Did my five-yearly drivers’ licence renewal today. Its a good thing when you think the last time I did it I was an irresponsible 52yr-old. In and out in just under an hour, and all the people pretty pleasant or neutral, so no sweat.
Only problem is I only looked at my form after I’d coughed the R250. They gave me 6/9 vision (AELOHCT – there, I’m 6/6, dammit), and put some old bald bastard with jowels and three chins’ photo on it! He looks like a bloody FreeState farmer.
Still, I’m not going back. I’ll just keep it.
~~~oo0oo~~~
Jaynee J (that’s her top right in the pic holding the cute dog) replied:
LaRaine (that’s her top left in the pic holding the other dog) took me for mine when I was in JHB recently. We needed to be quick, lots to do. “It won’t be busy” she claimed! Surprise – it wasn’t!
I ignored the ‘senior citizens’ booth and went to the ‘normal’ folk one. Sat down in front of the testing screen and wondered why he was taking so long to activate the test! Nothing! Nada, nix!
Eventually a flashing light got my attention and then the odd ‘E’.
Failed.
I was given a second chance – failed. And given a form to take to ‘my nearest Spec Savers’ – generic term for ‘place you test your eyes.’
I go up to Laraine. “OK”, she says “I told you it would be quick, now let’s just go and pay and that’s sorted!” “But I can’t see Lari!!” I wailed! “What do you mean you can’t see?” – she’s incredulous! “I failed! We have to go and find a Pete!”
Needless to say there wasn’t a Spec Savers in Lari’s mall – so into a Torga I went. I know. It was hard, but time was of the essence.
Breezed up to the counter – still in a hurry. “Hi, I just failed my eye test at the licence place and need one done quickly and, by the way – how’s Torga?”
Venus silhouetted against the Sun, seen from our dear planet Earth from different viewpoints in 2012.
Three times exposures on the right, showing the path of Venus tracking across the face of our Sun.
A transit of Venus is one of the rarest and most historically significant planetary alignments. Since the invention of the telescope in 1608, there have been only seven. It did not occur at all during the twentieth century, and when it occurred in 2004 and 2012, not one soul was living who observed the last one in 1882.
It was by studying the 1769 transit that atronomers calculated the distance from Earth to the Sun. For this event, Captain Cook famously sailed the Endeavour to uncharted Tahiti. Mission: Observe the transit.
Anyone interested in the ceaseless, wondrous movements of the planets in our solar system needs to read about Venus crossing the face of the sun, as observed from Earth (excerpts from books by Nick Lomb & David Sellers).
.
In the 18th century, scientists realised that by timing the event from different locations, the transits of 1761 and 1769 could be triangulated and give the distance between Earth and the Sun – “the noblest problem in astronomy,” for it would at last place mankind in the cosmos.
Britain and France, the two superpowers at the time, jockeyed for the glory, dispatching missions to far-flung places.
Among them were British surveyors Charles Mason and Jeremiah Dixon, who were attacked by French warships in 1761 just after they left Plymouth and headed back to port. Discouraged, they wanted to cancel the trip. After receiving a now-legendary letter from the Royal Society, the British scientific academy which was sponsoring them, they ventured straight back out to sea, suitably chastened. To give up would “bring an indelible Scandal upon their Character, and probably end in their Utter Ruin,” the letter said stonily. Or, Get your asses the hell out there, girlfriends, in 21st century jargon.
Drama was also in store for the 1769 transit, when Britain sent James Cook to Tahiti to view the event from there.
After his mission, Cook opened the instructions for the secret – and most important – part of his expedition: to search for and map for the Crown a mysterious “southern continent,” which turned out to be New Zealand and eastern Australia.
.
Hundreds of scientists set sail to locations throughout the world, hoping to catch a glimpse of the transit and be the first to bask in the glory of priority. Most of the expeditions would end in failure. Some were of such comically devastating proportions they sound like something dreamed up in an ancient Greek tragedy. Bill Bryson recounts one such misfortune in A Short History of Nearly Everything:
Le Gentil set off from Francein 1760, a year ahead of time, to observe the transit from India, but various setbacks left him still at sea on the day of the transit―just about the worst place to be, since steady measurements were impossible on a pitching ship. Undaunted, Le Gentil continued on to India to await the next transit in 1769. With eight years to prepare, he erected a first-rate viewing station, tested and retested his instruments and had everything in a state of perfect readiness. On the morning of the second transit, 4 June 1769, he awoke to a fine day; but, just as Venus began its pass, a cloud slid in front of the Sun and remained there for almost exactly the duration of the transit of three hours, fourteen minutes and seven seconds. Stoically, Le Gentil packed up his instruments and set offfor the nearest port, but en route he contracted dysentery and was laid up for nearly a year. Still weakened, he finally made it onto a ship. It was nearly wrecked in a hurricane off the African coast. When at last he reached home, eleven and a half years after setting off, and having achieved nothing, he discovered that his relatives had had him declared dead in his absence and had enthusiastically plundered his estate. (Thanks, Nick Risinger’s blog) ~~oo0oo~~ How did they do it? The mathematician James Gregory recognised that the distance from Earth to the sun could be calculated by observing a transit of Venus from two points on Earth that are far away from one another. Edmond Halley and Joseph-Nicolas Delisle came up with different ways of doing this. In 1761 and 1769 (Venus transits come in pairs around 8 years apart with a gap of around 105 years between pairs), scientists made epic journeys to take part in this measurement.
