this country is going down the tubes

"there is no way to avoid 'racist undertones' here. the simple heavy truth is that washington is mainly a black city, and that most of the violent crime is therefore committed by blacks - not always against whites, but often enough to make the relatively wealthy white population very nervous about random social contacts with their fellow black citizens. after only ten days in this town i have noticed the fear syndrome clouding even my own mind: i find myself ignoring black hitchhikers, and every time i do it i wonder, 'why the f*ck did you do that?' and i tell myself, 'well, i'll pick up the next one i see.' and sometimes i do, but not always..." - hst

the fear syndrome or scare factor sure has gripped me in my time in south africa. i drive with my windows up and my doors locked. i make sure the electric gates are closed behind me when i enter or leave my folks property. i keep a suspicious eye on anyone of colour who happens to walk past me on the beach front. stories of rape and murder and ak-47's and savage animal-like brutality have put me on edge.

"it's terrible... the black's don't value life at all - they'll kill you for your cell phone", is one of the most common descriptions of the new south africa. "this dude, he pulled over at spaghetti junction to answer his phone - that's what the law says you should do - and they shot him... for his cell phone... can you believe it?"

there's no control. absolutely no control. the policing in this country is a joke. all they care about is speeding fines and parking violations. they only target us innocent folk. the folk that made this country what it is. we are easy targets. they turn a blind eye to break-ins, hijacking, rape, murder. it's disgusting.

and who's fault is it? it's the government's. they are useless, uneducated, thick, gorilla oafs. they have no idea. and they are corrupt. these people come in and think it easy to run a country. without the whites this country would be nothing - just like the rest of africa: no infrastructure. no eductation. disease. poverty. malnutrition. hyper-inflationary economies. civil war. bloodshed. even the black people say that they were better off under apartheid.

and it's nothing to do with us - the 'normal' people. we do what we can: we don't drink drive; we refuse to bribe corrupt government officials; we bitch and moan about the current conditions within our social circles on the telephone and at braais on the weekend; we highlight the problems with the world cup 2010 at every opportunity; we alert the international community to these horrors via our blogs; but nothing seems to slow the increasingly quickening downward spiral.

thank god for aids... it's the only way we will bring this country under control.

on the bright side - durban sure does have one of the most beautiful stretches of beach in the whole world ever.

barcelona (31.08.06 - 03.08.06)

"live steady. don't f*ck around. give anything weird a wide berth - including people. it's not worth it. i learned this the hard way, through brutal overindulgence" - hst

myself and dopey rocked up in barca wilted from a body-and-mind-shattering weekend at the reading festival. our intentions were simple: days mellowing in the warm sun on the beach, some laid-back sightseeing, a few glasses of wine over seafood dinners, and pearl jam. gentle. those were our intentions.

it was about 11pm on a thick hot thursday night when we finally climbed off the bus into central barcelona. backpacks and sleeping bags strapped to our backs, and ably assisted by our cartoon map, we trudged off down the main drag looking for the plaza reail where the boys from ireland (frank, miguel, and puddles) were refeuling after a long day searching for a sleep-worthy hostel. we found them easily enough, and against our better judgement, joined them for a quick glass of the local headache-inducing crackling, after which we would go and find a hostel. that was our intention.

soon enough it was 1am and empty clay jugs formerly containing crackling and some sort of sangria-type-poison-brew littered our table. we had managed to squeeze in a paella, but had failed to find somewhere to leave our bags and rest our weary heads. but that was of little consequence now that the four norwegian chicks at a nearby table had made their intentions clear (i'm telling you, if you want scando's, stick with me... i attract them quicker than frank attracts drugged-up, glassey-eyed, homosexual, physcotic freaks). they were heading for the beach, and they wanted us (and any other virile young males) to join them. our sick alcohol-feuled minds were sold - visions of naked frolicking in the shore-break played like 52" flat-panel-high-defintion-plasma tv's in our heads.

