Category Archives: Ravings

I have no hope for South Africa . . .

I have been stumped yet again by my fellow South Africans this morning. I have no hope for the future of this country. (And then I’m not saying anything about Malema’s new political party and his ideologies . . .)

Taking into account that tomorrow is Nelson Mandela‘s 95th birthday and he’s been on life support in hospital for a few weeks now:

The question on Facebook by a retail store this morning:

Tomorrow marks 95th birthday of Nelson Mandela. What birthday wishes do you have for Tata Madiba?

Some of the answers:

* Long life madiba

* Speedy recovery

* Recovery in such a way that he goes back to his home and sort things out between his children.

* Speedy recory,,,,

* For him to be realized from his hospital bed, GET WELL SOON CDE

* To get well as possible. Bed in not a place for him bt home its where i want him.

* Long live tata long live

* Speedy recovery…

* Long Life Tata. Love u.

* best wishes and quality of life.


He’s 95 and you wish him a long life? fuck Really? And to be realized from his bed? And to go and sort out things between his children? His grown and greedy children? HE must go and do it?

Are you fuckin’ sick unwell?

Let the man rest, for God’s sake. Let him go!

Most of us won’t even see 80, never mind 95.

Enough already.

My wish for Nelson Mandela is peace. And to let go, he’s done enough. Thank you Gramps.



Posted by on July 17, 2013 in Ravings


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Fandom? No, thank you.

Are you a sports fan? Tell us about fandom. If you’re not, tell us why not.

I  might be coerced to watch snippets of Wimbledon(m), the Tour de France, the Olympics (summer, winter and special), the Comrades and such; all depending on who’s watching with me. I do not watch cricket, golf, tennis, bowls and soccer. No, not even when Bafana Bafana is playing.

I might watch some rugby games (whichever ones my hubby’s watching) and might make a special effort to check in when the Springboks are playing.

Sport was never big in our house growing up. My parents did not watch it, so neither did I. I played netball from grade five to grade 11 (for the various grades’ A teams), but the-one-who-called-himself-my-father made me stop when I was in matric. I would have played for the 1st team that year. @sshole.

I live in Blue Bull Country: Pretoria.

blue bulls

I started getting interested in rugby in matric because my husband-to-be played rugby and when I was allowed, I went to watch his games. I also supported him when he played student rugby at Technicon.

When I was younger, I used to support the Bulls. I even had a Blue Bulls flag and shirt. I EVEN went to watch a game on Loftus once. I guess this is where the aversion to sport fans started.

People spoiled rugby for me. Fans. Supporters.

Not only Blue Bulls supporters, but supporters of most other SA Super 15 rugby teams.

When “they” lose a game, it’s always either the referee’s or the other teams underhandedness’s fault, never their own. When “they” win, and the other team’s supporters are claiming the same reasons, they’re made off as bad losers. And boo’ed.

Not only that, but they get really, really nasty. Really, Really nasty. Not only verbally, but on social media as well. I’ve seen people react in ways that I would NEVER have attributed to them. Ways that made me cringe for their sake. I guess that’s when the true colours come out.

And so I try and avoid people like that. And thus the sport they support.

Since we’ve become friends with Graatjie and the General, we’ve been exposed to POWERLIFTING. Like every sport it has it’s own special kind of participants and supporters. Cheerers and grumblers. Rules and benefits. The happy and the disgruntled. I’ve had the opportunity to witness some of the lifters on the recent SA Powerlifting Championship 2013.

The top guys are all supportive of each other, even though they sometimes compete for the same title/record. They’re humble and normal. Yes, I know that (as with all sport) there is also backstabbing, bitching and moaning. But overall, they’re the nicest group of men I’ve seen competing in a long time.

Well done to the General who they’re all in awe of. Who they revere by calling him Master. The Top Dog.

I am proud to know him. And by association, the powerlifters. And last (but at all not least) Graatjie, my maatjie. 😀



Posted by on July 12, 2013 in Post a day, Ramblings, Ravings


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Riddikulus . . .