Here’s an outline of how Delisle’s method worked. Two people with accurately synched time pieces (another challenge in the 18th and 19th century) would observe the exact time that the transit began from two places on Earth. They would not see the transit start at the same time because of a phenomenon called parallax.
At some point, the red observer will see the Venus transit begin and will mark the time.
At a later point (because the Earth is spinning, and Earth and Venus are orbiting around the sun), the blue observer will see the transit begin.
Using Kepler’s Third Law and some high school geometry, you can determine the distance Venus has orbited in this short amount of time, and then the absolute distance from Venus to the sun (Thanks Avery Pickford’s blog).
~~oo0oo~~
PS: Do find and read Bill Bryson’s entertaining account of the transit of Venus!
I gathered the kids and said “Let’s go and bury Mom’s ashes with Bella. We’ve been meaning to do it for ages, let’s do it now.”
Her ashes had been keeping an eye on us from the mantelpiece. Now it was time for ceremony.
We trooped down under the trees to the spot where Tobias and I had buried Bella and where we had prepared a hole for the little box containing Aitch’s remains.
I gathered my thoughts and cleared my throat and . . .
“ANTS!” the kids shouted, slapping their legs and running away back to the house.
Ah well, I had a little private ceremony, shaking with laughter. Aitch would have enjoyed that (though she’d have had something to say about decorum).
I wrote to some of you when I went to the Master of the High Court of KwaZulu Natal to start a frustrating six month process of queuing and waiting to be appointed as executor of Aitch’s estate. I’d been told: Six Months!
The long and the short of that story was I got forgotten outside someone’s door and when the first lady who had helped me saw me (and probably my sad face) she said “Are you still waiting there?” and took me under her wing.
Three hours later I left with the letter of appointment in my hand! Not “We’ll post it”, nor “We’ll phone you” nor “You phone us”. Done and dusted! In my hand!
Yesterday I finally admitted defeat after searching for Jess & Tom’s adoption papers (the ones that say “asof uit u gebore” – ‘as if born of you’) high and low in our upside-down house. I had turned over everything at home, in the garage, at work, at Trish’s Mom’s place, everywhere five times, so I turned with resignation and trepidation to plan B: Apply for replacement forms from the Department of Justice.
I phoned Ms Miya (who I seem to think we dealt with – her name was on a 2004 letter – the only thing I could find) and she said “I’ve moved from that section, but I’ll help you my lovie”!
And she did: She phoned me back in a few hours and said “When can you come and fetch them?”
How’s that!?
I went first thing this morning to the Pinetown children’s court. Walked in at 7.45am and walked out at 7.48am with the forms in my hand!
Whattapleasure.
Wanting to get to Mozambique for snorkeling soonest. Trish not well at all and wants to go snorkeling and I’m trying to arrange. Phone +2**2394*002 if you can.
Hope and trust all well with you? And your gang?
Our kids well – just rattled.
Thanks
Love Pete
———- Forwarded Message ———
Re: Delayed response Re: Where you?
Hi! I am helping out at a Lodge in the Vilanculos area over the Xmas period – so may not reply promptly to your e-mail!
All is well however!
J —
Jayne Janetzky
———————————–
So I make a phone call
———————————–
On 25 June 2011 09:31, Pete <pete@sheila.co.za> wrote:
Hey Jaynee J !!
So good to chat to you again. That CAN DO approach! Love it. WhattaPom!
We’ll fly at a moment’s notice and I’ll do EFT as soon as you tell me.
The one fly in the oinkment will be PAIN. Let’s hope! Morphine is said to be amazing, so here’s hoping.
(Aitch says, “Morphine has always meant dying to me, Koos!” Well, it has to all of us, hasn’t it? )
Speak soon P
———————————————————————–
Subject: Re: Delayed response Re: Where you?!
