Fourth Edition-  Annus Horribilus?

20 August, 2000

It has been just over a year since setting foot in London, and no, it has not been as horrible(us) as an an(n)us.  For all my complaints, sarcasm and pessimism the place isn't that bad.  Don't get me wrong, it is bad, but it just isn't that bad.

The Sun newspaper still stands as the national substitute for the real thing...I forget what the real thing is exactly, but I think it is yellow and is above your heads during the daytime.  Ever wonder why they have paper called the Sun? Because they don't ever get any of the real thing, that's why.  And yes, it (the substitute) still has its font size 700 headings which contain more words than the actual body of the article.  Yes, the place is still very grey.  Sun-tans? Mmm, no, no sun has been shining (read below), but hey, the hardened pub-goers still have that reddish glow about them. Tubes?  Still that out-of-body experience, but at least I have a solution now (read below).

Since the last quarter's report much has happened.  I have had my mom and sisters over which was awesome, we have had the Hansigate affair, the English have beaten South Africa in rugby, my porno star (read-on) friend Mark Joubert has left, my friend Rhys has visited from Iceland with his very rich bosses and Mung Head now has a job....oh, and Craig Lewis still doesn't have a girlfriend- last I heard he had been sacked from Ernst and was working in a mine in Mpumalanga, befriending the female Nubians....

As for Hansie and his new found predilection to deceive, I can't begin to describe the flak that us South African's (yep, SA hat on) have to bear....but I'll try.  Case in point: I was at Lord's the other day watching England v Zimbabwe.  A group of 8 of us: seven English (yeah, yeah, I am hanging around some every now and then, but please don't tell anyone) and one Ozzie-SA hybrid (me).

One of the guys says, "I wonder who will win?"

Then one of the more savant guys there replies, "Spratt should know!!". Ahahahaha- the roars of laughter fill my personal space (which, for future reference, is about 10 square meters, so try and stay out of it). I cringed but managed to squeeze out a very wry smile, knowing that this is perhaps the only time that this Neanderthal will be at the top social stratum.  I decide to play along.

"Haha, yeah, Zimbabwe is going to win."

Then another brain surgeon flexes his poor excuse for a brain and out pops another funny, "Oh, in that case, can we change it please!".  Ahahaha- the laughter continues. "Yeah, just give Hansie a call and change it for us!", they say.  Ahahahaaha...

...I start to zone out at this point, knowing that if I listen to anymore, my competitive nature will invoke my anger, resulting in one of two counter-productive scenarios; tearing him down with a slew of scathing personal comments about his ineptitude in everything he does or worse, proceeding to send a projectile in the form of my fist into his poor excuse for a head.

So thus, we (yep South African hat on still) are condemned to life of cricket misery here in the Land of the Great Smog.  For many years to come we will be winners in cricket because "Hansie fixed it".  What a shame.

In this last quarter we also said goodbye to a very good friend of many ours, Mark "Jab-Jab" Joubert (No, no relation to Andre (as much as he would like) and no, he isn't a rock)----

<< For my non-SA friends: "Andre", as in best ever rugby fullback ever and "rock", derogatory term for a bonehead...err, Afrikaaner>>

---- I said in his sending off we were going to miss his parochial insights (mmm) and pugilistic ways and this is indeed true. Mark was very much the "glue" in London. He managed to bring a disparate bunch of mates together for many a social event. Admittedly drew us into fist flying parries with the lesser breed almost every weekend, which in turn lead to close calls with the way too efficient police. But nevertheless, we still miss him. Besides, there is no one we can laugh at nearly as much as him....

The sending off for him was at Lano's. An event frequented by many. Mark displayed his drink induced exhibitionism once again, doing a strip not only for the 80 odd people at the party, but for the Craig Thompson's digi-cam. (I think that was the time I took my sisters home!?)

Being ever the entrepreneurs Craig T and Clayt managed do a little video editing, adding some slick slide-ins (no pun intended) and obviously generating some excellent graphic substitutes for certain things that didn't measure up (pun intended).

So everybody beware.  Coming soon to a video store near you, Mark Jab-jab starring in, "These are the Days of Our Strips", later to be sequeled by, Mark "The-Toolman-Jooba".  I can see it now...Mark for President. Mark clothing, Mark surfboards....yeah, yeah, I know, I'm killing it.

On a lighter but no less enjoyable note, my mom also had her first trip to the muddy island a couple of months ago. Being her first time there was heaps to do in the 2 weeks she was here. As anyone who has been here knows, there is so much greyness to see...but we decided to miss out on some of that wonderful stuff and go catch up with the Paddy's across the Irish Sea.  This was awesome and recommend making the trip.  The Dingle Peninsula is one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen- and to qualify this: I have lived on the Northern Beaches of Sydney which can be equated to heaven on Earth (yep, Ozzie hat on).

