Is the gearbox all ok… I mean, it has one, I take it?”
“Of course sir, it certainly did,”
“Great! Hang on…. Did you say 'did'? Does the engine not have a gearbox anymore?”
“Of course it does sir, I saw the vehicle going past the other day and she looked to be driving fine!” “I'm not with you…. You saw it….?”
"Yes sir, the lady I sold it too last January was driving… Actually I can't believe that advertisement is still on the net….”
Eventually I found a man who made sense. He ran a second hand car spot in Oudtshoorn and had two vehicles that would certainly suit my needs. I must say, the pictures were pretty impressive, as was his guarantee.
“My reputation depends on supplying quality vehicles. Come and drive one of these babies and you will not be disappointed!” he said.
So I took the Friday off and, with my Brother in Law at my side for company (I had convinced him that it was really going to be a matter of choosing between the two immaculate vehicles, then back over the mountain again for an ice cold beer), off we went to the Ostrich Capital of the World.
Incidentally. You know there's a rumour that the swim-wear models in FHM are quite different to how they appear in the magazine, because all the photographs have been cunningly airbrushed to make them look thinner, more curvaceous and blemish-free….?
Well I think I've found the man who does it. I think he supplements his meagre airbrushing salary by selling vehicles in Oudtshoorn.
“Is this the Bantam that was in the picture?” I asked incredulously (It's amazing what disbelief can do - Before arriving in Oudtshoorn I couldn't even SPELL incredulously, and there I was ASKING in it).
“Yes sir,” he smiled, “A real work-horse. These bakkies never ever break down. And now I've rebuilt the engine, and gear box and done the brakes, all she needs is a lick of paint and you'll be home free.”
“A lick of… Where is the tailgate?... and the passenger door…? Do I need to paint those on, perhaps? Can I paint over this gaping crater in the driver's seat upholstery, do you think?” (Any John Cleese fans out there will be able to imagine the slightly sarcastic lilt I added to my voice at that stage).
But we had come all the way to Oudtshoorn, so I had to abandon my immediate urge to insert a well-worn spark plug into the man's left nostril, and concentrate on the job at hand.
“What about the other bakkie? The Nissan 1400 you advertised,” I asked, ever-hopeful.
“Ah sir… you will have to move quickly on that one,” he oozed, sauntering betwixt the mechanical debris to a back courtyard,
“There are two or three others interested in her, but I know how desperate your need is, sir so I have held them off for a while.”
We stopped at a pile of old metal and rubber which had obviously dropped out of the sky onto one of his staff, because a pair of overalled legs was sticking out from underneath.
“Here it is,” the salesman said, seemingly oblivious of the man's fate and proudly waving his hand in the direction of said pile. “Our mechanic is just giving the gearbox a little TLC, and then it's just the clutch, the tie rod ends, the respray and a tune up - she'll be good to go by Monday! You will have to buy new tyres though sir, we had to take the old ones off for the Bantam you were looking at earlier…..” His eyes widened as my brother-in-law and I advanced toward him.
“Sir? What are you doing with that Sir? SIR!”
Our trip to Oudtshoorn was successful in the end. We eventually found a nice honest man who sold us the perfect replacement for the EDGE-mobile - a lovely little white bakkie - pretty as a picture she is!
And the other fellow? …. I don't think for a moment that the spark plug did any permanent damage. And even if there is the slight hint of scarring around his nostril the next time he poses for a family portrait, he's perfectly capable of airbrushing it out…
Being the techno-minded man that I am (I can sms, bbm and sometimes even manage to answer my cell phone without cutting the caller off) the first place I looked for a potential replacement vehicle (after the EDGE classifieds of course) was the Wobbleyou Wobbleyou Wobbleyou. The interweb. And wow, was I IMPRESSED! It makes it all so simple that even a mechanically challenged buffoon like me can find any sort of vehicle he wants … and there are so many wonderful bargains to choose from.
Or so I thought…..
After making note of numerous likely vehicles I finally chose the one that I believed would suit our needs… and boy did it look great. A 2nd hand, customized Ford F650 XLT V10 gas pickup, in shiny black with flames painted on the sides! “All the truck a man could need plus extras, for only 30 Grand” the advert read.
I deftly clicked on 'email seller' and asked the usual intelligent questions….
Did the furry dice hanging on the mirror and the horns mounted on the bonnet come with the vehicle?
Was it really as wide as it appeared in the picture?
I also asked if he was aware that he had mistakenly flipped this picture in his advert which made it look like the steering was on the wrong side.
Having clicked 'send' I waited for a swift reply, all the while doing a bit of research to see where Algansee was on the map. With such an Afrikaans name I hoped it was somewhere in the Cape so I would be able to bus there, pick up the pick-up, and drive back, all within a couple of days.
But I had to wait until the following morning before a message landed in my inbox. Apparently Algansee, Michigan, USA (population 2,061) is in a different time zone to us. And, as the seller pointed out (With a tad too much unwarranted sarcasm, I thought), even if I was prepared to pay him thirty grand (US Dollars!) for the pick-up, at only 12 miles to the gallon it might cost me a tidy sum more to drive the wretched thing back.
Who wants a vehicle with a naked lady painted on the front anyway?
