On Love stories

We all have one. At least.

I’ve read my fair share of romance novels. Probably more than my fair share if l think about it. They have a recipe. Beautiful, but struggling girl,meets beautiful and successful man. They are attracted but fight it. Externals come into play, they break up. They get together again and they all live happily ever after.

Well. It’s a story. No need for it to be realistic. Although, that’s what grated my nuts when l read the lone Grey novel. It was like a Betty Heels heroine met a Penny Jordan hero. They are two M & B writers. Guess which one l enjoyed most? Nope, not ms Neels! Probably just me, but when l read a romance, l like to imagine myself in the character’s place. And with the grey situation,l could not.

Lately I’ve come across love stories that are closer to life, grittier than your Barbara Cartlands, closer to actual life, making them just a tad more believable and me more inclined to believe that l could, once again, have my own love story.
Alas. As the heroines became more real, the heroes did not. The men are still idealised versions. Even though they have issues, they are prepared to work on those issues since they want to win the woman’s heart. They do not let those issues rule them right out of a decent life. And so far I’ve not come across a male that was prepared to do that.
Then again, the longer you’re alone, the more precious your solitude becomes to you. In my case, if l had to spend every weekend visiting a boyfriend, nothing would ever get done around here! The few months no spent with C made that clear. So, a compromise have t be entered into. But they never get to the point where a compromise could be formed. Because, instead of looking at it realistically and realising we’re separate people with separate lives, we believe in the stylised version as depicted in books and movies. And choose to want the perfection they offer instead of the reality in front of them.

Nobody wants to read about laundry being done or leaking toilets that has to be fixed with money that you don’t have, so nobody writes about it. But the reality is, those things are a very real part of real people’s lives and, as such,must be take into account. I can’t see myself spending ever waking moment with somebody without worrying about the things that has to be done while I’m off gallivanting all over the place. But l also know you want to. You want to immerse yourself in the love affaire. You don’t want to be left out in the cold, alone and lonely when you have a perfectly good person to alleviate the loneliness and emptiness.

And that,my dear people, is why humans should fall in love while they’re still young, still unencumbered with all the above mentioned things. Before they become selfish with their time and personal space. While they still have the green wood that can bend rather than hardwood that breaks. While hope is still a thing with wings and the world is just waiting for you to change it.
The older you get, the more set in your ways you get. The more time you spend on your own, the more difficult it becomes to allow another into that space you’ve created and the more exasperating it gets because you want to, but you don’t know how.

NaNoWriMo is around the corner again. And l still have a love story that l want to write into being. A love story that l can believe in. One that l can, hopefully, one day make real. Suppose it’s easier,wading through the emotional pitfalls in the pages of a book rather than in real life!

KT Tunstall – Hold On: http://youtu.be/vsCi5cdm2tw

on missing…

Sometimes you just do.

It’s been a while since I’ve had any male/female interaction other than work related. The one date I have been on turned into your typical name-calling fiasco when I refused to let the drunkish man come to my house – he seemed to think that paying for a whisky and some food gave him the right to a soft landing place for the evening. Even though I wanted to pay for my own food, precisely to stop that from happening. Suffice to say, that experience made me even more leery of even bothering to try and meet somebody worth knowing.

Now, when I talk about missing, I’m not talking sex. In this day and age, one does not need another human to reach orgasm – not the same, no, but much safer, physically as well as emotionally and the end result is the same – more or less.

No. When I talk about missing, I’m thinking about what a man smells like. How his shoulders feel when you wrap your arms around him. How it feels to play with the hair in his neck. The scratching of stubble on your cheek and that thrill of all thrills, a beard in your neck. The comfort of being able to touch another person, and being touched in return. The curling around when you sleep at night, the little shared looks and activities that make up a relationship.

These are a few of my favourite things 😉

I thought about it the other day while watching Supernatural, again. Strange place to be reminded of what you’re missing, human touch wise, but it was vampire Benny and he does have the most delicious accent, so I would not at all have minded to be able to wrap my arms around him and hear that voice in my ear, whispering sweet nothings, or rather, pertinent facts, in my ear!! Alas. All I could do was watch it on screen, while another chick got to hold on to him, wrapping her arms around his neck, fingers sliding through the hair on his neck and I realised that that kind of familiarity and comfort is what I would like to have. Not to feel uncomfortable touching the other person, or being afraid to touch them when and where you want.