we quickley dropped our bags at the three-bed room booked by the irish (a night spent on the cold tiled floor beckoned, but we were passed reasoned thinking), and hustled back to our viking lovelies. by this time they had managed to round up a 40-strong troop of testosterone-charged brutes, each with the intention of being alpha male. but we were convinced that we were foremost in their thought process.

the 2km trip to the beach took approximatley two hours - distances over 100m are never simple when one is in an alcohol induced stupor. delays along the way included: frank and dopey being accosted by hairy, gorilla-faced whores; numerous wee breaks; brown-eye posing for pictures at a big column in the middle of a roundabout; witnessing the police in a high-speed footchase with gypsies; trying to throw most of the other males off the scent.

anyway, so we got to the beach at about 3am armed with two six-packs of local beer. we weren't gonna f*ck around. off came the kitters and we were in the sea before the scando chick's could say, "my word, what big muscles you guys have". in all our excitment, we failed to realise that it was only the five of us bare-butted boys that were playfully splashing around in the water. the girls were entertaining some other greasy bastards on the promenade - and they were drinking our beer. a realisaton swept over us... we needed to protect our investment. we were out of the water in a flash and raced over to grab what was left of our six-packs.

eventually puddles managed to ply one of the birds (lets just call her "pork chop"... cos that's what dopey called her) with enough booze to get her to strip off and follow him into the sea. miguel was less successful... standing on the beach, trying to persuade one of the birds to get naked with a bald portuguese dude in tight-fit boxers - it was never gonna happen.





by this time it was 5am and somewhere in all this stripping off, frank had managed to lose his wallet and phone. somehow he persuaded us that we needed to hang around until sunrise and then comb the beach for his possessions. it seemed like a good idea and we settled down with our beers to wait for sunrise.

i must have dozed off sometime after this, but i was awoken by shouting and cans crashing down around my head. i sat up and turned to see two figures streaking along the promenade silhouetted by the rising sun. the figure behind looked vaguely like miguel and was steadily closing in on the figure running-for-his-life ahead. closing in that is, until the chasing figure suddenly disappeared from view behind a flower pot - he had crashed and burned on the pavement (one of those moments when the whole crowd cringes and lets out a collective "oohhhh"), severely damaging a finger.

at this stage i was in the dark as to exactly what had happened - turns out frank and miguel were sitting around, gently sipping on their beers and admiring dawn breaking over the beach, when some poor misguided soul arrived, unzipped, and tried to stick his knob in frank's mouth. when frank politely declined, the dude got nasty and started lobbing trash in our direction. this is when miguel saw red and took up chase. it was all very strange... but true... apparently.



we got home at about 7.30am. we never did find franks wallet and phone. myself and dopey slept on the floor. we woke around 1pm, had coffee next door, and headed off to the beach. we found a quaint little beach-bar and had some seafood breakfast / lunch. stomachs full and hangover headaches saturated by a few of jugs of sangria, a lazy afternoon on the beach looked tempting.

puddles headed off for some beers for the irish boys, while the rest of us enjoyed the warm sun, soft sand, and the gentle lapping of the mediterranean sea. but frank has a restless mind when he gets going on the beers, and he decided to dig a 3ft deep hole, jump in, and get the rest of us to bury him up to his head. this is great and it's all fun and games... until somebody gets stuck. then the whimpering begins. getting stuck in a self-made hole on a foreign beach packed with spanish mullets and hot catalonian babes with fake breast implants whilst your mates drop to their knees in hysterical laughter is enough to send even the most stable folks over the edge. frank had visions of fire engines and helicopters and huge red headlines on the local 9 o'clock news. it took us a full 45 minutes of digging and scraping, and pulling and tugging (at franks arms) in front of amused onlookers to get him out.









