WINE TASTING AND A WHOLE LOAD OF BULL

WINE TASTING AND A WHOLE LOAD OF BULL

I have been nagging and whining to be included in the local wine tasting group for some time, even though wine is no friend of mine, having the propensity to send me into a world of pain, but what with my depleted social life and the fact that I seem, now that I am a reborn breather, to be able to tolerate wine a lot better, I was thrilled, when the invite came through and looked forward to this treat with some enthusiasm.
I arrived promptly on time and was in consequence the first there, so I had some time to enviously enjoy their fine herd of cattle, however soon enough the others arrived, Fishy Tim and his family, a rosy faced chap with his squeeze who was in fact the ‘major domo’ of the group, thus the complexion, another chap who looked for all the world like a dwarf, a tiny fellow with huge ears, in short a cordial bunch of locals.
We stood about for a while drinking sherry while waiting for two other ladies who were late. The sun was hot, the company convivial and the sherry palatable, so we all had a quite a few glasses before we even sat down and I was feeling the effects.
I had not been fed any breakfast and had only a cold Vienna in the tum to absorb this alcoholic invasion so after 4 liddle glasses I was almost frantic in my attack on the biscuits the only fare to be had, in the vain hope that they would absorb some of the booze, but by this time I had already lost most of my self control so another couple of glasses went down before the late ones finally pitched, consisting of a pair of genial country ladies, very hopeful thinks I blearily.
Well this got the show on the road and our host Rudie, Cheryl’s very tough horse riding husband who I feel obliged to mention had just earned the right to wear a large buckle on his belt indicating to those that knew, that he had completed 2 gazillion kilometers on a horse in under 8 hours, quite a feat.
He gave us a little speech about the booze to come and pulled out a bottle in it’s own special little bag. It turns out that the ‘fun’ of these gatherings is to guess the name, where it was from and vintage of each bottle, we all had 6 glasses in front of us, indicating that there were 6 glasses of wine to be drunk, I was already reeling from the sweet sherry.
I tried to be careful about how much I was quaffing but the wines were very nice. There was none of the gurgling and spiting out of the wine at this event, every drop was savored and swallowed with sage swirling of the glass and holding up to the light etc. which I did more in the line of monkey see monkey do than with any real clue as to what I was supposed to be looking for. I sniffed at it and sucked it into my mouth and other than the fact that some did smell a bit stronger than the other; they were all delightful wines which all asked to be drank, so I did.
We had a form and pencils to play with, to make sage notes on what we were drinking, I tried to see what the chap next to me was doing but I was already so pissed I was seeing double so that was out and eventually I gave up and just drank, started to laugh in the random fashion of the inebriated till eventually all six bottles had been opened and drunk, they were then pulled from their little bags and their provenance was revealed and all were proud or crushed depending on whether they had got it right or not, I had given up long before and did not even try a guess, and even with the bottles on display I am afraid that I could not tell the difference between a merlot, a Cab Sav, or a shiraz and drank a whole lot more trying to find out, and failed.
I was getting a bit loud and I have a feeling that I have blown my chances of being invited again as I was yelling my inane remarks over the sage discussion led by the beloved leaders wife, never a good idea but I was well on the way and had lost all restraint.
At this stage the food was finally brought out, oxtail and chicken that I thought was just the thing to soak up the wicked brew of sherry, wine and biscuits swilling about inside me.
I tucked in with the enthusiasm of a man that is to go to the gallows as I was convinced that reborn breather or nay I was in for a hard time in an hour or two, but in the mean time I was feeling great. We had a lekker pud with both custard and cream and as I was already beyond the pale had 2 helpings with nary a care for my swelling waist line.
After all this conspicuous consumption a stroll through the garden was called for, and which turned into a sage discussion with Tim and Rudie about the various merits of cow husbandry, a subject that we are all keenly involved in having herds that we all hope will be a source of fortune if not fame, we perused the weaner’s that were gamboling about and generally felt that life was good although Rudie did tell us a horror story about his Toyota, which as far as I could tell through the haze, was that he had fitted a bit and neglected to put oil in it with all the consequent tears and shearing of gears requiring that he invest large amounts of loot to replace this thing and was in consequence going to have to put two of his bulls into the ring to be turned into hamburgers, One of the poor fellows was right there in front of us, right in hearing of this morbid discussion of his fate.
I was mortified, he looked such a fine fellow and his offspring springing about all around us proving his ability as a bull so through the haze of my pissed brain, with the encouragement of Tim I soon found myself the new owner and savior of the immediately named Cruiser Gearbox, 800 kilograms black and white bull with a nice scrotum.
Having shaken hands on this I was committed and staggered home with a vile head ache and a sneaking suspicion sense that I had been set up, where the devils brew, swilling about in my distended stomach, decided to go to pastures new and forced its way out of me in a truly spectacular display of projectile vomiting, so after all this I was weak and pale and the owner of a dangerous beast, o lordy lord.

