Daily Rant. Living With Nature. 18 May 2018.

Firstly an apology to my very few readers (what is wrong with you people? Pearls before swine). I have been absent due to climatic conditions. My people came from Lithuania. The lowest temperature recorded there was -42 degrees. During the last week the temperature up in the Thousand Hills region of KZN South Africa fell close to approaching that.

I do not have scientific evidence of this – but the apparently the lost Eskimo at the bottom of the garden also said it was unreasonably chilly. Nice man. Language was only a barrier for a while. Holding your testicles and pointing to the driving rain is an apparently universal sign that it may be indeed cold enough to freeze the private parts off a primate.

It was just too cold and my poor aged knuckles were not up to the task of writing.

Be that as it may – a neat little segue into my latest annoyance.

It does concern nature – but less about climatic conditions (although I will touch on temperature) than about natures furry, climbing, crawling and terrifying cohabitants who call this wonderful part of a truly terrifying continent home.

I’d like to preface what follows with the bit of a disclaimer. I am without doubt a city boy. I grew up in Cape Town, hiked and spent much of my time in the seas around that wonderful place being bitten, pronged, stung and inconvenienced by an astounding variety of wildlife.

But I grew older and eventually relocated to Johannesburg where the majority of predators walk on two legs. I grew a bit jaded about nature and lost that daring edge that had cost me so many hours of pain and the occasional trip to the emergency room.

And now I find myself in Kwazulu Natal. In a place that is magnificent beyond words. It is truly beautiful. But Mother Nature, being the bitch that she is always mixes it up.

So I’m going to list the things that have annoyed – and yes, terrified and hurt me since I have relocated to these mist shrouded hills.

1. Temperature.

Let’s be candid here. Schizophrenia is a terrible mental condition – but it can be controlled by the judicious and professional application of drugs. You cannot drug an entire ecosystem – no matter what Monsanto says. I’ll paraphrase Jeff Goldblum in Jurassic Park – ‘nature will find a way’. In my case that’s a way to confuse an already aging mind. Temperature should stay constant for at least an hour. That is not the case in these hills. Sunny shirts optional days turn into torrential downpours without skipping a beat.  I’ve learned to pick tomatoes in the sunshine with rain jacket on. Mother Nature in these hills is menopausal. Hot flushes and a chilly demeanor switch with startling rapidity.

They know his address – and they’re coming for him.

2. Frogs.

Apparently a fear of frogs is defined as ‘ranidaphobia’. Seems clumsy – I’m going to call it amphibiaphobia (that may not be an improvement – work in progress). Be that as it may. I am not scared of frogs or toads – think they’re cute. They always look slightly confused. My only exception is for Platannas- they should be hopping on highways more often. But I digress.

Could you and your friends perhaps stay outside?

The rainy weather brings out the chorus – and I love it. Chirps, honks, boos and whistles. It’s like a live soccer match in your garden. But somehow these amphibians – who need water in order to survive come charging into my little cottage. A few nights ago I honestly thought I was in a rerun of the trials and tribulations that the Egyptians went through after they had the bad idea to snub Moses. It was biblical. I kept looking at the local stream to see if was turning into blood and scanning the skies for locusts. Why would an animal that loves water want to cuddle up to me?

‘His house is over there – sic him boys.’

3. Insects.

This almost goes without saying – but the countryside is full of things that have more legs and wings than I am comfortable with. I don’t mind them per se – but I’m prefer not to be crawled on. And bitten. Mosquitoes I can deal with – just annoying. But I swear – as I am writing this a Hunter Wasp just landed on the screen. For those of you who don’t know these are wasps that sting and paralyze spiders, drag them into their burrows and inject their eggs into the paralyzed but still living arachnid. The wasp larvae then eat their way out when they hatch. Please believe me – you don’t want to be stung by anything – but these airborne buggers punch way about their weight class.

‘Just finishing up some stuff – be with you in a sec.’