so friday night was the night of pearl jam. we managed to organise tickets for the irish guys - some bird looking for good karma gave us a free ticket... may the soul of the world bless you my child. we were late and somehow ended up as high and as far away from the stage as one could possibly be. it sure was hot though. but it was good to watch the concert semi-sober this time though and eddie, despite his patronising views on antonio gaudi, was awesome... they even managed a rendition of the famous south african rugby chant, "ole, ole, ole, ole" for us saffers in the crowd. pearl jam are one of the greatest bands ever. end of.





saturday we woke up bright and breezy (except miguel and puddles... who decided to party on after pearl jam). we hadn't seen much of the city and decided to take an open top bus tour for the day. barca sure is an asthetically pleasing city... huge boulevards, lined with the camo-like trunks of maple trees, and backed by massive square 4-story-high colonial buildings give the feeling of a place where you really want to live in the summer. unfortunatley the frequently scattered gaudi sculptures and designs tend to give the impression of euro disney (except the huge gothic cathedral which is super impressive)... but one can excuse a few eyesores in a city that contains the most beautiful women you will ever see. we stopped at porto's palace of love, the gaudi national park, and the nou camp for approx two minutes each - frank was hungry and bleating about a seafood lunch - and pretty soon it was time to start boozing again.







we somehow got roped into a pub crawl by some kiwi backpacking rep. lured by the promise of free shooters and a truck-load of slappers, we were at the starting point bright and early. we downed our vodka cross peach schnupps shooters... and knew there and then it wasn't going to pretty. the tequila bar followed, and it got downright ugly at the next bar when someone tucked into a grossly overweight aussie marshmellow. things went from bad to worse to goddamn rotten when dopey bought quadruple jd's at the final pub before we were due to hit the club (which was situated in a shopping mall on the marina). the hazy memory-loss mist descended and when we were denied access to the club on the grounds of being highly aggitated and wildly abusive, we found ourselves crazily scratching at the doors, pleading for somebody to rip the lungs out of the pompous bastard who was playing god by choosing who could and who couldn't enter the pearly gates leading to the promised land of milk and honey.

the manic gesturing was proving fruitless so we decided to make a stand... in true childish fashion, we stepped back, turned round, and mooned the doorstaff and all the people in the club (the front of the club consisted entirely of huge windows). we then proceeded to walk through the mall with our pants round our ankles trying to incite a revolutionary riot aimed at ousting the facist nazi bouncers. it didn't work. soon enough mall security pounced and escourted us, arm-locked, to the door. that was the end of the evening. myself and dopey found ourselves sleeping on the grey concrete stairs of the hostel, locked out whilst miguel and puddles queued for some dodgy club and frank hunted for food like a ravaged bengal tiger - he found a small box of pringles - and pringles just don't cut it at that perverse, perverted level of life.







so that was our weekend in barcelona... a really nice city actually. i can recommend it.

i seem to recognise your face
haunting familiar
i can't seem to place it
cannot find the candle of thought
to light your name
lifetimes are catching up with me
all these changes taking place
i wish i'd seen the place
but no-ones ever taken me
hearts and thoughts
they fade away

the 1998 chick challenge

i got back to sa last friday after a two-and-a-half-year exile. during my absence, my folks decided to move house and packed all my stuff into four huge cardboard boxes. upon my return, these boxes stood unpacked in the spare room. not wishing to let me chill, my mom demanded that i go through the boxes and chuck out any junk.

whilst wading through old football annuals, spurs newspaper cuttings, scope magazines, kurt cobain memorabilia, old payslips (R2750/mth in 2000), and ex-girlfriends' underwear, i came across a loose piece of paper that brought memories of my varsity days flooding back. the piece of paper was titled "the 1998 chick challenge"...

sometime in early 1998 (prob around late feb)... myself, caide, and anri were sitting through lecture after viciously boring lecture at varsity. we were cool. we were too cool to be popular. to cool to be in the "in crowd". we were cool outcasts. we didn't mix with biggs or pearce or grainger or tarr. they were scared of us. scared that we may pull their chicks. we weren't jocks. we weren't boffins. we were just cool.