HUNTING FOR A WIFE, BUT A BIT OF NOOKIE WOULD DO

HUNTING FOR A WIFE, BUT A BIT OF NOOKIE WOULD DO


Some few months ago, as predicted by neighbors and friends when I embarked on my no smoking, no drugs etc campaign, I was given the boot by my girlfriend of some many years standing, with the crushing comment that I had turned into a bore, ohh girls can be so cruel.
I took it on the chin like a good little cowboy, took full responsibility for it too, I let her and her friends call me in the middle of the night to insult and threaten me without being rude or aggressive, like a good little modern man and looking bleakly at the talent offered by the community of Machadodorp I realized that I was truly alone.
So being fully connected to the international community of the ‘www’, I signed up with a dating agency, sent them my wedge and was established as a gold member of ‘Love 2 know U’ an organization that an old fat chum like I, had said he had had some success with. Thus was my handle ‘Grumpy_oldFart’ born in the ether. Well I did not want to have any of the hordes of panting horny young women waiting out there to be under any illusion that I was still the gorgeous young stud of yore.
I filled in all the strange questions that the site demanded, admitted that I liked Thai food and travel, who doesn’t? Down loaded a picture or two that were recent and did not show quite how old and fat I have become, considered optimistically of investing in a jumbo box of Viagra to deal with the afore mentioned panting hoard and started to chatter with women out there.
The first shock was just how many people there are trolling the web for friends and sex; in fact I hear that these dating sites have now overtaken porn as the biggest revenue earners on the web! There are every type of person imaginable, who all but all incidentally like Thai food and travel, what is it with Thai food that it has such a social cachet?
The second shock being how few it seemed are suitable for me!!!!
Nonetheless I proceeded to send off what I thought were witty and lucid letters to them and awaited the return of post with beating heart, and bated breath.
Soon enough the replies came through, the majority it seemed had:-
A. Found someone,
B. Were no longer members of the site,
C. Thought that I was a wanker,
D. Were living in the Ukraine or Russia
E. Or were younger than my daughter
So after 50 plus letters, and a lot of toil, I was without a single real possibility of a date and the reality of how far I am from all known society was no help.
This was making me feel very very old, depressed and frankly a bit sad, the actuality of my situation was being consistently brought home to me in a very direct and brutal manner as only women are able to do, I was snubbed and or ignored, or the women were illiterate, children, 100 years old or as big as a house, a larger collection of trailer trash and empty heads I had never encountered.
They all loved Thai food, were loving and faithful and fun etc. I was getting very depressed especially as I knew that there was no chance in hell of getting my money back.
Eventually a few ladies did crawled out of the undergrowth, and I did have one or two sensible and entertaining conversations but I am afraid that Grumpy_oldFart was no big score.
My first contact of any note was ‘Eponagirl’ a web designer and horse mad, seemed a match made in heaven, I needed my web page redone (do have a look at the new site at www.fiveassegais.co.za) and I have a farm tre suitable for gee gee’s and indeed we did chatter but sadly her service was to expensive for me and my farm was to distant for her to visit with her horses, we did manage to have a lunch but there was no magic, we could be chums but the reality of my living on the dark side of the moon was a big impediment. We continued to spasmodically send each other funnies but even that lapsed.
These dating sites are quite sophisticated and I suspect deeply affiliated with each other and when you sign with one the others soon enough find you to tempt you with their particular charms and differing angles on the sad business of isolation and loneliness, from Jewish friend finders to ‘IwantsexNOW’ services, the latter sending a woman to me who had posted a magnificent pair of pert breasts as her picture, very hopeful thought I and arranged to liaise with her, boy did I get a fright when this withered old witch with hungry eyes approached and being a coward of note I fled.
At this stage I was writing to several women around the world an Airhostess (very edgy and defensive) a number of very young women in the darker parts of the ex Soviet Union, I still have not worked out what their scam was, and oddly a lot of very young girls in England and the United States, but they were pretty much consistent in their inability to construct a sentence or even use spell check and I was finding that rather than being introduced to a lot of interesting people I was being reminded constantly that I was old, fat, and unavailable and the reality of my choices in life in respect to having a bit of fun was being forcefully and painfully made clear to me. This was not what I had had in mind at all.
My dream of endless streams of young girls washing up on my doorstep as promised by Love2knowU had been shattered on the harsh reality of life passing by, I even briefly considered going back to the old girl friend and begging her to return, we are talking desperation here, but more than that I was very concerned that I was not as concerned about this celibacy thing as I felt I should be, the truth is, that the juices are not flowing like they used to and I seem no longer to be desperate to earn the approbation of women, based on their beauty.
This must be what becoming an adult is all about, where the physical attributes of a woman are not considered the sign of infinite knowledge that I used to think they were.
So after much correspondences and letter writing, other than a meal in Middleburg with a very nice woman I had had absolutely no success at all, thank goodness I did not spend treasure on Viagra.
So it has been 3 months and my contract with Love 2 know U has expired and once again the thought of trying to find a good woman in Machadodorp faces me with its entirely bleak prospects, the worrying thing being that it would seem that this modern life with all the wonderful means of communication and inter reaction offered is in fact becoming the loneliest part of human history ever, thank the lord for my friends, dogs, goats, chicken and mumbies who make me the most popular fellow in the whole world wide world.
(If there are any women out there who want to sleep with me they are welcome to apply ☺, send correspondence to 18151@lando.co.za with a recent picture)
Which brings to mind the story of a fellow, who advertised in a Farmers magazine,
WANTED, WOMAN WITH TRACTOR, SEND PICTURE OF TRACTOR!!!

