Wonderful world of wildlife

On my walk with the dogs this morning, it was just light enough for me to see, through the mist rising off the dam, a Purple Heron sitting perfectly still. It was a wonderful picture but as I took a few moments to take in the magical scene, I wondered if birds or animals were actually doing what we thought they were doing. So if you could start reading in your best David Attenborough voice, here goes…

David: And here, on the banks of this urban dam, we see a Purple Heron, Ardea purpurea. Using the early morning mist as camouflage, it’s patiently hoping for an unsuspecting Oreochromis niloticus to swim within striking distance. Then, with a lightening fast strike, it will insert its beak into the body of the fish, killing it instantly.

Purple heron: Crap, it’s so cold this morning I can hardly move.

David: This has to be one of the most spectacular sights on our planet – the annual migration of millions of plains antelope across the Serengeti. Over millennia, this primal instinct is as regular as a porcupine on a high-fibre diet. Majestic. Unbelievable. It’s an incredible display of nature battling the elements.

Zebras: Foooooooooood!

David: In an elaborate greeting, the lesser Flumber bird of Borneo shakes its head and rolls its eyes to show it’s not an aggressor and that it understands its place in the sophisticated hierarchy dominated by elder matriarchs.

Flumber bird: Hey Bob. You don’t understand what’s going on in my head right now. I’m hanging so badly – I’m never doing jungle juice again. Ever.

David: In a life-and-death struggle, these two kudu bulls are using every ounce of their strength to overcome the other. To the untrained eye this is a tussle for superiority and perhaps, even, the right to mate but it’s more than that. The horns, curved and majestic, when knocked together make the sound of G sharp, warning other competitors, in no uncertain terms, to ‘stay away’.

Big kudu: It’s easy. Say ‘uncle’ and you can have Doris.

David: And, in what is the most important time in any animal’s life, the male marmoset must show his female that he’s worth enduring the prolonged and utterly boring mating procedure that involves a curious spitting ritual and the unnecessary flaunting of his inflamed eyeballs.

Marmoset: OMG that curry was hot!

Masterchef Randburg

In my next life I’m sure I’ll enjoy cooking. That’s because I’ll have married a rich person who can afford all the ingredients required to cook awesome food. And the cost of a 3-star Michelin chef to have at my beck and call.

My cooking style has been labelled ‘nouveau single mom’ and is usually a scintillating fusion of ‘viande du porc avec le potatoes mashed with a jus of packet gravy’. Although I do remember that one night I whipped up a pretty good chicken stirfry. I think the Saturn was in retrograde or something but I was certainly never able to replicate it.

There were evenings when, as I served dinner to my daughter, I really felt quite sorry for her and fully understood why she liked to have dinner at my sister’s house so much.  However, I have to admit that, as hormones kicked in, my cooking would reflect the way she behaved (or didn’t) so it devolved into a kind of revenge cuisine. I’m only joking, I’d never been that mean. I mean, I didn’t actually set out to cook badly – it comes naturally – but I was just less apologetic when I did.

Now weirdly and in a strange twist of fate (Saturn had moved into the seventh quadrant) I’ve become a keen watcher of Masterchef Australia.  I don’t understand a lot of what they’re doing, what they’re doing it with, and have no actual interest in wanting to try, but it’s somehow fascinating. Like a mongoose and a snake fascinating. 

The show is generally on while I’m cooking, which means that, while Gary is yelling, ‘Come on, come on, cook from your heart – you’ve only got 3 minutes to go’ and the poor little mongooses are yelling, ‘Yes chef’, I’m rustling up my 2-minute noodle surprise. And it’s then that I wonder what they’d say if they could see what was happening on my stove.

Matt (sliding a look of unfeigned disgust to Gary): “Well, this is interesting!”

George: “I love the way she’s deconstructed the meal in such a way that it looks like an explosion on the plate. I don’t think our theme was ‘Downtown Damascus’ was it, Matt?”

Matt: “No and, my god, and I think she’s used every utensil in the house to make the dish. It’s actually quite impressive really.”

Gary: “I’ll give her points for not over cooking the noodles but that’s about all. I mean, tuna and marmite. That’s bold.”

George (gagging slightly): “A real statement.”

Don’t get me wrong – I love delicious food. And if you’re ever in the kitchen with me, you can ask me to chop a carrot or an onion but please just don’t ask me to cook it.  

Incy Wincy - 2014

Incy wincy spiders, hiding in a box,
Stuck their little headses out and gave poor Shirley shocks,
Out came the Doom and sprayed them all away
Those incy wincy spiders never lived another day.

~  For my friend Shirley who is packing up her mum's house and discovering that the spiders who have been bravely guarding 1982's bank statements without thought of recompense, don't like being disturbed. 

P.S. Before you label her a heartless arachno-killer, no spiders were (intentionally) harmed in the making of this rhyme - she's too scared to get near them.

Sing a song

Sing a song of Zumas
A pocket full of wives
Four-and-twenty tollgates all wrapped up in lies
When the gates were open
And money flowed on in
Wasn't that an Austrian dish to set before the king.

The Unfit Diaries 13 - The Med it ain't

Been there, swum that, got the t-shirt (XL). 

Because the whole swimming world had decided to do the swim (the first of the season), the only accommodation left was a campsite in Bakgatla. (Did they just use the Afrikaans words 'bak' and 'gat' and then add an 'la' to make it sounds ethno? Mmm.)  The morning dawned clear after a late-night shower but quite noisily with Riley and Robin being chastised by their parents loudly and repeatedly. 