Of course the ants must get a mention. In this part of the world there are what the locals call ‘Sugar Ants’. Tiny things as far as ants go – but what they lack in size they more than make up in numbers and tenacity. I have timed them.  A single molecule of food left out, a crumb and it will take 3 minutes for an entire nation of ants to descend of it like the ravening hordes of Genghis Khan. And for some reason they love margarine. I’m switching to butter – I think it will make their little heads explode and I can then stop trying to turn back the tide with insecticide.

And spiders – I don’t even want to start explaining how waking up in the middle of the night and being fondled about the face by something that resembles a hairy dinner plate feels. In other circumstances and involving something that has less than eight eyes it might be a pleasant interlude to slumber – but not that. Although I must say it was very gentle.

‘But I just want to cuddle!’

4. Felines.

I am of the firmly held opinion that cats are the Earthly envoys of the Dark One whose name shall not be uttered. They don’t need us, they don’t like us and if they could work out how to use a Visa card and a can opener we’d be all be covered in cat litter before we knew what had hit us. But there are a few species in the feline lineup that fill me with absolute dread. I hate Lions – they smell like an abattoir and they make the most spine chilling noises in the middle of the night. So if you hear a thump on the roof in the wee hours just pull the covers over your head and ignore it. If you are a bit slow in the hours between 3am and 5am then go outside to have a look at what new hell Africa has served up. If you are tremendously unlucky it will be a Caracal that stares down at you.

‘You dare to disturb me feeble human!’

Now these are not the largest of Africa’s felines – but they’ll have your guts for garters. At 15 kilos they do not play with balls of yarn. They are known to be, as one science report stated ‘highly aggressive.’

When faced with one I have found that my approach may be best. A small shriek and a hasty retreat into the house.

5. Domesticated Poultry.

I love myself an egg. I do. And I do love quail eggs. They’re dainty and make you feel fancy. But the means of production leave much to be desired. A mature quail – and they are also delicious if a bit fiddly to eat, makes a noise like a fully equipped  troop of foot soldiers. And the maddening thing is that they simply do not stop. I don’t know if they take it in shifts or if there is a single quail that has some sort of amphetamine lab going. But it is a form of Chinese water torture. Throw a cockerel into the mix that thinks dawn is at 3am and you have the recipe for insanity.

I am eating these is often as possible as a matter of principle. Revenge is a dish best served with potatoes.

Living in the African countryside provides vistas of almost unimaginable beauty. Africa has a light and life that can bring you to your knees and engage your senses in a way that you have never imagined. The purple sky on a summers day, the smell of earth after the rains, the salt water on your skin as you watch Dolphins in the waters and yes – even the birds in the sky and the sight of a Silver Backed Jackal as it slinks away down the drive. I love it.

But, like every love affair Africa provides pleasure and pain. I’m just waiting for the snakes to arrive. The mouse under the couch and the frogs almost guarantee that they are on the way. Expect the Black Mamba rant sometime soon – or not, depending on whether the anti venom takes.

 

 

 

 

 

Mini Rant. The Value of Time. 10 May 2018.

At the onset of WWII Denmark fell in a stunning 8 hours. The invasion by the German forces using Blitzkrieg tactics that had not been seen before was simply something that the world had never encountered. It was masterful, and Europe crumbled before the onslaught. The Danes fought a valiant battle of resistance  and many lives were lost – and many saved. Heroes were made.

8 hours.

Lives lost and lives saved. I am not belittling that. These were people from the greatest generation.

So that is the nature of time and consequence.

That was life and death. Today money is life and death.

So I have to ask – why the blistering fuck does it take First National Bank in South Africa 7 days to clear a Paypal transaction? 7 Days? While they hold the funds? Is it life and death? Is our revenue service so dozy that they need to scrutinise every $80 flowing into the country – and they need a working week to do it?

These are funds that have been already cleared by Paypal – who are anal at the best of times.

I can only come to the conclusion that we have people in our financial institutions who are rubbing their hands together and mumbling under their breath ‘profit, interest, they have no choice, profit, heh.’

Is there another country in the world where you have to wait a solid week for your funds from Paypal to become available? If so I’d like to know about them – to paraphrase Basil Fawlty – ‘Good – I’d like a laugh.’