I’m not talking about groping them in public, that’s distasteful – doing it, having it done to you and having to see it done, so no. Nothing like that. But to be able to run your fingers through his hair when the wind mussed it, or just because you feel the need to touch – that would be quite lovely. To hide your face in his neck, smelling the essence of him, and feeling safe.

Yeah. I’m missing somebody I might never meet. Or rather, what I had with my dude. Which is futile and needs to stop, sooner rather than later. Then again. I know what it feels like to be loved, completely and utterly, without reserve, without compunction – why on earth should I settle for anything less than that?

And there-in lies the problem. There are many men out there. Some of them may even be good men. But they are also spoilt men. The have the pick of very well looked after cougars. Women of experience, means and opportunity, prepared to put up with a lot more diva-behaviour than I’ve ever been. They have the choice of women – thin, big, tall, small, blonde, brunette – and here I rock up. Neither thin nor blonde, neither rich, nor inclined to deal with stupid issues – makes it difficult to find a person to be comfortable and familiar with. No. Knowing me is not a walk in the park. I never said that. I’m known for making uncomfortably true remarks. I am what I am, made that way through my experiences. And looking after yourself for a few years does tend to make you a bit wary of idiots. I read somewhere that Rachel Welch, I think, said – there are no hard women. Only soft men. And I can relate to that in a major way.  But, as with the fiasco date, names will be uttered and even though I could not really be bothered what you call me, I’d really rather go through life not having to deal with your particular inadequacies. I’ve had to deal with my own issues. Still do that on a daily basis. And because I know everybody has their own problems, I do try not to make mine theirs. It’s the least I can do for my fellow human beings.

Life, as we know it, always goes on. It does not stop regardless of what you’re struggling with. And I’ve gotten good at forging the turbulent waters. But it would be marvelous to share some of that turbulence with somebody that can help me row the boat for a bit…

Hope your weekend is a good one – I have to fix my fishpond this weekend and that will entail mixing a few bags of cement and plastering the whole thing – yet again! Still. It’s good, hard, honest work and I will be able to see the fruits of my labour once done. Have a good one!!

Pet Cemetery

Was going to do a post about the idiot kids that’s trashing the country as we speak, but no. They will do what they will do and noting l say will make an iota of difference to the situation.
So, l thought I’d regale you with a story of my cat. The big black and white one. The real life tomcat. He was never spayed so l presume he sowed his wild oats widely 😉 And that is a big part of this story.
The old man, Chaplin as he was known, would wander off and stay wandering for months on end. Then he’d come home and stay for a while and then be off again.
Alas. The last visit home was to be his last. He came home and was fine for a while but he seemed to have used up all nine of his lives. He died one morning and l buried him in my garden right outside my bedroom window. Pets die – they are a part of your life for a while and then they go away, leaving you with a somewhat emptier life, albeit richer for having had the experience.
Back to the wild oats sowing.
A few weeks after his death, the cats l have in the house woke me up with their fighting. It’s happened before – unfortunately a side effect of having cats. They don’t generally worry about where and when they fight. In actual fact, l think they wait for the time when you would get the biggest fright and then they have at it – not much fun at all. In this instance l did not see the other cat hey were fighting with. I did see it the second time the fight happened. And it was the spitting image of the cat currently lying buried underneath my bedroom window. Same size, same markings, same movements…
Ever read or seen Pet Cemetery? If you have, you will know exactly what l’m talking about!!
Picture this. You’re fast asleep. Next minute you are rudely awakened by the screaming of fighting cats, right in your room. Add to that the sight of a supposedly dead animal walking,or rather, running around in your bedroom and what your eyes are telling you as opposed to what your brain know – utterly mind-numbing terror! I woke,  screaming myself, scattering cats, waking the neighbours, and possibly people in the next six  streets, not to mention the block and jumped out of bed,chasing the blasphemous being out in front of me. I actually went to Chaplin’s grave to go and check that he has not indeed clawed his way out if it. Nope. He did not. As far as I could see the rocks on his grave were undisturbed.
No,it was not my old Chaplin. It must have been one of hiss of spring that frightened the life out of me.
When all was settled, l realised something else was wrong. I’d lost my loose tooth cap. I had t walk around with  gap in my mouth – not quite a love gap, but still. Not the way one would like t be out in the world. I’m still being teased about that tooth and probably always will.
And there you have it. Should l have to bury another animal in my garden, heaven forbid, l think I’ll pour a ring of salt around it – just to keep any possible ghosts in check!

