Who do you support?

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Following England’s magnificent ICC Champions Trophy victory over South Africa in Centuwiwon last night, they find themselves in the semi-finals while the hosts find themselves dumped out of the competition. And I find myself with a bucketload of upset Saffas all over my England-supporting back.
Which is actually a bit unfair.

I will (and do) support South Africa at any sporting occasion unless they are playing England. And I feel that that is a more than reasonable way of going about things. The argument that “if you’re going to live here, you must support South Africa full stop” just doesn’t cut it.
After all, if you were going overseas, would you suddenly stop supporting the Boks?  Of course not.

And I have to take the rough with the smooth. And there’s been a lot of rough since I moved over here. The 2007 Rugby World Cup would be one notable bit of rough. But while I was unhappy that England lost, I was at least magnanimous in defeat. Mostly, anyway.


Flying the flag on my car this morning

My only gripe about SA sport and SA supporters is the hint of arrogance that has crept in since their recent successes in cricket and rugby. It’s not pleasant to see and it’s unfortunate. The Boks “Justice 4” campaign, when they tried to suggest that they were bigger than the game, is a good example. It detracts from achievements on the field and they were lucky to get away as lightly as they did.

The arrogance comes when teams and fans get used to winning. You see it in sport, you see it in politics, you see it in business.
It makes losing harder to take. But that’s still no excuse.  
Last night, the world’s number one ODI team was wholly outplayed by a spirited England side. Beaten fair and square. Anyone claiming otherwise is nothing more than a sore loser.

Bit distracted

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Sorry if I seem a bit distracted this evening.
It’s kind of tough to write a blog post when your wife is constantly (garage) waving stuff at you asking where things must (loft) go because she is (bin) determined to complete her spring cleaning effort – filing the last boxes of “stuff” which was stored (bin) in various cupboards all around the house, but which now fill up the cupboards in your new (study) study. I’ve even been made to give up Mythbusters just as they were about to blow up a house full of popcorn with a giant laser. Seriously.

The only saving grace is the Ingwe Reserve 2005 (Platter ****½) and a slab of Bournville chocolate which are not only saving grace, but have mellowed me out enough that my wife has also been saved, despite her contant (garage) (bin) (bin) and rather annoying (cupboard) (no clue) (bin) interruptions. Just up to here has taken about half an hour. And I type fast.

I’ve just been up to switch Alex’s reading light out to find him fast asleep on his new ruler, which he is ever so proud of as it has an outline of Africa on it and he can point to the Cape Town because “we’re in the bottom corner”. I like to think that I am a father who takes an interest and knows a lot about his kids, but it was news to me that the distance from my son’s ear to the corner of his mouth is approximately 110mm.
One lives, one learns. 

One of the few notable finds of the evening, aside from the exact dimensions of my son’s face, was a couple of photo CDs from 2003, including pictures taken when I was on my “reccie” visit to Cape Town in October of that year.

Here’s a rare photo of me on Llandudno beach on my second ever day in South Africa. I looked so young.
But that was six years ago, before the African sun and the stresses and strains of two children got to me. Looking through the photos, no effort was spared by my then girlfriend in an effort to tempt me into emigrating to SA.
Of course, her hard work paid off and I moved down here 3 months later. The rest – as they say – is history.

Most of which is now being stored in the (loft).

Nice weather…

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…for ducks.


Bigger duck photo

Anyone who was foolish enough to believe that spring has arrived in Cape Town was put firmly in their place by a grey day packed full of precipitation. Although I’m now fully moved into my new study, I am yet to actually enjoy the view of the Constantiaberg mountains as I was promised, since they have been covered in cloud all week.
Unless someone has stolen them. This is, after all, South Africa. Although a quick look at the recently released crime statistics shows that our “precinct” (for that is what they are divided into) is safer to be in than at any point since 2003. Well done SAPS.

All of which is very nice.

But I’m digressing when what I really want to do is go to bed and watch some Spanish footy.

More thoughts on god and the plane crash

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The Times (dead tree press edition) continues coverage of the Durban plane crash with news that Alistair Freeman, the pilot of the ill-fated aircraft and Ebrahim Mthetwa, the now infamous Municipal Worker, are currently in hospital in a critical condition, while the co-pilot (female) (just sayin’) and the other crew member are in a stable. Which seemed like an odd place for them to be until I read the next line: “condition in hospital”.
I should read ahead more often.

Best wishes for a speedy recovery to each of them. But all that is incidental.