Because if the tanks roll into South Africa and you hand me a rifle and ask me just to hold on while you approve the rounds – you’re getting a bayonet up the bum.

Daily Rant. Black Panther Edition. 10 May 2018

 

The evening settles over the African countryside. There are elephants trumpeting over the hills and giraffes bending their necks over watering holes. The lions wait, poised to spring on the antelope that dip their heads over the still muddy waters as crocodiles wait below the surface; but there is a sound… all heads lift; what could it be? The vibrations of hoof beats? A herd that has been startled? No. The sound fades into the silence. A Masai warrior stands at the top of a hill outlined by a sun that sinks below the horizon painting the sky with a palette of crimson and purple. This is Africa as it has always been.

Unless of course you watched Black Panther.

I have never been more ‘triggered’ than I have when viewing one of the most successful Hollywood productions that have come from Marvel Studios.

Why on Gods green Earth do we see ‘evil’ people speaking with faux Afrikaans accents? We have a country that has thrown off the shackles of Apartheid. Yet we are still the go to villain of a movie about an imaginary African society. In Black Panther we have those cardboard cut out villains again – with the worse South African accents since Joss Ackland (Arjen Rudd) and Derrick O’Connor (Pieter Vorstedt) played the baddies in Lethal Weapon 2.

With ears like those you’d think he might have picked up on the subtleties of an accent.

Cultural appropriation – the new screaming shrill cry of the ultra liberal left in the United States. “you should not even think of our culture (usually black – hit me if I’m wrong) – do not touch!’

So you take a country and demonize a specific racial or cultural group – and that’s OK.

It’s not OK.

I thought that shit would have disappeared by now. My country is struggling to come to terms with its history. And you – Hollywood, for the sake of entertainment make light of that. You paint a people, a culture as vicious criminals.

There is no subtlety. It is a violent attack on the culture of a people you know nothing about. It is vile.

And then Hollywood, we come to the scene where you have a group of ‘Africans’ gathered around a pool where two people fight to the death. Did your producers actually travel to Africa? It’s an embarrassment. The sheer misunderstanding of tribal markings and their meaning is simply ridiculous. These are caricatures.

I can understand why this movie appealed to the masses of those descendants of Africans who were snatched from their homes. But that is not Africa. And frankly I felt sick after seeing the first ten minutes of this movie.

It’s not OK to do this. I understand the appeal of the character. I’ve probably been reading comics for longer than most of those people who directed this steaming turd have been alive – they have created an abomination and I am angered by their efforts (except for Stan Lee – love you).

It’s great as part of the Marvel universe – but it is an insult to everyone who lives on the African continent.

Marvel – some things require more than the Hulk approach. Some thought, understanding and subtly might be an idea.

Seriously – WTF?

Be black and proud – accept your heritage – but don’t cheer for absolute bullshit which insults every single African on this continent – Black or White.

Daily Rant. Triggered Edition. 30 April 2018

Cultural Appropriation and the word triggered.

We live in a world that is truly wonderful. Instantaneous communication, wonderful medical advances and the ability to apply our minds to unique pursuits. I like to look at insects – it’s sort of a hobby and does actually allow me to apply my mind. I look at species and sub categories, life cycles and things which would bore the average human being senseless. I think it’s hangover from my fly fishing days. Insects that fly or crawl range between the hideous and beautiful when viewed up close. The fact that they almost always try to hurt me is neither here nor there. It’s in their nature.

‘In their nature.’ It made me think.

The parable of the frog and the scorpion came to mind. I’m sure that I don’t to remind anyone – but I’ll do it anyway.

A scorpion asks a frog to carry it across a river. The frog hesitates, afraid of being stung, but the scorpion argues that if it did so, they would both drown. Considering this, the frog agrees, but midway across the river the scorpion does indeed sting the frog, dooming them both. When the frog asks the scorpion why, the scorpion replies that it was in its nature to do so.

