What ever happened to Kevin?

It is difficult to get the I out of me. But why should I? I think the thought that prompts this is that these blogs are essentially “I” ambles. Egoblography.
A shallow comment of mine was recently dissected quite clinically by a sharp thinker & left me feeling quite trivial. This led on to the thought that observations are often tainted by the “I” of the beholder. It presumably provides some uniqueness, but how original are a common person’s (oops! nearly slipped there)thoughts. My sister commented on the risk of exposure and maybe that’s what it is – webflashing!!
Kevin, by the way is a priest I saw, flashing his blog on the web. (Sounds obscene, don’t it). In an attempt to engage, probably rooted in my unquenched Catholic altar boy experieces (fear I would drop the wine) I invited him to be my friend. … nothing, no reply. How can this shepherd have ignored my bleat?
Mind you, he had a grey vest on, so is probably a Protestant. Never mind Father, I am sure He has a plan for you guys too, probably next to the Parsees.

Remember back then..?

I thought & have been thinking how sad strange it is that in one’s life you meet so many people who then disappear…completely. Some (most of the dogs & cats, I’m sure) have died.
I suppose it doesn’t help that I buzzed off to the antipodeean land of the long white cloud. I lived in many places but I am going to have a go at remembering the people there … (apologies to those I didn’t remember, you are not forgotten, just …)
I have marked* those I have had contact with in the last 10 years or so
Bremersdorp (1950’s): Jimmy Batchelor*, June Rose, Georgie Karagonis, Little Flower convent
Mbabane (late 50’s, early 60’s): Patrick(Pine) Pitcher; Peter Armstrong, Niel Rae*, Snarly Davies, Buster Culverwell*, John Horn, Nunkie Berry, Lindsay Rice, Monkey Slatem (RIP), the Marwicks, Martins, Lamzima, Samuel the cook, Samuel Matsebula (RIP); the Allardices (RIP?); Tsabetse, Bessie & Farouk, Cheeky Bums, Jess Robertson,Inky English, Miss Vos, Du’T, Kariba oval,George Gibbon & his dad (Akela); Roddy Smith*
Havelock Mine (60’s & 70’s)John & Peggy Critchley, the Nicholsons, Newcombes, Paige Greens, Jones, Collen Benson, Antoinete Britz, Golly Bowen, the Snooks*, Bob Sanderson, the Gordon Highlanders, Jess, Le Clus’, Ian Jenner (RIP); Titus; Vas aan die slaap, Christine Keeler (the cat) Twiggy, Jock
(*only 5/43)

This is too much – each name triggers off little cameo memories … this is supposed to be a philosophy column not an ego-blography.

Save to say that all these people have contributed to my life – thank you for your donations, gratefully (now) received!
Some have not worn socks, others have chewed them & others even washed them.
I am sure all of them would subscribe to the Silly Sock Philosophy (under construction), promoting quirks & whimsy, to make the world a better place.


The Struggle Continues! A slogan from the Mocambiquean war of independence – a ghastly little last gasp of imperialism.
However, I thought it could be borrowed for the equally protracted, if slightly less bloody global campaign against the necktie.
Is it necessary to dwell on the indignities and folly of the necktie convention? Is this frilly rag not an indication of the wearer’s willingness to subjugate him/herself to a mindless uniformity? Notwithstanding the utter illogicality of this idiotic apparel!
(Mind you, if a woman wears a tie, she must be slightly off the beaten track!)
I am sure the willingness of so many to decorate their chests with lightweight nooses is merely unthinking habit.
THINK ABOUT THE NECKTIE, YOU CORPORATE DRONES! Invite the Chairman to debate this piece of silliness, flood the company bulletin board with practical uses of the necktie competitions, wear real nooses round your necks….. VIVA INDIVIDUALISMA!!

On the subject of wars, tomorrow is Rememberance Sunday. I remember the old men’s tears and fears at the parades, Barry, Mickey, Mike, Roy, Bill and the fear and beer of the sad times, the living wounded, so sad, such a wrong road.

Futility beckons!

I have been trying to get a picture onto my blog this last hour & all I have done is build up a rant inclination.
Why do I feel almost threatened by my futile attempts? My ego fears a bruise because I can’t do what others can? I can’t play the piano or guitar either, so that may be some sort of equity!
Patience gives me a headache – I just want to …do it.
So stuff futility, I can do it, I can do it, I can do it, Yes, I can, Yes I can, Yes I can, YesIcan, YesIcan,YESICAN!!!!
Tomorrow is another day & fuck off futility!!

A Prayer for my Daughters

One of my beloveds is ill, stricken by a mystery bug and reduced to uncomfortable misery. I retreat inwardly with fear & re-read Yeats’ poem to see if he expresses what I feel.
It causes me to think of my other daughter, the well one, who is leaping out of school to sieze life & demand of it satisfaction. And then my son, and I read that Yeats’ poem too. It invokes Michael the Archangel, with his fiery sword – I have introduced him to them, so they know that he will stand up for them.
What do godless people do when they fear what the future hold? Who do they pray to? That is where God is at, no doubt – there to allay despair, even that of evil people. It must be so tempting, so frightening to them: Repent and I will embrace you
I am sure God would wear silly socks if he were’nt a sandal type. Just to show that he is not uniformly conventional, at least. Or maybe to sanctify quirks as acceptable. Lovely word – quirk!