As mentioned before in passing, l joined Toastmasters here in SA. And l will have to make my first speech in the near future. No particular topic, just to break the ice and l thought that this essay may not be a bad idea for a first speech – think it’s any good? Anything you think l should add or remove? I would welcome any constructive criticism. Bear in mind, this is an actual true story 😉

Dogs.

Man’s best friend.

But. If you get one with a pedigree, then, not so much. And, if you have to look after somebody else’s pedigree, even less. Not that we have a pedigree dog, or rather, not one we paid actual money for, but this little mite has all the quirks and foibles of a pedigree dog, without the pedigree papers.

I like dogs. Like cats more, but dogs fill a different role in a person’s life. They are more involved, and more dependent on you than any cat. They like to be close, and there’s no welcome like a dog’s welcome.

That being said. I have a few breeds that does absolutely nothing for me. Not because they’re not good dogs or not cute dogs or ugly or anything, I just don’t like them – mostly through dealings with other people’s dogs. Sausage dogs are one of these breeds. Never thought my doorstep would be darkened by a sausage dog of any kind. Shows you how much the Universe loves a good joke!

In March of this year, my mom stands in my garden, watering. I’m busy with something else at the back of the house. I hear her calling and come running around the corner. She tells me not to worry, my aunt has already gone to see if she could help. Turns out the being that needed help was an emaciated sausage dog. Not bad mange yet, but covered in fleas, burnt paws from walking, dehydrated – a walking skeleton. IMG_6379

Young dog still, but the poor thing. It really was the most horrible sight. Looked like he’s been lost in the streets for a while. Probably ran out of where he belonged and ended up in my street right at the time that my mom was looking out and just when my aunt needed something that she could call her own. She, I think, needed to feel useful as much as the dog needed somebody to take care of him.

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Life went on, and the young man was nursed back to health with lots of tender morsels and egg mixed milk. He turned into a king that was coddled and looked after and made himself the ruler of the whole roost – Ben and Cujo included! He looks like one of Ben’s spots fell off but is as ferocious as a tiger!

And, he’s spoilt. Rotten. My aunt would make him porridge in the morning that gets given to him while he’s still in his little bed/tunnel thing. He parks on her every chance he gets. He has well and truly come home.

Then, the aunt went to Thailand. She’s there for three months. And I, Ghia, get to look after her menagerie. 10 rabbits. 2 chickens, 6 quail. And one sausage dog. He’s got a hard life with me. Gets food twice a day, no tidbits. Gets washed once a week, maybe. Gets petted when I get home. Is left alone all day. Gasp!! Outside! He does not go everywhere with me like he did with my aunt. But he does get to lie on my couch. Wrapped in his blanket. IMG_7442 IMG_7434 IMG_7519

Or curled up in my couch pillows. No, he does not sleep just like that. No way will he sleep just on the floor! He will sleep on a pillow. Or on the floor wrapped in his blanket. And he does not just lie on the blanket – he’s only happy when everything is covered by it…

He’s a handful. One I did not want or need. But he is quite the cutest dog, other than my Ben of course.

He’s lord of the manor, and everything else allows him 😉

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A note…

…to say: l’m not gone. 

Just had a gloriously busy Monday! 

Don’t you just love days like that? No time for lamenting and bemoaning your lot, just busy doing things, feeling all productive and stuff…

After all, it’s only Monday. Not like you’re getting married again 😉

Still. It was a good day. 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oHs98TEYecM&sns=em

Dear Peggy

It’s been a long time. And now it’s going to be never. 

Death. The Great Equalizer. The one thing that ends everything. The one thing that there’s no coming back from.  The thing that makes us regret the things we should have done but neglected to do. 

I was wrapped up in my own misery. Wrapped up in mu own hurt feelings, running away from the world. And l missed your passing. I hid from everything and every one and l did not tell you how much you meant to me. Did not keep up with your life the way you did me. 