PLAYING WITH BIG TOYS

PLAYING WITH BIG TOYS
But proven none the less to be just the biggest wimp

One of the grand things about having a bit of loot and a dream to spend it on, particularly after a long time loot less, is that one does not have to think too hard about what to do with it, so I did not hesitate when I got mine, to get hold of the earth shifter boys ASAP.
I wanted Big Yellow Machines, the bigger the better, grrrrrrr!
In consequence I have been in negotiation with a number of yellow machine merchants, who have been extremely polite and attentive to my slightest need, these yellow toys are very, very expensive, and the owners of this kit need it to be kept busy, all the time, so a man with loot to spend on ‘Big Yellow machines’ is a man to be tenderly courted, which was nice.
They all sent me paper proving conclusively that they are the most skillful, cheap and best yellow machine operators, ever, and that I should succumb to their charms, before all others and choose them.
I felt like a good-looking woman.
That had to end and the choice was made, and Grobler’s Construction got the job and the others were boarder line rude at the news. I felt terrible for them but I could hardly have all of them cluttering up the place, it just wouldn’t be practicable. They would bicker.
‘Young Sean’ eventually arrived with some very impressive machines indeed, a golly big digger thing, an enormous truck and a large tractor with a dam thingy on the back, I was well satisfied as was YS with the HC (huge cheque) that he felt was a necessary prerequisite to enjoying his charms, he was a man that sold holes after all.
So he stuck some sticks in the ground indicating wall and water heights and flung his steel dinosaurs at the unyielding earth and very quickly these seemingly indestructible toys were broken!
It would seem that the bigger the machine the more likely it is to go the way of all flesh and succumb to the forces of nature.
Anyway this was all but meat and three veg to YS who was equinanimous about these great piles of steel and grease sitting useless and dead in the ground due to the perfidy of a failed widget or grommet, which was far away and hard to replace, he is a brave man and I was determined not to look at him with resentment the next time he approached for a cash injection.
So the earth was forever changed to my lordly design, the top of the Skurweberg which has loomed over the Komati valley silent and unoccupied except when people were hiding from their enemies is being transformed into a watery paradise.
While all this feverish activity was going down at the one end of the farm my ladies were equally feverishly preparing soap for the ‘Innibos Kultur Fes’ which I had signed up for in my misplaced enthusiasm for flogging soap at markets.
They had produced a great many sweet smelling blocks of samponified oils that were labeled and artfully wrapped; we were all geared up to do this thing.
When volunteering for this market I had not really taken on board what it entailed, and when it was to late, the dawning of realization that we were to stand in the middle of winter on a sports field for no less than 5 days from morning right into the dark of night became bewilderingly clear.
I had also roped in my chum One tooth to join me in this enterprise, older and wiser heads had volunteered, seen the light and bunked, but us poor idjits were packed and parceled with our kit and caboodle into the bakkie with trailer, it took a lot of rubbish to sell soap, from tables to lights, but we were well and truly ready for this selling feast.
We arrived late at the venue, where things started to go badly right from the off, we found the place easy enough, it was hard to miss and wound our weary way towards the inevitably multi colored Ferris wheel looking for the entrance for exhibitors, when we came across a young blond moustache in a traffic outfit who sent us off and around the congested side streets of Nelspruit to end up I kid you not but 50 meters from where he was still standing sending the world on this fools errand for no good reason, already I could feel the dread weight of pre freedom day authortar and the old familiar lager mentality which naturally enough sent me into a rage, however we were sucked into the vortex of this agricultural/ cultural/ barbarian rave up where bedlam and confusion danced side by side to the back ground music of the local rugby teams theme song, something about the Blue Bulls doing revolting things to the rest.
Now I am secure enough in my manhood to admit that I do not know how to reverse with a trailer, the coordination required is one of the first things that the product of a broken home lacks, and in consequence I hate driving with them, and negotiating a congested festival with only wrong turnings available was nothing less than a nightmare, the challenge of finding our stall in the bedlam was remote.
Sitting there in the dust watching the great unwashed of the Lowveltd wander past our window, sucking sweet things and yellow beer even at this early stage of this Bachiavelian ceremony was I could see proving to be a strain on One Tooth, who was gazing in horror at this spectacle before his eyes, and the many hours entertaining these mudflat trailer-trashers, that we would soon be committed to flashed before our eyes. We were not happy, we were worried, and we were concerned.
Being a man that never stands on ceremony, I floated the idea to the assembled hippies that perhaps we might not want to do this after all and the lack of any dissent, in fact the active encouragement from the entire team soon prompted me to turn the machine around and putting our tails between our legs we fled the scene with palpitating hearts at the thought of what a close call we had just been in. If we had come but a couple of hours before we would have been trapped and I would still be sitting, standing, down there in the freezing cold and misery instead of looking forward to a nice dinner with my NBF in front of my cozy fire, whew, in deedy. I did feel like a major wimp.