The Wiki version of the Riddikulus spell as used in Harry Potter: “A spell used when fighting a Boggart, “Riddikulus” forces the Boggart to take the appearance of an object upon which the caster is concentrating. When used correctly, this will be a humorous form.”

That’s what I thought (Riddikulus!) when I looked at a book that I would like to read and compared the prices on Kalahari. The hardcover book costs R232.00/R292.00, the e-book version: R241.95.


I wanted to point my wand at the screen and yell: RIDDIKULUS!!!!

Should electronic format not be way cheaper? Are we not trying to save the environment, some trees and reduce out carbon footprint? Do we not want to encourage people to buy electronic?




Posted by on May 16, 2013 in Ramblings, Ravings, Reading


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Is weak a choice?

I have never been bothered by colleagues taking sick leave before – as long as they kept their germs to themselves and not share it with me, I’ve been OK.

That was until they became my subordinates and I had to do their work when they were off sick.

Luckily, most of my “people” do not take much sick leave. I hope I lead by example.

I’ve taken 3 sick days over the last 3 years. Whether that’s a plus or a minus, I’m not sure of yet. I’ve been at work through gastro and bronchitis, through bladder infections and flu. I always take care not to spread too many germs, it seems that I got away with it so far. It might not be the best for my health (working whilst sick), but I’m very nitpicking(y) about the quality of my work conscientious about the levels to which my work is performed. That and the fact that nobody does my work when I’m not there, makes me go to work even when I’m sick.

Mostly, when they are left to their own devices, they don’t think. They don’t even attempt to think. They cause chaos – like before the Creation. Yes, they can create chaos of that kind. Working with thousands of people’s grocery/drinking money, you really are not supposed to stuff it up. I have to keep an eye over things. Not being there just causes more work when I eventually would have schlepped my sick body back to work and might cause some isolated cases of knee breaking or strangulation.

Some of the other coworkers, do not hesitate to call themselves weak. Let me give you some examples:

1. X goes to the SPCA, looking for a kitten. They have some, but she keeps on looking – trying to find the RIGHT one. She would have taken one from the SPCA, but she is too weak to go back there and face all the homeless animals. I would not have said I’m too weak, I would have just gotten one. Or two. Or three.

2. X works in an office where the aircon is set too high, the office gets a bit warm. She declares to anyone within earshot “I think I’m getting the flu, I’m sooo hot and weak”. How about turning the aircon off, Pissy?

3. X&Y catch any bugs that comes around. Or not come around. As soon as there’s any rumours in the office of anyone not feeling up to scratch or a bit off, they caught it. They are also the ones who drink 63000 vitamins and minerals and drops and powders and prescriptions and potions. Who puts nuked wheat bags on their backs and shoulders (due to tension spasms) every single moment of every single day. Who comes to work in the morning declaring that they feel so weak today . . . and then stay at home the next day because they just could not make it coming to work. With sniffles.

Maybe I’m too harsh. Maybe I’m too strong. Maybe I’m too full of shit.

But I believe that weak is a choice.

And it’s not mine.



Posted by on July 11, 2012 in Ramblings, Ravings


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Bandwagon coming through . . .

Before I give my opinion about the mail below as received in my inbox, I would like to hear what’s yours:


An Arab nation stopped the tour… would a Christian nation be able to do the same?


Indonesian Cancelled the ‘Satanic’ Lady Gaga Concert

We cannot allow Lady Gaga 2 enter this Country,and we CANNOT support her!

Fellow believers in Christ Jesus you may or may not know the seriousness of what I am saying, we need to stand firm against the Lady Gaga concert she is a confessed satanist and a bride of satan letting her in to SA for her concert will bring spells of evil.

Let this concert be cancelled in JESUS NAME .