Date: Mon, 27 Jun 2011 10:46:10 +0200
Hi my darlings
Well of course its a CAN DO. For you guys we kill bulls and marauding elephants!!!
Have a self-cater chalet lined up (nice) ….price being negotiated …..
LAM cheapest airline especially if you book on line.
Morphine – whatever gets you through the night Trish – is alright, is alright!!!!!
Waiting for you guys – bring jerseys!!! XXXXX
~~~oo0oo~~~
Well, it didn’t happen.
Aitch ended up in hospital for a night, which ended up being four nights – ‘Just to rest.’ Actually, I thought the herceptin had affected her heart, but my good friend cardiologist Dave said no – but he looked very worried – the look on his honest face made me realise we were near the end – and sent her to our other friend Mike the pulmonologist, who checked her in. She was quite chirpy when we visited, but tired and in pain.
Then she came home on the 1st July – THANK GOODNESS – and spent her last four nights in her own bed, fussed over by us. No more pain thanks to morphine prescribed as she checked out of hospital.
She died early morning 5 July 2011. Last words; ‘Thank you. Love you Koosie!’
BARRY PORTER 18th September 1946 to 27th April 2011
Barry as we’ll all remember him, soaking up the wonders of the big outdoors:
Photo: Andy Ruffle
A memorial service was held for Barry at the Port Shepstone Country Club.
Dress attire casual – as Barry would’ve liked.
A request for no flowers has come from his family. His son feels it fitting that donations be made to Birdlife Trogons Bird Club in lieu of flowers.
A TRIBUTE TO BARRY PORTER FROM BIRDLIFE TROGONS BIRD CLUB
Friend Colleague Confidant Gentleman
Born in Johannesburg into a family steeped in South Coast history.
Educated at St Andrew’s College, Grahamstown and immensely proud of it.
Reserved, scientific and tempered with technical ability.
Environmentally possessed.
Concluded his education at Natal University PMB with a BSc Agri Degree and commenced a farming career at Hella Hella.
His knowledge of environmental issues was unsurpassed and covered everything from birds to frogs to trees to grasses to game – from common names to scientific names to even Zulu names in which language he was fluent.
The use of this language in regard to Zulu tree names often led to very interesting and vigorous debates between ourselves and our Zulu speaking compatriots. To disagree with him was a complete waste of time, he would just quietly walk away, leaving one to wonder why did we even try and realising that we had not obtained an ‘A’ in that subject.
His knowledge of birds was unsurpassed and he studied avian issues with an undisclosed passion. He was a dedicated member of the Bird Rarity Committee and was always ready to give a fair judgement on all requests. As Chairman of Trogons Bird Club for a numbers of years (under duress) he never appreciated his ability being noticed and he led the club to be one of the most active and productive in Natal (if not the country) and he had the ability to motivate his committee to perform above expectations to the benefit of its members. He served on many Avian orientated committees where his knowledge was highly regarded.
Apart from his scientific knowledge, his technical ability was quite fascinating and he was adept at repairing and studying all aspects of modern engineering.
He was very computer literate and enjoyed all the advantages of its intricacies to the extreme .
The loss of his wife, Lyn, some six months ago left him tragically scarred – a scar that he bore bravely and undisclosed and no doubt had a bearing on his tragic demise.
His passing will leave a void that will be difficult to fill as there are very few people with his reserved manner and willingness to impart their knowledge to others available in this world today.
May he rest in peace.
Your civility and reservedness which endeared you to so many will not be forgotten.
~~~oo0oo~~~
TRIBUTE POSTED ON SABAP2 WEBSITE
I have sad news to report. One of the stalwarts of SABAP2, Barry Porter, passed away on Wednesday after a short spell in hospital. Barry’s contribution to the BirdLife Trogons Bird Club was legendary. An email sent to me by one of his friends, Carol Bosman, includes this paragraph which helps to sum up all our feelings: “Barry lived for birds and whenever I stayed with him he would take me out to record the various pentads for the Bird Atlas Project. His wife Lyn passed away only five months ago. What saddens me the most, I guess, is the loss of a ‘fountain’ of information as Barry was so well read in so many subjects. Your project has lost an incredibly knowledgeable observer and participant.” Barry submitted a total of 261 checklists for 77 pentads, mostly in southern KwaZulu-Natal, but extending further afield as well. His first checklist was made on 19 August 2007, right at the outset of SABAP2, and the most recent was on 27 March this year, a month ago. Over this whole period there were very few months in which Barry did not submit a checklist.