It’s to late now. The Reaper took you. Yes, you were ill. It was only a matter of time. Time that l did not take and make use of. Because l was hiding. Trying to not get hurt yet again. I only found out by accident  that you were no more. 

So l thought l’d write you a letter. You will never read it and for that l am sorry. But you have been in my thoughts. Always. 

You would like what my life has become. I am less fearful. More inclined to show sympathy. More willing to see the other side. Less righteous. I don’t make promisesl know l can’t keep, l just live my life as set down in the Word. The Word we both shared. I’m not perfect. But l am striving to become better. 

My dearest Peg. Rest in peace in the Lord’s arms. Hopefully you will know that you have played a big part in my life even though it was from afar. And l will not forget you. As long as you live in people’s hearts, you will never be forgotten. Your death were the catalist for me bo oming active again. Life’s too short to hide from everything you’re scared of. The biggest prison is the one we build for ourselves out of fear and regret. So. I will be less fearful, braver. And hopefully, have less regrets. 

I will miss you Peg. But l know you are better off now than you have been in life. Hope you went gently. 

All my love. 

Ghia. 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XYLOAay_2MQ&sns=em

Phones

Very well. 

We all know l adore my particular phone. So much so that l would marry it if such a thing was possible 😉

But l mainly use my phone to read. So, as l would hide behind a book in public, l can now hide behind my phone. Compact and easy to use. I check FB and e mails, but hardly ever have any actual communication with the phone. 

Therefore, l don’t spend all my time chatting to people, disappearing into cyberspace, not interacting with my surroundings, oblivious to the world around me. 

Most of the people out there though, they have no such compunctions. The one chick at work has been hauled over the coals for her constant phone use. Everywhere you look, people are staring at their phones. Couples, kids, family – can’t have a conversation with them because they’re always chatting to somebody else… Quite irritating actually!

Today, on my way back from my most favourite place in the world – the hardware store, l saw a dude. Not half bad looking either, but what caught my attention was his car. A magnificent, bloodred, sixty somethng Mustang. Beautifully restored, shining in the sunlight – a beauteous beast. I would have liked to make my appreciation clear, showing a thumbs up and a smile…

Alas. He was on his phone. Not looking around him. If it was me in a car like that, l would have been looking around me, ready for the adulation of he crowd, accepting my dues for driving such a lovely thing. Not this guy though. The phone was more important than the admiration of a random chick. 

These phones! Can’t live without them, can’t flirt with them 😉

Hope your Saturday was a good one. 

Blogland…

… I’m back.

After way too many months, I have decided to break my silence. I miss blogging. I miss the people I blogged with. And I will do everything I can to do this thing right and proper and to enjoy it as I once did before I let externals stop me from enjoying this as I used to.

I’m breaking my silence with a happy birthday wish.

Not a fellow blogger, or even somebody on my cyber friends’ list. My dude. The Yank. It’s his birthday today. 54 I think – more than a half century of being alive and five of those years, loved by me. Don’t suppose that will ever go away, regardless of how stupid and futile and morbid it may be – the heart wants what the heart wants.

Still, it’s not a bad day even for the love that’s far away and long ago. It’s a good day. A day to be celebrated. A person worth knowing was born on this day in 1961. He lived a life that made him a person worth knowing and when I met him, it was as if everything made sense. It still does.

I don’t know if he still reads me like I know he did some time back. But, because I can’t contact him directly, I will do this on the web for everybody to see just what an impact he had on my life. Still does…

Hey S 😉

Today is your birthday. I hope it’s a happy one, filled with the love and laughter you deserve for being who you are. You have been in my thoughts a lot lately. Things have happened that made me miss our time together. I’ve experienced things that brought home to me just how much we did share in the while we loved and lived. Your poem still rests in my wallet, never far from me, a tangible reminder of what we meant to one another and, in a way, still do.

I heard Stardust again yesterday. Every time I hear that song, things just tighten. My eyes become watery, my heart aches, my body remembers. Sure, missing you is an exercise in futility. Something that will never be. It does not stop the memories from coming. They are always at the back of my head, like something precious that needs to be taken out every so often, looked at, dusted off and put back on the shelves, ready for when I feel melancholy again.

