Category: emigration

How to win friends and influence people

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You may recall me mentioning my being interviewed by a journalist. That article has now been published (I made Page 7, just next to the advert for Harris’ Patented Haemorrhoid Preparation), although it’s sadly not available online anywhere just yet.
One of the comments on my last post was from June who read the article in Emigrate SA and asks if I can direct her to Expat clubs and societies in Cape Town.
This request – as well-meaning as I’m sure it is – opens up a huge can of worms.

I certainly did mention that there are a lot of Brits out here – there are. What I didn’t say was that I spent a lot of time with them – I don’t. I’m well aware that June’s situation is probably different from mine, but for me, it was rather refreshing (although certainly difficult at the same time) to get away from the British way of life and to give new things a try. (Of course I couldn’t have managed without this place!)
I recognise that’s not the way everyone wants to go, though. I actually don’t know of any specific British Expat societies in Cape Town – perhaps my readership can help me out here?
It’s always a good plan to try and meet some locals – however, that brings up another notorious obstacle: The Cape Town Clique.
I know that cliques exist everywhere, in every city all over the world, but that’s a girlie thing – it’s genetic, I swear. Here though, it also goes for the blokes as well. Yikes. I’ve never quite worked it out, but I guess that it’s got a lot to do with the way the populations were kept apart during Apartheid. This created a bit of a white enclave in the Southern Suburbs of Cape Town and that small-town mentality has never really gone away. It’s all about what school you went to, where you play golf and who you know from “Varsity”. And we all know that most guys are pretty backward at coming forward when meeting other guys , which just exacerbates the problem. Before we go any further and I alienate all those friends I have made (heaven forbid that I should upset [name] again *grin*), let me tell you guys that you are obviously the exception that proves the rule. That said, I have had to pretend to have gone to one of eight different schools, depending on who I’m out with that night.

The point I’m trying to make is that you do have to work very hard to make new friends in Cape Town. And for me, that’s even more reason to make the effort to break the barriers and not stick to “your own kind”. After all, that’s what caused this problem in the first place, right?

In other news, I love medical science (although as a career choice, it could pay more, please).
Great news from friends on IVF yesterday (go guys!) and very promising signs from this little fellow too.

We’re holding thumbs for you both.

Back to the future (sort of)

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I found a web-based version of HG Wells’ infamous Time Machine (thanks Ender) which has allowed me to relive certain moments of my life over the last 4 years. Sadly for you, it also means that I can let you relive them too, and thus the slow and tedious task of putting all that archived material together into a W3C compliant, user-friendly format has begun. Or at least, has been thought about being begun.

In other news, friend of 6000 miles, dear Manto, is rather ill. Her doctor suggests, among other problems that she is suffering from severe anaemia. I can sympathise – it’s the damn mosquitoes – at the moment, each night is like a bloody feeding frenzy. It’s my belief that they’re draining everyone in South Africa of blood and then they’re going to take over the world. Possibly. Either that or they’re in cahoots with the SA National Blood Transfusion Service.
Although saying that, I very much doubt that the opportunity to save Manto’s life would attract many more devotees to their cause.
Anyway, a quick count here indicates that I’m currently sporting 31 bites of various sizes. I itch.
It amazes me that I have any blood left.
While getting the link for the Manto story, I came across this little gem. Astounding.
If I didn’t know differently, I’d guess that story came out of South Africa – it’s typically bizarre enough: “sharpened kite strings”, indeed…

Finally, I was interviewed last week by a British journalist working for an emigration newspaper. They’re going to do a story about me and my experiences since I moved out to Cape Town.

No-one will believe a word of it.

Laufstrupp’s there again – and that’s his hat trick!

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I had a little time to myself this weekend, which allowed me to “relax” with FIFA 07 and a cosy warm Playstation while the cold front did its worst outside.
I say “relax”, because there really is very little pleasure in watching in vain as your Hull City side succumb to yet another defeat against some 3rd division Danish nobodies.
It did remind me just how much things have changed over the past few years though. In November 2003, I was sat in the Green Ridges house, playing FIFA 04 (presumably) while it rained outside, watching in vain as my Grimsby Town side succumbed to yet another defeat against some 3rd division Danish nobodies.

The difference, of course, aside from a few miles of Lincolnshire coastline is that back in 2003, I wasn’t able to look forward to the imminent return home of my wife and child as Norgaard-Olaf Laufstrupp headed the third past the hapless collection of pixels representing my goalkeeper.
And I miss those days, sipping chilled Cotes du Rhone from a tumbler and listening to Royksopp on the CD player in the corner. But I’m very happy to be where I am now too. I guess that “where is home?” corner has been turned and the question answered. Importing a few old chums, a bit of family, some decent football teams and real ale would obviously help, but life here is generally pretty good.

Of course, life changes. Some would say not always for the better either. But I would have to disagree. I’m with the woman of my dreams, I have the world’s cutest son and the new Precision Passing feature using the R2 button has allowed Hull to look almost professional from time to time. Add to that a superb range of reasonably priced local Merlot and you have the perfect recipe to while away your weekend with only a couple of sore thumbs and a hangover to worry about.

I guess what I’m trying to say here is that it’s the little things that matter in this world.
Well, those and the big things, obviously.
Sort them out and use the R2 button more often and you’ll have a great time. I promise.