We Put This Thermometer In The Sun In Cape Town. You Won’t Believe What Happened Next.

It’s a hot day in Cape Town. This happens fairly regularly around this time of year, this being Cape Town and it being summer. Today was meant to get to 38 or 39ºC, depending on whom you chose to believe. But when we hung a calibrated and certified thermometer out of our lab window, we got a temperature of 41.1ºC.

This was in the shade, but it was obviously not in a Stevenson Screen – the official vented white box, 1.5m from the ground, which provides the standard conditions (in the shade, out of the wind, away from surfaces radiating heat etc) for measuring weather. But we don’t have a Stevenson Screen. We were just messing around hanging a thermometer out of a second floor window while we should have been working eating our lunch.

And then we hung it in the sun. Now, to be in the sun, it did have to be a bit closer (within 30cm, perhaps) to a wall which had also been in the sun, but still – if you were where the thermometer was at 12:46pm this afternoon, this is what you would have been experiencing:

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Blimey.

So no, despite my scientific leanings, this wasn’t scientific.
But our quick and dirty experiment does seem to indicate that Cape Town is bloody hot today.

Drink much, stay safe.

Arrow man

This is impressive. Very, very impressive.

I like watching things in slow motion: you see details that you’d never previously considered; you can see what’s actually happening.

Byron Ferguson obviously has an amazing talent – his brain and body working almost robotically to detect his target, calculate its trajectory, then aim and fire an arrow from an old-fashioned, homemade bow in milliseconds – but I’m not sure how impressed I would be if I was to go to one of his shows. In real time, and without the close-up shot, there’s a certain degree of optical dexterity and even trust required to see and believe what Byron does.

That’s not to suggest that what he does isn’t incredible. It really is. But for me, the camerawork and the images it produces are even more amazing.

Drop the Bass

I’m obviously too old to go out clubbing these days. Hey, I was never even hardcore enough to beat up a cleaner in a car park or urinate on a taxi driver from a balcony, so maybe I wouldn’t have fitted in to the local scene anyway. However, I’ve been doing some rudimentary research and it seems that I’m actually still allowed to enjoy the music and be aware of the currently popular genres.

Thus, I was very amused by a recent spoof article, which uses zeitgeist language and convention to poke fun at those who use social media and the internet to demonstrate their over-sensitivity.

I feel like it is not my body anymore.
They can never say or do anything to make this up to me.
She was still distressed the following day and was allowed to go home early from her job.

That wasn’t the spoof article, by the way. That’s a real story (albeit in the Daily Mail).
Be upset? Fine.
Be annoyed? Absolutely.
Get in touch with all the national newspapers over a simple mistake? Get a grip, luv.

But anyway, back to the dancefloor – and this:

A local clubber who was left “embarrassed and ostracized” when he threw his hands up too early during an extended trance drop has decided to sue the club for emotional distress. Johnathan Entwhistle is taking legal action against the nightclub, which cannot be named for legal reasons.

It’s funny, because it rings so very true.

Fellow clubbers reported on the initial premature fist pump claiming, “We were so embarrassed for him. He looked so smug and “in the know” when he fist pumped. But when the beat didn’t kick in he just looked like a bemused, out of place, fool,” recounted one clubber. “He’s a good looking guy but after seeing that I find the notion of sex with him laughably unlikely, and I have very low standards.”

Very clever. But, as “Mr Entwhistle’s lawyers” point out, society now forbids us to go against convention, as the DJ on that fateful night chose to do:

“We’ll take this all the way to Native Instruments if we have to. You can’t just go against years of tradition and expect to get away with it. This isn’t just some tradition you can throw away as useless like Catholicism, or monogamy.”

Eina. But if there was ever a career where convention overrules all other considerations, it’s surely club DJ’ing. People love the music and the culture for its repetitiveness, its familiarity and its reliability:

Very good. “Davincii”? Hmm. I wonder who they’re poking fun at there.

50 Shades of John Summers

Submitted by email as “something you might like” – and shared because “they were right”.
Thanks, you-know-who.

I’m not one for jumping on bandwagons, but I did enjoy this short poem and everyone else is doing it, so why can’t we? (Jump on the 50 Shades bandwagon, not… well… you know…)

The missus bought a paperback
down Shepton Mallet way,
I had a look in her bag;
…T’was “Fifty Shades of Grey”.

Well I just left her to it,
…At ten I went to bed.
An hour later she appeared;
The sight filled me with dread…

In her left hand she held a rope;
And in her right a whip!
She threw them down on the floor,
And then began to strip.

Well fifty years or so ago;
I might have had a peek;
But Mabel hasn’t weathered well;
She’s eighty four next week.

Watching Mabel bump and grind;
Could not have been much grimmer.
Things then went from bad to worse;
She toppled off her Zimmer!

She struggled up upon her feet;
A couple minutes later;
She put her teeth back in and said…
I must dominate her!!

Now if you knew our Mabel,
You’d see just why I spluttered,
I’d spent two months in traction
For the last complaint I’d muttered.

She stood there nude, naked like;
Bent forward just a bit…
I thought oh well, what the hell,
and stood on her left tit!

Mabel screamed, her teeth shot out;
My god what had I done!?
She moaned and groaned then shouted out:
“Step on the other one!”

Well readers, I can’t tell no more;
About what occurred that day.
Suffice to say my jet black hair,
Turned Fifty Shades of Grey.

And no, contrary to popular belief, this isn’t by poet Pam Ayres, but it’s very much her style, so I can see where the confusion might arise. It’s actually by a guy called John Summers, of whom I know nothing more.

And now, no more 50 shades of anything on here. Probably.

Beagles continue to follow me

They’re everywhere. If it’s not enough that there’s a real one at home, anything and everything beagle-related is now being sent to me by an ever increasing number of contacts, twitter followers and blog readers. The morning after the night before (the Westminster Dog Show) was particularly gruelling.

Here’s the latest:

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Which, given my new-found culinary prowess (i.e. I didn’t kill those friends that came round for dinner), has given me a wonderful idea for the braai this weekend.

Break out the Hendo’s!