we were also on the rebound. i had been given the elbow by carla (dumb dutchman b*tch - i'm still bitter). caide had just broken up with angela... she had messed him around. cara was off overseas and anri was sulking. we decided to get revenge on women... and we came up with the chick challenge. suddenly life was exciting again. we drew up the rules. typed up a formal copy. shook hands. and uttered the immortal words, "let the best man win"...

for some reason, just before the competition started, anri pulled out (of the competition). i think him and cara may have got back together or something... i'm not sure... but it ended up being me vs caide. the rules (as per the original typed list) were as follows:

the rules of the competition: (re-drafted thanks to anri)

a) the contenders in this competition are caide oxland and david winch and they do hereby swear to abide by the following rules.

1) the person who scores the most females by midnight on the 30th decemeber 1998 will be entitled to a bottle of alcohol of his choice up to the value of R50-00.

2) scoring a female (or the same female more than once will only count as 1 score) and 1 beer will be awarded.

3) in the event of being with the same female for more than a month without scoring any other female will result in the offender to pay the penalty of a six pack.

4) at the time of the action there must be at least one reliable witness.

5) in the event of cheating the offender will be required to provide the other contender with a six pack to restore the faith.

6) the minimum number of girls to be scored is 10.

7) if one succeeds to do the ultimate deed, then he will be rewarded with a create of beers.

8) if you wish to pull out of the competition, you will have to provide the other contender with a bottle of his choice.

9) scooping a female from the other contender is allowed.

10) less than a 2 on the babe scale will be a fee of one beer but will still be counted as a score.

11) more than an 8 on the babe scale will result in a extra beer been awarded.

12) seconds and thirds still count as a normal score.

13) more than a grab will result in a reward of 3 beers.

14) if in one night more than 3 females are scored a six pack is awarded.

15) the awarded beers are due at the end of each month.

for the record:

caide ultimately won the contest... i started off well, pretending it was my birthday on the first night and scoring 6 girls at crowded house in pinetown. caide rocked up at varsity on monday with a big smile face having scored 1 bird at crash - he sure did get a shock. but things would quickley change...

some weeks later, caide was spotted at crash and soon became one of the most popular models on the durban scene. mixing in celebrity circles, appearing on catwalks, and having photoshoots published in magazines such as you and... errr... well... other glossy magazines, he became hot property amongst the ladies and never seemed to have a drought. he was consistent... one girl every time he went out.

i, by comparison, soon started to struggle. once the euphoria of my first weekend wore off, i just couldn't perform. my stock line of, "it's my birthday... how's about a kiss" got tired after about the 3rd week when the girls cottoned on. i tried boozing more... but to no avail. i was sketchy... picking up the odd straggler here and there, whilst caide marched on with chelsea-like efficiency. i battled in vain to keep up, but just couldn't do it.

by august the score was something like:

caide 43 dave 26

around this time i had met one of my sister's mates, taryn. she was sexy as, and i was super keen. i was with her for a few weeks and before i knew it, i had breached the 1 month rule (rule #3) and incurred a six pack penalty. i decided to call it a day... i dug deep into my savings and invoked the get out clause - a bottle of caide's choice (think it was a bottle of sambucca ice (?) - the light blue one with crystals in the bottom - it inflicts a cool burn on your mouth when you breathe deeply after taking a sip).

looking back, i probably should have held on as caide met a girl soon afterwards and i may have been able to force his hand for the draw. losing to caide however, was no disgrace - he was an awesome dude, super chilled and mellow, a typical surfer dan, a babe-magnet if there ever was one.

i was lucky to have had the priviledge of being able to compete in such a prestigious competion. and, if anything, it taught me one valuable lesson about scoring young chicks:

young chicks are very superficial and only care about media exposure and the size of good old mr bojangles. money, looks, cars, ego, all the things that really matter, don't count to them. given that i had very little access to mainstream airwaves at the time and mr bojangles was still a growing teenager, i was always doomed to lose.

goddamn those shallow young chicks.

ground rules for all future travel

following disasterous trips to cardiff and barcelona in recent weeks, the guys have introduced some ground rules for travel. i have published them here for future reference. please take note. play by the rules and nobody gets hurt...

