Category: the parenting bunny

Name that bird

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We were down at the Waterfront today, terrorising sealife in the aquarium, watching eco-friendly puppet shows and drinking chocolate milkshakes.
While I was enjoying a coffee at the pub [shurely shome mistake?], I spotted this little fellow, who later tried to defaecate on me. Despite consulting Sinclair, Hockey and Tarboton’s Birds of Southern Africa (which, after all, is where I are finding myself today), I have no idea what sort of bird this is – anyone able to accurately ID it for me, please?

newbird

As there is nothing to relate the size to, I can tell you that it was about… this big. And it was only while reviewing the day’s photographs this evening that I noticed that it was ringed. I’m pretty sure that makes no difference to what species it is, though.

Answers on a postcard, please.
Or just leave a comment.

World of Birds revisited

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It had been a while since we had been out to Hout Bay’s World of Birds and been crawled all over by squirrel monkeys, so we met up with friends and headed out there yesterday. Maybe it’s because we’re nearing the end of winter now and not yet into tourist season, but I have to say that the place needs some TLC desperately. Muddy paths, broken cages, damaged signs and bins, overgrown bushes. Nothing huge, but  the whole place just needed a good clean up and some work and money put in to it.
And, at R155 for the three of us (K-pu was a freebie) they should really have the money to do something about it. Although maybe they’re suffering in the credit crunch as well. Some big corporate sponsorship wouldn’t go amiss. Investec World of Birds, Woolworths World of Birds or maybe Rainbow Chickens World of Birds. Or maybe not.

That said, the animals all looked well kept, happy and healthy as ever and the kids really enjoyed themselves, and at the end of the day, I guess those are the things that are important. Thus – for me – it still remains a recommended attraction for visitors to Cape Town – especially those with kids. Alex was particularly taken by the parrots and the promise of an ice cream at the end of the visit.

I tried to get photos with the “new” camera, but it’s tough when you have your own little monkey hanging off your arm and another one chasing a turkey. Here are my best efforts. I particularly like the Kookaburra shot.
I’m no big fan of things Australian, but I’d love to taste one of them for real.

So Proud

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Any parent will tell you that when their child gets to certain milestones in their development – first sleep through the whole night, first steps etc. – it’s big news for the family and brings out jealousy in the parents of others who haven’t quite got there yet. And you want to tell the world.

But equally, the child will only reach each of these milestones once, so it’s important to make sure that you don’t jump the gun. Exactly who are you trying to kid if you think that 9 in the evening to 4 in the morning counts as “all night” or letting go of the coffee table and taking half a stumbling pace forward before falling over* means “walking”? Don’t stress – they’ll get there.

Which brings me to the point of this post, my daughter’s first word. “Mama” and “Dada” don’t count and nor does that-noise-that-sounds-a-bit-like-“apple”-if-you-pretend-that-it-sounds-like-“apple”.  Remember, you’re only fooling yourselves. And that’s why I have been waiting, anticipating what happened this morning so that I can note it down in her baby milestones book and then we can look back together in years to come and say “that was the day you said your first proper word”.

It occurred, for the record, in the kitchen at 7:48 this morning. Packed lunches were under construction for her dad and her brother and it was as I opened the fridge to get out the margarine, that little Kristen walked over, gazed up at the shelves towering in front of her, pointed to the cheese and said, with amazing clarity:

“Feck!”

I have to admit that this moment was one of the proudest of my life thus far. I was quite overcome. I rushed out of the kitchen to pass on the good news to Mrs 6000, so fast in fact, that I left the child by the open fridge (I later returned to find her chewing on some bacon).
If I’m completely honest, I was a little disappointed by my wife’s seeming lack of excitement at the momentous occasion. I thought she’d be over the moon, but instead, she just seemed a bit shocked. Perhaps she was overcome by the gravity of the moment as well. I’m sure she’s recovered now and is proudly telling all her colleagues and anyone who’ll listen that her daughter said “Feck!” this morning, just like I am.

I’m going to call my parents in the UK now. So proud.

* Just like Daddy does when he’s drunk.

Quota photo – and with good reason!

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Dinner was nice, although my son wanted me to leave a piece of freshly cooked pasta on his bedside table when I went to switch his light out this evening. I declined, because it would never have stayed there all night and it was smeared with a generous coating of olive oil. Olive oil, much like baby oil,  just never comes out of the sheets, does it?

But, to be honest, it’s gone downhill from there. I have spent the last hour with an accountant, staring at the details of this page. Now, at this point, I should at least explain that the accountant in question was Mrs 6000. And yes, I knew that she was an accountant when I married her, which just shows you how special she must be. As I complained of the latest raping of my payslip by the taxman, her eyes started to sparkle – the things that make normal people come down with a sudden case of narcolepsy make her day. Strange lass.
But even her enthusiasm did little to make a very, very dull subject any less dull. And, when it was over, the verdict was that I openly gave consent for higher percentage relations to take place and my case was thrown out of court with costs. And SARS had been proven right and I turned to the solace of red wine once again.   

And thus, onto that quota photo, which – thanks to my wittering on – now no longer really fits the standard definition, but here it is anyway.

DSC_0583

Shot by phone from Campground Road in Rondebosch on the way home yesterday evening, the shadow of Devils Peak visible in the evening sunlight through the smoke of the fires in Fishhoek.
The palm trees framed it nicely, the scaffolding less so.

Strep & Storm

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It would appear that Streptococcus has swept through our house like a sweepy thing, leaving behind it a trail of doctor’s bills and expensive antibiotics. How can something so small cost so much?
I mean, I know I have obviously asked that same question about my son (and then my daughter), but this is a damn bacterium!

Based on the fact that this – however unpleasant – is merely an infection with a prokaryotic organism, I brought my laboratory experience into play. In the lab, we have three choices when we want to kill bacteria: extreme heat (132°C, no less), sodium hypochlorite (basically bleach) or alcohol. With that in mind, and not fancying the high pressure steam or the Domestos, I am attacking my vile respiratory tract invaders with a rather decent single malt. It’s like pouring vinegar on a paper cut as it goes past my red raw throat, but I’m pretending not to notice and only thinking of the obvious benefits.
I’m hopeful that it will also aid with a good night’s sleep as well, although other factors come into play on that one. Not least the latest work on my new study. Mindful of the storm front approaching Cape Town this evening, the builders, in their infinite wisdom, decided to try and cover their ongoing work with some large, ill-fitting sheets of plastic nailed across the hastily-installed roof trusses. And that’s why we now have 25m² of flapping heavy-duty plastic right outside our bedroom window.
Bliss.
I’m almost hopeful that it gets taken away by the Northwester early on, although I’m not sure what repercussions that would have on the building work completed so far. Right now, I couldn’t care less. I just want some sleep.

Tomorrow is another day, as they say. Let’s hope it’s a whole lot better than this one was.

P.S. If you see a huge black kite flying across the Southern Suburbs, please drop me an email so that we can come and collect it and any bits of my house which happen to still be attached. Thanks.