But there is a subspecies of human being that has taken the scorpion mentality to a whole new level. Those who are ‘triggered’. It is one of those words that honestly makes me feel sick and angry.

Triggered.

What sad and lonely subsect of society is ‘triggered’ by something that annoys them. It gives the impression that they are going to run mad in the streets. It’s not the case.

It’s the social and popular media – it has stratified society to the point that anyone with a grievance can find a support group. If you can think it – it’s on the net. Go on I dare you. I haven’t even searched ‘dwarf amputees with alcohol addictions lizards and tattoo porn.’ And I bet you anything you’ll get a page of responses on Google.

And then the responses to this post would arrive. ‘How dare you associate tattoos / reptile ownership / little people / people with disabilities with porn.’ I know that was insulting (if you like the stuff – help yourself, I’m not in that extremely specialized business), but what triggered you? The fact that I mentioned it? The fact that it’s there on the net? What?

The fact of the matter is I don’t care. I mean no insult by my words. I’m using that as a ridiculous example. But if I talk about LGBT rights and say that I think that folks who follow that lifestyle are as entitled to washing room facilities as anyone else – but I think they should be free to use either male or female washrooms – not have their own I’m dead to the vocal part of the Internet that supports the terribly specialized rights of a subset of society.

They’ll be ‘triggered.’

The fact of the matter – in this particular instance is that I simply don’t care. I don’t stare at men’s junk when they are next to me at a urinal and I don’t interact with vagina’s unless it is subject to specific request.

Why would I care about what you wore, what you have in your pants or who you shared that information with?

And if there are people who make you feel uncomfortable – there’s a way to deal with that. It’s called the judicial system. If that doesn’t work, then there’s another way to deal with it, it’s called voting the imbecile out of office and voting in a new imbecile.

And then there is my next unfavourite.

‘Cultural Appropriation’.

What sort of blithering idiot came up with that one?

‘Cultural appropriation’. Let’s shake the imbeciles out of the trees first shall we.

How far back? When do I become a member of a culture – or is your worldview so closeted that it only allows for a blinkered view that encompasses the colour of a person’s skin? Or is it their ethnicity? A question for you far left liberals who are screaming at cops with your keffiyeh around your neck – are you of Palestinian descent? I have my doubts. Or is it a case that showing solidarity allows you to appropriate just that sliver of culture that you want for your own satisfaction?

Or those shrill, shrieking woman who verbally attack white folk for wearing ethnic clothing? I have no idea why – and I’m not being sexist – but it is always women – in the United States at least.

I have questions. Addressed to those liberal bastions of the American Dream who object to white folk who wear ‘African’ clothing.

When last were you in Africa? Did you tread the streets of Sun City in the Eastern Cape and watch the dead dogs burning? Did you teach during the strikes of the 80’s when young and old just wanted an education? Were you shot at by Apartheid cops? Did you get hit in the chest by a teargas round? Were you whipped by the security forces?

If you answer no to any of those questions – then you are just a poseur. A liberal looking for a cause. You are not an African. You are an American.

I wear Hawaiian shirts. I love them. They represent a dream and I think are stylish. Many would disagree. But I’ve been wearing them for 30 years. I’m not going to stop now.

Is that cultural appropriation? They were made by a Chinese merchant looking to get rid of excess stock.

I make food from Southeast Asia – is that cultural appropriation?

The response would be that these issues are only skimming the top of the boiling pot of cultural hatred. But you may be missing the point.

For someone to display your culture in a highly visible way is to acknowledge that culture as valuable. A part of the mixing pot that is our global society. I’m not talking about frat boys in Blackface – they deserve a bloody good thrashing.

Stop your nonsense. It is your right to be annoyed – everyone gets annoyed. But to scream unto the heavens that someone is stealing your culture is the absolute height of stupidity.

People take what is most admirable about cultures and make it part of the fabric of their own existence.

And make sure that you are part of that culture – here and now. People in culturally removed glass houses should not be throwing stones.

And I’m still going to continue with the Hawaiian shirts. It’s not cultural appropriation – it’s a unique sense of style – don’t care what anyone says.