He was a regular contributor of interesting comments on fora such as SABirdnet. On 14 June last year during the World Cup he wrote this email, with the subject line “Soccer Birds”: “I went birding yesterday in the normally tranquil rural tribal lands inland from Hibberdene. I struggled to fill my atlas card, very difficult to hear birds voices – ‘the hills are alive with the sound of vuvuzelas!'”
The birding community and SABAP2 are poorer with the passing away of this passionate citizen scientist.
~~~oo0oo~~~
Here’s a pic by Barry of the Trogons at his brother’s litchi farm. Lyn is in the picture, second from left:
The vulture hide at Oribi Gorge – in the feature pic – was named in Barry’s honour. He would secretly have loved that.
Years ago I wrote about my hairdresser then. She had more to do than my hairdresser now.
I went and saw her one day and realised I’d chosen the wrong time. Fergie was getting married to the porky ‘prince’ and all the ladies were glued to the telly, ooh-ing and aah-ing.
Bloody ‘Royal Family’ mania!
I can come back later, I offered.
No, its fine, she fibbed and set to trimming my locks, out of view of the Pomp-ing Ceremony.
Have you seen!? she asked in her pronounced Affies or Dirkie Uys accent.
No, not really interested, said anti-monarchist me.
Ag, Saah-ra looked so beautiful as she stepped out of the cart, she gushed.
~~~oo0oo~~~
– home hairdresser with Tiger –
Now my CURRENT hairdresser is something else. Saw her yesterday. Much less to do, but hey!
Presses her boobs against me; Stands with her thighs on either side of mine; Pats me tenderly; Fusses over me; Quite a performance. And charges me nothing! FREE haircuts for me.
A 17-month-old Bengal tiger has caught the attention of the whole country after somehow escaping from his owners’ Ford F250 bakkie on Monday night. He is now roaming about somewhere between Groblersdal and Delmas – which is very far from Bengal.
His owners Goosey (51) and Rosa (45), hope he will arrive at their smallholding at Endicott near Springs on Wednesday, though how he will do that without GPS they don’t say. Oh, and they don’t have a permit for the tiger.
According to Rosa, anyone who spots him should point a stick at him and say “NO!” That’s Tiger 101, everyone knows that. He’ll probly still eat you, but with some regret as you would have reminded him of Rosa. She also suggested you give him some chicken to eat. He’ll probly still eat you, but with some regret as he will have had a meat starter.
Sersant Wilson of Grobbies also chimed in with more dodgy advice: “If the permit-less tiger is spotted, people are asked to phone the local police station immediately.”
Well! No wonder they can’t find it!! Everyone knows a tiger is STRIPED, fgdsake!
I can just see Sersant Wilson’s konstabels tip-toeing thru the bush, seeing Panjo and saying voetsek wena! as they continue their search for a spotted creature!
~~~o0o~~~
For a little while the whole of South Africa knew where Groblersdal was. Sort-of: That place you must avoid; there’s a tiger on the loose! One old fellow, when warned there was a tiger around said, ‘Yes, he knows, that’s why he’s carrying a stick. It’s not cos he can’t walk without a stick!’ One lovely lady, asked what she would do if the tiger came to her house, said she’d buy chicken from her neighbour who sells chickens, then quickly dress up in her best so she’d look good when the TV cameras arrived.
Panjo was finally found on the farm Swartkoppies in Verena. The tiger’s spoor had first been picked up by ace tracker Johnson Mhlanga from Singita in Mpumalanga, then by ace tracking dog Zingela, a Weimeraner whose forebears came from Germany aus. He and his owner Conrad (forebears also aus Germany?) work in Sabi Sands Game Reserve, where they track wounded game.
– Zingela – hopefully he was also given some chicken –
So Panjo didn’t find his way home to Endicott near Springs; he had to be fetched and driven there. I hope he thanked Zingela and gave him half his KFC. Or some bratwurst at least.
~~~oo0oo~~~
voetsek wena – be off with you; shout it confidently, but he’ll probly still eat you
TomTom has to keep a holiday diary for school. Daily entries. Verbally he can be quite verbose. When a story can be told in ten words, he can take twenty, then repeat them in case you weren’t listening.
So we went shopping and walked for miles in Westwood centre, then drove to the Pavilion, looking for soccer collectable cards and an album. Plus we had Kentucky Fried chicken and a Tab, bought plasters for him and disprins for me. And he listened to music on his headphones in the kombi.
In his diary he wrote: I have soka cards frommy Dad. That was it.
Earlier, we had arranged to go to the Palmiet River* at the bottom of our road. Aitch was out, so I told TomTom we should leave a note for Mom to tell her where we’d gone.
He wrote a big note. It said – in glossy silver pen: We have gone.