One sad thing. My computer’s hard drive crashed. With all our pictures on it. Our Iraq experience, our Istanbul trips – all gone. When they broke into my house two years ago, they stole the Harley t shirts you got me. The necklace you gave me, the bracelet you gave me. But those are all just things. The memories of you and our time together will never be forgotten, nor can it be stolen. It will live in my heart forever. They are such a big part of my life that I’m thinking of building my first Toastmaster speech around the song Stardust and the memory of you. Think it will be a hit – we were good together.

I saw something today that made me cackle with laughter. A chick in traffic with a sticker on her car – remember the two in the pink, one in the stink? Oh man, I laughed and laughed. Just another reason why I thought to send you this missive. Because, as happened when we met, things have happened these past few days that strengthened my resolution to send you something on your birthday.  I can’t be there in the flesh, much as I would have like to wake you up with coffee and a kiss, take you out for breakfast, or spend the day doing things you love, maybe go for a ride, or a drive out to the countryside and have a picnic, or even a whole weekend away, filled with love and laughter and the joy of togetherness.

My life has changed in so many ways since the last time we talked. Good things have happened, as have bad things, all serving to make me a better, stronger person.

But no matter how much I’ve changed, you will always be a constant. Not as much a reminder as a guideline, maybe even a goal. Although I think we set the bar to high for other people to match what we had. Still. Every day that passes, I’m more inclined to think that I should leave well alone and just live my life on my own with the memory of at least one relationship that did not fail because I was a horrible and uncomfortable person to be with.

Anyhow S. If you read this, you should know that you are in at least one person’s thoughts today and always. I hope the next year brings you more good than bad, more laughs and less tears, more happiness than sorrow, more love than hate. Hope you will feel sheltered in your loved ones’ embrace, content with your life.

And, as always, dream a little dream of me.

You will always be in my thoughts, my prayers and my heart.

Help. Help. Help…

Nope, not me. I’m sorted for the most part.

And, if I need help, I wait until said need goes away by ignoring it, or doing it myself. Much easier that way. Less people to be beholden to if you do things yourself.

But, since I’m in a mood today, being a hormonal middle aged woman and all, I’ve been thinking about this help thing.

Everywhere – Facebook, radio, work colleagues, everybody needs help. Disenfranchised white people. Previously disadvantaged black people. Dogs, cats, orphans, mentally and physically disabled kids and adults, everybody needs and wants help and they have no compunction looking at me and the rest of the great unwashed, those of us with jobs and places to stay, for said help. With no hesitation at all they are prepared to ask for money so that one young man can go and defend his radio operated aeroplane title in Switzerland or what ever they currently think will be a good idea.

As I already stated, I’m in a mood today, so, the thoughts crossing my mind is not very civic or even very kind. After hearing a story from one of the work mates about something that happened on the radio today. A radio station apparently went to an all girls orphanage and performed for them like a very bad boy band. And afterwards they gave all the girls tickets to go to a One Direction concert – because said girls do not have parents to  buy them tickets. Sad for those girls but good for them too. Not that I’m in any way interested in seeing One Direction – I don’t even know who they are! it was the thought behind the thought that caught in my mind like a burr.

Thinking of my children. They grew up, mostly on their own. They came home after school, no mother there to greet them. They made their own way home for the most part, no gran to give them a lift to and from school. They did the cooking. They helped me keep the place relatively clean. They never had any real electronics. no home computers or printers, no internet, no tablets. Most of those things were not as readily available then as they are now, and, truth be told, they were probably better off without said electronics than todays’ kids with it.

The point I’m trying to  make is the following: Neither me nor my children had a lot of help in years gone by. We did not die of hunger, because in that we did receive help. Unasked for for the most part. But nobody ever got them tickets for a show because they grew up in a broken home where the mother was hard pressed to keep a roof over their heads. Nobody offered to take them for an ocean holiday because some months they had to make do with sausage and macaroni. Never was the offer made to buy their school shoes or school bags or school stationary. Why? Because they never needed those things? Because they went on holidays all the time? Because they had a parent that could furnish them with all those things?

