I am Published - Dronkste in die Wêreld!

To describe my excitement at the moment is impossible.  I have just read my story in the online newspaper as per my website www.conradbrand.com. and I post it here to share with my friends all over the world.  I know it's in Afrikaans, but hopefully next time an English contribution from me will be published.

The Newspaper is a new initiative for the local West Coast Community in South Africa, called Weskus Onbeperk and they can be found at http://www.weskus-onbeperk.co.za/

Dronkste in die wêreld!

Ek lees met gees die stuk oor die dronkste man in die Wes-Kaap wat laasweek in Saldanha vasgetrek is.

Dit laat my dink aan ‘n ou vrind wat darem sy beste gedoen het om  vir dieselfde erkenning in aanmerking te kom, indien nie om dit loshande te wen nie.

Dit was bietjie meer as tien jaar gelede in Kaapstad, toe mens nog saans kon rondloop in die strate, sorgeloos kon daar na ‘n aandjie uit en ‘n sopie of twee, rustig vanuit die middestap gestap word na die koshuis onder die Berg.  Die bergies wat nog wakker was, sou jou vriendelik dog plegtig pla om daai laaste los sentjies in jou sak, vir môre se halwe broodjie.  Min wetende sou meeste gee, maar daai broodjie-geld vir die dun lagie kos in sy maag, sou ‘n ander weg na binne vind.  Op die Parade moes jy eers stop om ‘n opslagte hongerte te stil, met ‘n ”Mama’s pie” en ‘n Rennie,  afgesluk met ‘n pienk melkie.

Sommige was meer bevoorreg as ander en het ouma of oupa se ryding geërf, iets wat direk aan jou populariteit gekoppel is, en dis toe hier waar Gysie se moeilikheid begin.

Gysie was die aangewese drywer vir die aand, maar dié word toe dors, sò dors dat hy heeltemal van sy amp en verpligtinge vergeet.  Na sy “pie” en Rennie, maak Gysie hom toe gereed vir die finale been tot sy huiswaartse tog.  Ai, maar Gysie kon mos nie saggies nie, hy moes nou hardop kommentaar lewer op al die stemme van die nag tot by sy bruin Datsuntjie.  Na ‘n vinnige gevroetel na sy moerse “Mamma is lief vir jou”  sleutelhouer, is hy binne en nes hy die “clutch” bietjie vinnig laat val, druk druk Oom verkeersman so teen sy ruit.

“En waarheen is U oppad Meneer?”vra die beampte.

“Ma’ bed toe, ek is mos moeg!” antwoord hy met ‘n lelike sleur in sy stem.

“Het jy iets gedrink vanaand Meneer?” kom die vraag van onder die hoed.

“Nie regtig nie, net so enetjie of twee miskien”, antwoord Gysie met die wete dat sy lot hier geboek is.

“Mmm liters ja”, mompel die beampte deur sy snor. “Klim maar uit Meneer en blaas vir my mooi in die pypie” sê die man met die onding in sy uitgestrekte hand.

Na ‘n gesukkel is Gysie uit en met die vars lug na sy brein beleef hy toe ‘n oomblik van helderheid.  

“Meneer, blaas hard en aanhoudend tot ek sê: Stop!” sê die beampte, so met die aangee.

“Is dié ding skoon?” vra Gysie terwyl hy die dingetjie na sy mond bring.

“Jong, blaas net!” word hy toegesnou, “jy’s verniet so traag.”

Met dié gooi Gysie sy kop agteroor en mond wawyd oop,  soos ‘n wilde gans blaas hy toe met oorgawe deur sy neus….  Nnnfffffff…  en weer, lank  en aanhoudend,  Nnnfffffff…

Die volgende dag is ons met smaak vertel hoe Gysie deur ‘n verkeersbeampte na die koshuis gebring is, hoed in die hand en arm om die blad.  Die arme man het glo so gelag vir Gysie se belaglikheid dat hy hom moes laat gaan;  wie kon dan suur bly na so ‘n vindingryke vertoning!

The BMI Machine

THE BMI MACHINE

Those who know me will know that I have always been a bit larger than the norm, a bit like Obelix I suppose.  Yes, I fell in the magic pot and was in there for a wile, it seems.  Supersized for life!!

Being so visible has its advantages and disadvantages, but let’s not dwell on that.  I have always said “As long as you breathe you can do something about it, a comeback of some sort you know.  Well I hope I am now on that comeback and that’s where I’ll start.

A couple of weeks back my lovely wife started a very strict diet and successfully lost eight kgs in a couple of weeks. (Please don’t ask me to convert things to stone.  I am always afraid that if I do so, I might be weighed in mountains in stead of stone) Anyways, being the supportive husband I am I thought I should probably join her, by doing so starting my new year’s resolution, albeit eight months late.

Dukan, I was told and after an hour long planning session, I was very happy to learn that meat, fish and chicken were high on the meals list and as a bonus for the first ten days, I SHOULD NOT eat any vegetables – surely a win-win situation.  That brought the next challenge…

The Weigh in:

As I mentioned earlier, I am big.  Like a heavy, heavyweight boxer, filling a room, but still light on my feet (I think, or that’s what my brain tells me anyway).  This does mean that a normal house scale is to no use to me and I need to make a bit of an effort to see how much gravity I drag along.  With excitement I found a Boots in Woodley, not to far from work and with the appropriate machine, a BMI monitor.  It took me 15 minutes to manoeuvre my cruiser to the parking lot, followed by the usual search for change to keep me legal and with a “bounce” in my step I was off to access the last years’ damage, full of hope that it was not too bad. 

Well, it did not start well. I was asked to go from one counter to the next, crossing the room several times, just to get change for the 50p I would need to be enlightened.  Eventually a senior employee with the correct authorisation came to my help, my ever so calm features, drawn into a red frown.  I was pointed to the machine neatly tucked between two of those picture processors. 

Without drawing more attention to myself, I quietly walked over and asked the one lady, in awe of her holiday pictures, to shift a bit to the left.

I stepped to the plate, to be measured, in all sense!!

“PLEASE STAND STILL WHILE YOUR HIGHT AND WEIGH ARE MEASURED!!!!” the bloody thing started.  I thought, Ok, just stand still and it will stop.  It didn’t.  Hysterically, I searched for the volume control.  It was loud, the lady to my left now further away as she saw me, desperate to kill the noise.  Well, needless to say, it did not help.  By the 11^th annoying prompt I realised that there would be no relief, I lost hope and just stood there, weak…   

so it measured….

By the time it finished, everyone knew why I was there and worse of all was the realisation that this could be a weekly occurrence. 

I still don’t know what stunned me more that day, my results or the patronising blaring BMI machine…