Daily Rant. Software Update Edition. 28 April 2018

For those who rely on the Internet to make a living there can be no more terrifying message on a computer screen or mobile device than one that reads ‘Access denied’. Or at least that was my feeling until the early hours of this morning.

That was when my smartphone would simply not allow me to connect to my mail, any Internet sites or many apps. Instead it took me to a page where the manufacturers of my router – Huawei insisted that I install an update to the router operating system.

Essentially the company was saying to me – ‘do this – or no more connectivity for you sunshine.’ I don’t respond well to bullying – and this is classic schoolyard stuff. ‘Give me your lunch money or life will become extremely difficult if not immediately painful.’

Unable to contact Huawei in any way I had simply no choice. However, I knew what was going to happen – with rock hard absolute certainty.

It would be a two-step process. Firstly, the update would not install properly. Secondly it would reset absolutely everything related to my Internet access.

And lo – exactly that happened. Downloading the update took three tries (at 65megs a pop). Then the update would not install, it just stopped at 99%. Eventually it did install. And the second problem came to pass. It reset absolutely everything requiring passwords and authentication.

Now those strings of numbers and letters can be found on the bottom of your router. So, what do you do? Firstly, the router must be turned over, no biggie. However, it must remain on in order for the authentication process to take place. So you end up hunched over the damn thing like a bell ringer at Notre Dame Cathedral. That’s no walk in the park for someone with a dodgy back.

Then the second problem becomes apparent. For those of you with a router take a look at the codes on the bottom – go on – I’ll wait. The text is printed in the smallest size type allowable by international trade law. I am convinced that Huawei receives a commission from The International Association of Optometrists for each and every new patient.

Now, my eyesight is shot. I need new glasses, but I struggle to see very small type. And there’s another challenge. For some reason the designers at Huawei decided to use a font type that makes it almost impossible to differentiate between a ‘Q’ and an ‘O’. Also there are three separate strings of numbers, each with some arcane designation. So if your first entry is not accepted – is it a mistake you have made, or is it the wrong string of numbers and letters?

Re-enter – rinse and repeat until you feel the urge to remove your own eyes with an ice cream scoop.

Much swearing and rending of clothes took place.

Now all of this is a personal struggle – I recognize that. But here’s the eternal question – why? Everything was working.

Now those of an I.T. bent will explain that there are security questions etc etc. No. That cuts no ice with me. The only security issues would relate to my devices. If I want to be a bloody idiot and not install updates – that’s something that I think our constitution guarantees. I believe it’s under the clause about access to cheap beer.

This is the nub of the problem. We are being bullied.

Microsoft has just released an update to Windows 10. Downloading it is free (aside from the fact that these updates take hours to install – and time is money). But once again I know with granite certainty that I will not be given a choice. The operating system will let me know about the update and ask me if I want to install it – and I will say ‘later’. And I will fire up my laptop at the end of May and a message will appear ‘download in progress – do not switch off your computer.’

I don’t want the update. But I am going to be bullied into accepting it. There will be no opt out.

Life really is too short. I’d rather have a foot gnawed off by a hyena. At least I know that the pain would stop at some point.

‘We’re waiting…’

“Besides the noble art of getting things done, there is the noble art of leaving things undone. The wisdom of life consists in the elimination of non-essentials.”
― Lin Yutang

Daily Rant. Garden Maintenance Edition. April 27 2018

I’d like to say upfront that I think a wonderfully maintained garden is a beauty to behold. Well-manicured lawns, the precise layout of selected perennials, a squared off rose garden and perhaps an ornamental water feature with Koi placidly providing a balm to the mind.

I’d also like to say that the previous paragraph is completely and utterly untrue. I like nature untouched.

I love wild nature. It tries injure me at various times (a crocodile under an overturned rowing boat? How the hell did it get there and why would I turn it over?).

I reserve a special hatred for cows. Love milk and beef, but a wet nose to the back of the neck while fly fishing is the reason I’ll only live to 60. My heart took irreparable damage.