The Ground Rules:

1. No hairdryers.

2. No man bags - THEY ARE GAY, END OF STORY.

3. No children's sun visor peaks. Especially if they are from Wimbledon.

4. Everyone get's issued with a room key. We don't want some dodgy character walking through the hotel without a room in the early morning hours.

5. Breakfast is served at 9.00am. If you're not there you don't eat.

6. No chicken burgers for Jon. No sangria for Don.

7. Cell phones are to be attached by leash to their owner's pocket so they are not lost.

8. Flicking food onto a wall in a restaurant with a spoon is forbidden.

9. Keep your mouth closed when oggling the waitress as she leans over the table to hand you your food.

10. No fighting if your opponent is 2 feet taller than you (ie. 5ft 9in or taller).

11. Underpants are to be worn at all times. Girls might like it, but your mates don't.

12. No digging holes on the beach where you might get stuck. You WILL be left behind.

13. There is a difference between strawberry-blonde and ginger. The difference will be determined by a show of hands from all mates present.

14. Jon gets his own bed. Anybody caught in/on/near Jon's bed will be forced to share the double bed with him on future trips.

15. The maximum time to get ready is 20 min. This includes a 10 min power nap, shave, shower, change and trips to and from the lobby. You WILL be left behind and if you catch up it is your responsibility to buy drinks all night for everyone else.

16. When running after a deviant sexual predator who has just tried to stick their shlong in your mates mouth, ALWAYS, ALWAYS, look out for the pavement which can be pretty obscured just prior to sunrise. Trust me, this is necessary, and should be on the list.

17. When being escorted out of a shopping centre by security and bouncers after starting a riot (Dopey, again my thanks). It is not a good idea to drop your baggies showing the already aggravated bunch your ass. We will never be allowed back there again.

18. Don't refer to the missus your mate picked up on the first night as "pork chop" unless you're absolutely certain you're not going to pick up the whole pig at some future date on the tour. You will regret it.

33. When skinny dipping with Norwegian birds, its really nasty to cover up your mates wallet so that he never finds it. This should just not be done!

note: it has been agreed that dave winch is exempt from rule #11.

reading festival 2006 (25.08.06 - 28.08.06)


a few of us went to the 2006 reading festival. here are some learnings. use them... don't use them...

• if you intend to arrive any later than thursday evening you will be camping in a rubbish dump. if possible get a mate to take your tent up the day before (thanks dangerous dave (www.wozafriday.com), phil, nils, etc for organising).
  
  
• do not lose your£185 ticket on the way from the train station to the farm. you will buy another ticket off a tout for £120... your mate will then find the one you lost... and you will end up flogging the ticket you have just bought for £80. for the non-mathematicians among you, that is a £40 loss before you have even entered.
  
  
• make sure you have a south african flag hoisted on a huge pole in the middle of your campsite... especially if the majority of people staying with you are kiwi. in order to avoid humiliation though, make sure the flag is not upside down... it is also an added bonus if sa actually win the rugby.
  
  
• you do not need gum boots (wellingtons)... but they sure do look good on young girls with mini-skirts.
  
  
• buy brandy from asda and sneak it into the music area... it's cheaper than the beer (£3 a pint).
  
  
• if you do buy the beer, keep the cardboard cups in your pocket... they are useful as porta-loo's when in the middle of a huge crowd and you can't be arsed to move. instructions: wait for song. unzip pants. place cup over johnson. relax. when you feel warm liquid on tip... emergency stop... you have filled the cup. zip up. carefully place filled cup between legs of person in front of you. back away to the left / right. commence dancing, singing, jumping. please note: do not attempt to do this if you are female.
  