I insisted he say more, so he added some detail:
And we well come back – TomTom
~~oo0oo~~
*Our Palmiet fossicking turned up tadpoles, mayfly nymphs, baby frogs, freshwater shrimps and little fish fry. Maybe he’ll write about them.
So I’m dropping off Ebony and Ivory, the terrible twins, Ivory Josh and Ebony Tom, at Paula Dean’s Holiday Club, in West Virginia. Or so it sounds when the kids say it. It’s actually Westville Junior.
Also Jessie and Londeka, who is visiting her grandma Gogo Regina, our housekeeper, from Mbumbane.
On the way up the steps I remember, and mumble, that I must fill in an indemnity form for Josh.
No, Dad, we already filled in our Indignity Form, says TomTom.
As I hit ‘pay’ on my laptop internet banking and waited for the beep on my cellphone it struck me. I could picture it in my mind’s eye: The little white enamel loo roll holder in the stall in the mens toilets, Montclair Mall.
I rushed back just in case, but forget it. No sign of my little red Nokia N73. Damn! When I got back to the rooms, Feroza and Raksha – much more clear-headed than me – had already phoned it as soon as they saw me muttering and cursing. It got switched off in mid-ring.
Moertoe.
It’s 17h15, so the cell shop is closed. I go home and phone Vodacom. Sorry, our systems are down. Phone back in an hour. Or so. When I finally get them with their distingup, it’s: Sorry, I MUST PHONE MY SERVICE PROVIDER. (Vodacom! You don’t train your poor call centre people! Shine up!)
I phone the Autopage after-hours number. They say they’ll block the number for me (well, in the next 24hrs they will, that is), but they can’t block the phone. I MUST GO INTO THE STORE (my pet hate words) and give them the IMEI number to do that.
Next day the Autopage store say they will only block the IMEI number after I report it to the cops but even then it will take 24 – 48 hrs. Or longer, today being Friday. There are profits to be made from phones stolen, but not from phones blocked, I guess!?
They say my insurance will need the SAPS case number, but the cops will need the ITC number first. When? When it gets blocked. Maybe Monday. I’m not happy, so they give me their P number (provider number) and I’m off to the cops right now. What do I need for the cops? Only the ITC number. Sure? Yes.
At the copshop Inspector Luthuli is helluva apologetic, but firm: Yes, he does need the ITC number, true. But he also needs the IMEI number. The computer won’t give a case number unless it is fed with both numbers.
Back to the Autopage store (grrr!), and then back to the copshop. As I get in, Inspector Luthuli is on his way out. He has grabbed a copy of Drum magazine and he’s heading off (to the loo? home? I dunno, but I call out:) Please Insp Luthuli, can you help me? He does. Batho Pele.
~~oo0oo~~
Actually, this is quite lekker. So now I’m incommunicado, as Jimmy Buffet would say. I reach for my pocket quite often: ‘I’ll just phone Aitch. I’ll just sms the Brauers. I’ll just make a note of that.’
No,
you won’t. Write it down. Use a pencil. I make a note to use
a tickey box. That will tickle people.
I’ve lost my contacts list, my notes, my sms’s, my calendar reminders, the lot. Lekker. Peaceful. ~~oo0oo~~ Now on the day that John Wayne died I found myself on the continental divide Tell me where do we go from here? Think I’ll ride into Leadville and have a few beers Think of “Red River”, “Liberty Valence” can’t believe the old man’s gone
But now he’s incommunicado Leaving such a hole in a world that believed That a life with such bravado Was taking the right way home
~~~~oo0oo~~~~
moertoe – gone to hell; down the toilet
disting – dingis; whatchamacallit
lekker – naas; nice
batho pele – batho pele means putting other people first before considering your own needs, or yourself; ‘people first’
Mom n Tom choose a cake for his party: A great big rocket with a number SEVEN emblazoned in smarties on its side, a star-shaped base and gleaming red aluminium foil fins. They choose the mixing bowl, run the Kenwood, prepare the star-shaped pan and – at last – pop the first part into the pre-heated oven.
It’s a hot, muggy day and Aitch plops down into a chair in the breakfast nook and smiles at Tom.
Mom! he says, I couldn’t have done that without you!
~~~~oo0oo~~~~
It gets worse. Later on he thinks of something and goes up to Aitch.
Mom, what treat can I get for helping you? he asks.
Hmmm, says Aitch, always sharper than me in dealing with the kids’ manipulations, Who’s cake is this?
Mine.
So what do I get for helping YOU?
A hearty handshake, says the incorrigible one, without missing a beat, and goes running off chuckling.