And flailing about madly to escape the entire herd, each and every one wandering over to see what all the swearing was about was the waste of a perfectly good 6 weight fly rod. It was like beating a group of dusty carpets with a fly whisk.

I seem to have wandered somewhat off topic.

Back we go to the subject of garden manicuring. I live in a beautiful place. The Valley of a Thousand Hills in Kwazulu Natal, South Africa. It is simply stunning. Rolling green hills and enormous properties. Horses and mad horse people. Jackals and tiny birds which look delicious.

But amidst the silence and peace there is a something that will eventually drive you to run naked in the garden swearing at the flora and fauna. I did that before – but the behaviour was something the neighbours have learned to enjoy. I think they have a pool going as to whether I’ll have a heart attack first or something lethal will bite me. I put $20 on the biting with a multiple for snakebite or tickbite fever. I expect a huge payoff. I’ll be dead – but it’s the principle that counts.

But the things that will cause you eventually to lose your mind are what we in South Africa call weedeaters. Elsewhere in the world they are called strimmers or edge cutters, or something along those lines.

Beelzebub’s Edge Trimmer

5am – a time when I thought only farmers and their barnyard animals were having breakfast – it starts. And that hum and occasional scream from those who have not put on their safety goggles doesn’t stop. 7 days a week.

Leave the bloody grass be. There are horses – don’t they eat grass (I’m a bit hazy on the details)? What about sheep – they make very little noise, they eat grass and they’re fluffy idiots that you can eat.

Just stop with the grass cutting equipment.

Daily Rant: Social Media Edition. April 26 2018

One of the most pressing questions we, as thinking and feeling human beings have is a philosophical one. ‘Why are we here?’ ‘What’s the point?’

Now one could follow the immortal Brad when he wrote:

“Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.’

That could very well be the most succinct explanation of the Social Media that has ever been written. I doubt very much that Macbeth was talking about our digital connectiveness – but he was talking about our mortality and approach to others within a viciously connected century – a century that Shakespeare examined a human condition which has not changed. Only the instruments we use to communicate have changed.

We do not use flyers to advertise the Globe where people could interact in person to pillory a play. Nor do we go to coffee houses to discuss the politics and social structures of a society in turmoil.

Pondering why we spend so much time on the social media is a Yorick moment. In Hamlet (to extend a comparison which is in danger of a slippery slide to classic metaphor driven laziness.)

“Let me see. (says Hamlet taking the skull) Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio, a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy. He hath borne me on his back a thousand times, and now, how abhorred in my imagination it is! My gorge rises at it. Here hung those lips that I have kissed I know not how oft. —Where be your gibes now?’

And there you have it. We strut on a stage. The social media falls prey to the idea of ‘attitude agreement.’ It is unlikely that you will interface with those who disagree with your own deeply held beliefs of societal structure, family and unique personal experience.

And happiness. There is without doubt a bias towards positioning of our own lives in the social media – and the happiness we find within our own experience. We tend to move between polar opposites. Joy or sadness.

There is an element of cognitive dissonance.

We refuse to accept unhappiness as a growth or learning experience. Rather we seek affirmation when we post images and text about the philosophy of joy. We fight tooth and nail against anything which disturbs our worldview – that armoured soul that we have.

Is this the most effective way of learning and self-growth?
It may be – to compare ourselves to others is (arguably) to struggle toward an ideal of self-actualization.

Is it healthy that we should struggle towards that ideal when it is quite clearly an expression of ‘Cherry Picked’ joy?

That is debatable.

Bricks and Mortar. Bonus Rant. April 24 2018.

A beautiful woman saw a sign on a wall the other day and asked me to write something. That sign read ‘Don’t be just another brick in the Wall.’ In 1979 Pink Floyd released an album. It became a cult favourite. In 1982 a movie came out – The Wall. It spoke to the souls of many.

It raged against the machine, the machinery that grinds down love and hope and pity and happiness. So why do we still see those spokes and wheels and gears as essential to out daily lives? Why are we that brick in the edifice that makes up modern society?