Rhyso, a friend of mine on an IT contract in Iceland, also paid London a visit. He and the company's development team came over for a "team building" weekend. We had dinner at the Hilton in Park Lane (Park said with a drawn out "rrrr"...no, not a rolled one, a drawn out one): Cognac, Cuban cigars, a 27 course meal, cocktails, the works.

I offered to pay for my meal.  As I was only non-company diner, this was obviously the right thing to do.  Kristian, the 24 year-old CEO, told me not to worry. Thank the Bill Gates (Lord). It wouldn't have been under £80 per head. Imagine that everybody. EIGHT HUNDRED RAND!!!! We finished the meal and then ventured to a trendy club on Regent Street and proceed to buy R70 a pop drinks.  In all, it was a no-sleep and empty-your-bank-accounts weekend, but nonetheless, heaps of fun.

The weekend that Rhys came we also managed to do the London Eye to celebrate Fanny's birthday. I must say, the thing is quite an engineering feat, although I strongly discourage people with a weak heart taking the trip for it is a non-stop, heart-racing, 360 degree spin that happens at lightening speed, totaling some 45 minutes. (Yes I am joking. It is a very slow.) Seriously though, the ride is well worth it and on a clear day you can see most of London's CBD. It gets 10 out of 10 from me for efficiency. Think about all that touristy stuff I saved myself. In 45 minutes I whacked it on the head. People ask me now, "So have you seen much of London?". "Yep," I reply, "all of it.  I've done the London Eye."

Home life is going well at 2 Strathmore. We lost the Bean-Flicker (aka Lynton Hoch) to some friends he liked better than us. With that departure we had Richard Tucker-box and Ryan Proky (can't spell his surname but there's his nickname) move in.

Funny thing there.  They are Spu's mates from Hilton (who also lives with me in case you forgot) and together, the 3 of them are scoring 3 girls form one other digs.  Let me restate more clearly: 3 guys from one house are playing tonsil hockey with 3 girls from one other house.  Weird? Yep, I agree, definitely something for the X-Files.  Despite this nepotism-cum-inbreeding, life at home is great.  Or should I call it a hostel? Spu and Proky are always staying at Putney (The X-House)- on the lounge of course...pfff, yeah right-, I only get home when Ryan and Grog are asleep (poor buggers get up a 5:30am) which leaves Heather there by herself.  Basically we all use it just to sleep and eat.  They are no homely activities really...

Work is going fine.  Don't you hate that word? Fine. It's just so...fine. Eck. Anyway, Morgan Stanley is treating me well.  I am just bored and in a comfort zone. Not inspired and not learning much.  Good money, easy job and good hours. I do have a few opportunities to move into an IT role, but am a bit worried it might isolate me from the "Finance" world. Anyway, that's a quandary for me to toil over. What's funny about the whole thing is that they have pulled me in for no less than 7 meetings about going permanent (they been trying hard since the beginning of the year) and the last meeting I had was with a Principle (known as a BSD- "big-swinging-dick", or in layman's terms a very important person). This very important individual basically gave me an ultimatum at the last meeting: go permanent or else. Or else what, I thought? Well, he didn't tell me that. I think he was just trying to call my bluff. Anyway, that was a 4 weeks ago now and he told me I had a week to decide.  Can't wait until the next one!?!

Hey! I almost forgot.  Did you see I (me with my Italian hat on..hehe) almost won the European Soccer Cup. Yeah, Italy almost won, but lost it in the the dying minutes.  Smelly frogs managed to pull out soft goal in the last 30 seconds of injury time.  Ah, well. Can't win em all, as they say. (Yep, this paragraph is solely designed to irritate my South African friends who can't stand the fact that I support both Australia and South Africa...and now Italy :)

Those of you who are worrying about Bitchard "MungHead" Hammersen, (at this point the readers skip to the next paragraph...hehe) he is fine. Stuck down in a place allegedly worse than London, called Bracknell (aka Asylum Seeker Paradise). This town has gained notoriety through the famous Ali-G TV show which is about black homeboys. Yep, say no more. Despite the locale, he is working for an excellent company so things are looking good for him.

As for London, it is as paradoxical as ever.  From the inbred Public schoolboy, Blueblood aristocracy through to the inbred Essex (sorry Webby) parasites that try and pass for humans.  In the middle are the people, like us, from other countries that take the "skilled" jobs but that the "skilled" Poms don't want to do.

Summer is an event that hasn't happened here this year. Funny that, hey? Currently London is going for an all-time record of the least sunshine in any one year, and if the winter is anything like last year, it should be a done deal. As and FYI, this year we have had just over 3.5 minutes (yes, that's minutes...and yes, I am exaggerating- but only a little) of sunshine the whole year. It is really wonderful actually.  Think of all that quality time that can be spent in-doors....mmm.  The upside of all of this is that it is all down hill from hear so we should have watched about every video ever made by year's end- even the classics!  The cinema you say?  Pff, been, done, seen 'em all.