After successfully avoiding the ablution blocks (I'm too old for sharing open loos), we herded the teenage cats and a sleepy Danny cat into the car, packed goggles, towels, snacks and set off through the Pilanesberg. And, sod's law, we saw everything - baby jackals, an ellie right next to the road, rhino etc but we couldn't stop longer than for a cursory glance as we were on a mission.

The lawn was already a hive of activity with bodies of all shapes and sizes getting numbered up and sun screened up all over the place.  I couldn't get over how many people were there - we were literally sitting on the lawns cheek by jowl - some of which were not very nice to look at - the jowls especially. 

I must say that when I saw the course I was pretty intimidated. It looked so very far and felt that my training had been pretty inadequate. All too soon it was time for the white caps to get into the (cold) water and wait for the starter's gun.

Bang! And we were off. The water churned as if there was a school of piranha attacking a two-day old dead cow.  I don't know if someone told the old biddies there was a cup of tea and a cucumber sandwich at the finish but the savagery with which they attacked the water was quite intense. 

By the time I could put my head in the water safely, the water was pretty gruesome.  You couldn't see more than about a metre and I suppose, in retrospect, that was probably a good thing. It was quite difficult getting into any kind of rhythm as you were either swimming into someone or someone was trying to swim over you. I soon gathered there were no niceties when it comes to open water swimming - unless perhaps you are Sam or Cameron and you have armed guards beating off the opposition.

We passed the first buoy and set off on the long swim. I moved over to the side to escape the insanity and soon was swimming in calm waters. How nice I thought to myself. Open water, the sun warm on my back, I was feeling good. This carried on for a while until I decided to check on where the next buoy was. To my horror I discovered the reason for the open water. I was so far off course I may as well have been in my own race.  Cursing, I had to make a 90° turn and swim back to the rest of the biddies.  As I reached them things took a turn for the worse.

The green caps of the girls 13 and under were coming through the field and with no respect for their elders, they mowed a swathe through us leaving a pod of white cappers gasping and spluttering.

I was very well behaved until I saw the finish. The little shits in the green caps were behaving as though I was one of their rivals in a catfight for the attentions of the rugby captain and I started to kick like I was warding off an attack from a great white and thrashing my arms like there were bees in the water. I think the only thing that I succeeded in doing was looking like a dork or a drowning wildebeest.

(Time was 41 mins, place was 24th in my category - I was well satisfied.)

Unfit 12 - The Disheartened Salmon

It's pretty disheartening to see how quickly one loses one's fitness levels. Two and a half month's ago I was swimming 3.5km a day and it was a breeze - except for the day we swam into a gale force wind and the waves were pretty dramatic - and today I'm swimming 1.5km and struggling.

I am in training for the Dis-chem Sun City Swim and had forgotten how much you heat up when you're swimming faster than the average amoeba and how infuriating it is when your goggles mist up (or is it eyeball sweat?).  Compound this with my heavily-tinted sunglasses and swimming becomes very interesting especially if you're sharing a lane. Ghostly shapes loom out of the dark waters like the mythical creature in the pool at the bottom of Howick Falls (but with less teeth) and I have had to become pretty good at swerving out of the way at the last minute to avoid head-on collisions.

The pool at our gym is in the process of being renovated, so I have been forced to other waters. When I did my usual 'let me get in the pool quickly before anyone notices the whale in a Speedo' scuttle and leap into the pool, I quickly discovered two things: it was way colder and way deeper. Once I had recovered from the coughing attack due swallowing more than triple the RDA of chlorine, I set off. Up, down, up, down, and by about the 20th lap on the down swim it felt like I was swimming so slowly that I may, in fact, be going backwards. 

I did a quick check to see that my arms were still moving and carried on feeling more than a little despondent at the deterioration of my swimming skills. The next time I went, I was in the same lane and set off with teeth gritted in determination and a stiff upper lip (not a good look) and it happened again.  About lap 10 I realized why that lane was generally empty. It was the one with the jets which meant I was effectively swimming upstream on my back swim.

I carried on swimming, making extra efforts on the back swim to try and counteract the effect of the riptide. By lap 40, with the sweat positively dripping off my eyeballs, I suddenly realised what it must be like to be a salmon. You swim, leap a rapid, swim, leap another rapid, miss the grizzly bear, leap a rapid, swim round a rock, dodge another claw leap a rapid. And for what? No medal, no sexy Mrs Salmon waiting to have her fishy way with you - just certain death. I could quite understand why some choose to leap straight into the grizzly's mouth. After all, who wants die in a pool of sperm and eggs? No-one who would admit to it in polite company anyway. 

Unfit 11 - the swim continues

Now that reality has returned and I'm no longer basking in the glow of sunburn, I decided to keep swimming and signed up for the Dischem Sun City swim. 

I entered the 1 500m swim and not a week later came the news that Cameron van der Burgh was joining me on the swim.  He's probably just checking out the competition - although I think he should remember we're in different categories. He's going to have to pick up his game (and weight) if he's going to get into my league.  Then it was Roger Finch and Sam Cowen joining too. Clearly I've ruffled a few bathing caps in the swimming world but, hey, that's how I roll. Literally.

I went to swim last night and because I sweetly gave my sister my other goggles (I persuaded her to do the 600m fun swim), I swam in my tinted/mirror ones. They are great when the sun is streaming into the pool but it's quite disconcerting at night. Even with the pool lights, the water is almost black and I confess to having swum into the wall a few times. Like I don't need the extra humiliation.

I looked on enviously as little people got coached on how to breathe properly without corkscrewing their bodies completely. Maybe I'll have to invest in a couple of lessons so that my back doesn't go into spasm after every swim. And, oh, for ear plugs that don't leak.