So I resumed my WWW quest, this time asking Uncle Google to limit his search to 'vehicles for sale in the Garden Route, South Africa'. I must say this bought my options down somewhat, but there were a few available, and though they were certainly no Ford F650XLT's (and not one of them had any sort of flame motif) there were some that looked like they might serve the purpose, if the pictures were anything to go by….
Unfortunately, however, the same 'simplicity' that the internet offers car buyers, applies to some of the sellers too. Any buffoon, it seems, can SELL a car on the internet. One would have thought that there would be some sort of IQ test that one would have to pass before becoming an online vehicle marketer… but alas no. In fact, after a while I started thinking that perhaps 'Buffoonery' was a pre-requisite for selling a vehicle on the internet.
“Hello? I'm phoning about the advert for the Ford Bantam….”
“Er… Ja”
“Your advertisement says good condition, no rust , engine needs a little TLC…. What would that mean Does it need cleaning? A bit of paint? Or is it something worse, like replacing an air filter or something?” (Being under the impression that TLC was an acronym for Tender Loving Care, I was secretly hoping all I had to do was immerse the engine in a nice hot tub with bath salts, rub its back for a while and perhaps bring it a cup of Horlicks)
“No man, the engine's good. It's er… not got any problems… it's just the gearbox.”
“Oh, the gearbox needs TLC?”
“No… The engine needs a gearbox.”
And so it went, from vehicle to vehicle, seller to seller.
“Hello? The VW Caddy you advertised on the net?”
“Yes sir?” “It says brilliant condition?”
“Yes sir, absolutely top condition. Not even a scratch, and the engine - one of the best runners I've ever had.” “Great! No TLC needed?”
“No sir!” “Perfect. Well I am very interested, just tell me one more thing… ummm… if you don't mind me asking…. Is the gearbox all ok… I mean, it has one, I take it?”
“Of course sir, it certainly did,”
“Great! Hang on…. Did you say 'did'? Does the engine not have a gearbox anymore?”
“Of course it does sir, I saw the vehicle going past the other day and she looked to be driving fine!” “I'm not with you…. You saw it….?”
"Yes sir, the lady I sold it too last January was driving… Actually I can't believe that advertisement is still on the net….”
Eventually I found a man who made sense. He ran a second hand car spot in Oudtshoorn and had two vehicles that would certainly suit my needs. I must say, the pictures were pretty impressive, as was his guarantee.
“My reputation depends on supplying quality vehicles. Come and drive one of these babies and you will not be disappointed!” he said.
So I took the Friday off and, with my Brother in Law at my side for company (I had convinced him that it was really going to be a matter of choosing between the two immaculate vehicles, then back over the mountain again for an ice cold beer), off we went to the Ostrich Capital of the World.
Incidentally. You know there's a rumour that the swim-wear models in FHM are quite different to how they appear in the magazine, because all the photographs have been cunningly airbrushed to make them look thinner, more curvaceous and blemish-free….?
Well I think I've found the man who does it. I think he supplements his meagre airbrushing salary by selling vehicles in Oudtshoorn.
“Is this the Bantam that was in the picture?” I asked incredulously (It's amazing what disbelief can do - Before arriving in Oudtshoorn I couldn't even SPELL incredulously, and there I was ASKING in it).
“Yes sir,” he smiled, “A real work-horse. These bakkies never ever break down. And now I've rebuilt the engine, and gear box and done the brakes, all she needs is a lick of paint and you'll be home free.”
“A lick of… Where is the tailgate?... and the passenger door…? Do I need to paint those on, perhaps? Can I paint over this gaping crater in the driver's seat upholstery, do you think?” (Any John Cleese fans out there will be able to imagine the slightly sarcastic lilt I added to my voice at that stage).
But we had come all the way to Oudtshoorn, so I had to abandon my immediate urge to insert a well-worn spark plug into the man's left nostril, and concentrate on the job at hand.
“What about the other bakkie? The Nissan 1400 you advertised,” I asked, ever-hopeful.
“Ah sir… you will have to move quickly on that one,” he oozed, sauntering betwixt the mechanical debris to a back courtyard,
“There are two or three others interested in her, but I know how desperate your need is, sir so I have held them off for a while.”
We stopped at a pile of old metal and rubber which had obviously dropped out of the sky onto one of his staff, because a pair of overalled legs was sticking out from underneath.
“Here it is,” the salesman said, seemingly oblivious of the man's fate and proudly waving his hand in the direction of said pile. “Our mechanic is just giving the gearbox a little TLC, and then it's just the clutch, the tie rod ends, the respray and a tune up - she'll be good to go by Monday! You will have to buy new tyres though sir, we had to take the old ones off for the Bantam you were looking at earlier…..” His eyes widened as my brother-in-law and I advanced toward him.
“Sir? What are you doing with that Sir? SIR!”
Our trip to Oudtshoorn was successful in the end. We eventually found a nice honest man who sold us the perfect replacement for the EDGE-mobile - a lovely little white bakkie - pretty as a picture she is!
And the other fellow? …. I don't think for a moment that the spark plug did any permanent damage. And even if there is the slight hint of scarring around his nostril the next time he poses for a family portrait, he's perfectly capable of airbrushing it out…
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