Each of us is a simple building block that holds up government and civil society. But we rage against it. We hate what it demands. And what it demands is subservience. It promises that if we bow down and prostate ourselves before an alter of law and order that we will be protected from harm.

Our children will be safe, our lives will be secure. It is a fiction. A lie created by each of us who are bricks in that wall. We are not safer. The world around us crumbles. Nature and society are dying. The very fabric that once sustained us is now convulsing in its death throes.

And we take to the social media (as I am now doing) and we scream into the void – ‘help!’ Can someone please just help? And no one listens.

They read and pontificate – and ask for monetary assistance. But nothing changes. It is as always the curse of the short lifespan. We hand over a tainted and burning baton to the next generation.

It is always their problem. Until the forests die and the rivers dry up. I have no solution other than to rage against the dying of the light. And to perhaps take joy in the small things that wander across my path. And the majesty of the infinite beauty that I see in the dawn. A brick and a building block I might be – but I’m damned if I will not be a block that is not next to another and held together by the concrete of kindness and wonder.

It is all we can do. A bonus rant for today. Thank you my love for allowing me to share my thoughts

Daily Rant – Avian Edition – 24 April.

3am in the bloody morning and bloody animal is crowing it’s head off.

3am – what sort of hen is going to rush towards him and give him the avian equivalent of a hand job at this time of morning?

And now he’s woken the neighbors quail up so they’ve started muttering.

It makes me think of people who post on Facebook (yes, me as well) and other social media sites. It’s like these birds.

A huge amount of noise. No return.

It’s like the voices in your mind that signal the approaching onset of madness. No one actually cares about the noise in your head or your opinions – they’re annoying and do not provide any value. 

Unless you are able to provide breakfast in the shape of eggs shut up.

Don’t be one of these.

I don’t want to know six ways to get to know my own psychic aura. I want no truck with other peoples struggles and a link to their websites – because it’s usually clickbait.

I don’t want to solve the puzzle. I could not care less about the value of plastic waste and the way it is damaging our planet. Or your ideas on captive dolphins, vaccination and Monsanto.

Your opinions are all crowing. You are not doing anything about it – why should I care?

All these issues are important. But for the love of God – stop posting – unless you are actually doing something. Information is only power if it is acted upon. I am in such a bad mood because of birds.

Daily Rant 23 April – Invertebrate edition.

I don’t usually mind things that scuttle, crawl and ooze theirway across the face of the planet – after all politicians are a fact of life.

But I am developing a healthy loathing for ants. In the highlands of KwaZulu Natal which I call home there are tiny little buggers which I have been reliably informed are called Sugar Ants. They don’t taste sugary at all – and I know this because they are everywhere – including in my mouth .

If you drop a crumb of toast they are on it within seconds – you have to step back otherwise they’ll carry you off to their lair.

But there is something I fail to understand – they are fixated on margarine. I could put down a dollop of Foi Gras and they wouldn’t even blink (well – I don’t think they’ve got eyelids – but you know where I’m going with this). I’m too bone idle to test the theory of butter vs margarine – but I am convinced that their little heads would explode if I put down some semi hardened moo juice.

But here’s the essence of this rant. In South Africa they sell a powder called ‘Blue Death.’ Now, with a name like that (and large letters that read ‘DOOM’) it’s a fair bet that it’s not a condiment that you want to sprinkle on your fried egg.

Such jolly colours.

But I’m easily distracted.’Oh look a squirrel’ is not even the start of it – I could be distracted by a bee making an interesting noise. So here is my advice to anyone using a lethal powdered insecticide. Do not lick your fingers after sprinkling it in the garbage bin.

It has a faintly salty taste and a gritty mouthfeel. But it really does not pay to become distracted when using it.

I am now going to write to the manufacturers (Death Inc.) and ask them to put a skull and crossbones on the packaging and a disclaimer that reads ‘Do Not Sell To Men in Their Late 40’s Who Are easily Distracted.’

Vomiting and sweating should be pastimes of the teenage years and related to excessive Jagermeister intake. My liver and kidneys have taken enough of a pummeling through the years without subjecting them to legal poison.