Zomgwtf aaarghhhh! I mean – hello.
So today began and it felt like one of those days. You know those days, when you should stay home, not operate heavy machinery, just hide in a blanket fort or something.
I couldn’t though, I had Things To Do. No complaints though; as you know, an Englishman’s home is his blanket fort, and I spend otaku amounts of time in mine. Also, I’d run out of cigarettes, so it was unavoidable.
Off I went, coat over my head to avoid the paparazzi, leopard crawl to the car aaaand here we go. Usual slalom to avoid the fecking potholes that revert to being potholes within three weeks every time they get fixed, then on to the main drag. They’ve been doing roadworks on it forever and it’s been intense lately. There were six stop-goes between me and my destination. Six! Had to drive at about 60kmph all the way, which btw is half the speed limit. Anyway, I’m good at waiting and don’t do road rage (only passive aggressively, as dogsarebestpeople would tell you – more road snark), so I muttered to myself on a very superficial level. I listened to the crapulous local radio station, pondered things and kept my window open and my elbow resting on it in blazing sunshine. I waved and smiled to the road workers, because let’s face it, that’s a very shitty minimum wage job (min wage here translates to $1).
My first stop went smoothly, I got everything done and even had a nice natter with a nice woman I know. Next stop – petrol. All the pumps were full, so I idled idly at the back of the queue patiently, enjoying the sunshine. And a minibus full of tourists, pulling a trailer full of their luggage, pulled in behind me and scraped my car. The bus driver and I hopped out of our respective vehicles and, clearly a fan of offence being the best defence, he said, why didn’t you move?! Me. Why didn’t I move. Why didn’t I move? Where the hell was I supposed to move to …etc. We managed to end the exchange in an adult way though. I yelled fuck off and he yelled no you fuck off back. (I said adult, not mature.) Anyhoo, I photographed his plates and my damage and I’ll contact the tour company.
The interesting thing, was that I felt zero anxiety and still don’t. That means that my amygdala was content to leave the frontal lobe in charge – it generally only does that in serious crises. With your background of trauma, anxiety will always be an issue, says my shrink. Anxiety is weird. Four shots fired over my head, not a problem. Deal with admin, every molecule trembles. My mother used to say I should have gone to war, because it’d suit me far better than normalcy.
I did the rest of the things I needed to do and, cunningly armed with a pie and a can of mountain dew (in honour of Daniel Johnston), I tootled off homewards, feeling pretty relaxed. Radio on and they played Gimme Hope Jo’anna (Eddy Grant) which sent me off into the dusty thing I call my memory. When I was a young ‘un … Jo’anna is Johannesburg and the song is a very catchy tune plus very sharp and focused lyrics protesting apartheid. The (National Party) govt banned it here in the late 80s, but it got played lots anyway and I can remember doing some underage drinking and uncoordinated dancing to it. Still, it was (is) quite something that he played it here in 2008 for Nelson Mandela’s 4664 birthday concert. And that’s the version I have linked you to. Please try to ignore *shudder* Kurt Darren who *shudder* ‘sings’ it with him. Complete with an attempt at a Jamaican accent, omg the shame … to hear some better South African music, try Seether. Here’s the orig demo of 69 Tea back when they were starting out here and still called Saron Gas. BUT I DIGRESS!
Musing and driving and singing when there was something to sing to, sometime after the second roadblock, the sky turned charcoal grey and a wind whipped up and whirled and battered the traffic. We get that sort of weather from waaaay further down the coast … thanks guys (though they do get it worse) … cold front following it and 68-74kmph winds. I’m digressing again. As usual. It wasn’t hugely alarming; if you live by the sea, you live with strong winds. I sorta cranked up the alert-settings and went steadily homewards, with the window up to reduce drag. One bit of the road was almost covered in tree detritus. Detreetus. Nothing major, just thin branches and leaves. I heard on the radio that a big tree had been blown over back in the city and that a truck was blown over further down the coast. I was glad to get home.
All grouchy and stuff, I went looking for Puke by Eminem, so I could growl and curse and make an ass of myself rapping in my own home. And then I saw that the Chipmunks did a version.
And the weather ain’t so bad compared to the floods in Malawi and northern Mozambique right now, and the cyclones off Madagascar. It’s alright for me anyway, in my middle class life; there are shacks and shanty towns that are going to get hit hard (again and again and again).
noel coward – mad dogs and englishmen
rufus wainwright – cigarettes and chocolate milk
beck – leopard skin pillbox hat (dylan cover)
eminem – here we go
zero 7 – in the waiting line
the supremes – stop in the name of love
seether – gasoline
koos kombuis – die groen fokkol song
michael stipe and natalie merchant – photograph
nine inch nails – somewhat damaged
queen – slightly mad
mountain dew jingle – daniel johnston
eddie grant – gimme hope jo’anna (live in cape town)
saron gas – 69 tea (demo)
morcheeba – the sea
talking heads – road to nowhere
the chipmunks – puke (eminem cover)
bob dylan – mozambique
I have awesomely deranged taste in music. I wish I didn’t default to depression so fucking much. I wish it would all