  
• kaiser chiefs are awesome. you must catch their set no matter what. i predict a riot has turned into an anthem of the stature of angel / mr brightside.
  
  
• franz ferdinand are good if you are drunk. you can jump around a lot and not really listen to the music.
  
  
• make sure you have a tent that can survive the popular reading festival sport of tent diving. this should be an essential requirement whilst tent shopping prior to the festival.
  
  
• if your sleeping bag is bigger than your tent you have issues.
  
  
• you will wake up on saturday with a major headache.
  
  
• it is possible to braai (bbq) bacon and egg. it taste's pretty good as well. those kiwi's sure are resourceful.
  
  
• you will have your first beer of the day at around 11am. just to take the edge off.
  
  
• the toilets start to get pretty dodgy on saturday. the toilets are a big metal box with dozens of holes in the top. when you are bogging, you will see other people wazzing between your legs. when you are wazzing, you will see bog plopping. there are no honey suckers and the metal box will fill up by the end of the wend.
  
  
• if you ask girls to bare their breasts for photo's they are usually up for it - so do it.
  
  
• the first gig you will go to on sat will be capdown. the audience will go mental. it is too early in the morning and you will not be prepared for it. except dangerous dave... who will charge through the raging crowd to the middle of the tent, climb halfway up the scaffolding, and hang off with one hand while the masses below him chant "jump, jump, jump". he didn't jump. he wasn't that drunk yet.
  
  
  
• jet are ten years behind their time... they sound like a combination of acdc and oasis.
  
  
• feeder are the bomb... can't believe so few people know them. make sure you are right at the front for this one. check out the video on www.wozafriday.com
  
  
  
• crowd surfing can be dangerous to you and others. please don't do it.
  
  
• automatic have one song. it's catchy. but at the end of the day it's shit. what's that coming over the hill? huh?
  
  
• the streets are muck.
  
  
• you'll be tired on saturday evening but you should prob stay to watch the arctic monkeys and the muse. should you choose to retire early, it is a good time to have a bog.
  
  
• sunday you'll wake up pretty refreshed... unless you've latched onto two aussie birds... in which case you won't have gone to sleep.
  
  
• once again you will braai your bacon and have an early morning beer (but this time it will be to get you in the mood).
  
  
• you should sit around chilling for most of the day on sunday, basking in the sun and preparing for the awesome line-up on the main stage in the evening.
  
  
• the space cakes work if you have more than three.
  
  
• wearing a pink hat can help your friends find you in a very big crowd but it will make you look gay. you should not wear this hat in the slayer mosh pit under any circumstances... you will get smashed in the nose. it will be very painful and there will be a lot of blood.
  
  
  
• it is customary for the crowd to attempt to bottle / golf-ball at least one act off the main-stage every year. this will be any boyband wannabe rockers with a podgy and slightly feminine lead singer. they will turn the crowd around though when they sing "i'm not okay" first up... the crowd will identify with their own individual insecurities and sympathise.
  
  
• placebo are friggin awesome. a friend in need is a friend indeed. a friend with weed is better.
  
  
• if you are in a band on main stage, it is a good idea to stage a technical fault. the big screen will zoom in on women and these very same ladies will get their tops off. the crowd will assist in the process by booing the ladies who fail to remove their tops. goddamn spoil-sports.
  
  
• seeing pearl jam will be one of the highlights of your life. eddie vedder will get well into it and the crowd will rock beyond all imagination. even without daughter, elderly lady, and nothingman, they will play the set of all sets. they will play dissident. you will go to bed a happy person.
  
  
  
• it is best to get up and leave early on monday.
  
  
• you'll be super tired and you will not have changed for three days.
  
  
• but you would have had a pretty good time.