Burger King is still posting strong earnings on the back of my demand for the food stuffs that they sell.  I strongly recommend buying some of their shares if they ever list.  Did you know they were a private company? I do. MacDonald's you say?  Well, although it was my staple diet for some 8 or so years as a teenager in Australia, I can safely say that it isn't as good a quality as it is in Oz and SA, and thus BK win's hands down in the Land of the Great Smog.  Friends from SA: Each meal costs...wait for hit...THIRTY SEVEN RAND.  Nope, a car and house don't get thrown in with that. Just a burger, fries and coke.  And I buy on average three of these a week....which reminds me, when is my next cholesterol check-up??

Oh, I almost forgot.  hen my sisters were out we managed to get to Wimbledon. It was awesome. We got on Center Court, watching the Woodies play in the semi-final, for free.  Yep, that's ZERO RANDS!!!! (Yeah, I realise I'm killing this one too.)  How you ask? Well, my one of two Pommie friends, the nefarious Marc "I-can-sell-condoms-to-priests" Webb, was there and he managed to "buy" four tickets from 2 couples that were leaving (it was early afternoon).

So in we went through the gates hurriedly.  "Can I see your stamp ple.....", the attendant's voice fading into the distance as we made a dash through the crowd. We were supposed to have stamps on our arms as the tickets we had were already broken. Luckily he decided not pursue us.

Now we stood, the four of us, confused. Where should we go? Before we could decide, Webby was heading for the sign that said, "CENTRE COURT". Good choice I thought. As we went up to the entrance, the guard asked to see our tickets.  "Sorry these are only for COURT ONE", he said.  Once again, Webby's proclivity for crime came in use. He had found us a way up through the middle of the court...and all of sudden, there we were, sitting watching the phallic named tennis players battle it out for their 8th Wimbledon final appearance (which they went on to win, incidentally- go Australia).

So get this: We were watching tennis that should have cost us....wait for it...FOUR HUNDRED AN EIGHTY RAND!!! (Yeah, okay its dead now.) Despite our honest endeavours, good old London, as expected, started spraying us with rain.  Ah, well. At least we didn't pay.

...Oh yeah, and Tiff (my sister) went back the next day by herself, did the same thing and ended up watching the Williams sisters play in the semi-final for free.  I'm upset, I wish I had never introduced her to Webby...

Speaking of my sisters, I have to tell you about a funny (or at least I think so) story. As anybody with siblings knows, there are some times in life that you just can't the stand the sight of your brother or sister. Well, this happened with my sisters when they were here visiting me in London. After teaming up well together for the first week, one had finally had enough.

Tired of doing what Tiffany wanted to do all the time, Prue belligerently piped up on night: "You know what Tiff? I've had enough of you, and I'm gonna do my own thing tomorrow".  I could see she was looking for some kind of reaction.  Tiff, unperturbed says, "Prue, you know what? Care factor: Zero".  I think if Tiff had of cared any less she would have been asleep. Anyway, so different things they decided to do.

The next day, they are "doing their own thing" when all of sudden they see each other.  "Mmm, I wonder if she is going to talk to me? Well, I'm going to pretend I don't notice her", Prue thinks to herself.  Tiffany walks toward her...and then straight on by, not even bothering to glance at Prue...."Pff.  I don't need her!", Prue thinks to herself as she storms off.

"Ah, (insert expletive here). I need the keys!!!", and off she runs back to Tiff.  Tiff, not raising a heartbeat, sees Prue, listens, and agrees to leave the keys under the pot and off they walk again.  In opposite directions. Get this: in the summer here there up to 20 million people within the city of London at any one time and these two bump into each other on the day they specifically set out to avoid each other.  I think that is fricken hilarious.

Finally, no good London Expose' would be exclude an update of the infamous sickness-and-anger propagators (aka London Underground). Well, no change here.  They are still the same quasi purgatory experience as described in earlier Exposé's- armpits in faces, to hot in summer, too cold in winter, etc.  But fortunately for me I have managed to circumvent that problem by developing what I call a "tube" synapse.  (Thank Bill Gates (god) for evolution.)  Now every time I hop on the public transport, this synapse automatically fires and I switch into auto mode.  This, in turn, prevents any cognizance of the tube ride, and consequently all the pain associated with it.  It's funny though, I have these blank periods in my life that last about 45 minutes every morning and afternoon....weird??

Anyway, I'm off to bed now.  It has been lovely having this one-way dialogue with you. As Lano would say, "It has been emotional". Keep well and until next time...



Disclaimer: No, this email was not written on work time. No, it doesn't take half a day to write- rather, about an hour for the draft and half an hour proofing. Yes, I do have better things to do, but I figure some of you care about my goings on in London. And yes, I could be wrong about the last statement.