It’s been a hectic few weeks after our house move. There’s been a lot going on at home, at school and at work. That’s why when the opportunity to get away to the cottage for the weekend popped up, we jumped at the chance.
Right now, I’m next to the braai with a beagle at my feet. Later, I intend to be in bed for a long, long time, and beyond that, aside from walking on the beach, I have very little planned.
Expect photos tomorrow perhaps.
Perhaps.
… a beginners go-to guide.
I’m always getting questions about the beagle and ways in which it could possibly be useful. Usually, I’m completely lost as to how to provide any truthful answer to those asking, but it seems that I might actually have stumbled upon a potential application for said canine: sports betting.
I don’t do much sports betting, and when I do, it’s just for fun, rather than trying to make any huge profit from it. The thrill of predicting the win or the result or the scorer is what I’m after, not enough cash to feed the family for the rest of the month. Mostly, anyway. But I’ve never put any money on golf before. I have limited interest in watching lots of (predominantly) American men trying to stroke their balls as few times as possible. However, that was before I caught sight of Bryson Dechambreau (French name, American bloke) and his weird swing. Careful now.
I asked resident 6000 miles… golf expert, the Tall Accountant, about him and we had a short but informative exchange about who might or might not win the US Masters golf tournament. I came out of that conversation with 2 names in mind: Mr OfBedroomWater* and last year’s winner and competition favourite (and husband of Wayne Gretzky’s daughter) (just google it) Dustin “DJ” Johnson. Probably no point betting on either of those though, because one wasn’t going to win and the other was too big a favourite and when he did win (spoiler: he didn’t), you’d get R3.50 back for your efforts. So I chose two other non-American names at random (apart from them not being American, obviously): Canada’s Corey Conners and Japan’s Hideki Matsuyama. But then again, there’s no point in betting on all of them to win because that can’t happen, and so I decided to allow the beagle to choose what I should do. However, simply asking the beagle which one of these competitors was worthy of my hard-earned cash seemed to fall – quite literally – upon deaf ears. It’s not like the beagle ever listens to me anyway, unless there’s food involved. And that was the thought that gave me my great idea: I’d get an answer using a system not dissimilar to the Paul the Octopus thing during the 2010 World Cup.
I assigned each of my would-be heroes to a equally sized piece of bacon-flavoured beagle biscuit and placed them carefully on the floor in the kitchen. Corey Conners got snaffled well before the official start due to my foolish trust of the beagle, and had to be replaced. But then, with the kitchen door closed and the beagle on one side of it and the biscuits on the other, I reacquainted myself one more time with each of the crunchy golfers and then released the hound.
And there was no question of who the beagle was going for – making a direct bee-(gle)-line straight to Mr Matsuyama before immediately gobbling down Messrs Conners, Johnson and BonjourCavaBienMerciEtToi.
And that’s why my money went on the Japanese guy who would eventually, some 3½ days later, win the 2021 US Masters Golf Competition and win me untold riches. Well done beagle, well done Mr Matsuyama, well done me.
So, should you be struggling over a decision involving this sort of thing, please just remember that in 2016, a crack commando dog was sent to prison by a veterinary court for a crime it didn’t commit. This dog promptly escaped from a maximum security kennel to the Cape Town Southern Suburbs underground.
Today, still wanted by the SPCA it survives as a soldier of fortune and snorfer of biscuits.
If you have a sports betting problem, if no one else can help – and if you can find it – maybe you can hire… My Beagle.
Beagle is only available when not napping.
Applicant must supply own biscuits.
Past performance in no indicator of future success.
Winners know when to stop.
Other terms and conditions may apply.
* a rough translation
A few short lines to document my thoughts today.
The goose drank wine.
Anyone else look at the title and have memories of The Clapping Song evoked? Yeah. Me too.
The beagle has lost its bark.
Yep. The beagle has a sore throat: a bacterial infection that was headed towards pneumonia before the vet and some antibiotics kicked into action in the early hours of Monday morning. There’s been some decent improvement today, but it’s still pretty glum about the whole situation. We’ll all be much happier when the beagle is bouncing around and chatting to its neighbourhood friends once again.
In Co-Amoxiclav We Trust.
Ramaphosa is addressing the nation this evening.
It was going to be at 7pm, but then there was this:
All the best, Noxolo.
There’s been much speculation about the contents of Ramaphosa’s speech. There are a couple of public holidays on the way and we have an incoming third wave due at some point (although our R=0.92 right now). So why is he bothering to talk at all? Will he close the beaches? Will he ban alcohol sales? Will he allow (much) greater numbers of people to attend religious gatherings? And if so, why? We have plans for the weekend. I’m sincerely hoping he doesn’t ruin them with some crappy pointless temporary legislation.
I have different music for different occasions.
No surprises there: you can’t reasonably expect to get away with Slipknot at your Granny’s tea-party. But moreover, I have different music for just me. Like this:
I’m still doing a lot of DIY around the house.
New lights here and there – and especially there. New sockets in the kitchen. New bathroom furniture. A touch of gardening. Some lying on my beanbag (not strictly DIY as we know it, but I did choose to do it myself). It feels like a never ending list. There’s some painting to do tomorrow. I can’t wait.
Unusual cover versions can actually be quite good.
I mean, Elbow’s Independent Woman is right up there. And here’s Future Islands covering Tina Turner.
Because, why not?
OK. Just a few things you need to know about the last 24 hours.
Firstly, after a drive down to Agulhas and lighting the braai, I indulged in a selection of Milk Stout, Carling Black Label, a Hidden Valley Pinotage from 2015 and a Carel Nel brandy nightcap. Delicious, from start to finish. Especially the finish.
And then I fell asleep. And I slept for 12 hours.
This is very, very unusual for me. I’m one of those people that is more likely to sleep for 1.2 hours than 12 hours.
But it’s been a hectic, stressful few weeks and I clearly needed a bit of rest. Like 12 hours of it.
And then, without any feeling of guilt at all, I lazed around for what was left of the morning, before wandering down onto the beach with the beagle and my daughter. 4km of windswept, sandblasted walking later (the last km of which I had to carry the exhausted, windswept sandblasted beagle, because it had simply given up).
And then a quick cycle around the village. Again, in the wind. So much wind.
My legs are like jelly and I have completely earned this Windhoek Draught chaser and this upcoming Swartest of Swart labels. And the phat ribeye steak which is calling my name from the braai.
Tomorrow: more relaxing, and then a leisurely drive home.
Hope I remember which house to go to.
Well, I mean, apart from this one.
Long day. Painting (no, not the peach study) (yet), gardening, bathing the beagle, sorting the storeroom… stuff.
And then a braai with a disappointing steak. Not my fault.
Silk purse; sow’s ear.
More tomorrow. Of all of the above. But actually maybe not the steak or the beagle bath.