The name Gaga is a name of a demon incase you did not know STOP LISTENING TO


BE AWARE! Romans 12:2 The Song “Alejandro” by Lady Gaga. Very subtly the devil sneaks into our … lives to steal and destroy souls! We don’t even realize that just by singing the lyrics of a seemingly ‘innocent’ song with a nice tune, we open the door wider for his evil spirit!! ‘ Alejandro’ means: man’s defender and protector’ (GOD).’  Fernando’ means: ardent for peace (JESUS). ‘ Roberto’ means: bright or shiningly framed (HOLY SPIRIT). ‘Babe’ is the same as ‘child’

Now the lyrics again: “Don’t call my name; don’t call my name, Alejandro (GOD).

I’m not your child, I’m not your child, Fernando (JESUS).

Don’t call my name; don’t call my name, Roberto (HOLY SPIRIT) Alejandro;

Alejandro (GOD), Just let me go.”

People, please stop listening to …Lady Gaga! Real name Stefani Joanne Angelina Germanotta.  She sold her soul to the satan for fame and fortune, suddenly having 8 million followers on Twitter; top selling artist, and the top winner at the Grammys.

This is clearly the devil at work! Remember the images with her inside the egg carried on a cross? Hatching from an egg signifies the cold blooded rebirth.

Implanted horns on her shoulders and cheek bone indicating the transformed BRIDE OF SATAN!

(Save a soul and pass this on)

I’m a CHILD OF GOD if you are then I guess you do the same.

Ephesians 5:25-26

Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her to make her holy, cleansing her by the washing with water through the word,

In the face of widespread insecurity, fear, and hopelessness, our nation desperately needs your prayers.

We have a promise from the Lord:

“If my people, who are called by my name, will humble themselves and pray and seek my face and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven, and I will forgive their sin and will heal their land” (2 Chronicles 7:14, NIV).

Pray that those who don’t know Jesus Christ will turn and find forgiveness, hope, and peace in Him.

Commit to join us today in concerted prayer, let’s pray for our country and churches.

Please leave a comment and tell me about your reaction to this mail.



Posted by on July 5, 2012 in Ramblings, Ravings



“You can’t cry over every sad case . . .”

My husband tells me. I beg to differ.

I don’t cry over every sad and abandoned child, over every sad story, over every cute face that’s not being looked after. But last night I cried.

There’s this boy. D. Five, almost six, years old. Blond hair. Cute face with freckles. “Lazy” little eye.

His mother dropped him at his father’s. They were never married, and mostly not together. His father lives with his mother (D’s gran). She’s old. The boy did not have any clothes. No toys. Wasn’t in school.

My sister-in-law’s mother arranged for schooling in grade R or 00 or whatever they call it, so that he could move into grade one next year. The father decided it’s too much of a hassle to drop him at school in the mornings, so he stopped taking him. He sits at home during the day with his nasty witch of a gran. He’s not allowed to run and play. She screams and shouts at him the whole day. She’s not used to little boys.

He came to visit yesterday with sister-in-law. He’s well behaved. He’s hungry. He wolfs down his food. He needs to have his eye fixed. He needs love and caring and toys. He needs acceptance and bedtime stories. He needs hugs and kisses. He needs normal family life. He needs love.

Part of me wants to keep him and love him, care for him. Part of me wants to phone the welfare, though I don’t know where he will be worse off – in a children’s home or at home. Part of me just wants to run and hide and cry.

I think I’ll do the hiding-thing.


PS: When it’s that time of the month, I become emotionally unstable. Some months more than others. Some months I get mad, some months I cry. This seems to be a crying-month.

PPS: Hormones. It’s been said that women who never had children go into menopause earlier. Shit.


Posted by on June 27, 2012 in Ramblings, Ravings


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Random ingredients.

I’ve had at least 50 ideas for posts the last few days, but every time when I’m not close to my pc. Or too busy to make notes. No fun.

This morning I was held hostage in traffic by some freakin’ idiot who insisted on driving 40 km/h on the N14 – in the right hand lane no less.

For cryin’ in a freakin’ bucket!

Just another thing that adds to my daily frustration.

How long before we’ll be able to teleport?

Beam me up, Scotty! Very funny Scotty, now beam down my clothes!!



Posted by on May 31, 2012 in Ramblings, Ravings