Zoo-chology

It started with my friend Harduss' art exhibition to highlight the plight of the Rhino. I got to the zoo quite late and asked at the gate if I could quickly still pop in to see the exhibition. They said yes, but that because it was so close to closing, I should use the -Zoo Officials Only- gate. I drove down to the gate and explained to the zoo official where I was going and he opened the boom and directed me to the restaurant. There were no people at the zoo and I drove right up to the entrance and popped in to see the exhibition unhindered.....

Yesterday was the last day of Johanns exhibition and I was available to go around lunchtime.
I didn't  think twice, drove straight to the -Zoo Officials Only- gate and told them that I needed to get to the exhibition area....."No problem Madame, we'll drive ahead".
With the Zoo Official on the golf cart escourting me through throngs of Sunday animal lovers, I felt like the princesss on the float in the middle of Johannesburg. Everyone turned to stare, as we moved through the waves of people parting, might I add like the red sea, and a lot of not so happy Israelites.
I started to laugh and blush at the audacity of it all as we passed the flamingos and the elephants and drove up to the exhibition hall with people staring after us.
As we turned the corner Miekie, Johann and their friend looked up from there spot on the picnic blanket. Their faces turned from relaxed, to surprized, to w..t..f........?
The official indicated for me to park under the roof right in front of the foyer doors and nodded his head in greeting as he sped away on his zoomobile. I gave him a royal wave.

My friends just shook there incredulous faces and looked at me for the explanation and quite honestly I can't give them one. We just laughed and laughed and laughed at the craziness of it all!

My only suggestion is that I may have been the queen of Sheba in a previous life?

It's never too late to try

When a friend told me about the Bronkhorstspruit Blues festival on the farm Witfontein, I decided to try my hand at a "deurnag jol". I love live music in a comfortable club and have always shied away from the camping scene of the true rockers who frequent weekend festivals.

I took note over the years as I listened to my kids chatting about the pros and cons of sleeping arrangements and decided to go with my daughters suggestion that one's car is the safest, warmest place to sleep.

I'm not sure if sleeping in your car can still be classed as camping but I did park next to a tent and I certainly feel as if I have been camping.
I think the lack of customery ablusions and sleep, and the fact that my flattened seats have a two inch ridge at the break have made for an experience never to be forgotten. I'm thinking of drafting a letter to Honda suggesting a minor change in the design for frequent festival fans.

After the aches and pains have subsided and the bruises are gone, I will only remember the fun and write it up in my book of  "Most-best Memories to Mull over!"

I will think back of the crowd jiving and bopping to Karen Zoid.

I will hear Valient Swart's deep rich voice, soothing in my mind.

I will marvel at the talent of Albert Frost and his amazing guitars.

I will look back and say "yes! remember that amazing weekend!"

Stompies

So why is it that my neighbours insist on using my garden as an ashtray?

When I lived in the bottom flat of a stack and found a few fresh stompies on my lawn, I just threw them up onto the upstairs balcony.
Although I threw stompies onto the balcony every second day, in the two years I stayed there they never said a word and neither did I.
The arrangement seemed to work well for both parties.

In my new complex I have a garden on my outer wall. The neighbours stand outside chatting with their guests and I watch as they casually thumb-flick the filter onto the wall and watch with disinterest as it plops into the flowerbed.

Then along comes a proud young man with a staffy, stops, watches lovingly as his dog shits in my garden and walks off without......never mind a backward glance.....HEY!! where's your pooper scooper PAL!
I'm starting to grind my teeth while smiling "hello" at the nighbours every morning.
They sweetly remark, "we were saying the other day that you keep very funny hours?" with suggestively lifting eyebrows, which of course feeds my motivation to "get even".
What to do, What to do?
The neighbours are young new owners and very proud of their new garden at their front entrance.
Staffy-boy walks past my house every day - and what do you think, the dog remembers "Ahh this is my toilet!....Mandyloo".

I don't want to start little quibles about mundane grievances in my small complex but cummon...I'm an ex-smoker and I know the feeling when you're that desperate that you'll dig in the bin for a stompie just long and dry enough for three drags, but you still use an ashtray.

I wait.
Until they have left for work.

With pursed lips and a determined look, I pick up every last stompie and throw them into their perfect front garden.

I quickly head back into mine and when I've taken a few deep breaths, inhaling yet more courage, I head back to the flowerbed with my little spade.

I flick the poops gently onto the paving just in the path of the dogwalkers.

Feeling very happy with myself and head off to work.

Next morning I take a "wide" birth to my car and wave a happy "hello" to my neighbours bowed heads as they peer intently into their not so perfect garden.