Firstly, before we wade into further heavy religious debate, let’s hear what Andre Smit “a private pilot with 20 years of experience” (although it doesn’t say in what) has to offer:

The pilot is to be commended. For him to come over all those houses to land shows true airmanship. His ability to fly is almost a miracle.

The pilot’s “miracle” ability to fly has, on this occasion, failed to impress me.
His ability to crash is truly awesome though.

“Emotional resident” Santosh Ramnarain has lost the plot though. Once again, here is an example of someone who can’t see the wood for the trees. Speaking (again) of the Pilot, Santosh tells us:

This man is a hero and God has to save him because he saved us. My whole family could have died in an instant if he did not act so quickly.

Santosh – who caused this accident? Well, if you believe in him and you believe in his omnipotence – and you obviously do, since you’re asking him to intervene in the pilot’s recovery – then god did! Don’t you see?

So, while you’re asking the big guy upstairs to save Captain Freeman, the whole plane crash thing was his idea in the first place.
Couldn’t he rather just have cut out the middleman and let Captain Freeman have a ordinary, undramatic and safe journey (albeit to Pietermaritzberg)?
That alternate scenario would also have resulted in the co-pilot not having two broken ankles, one broken hand and severe pelvic and chest injuries; the third crew member would not have damage to her spine and face and Mr Mthethwa would have been able to go home to his family in the evening instead of lying unconscious in a public hospital ICU bed.

That – to me at least – seems like a much nicer way of doing things.

So Santosh, maybe instead of asking god to save Captain Freeman, you should first ask him why he insisted on bringing the plane down in the first place.
Are you Bruinman in disguise? Blinkered to the crap that happens at god’s will, but giving him props for sunshine, pretty flowers and miracle pilots.

How to help a municipal worker

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Following online news reports covering this morning’s plane crash in Durban, I have gained new insight into what action to take in the unlikely event that a small twin-engined aircraft should crash-land in my neighbourhood, skidding over an unfortunate municipal worker in the process. 

ND CRASH.JPG       ND CRASH.JPG
Pictures: Gcina Ndwalane via iol.co.za

My first reaction – being trained in first aid – would have been to approach the aircraft and try and assist in whatever way I could, taking into account the dangers inherent in such a move. One of the first things I was taught by St. John (or one of his discipley people) is how not to make oneself an additional casualty in such any given incident. 

However, it would seem that in the intervening period, the rules have changed.

Logie Naidoo, said she noticed the low flying plane just after 8am. “We are used to planes flying low overhead but this was too low.”

Being at ground level? Well spotted, Logie.

“There was a very loud noise and the plane slid in between our houses through a vacant lot and into the school property,” she said.

Naidoo said a municipal worker who was cleaning the street at the time appeared to have been struck by the plane.

“I was horrified, it looked like the plane slid over one man. I started screaming and praying. It all just happened so quickly.”

Again, flawless insight. Plane crashes do tend to be pretty quick. That, I believe, is due to the combination of the effects of the aircraft’s jet engines and the seemingly relentless pull of gravity.
Slower plane crashes tend to be more controlled and are called “landings”.

But did you pick up on the important detail there?
On no account should you try to physically assist anyone in or underneath the crashed aircraft. The best response is to scream and pray.

Scream and pray.

Screaming is a good idea because the noise will alert other individuals in the area that there has been a plane crash (probably a quick one). You may find that screaming is superfluous however, since the noise of the actual plane actually crashing may have made them already realise that a plane crash has occurred.
Never mind. It’ll help to scream anyway. And pray.

Praying, to be honest, is less helpful in these sort of situations when you actually stop to think about it. Which you won’t, because you’re too busy screaming.
Praying suggests that you believe in some deity or higher power being responsible for the things that happen on, around and – crucially – just above this planet. That being the case, your deity or higher power has already made his/her/its mind up about the little SAA Airlinkplane that just tried to take off from Durban Airport. And about the unfortunate municipal worker underneath it. Strangely, he/she/it has also made up his/her/its mind about you as well and you get to live, presumably so you can scream and pray.

But praying at this point is the equivalent of imploring a football referee to change his mind about the red card he just gave to your teammate. The mind is made up, the decision now set in stone (or at least a school fence). And your continued protests are likely to get you a yellow card. I presume that would be a mild heart attack or something similar.

But whatever you do, don’t actually go and try to help anyone. Stand there, scream and pray.
And then tell the newspapers about how you did it. You hero.