Nope. Not because of any of those reasons. Only because they did have a parent. Which was somewhat good for them I suppose, but I often think, having had me as a parent may have caused them more harm than good. In fact, I think most kids that grow up in a single parent household comes out of it with more than a few screws loose. They have a parent. Even if said parent have too much month left at the end of the money, even if said parent are struggling with their own feelings of inadequacies, the stress of being the sole breadwinner on too little money, the worry of being the main provider, having double the responsibility with half the time and money, the constant battle between what you want your kids to have and what you can actually give them. Not easy. And you let the ball drop more often than you like. This I know from experience.

Everybody needs help at some stages of their life. Most though, fall through the cracks. They don’t get the help they need. Probably because, as was my case, they never asked for it. But, in my defence, often, when I did ask from the places that could help – government institutions – you were left to foot the bill. My family helped where they could, the school did something, a church did once, but, for the most part, we were left to our own devices.

The story this morning about the orphanage kids being taken for a concert, coupled with the hormonal mood I’m in today and having been reading and listening to all the people that needs help has put me in kind of a negative state of mind. Where I don’t want to be bothered to help people when I never received any help myself. When my kids had to make do without so much. Yes, it’s selfish of me, I know. My kids had food on their table, a roof over their heads, clean clothes and access to education. Much more than many other kids do have. But that’s all they had. Nobody ever felt sorry enough for them to try and take them out of their circumstances like they’re doing with the orphanage girls.

My boys. The reason I got up and went to work so many mornings. The only reason I’m still alive today. And I could not even give them a quarter of what goes without saying these days.

Crying over spilt milk and water under the bridge won’t change anything. You can’t change the past, you can’t make it better or do it over, you can only try and live your life in the present as best you can. And often, the past rears it’s ugly head and you have to deal with the same feelings all over again. Just because I am tearful today, sad for all the things that got lost along the way, probably thinking about what might have beens – it all adds up. Tomorrow is a different day and life invariably goes on but for today, I’ll be a bit teary eyed and sad.

Trust you will not…

Do it yourself…

…yeah. About that.

South Africa, or, as I like to call it, the Suck Heap, have been going from bad to worse in the past few months. All of a sudden things just does not seem to be working as they once did. Not that everything was working fine beforehand, but it’s really becoming noticeable how bad it really is.

Of course, you will always have your die-hard liberalists and bleeding heart folk that keeps preaching reconciliation and peace to mankind. Alas. The mankind towards whom peace is being preached would be the black kind. The white kind must just fend for themselves. Since, according to the prez, Mr Showerhead himself, Europeans are what’s wrong with South Africa. Words that may just as well have been bought from that other exhalted figure, Bob Mogabe. Apparently South Africa’s problems started the day Jan van Riebeeck landed here. Fact that there was nothing here other than a few Bushmen is besides the point – according to the Great Chief Showerhead.

This then the reason for my writ. We have a man living here. Max du Preez. Freedom fighter. Leftist. Liberalist. All round idiot. That has changed his mind, somewhat, after the freedom he carried on about for the past however many years, turned and bit him in the ass. Anyhow. He wrote an article that I came across today. An article about doing it yourself. Where he gives us all pointers as to how we should stop moaning about the government and their lack of any brain capacity and just do things ourselves to make our lives better.

Please read the article. It’s not a bad article all things considered, and I do in essence agree with him. What I don’t agree with I will stipulate below.

Now. If you’ve read the article you will know where I have my problem with it.

Firstly. Fixing a pothole in your suburban street should not be an issue. I am more than prepared to do that. Potholes in suburban streets are, however, not where the real problem is. Fixing the suburban ones, easy. If it’s on a National Highway, things may be a bit difficult.

Secondly. Not everybody has the means to fork out R1500 for a rainwater tank. And 1000 litres do not go all that far. And if it only gets filled when it rains, well, it may become difficult to keep your household in water. Using grey water for your garden, once again, brilliant idea. Which costs money to implement. And drinking and bathing water is not the only problem here. I don’t run a sewage treatment plant. The councils do. And those are steadily breaking down with no thought of repairs. Raw sewage pumped into streams and rivers, changing this beautiful country into one big cesspool.

Thirdly. Security companies. There’s a saying here that the biggest criminals are the police force and the security guards. Enough said.

Fourthly. I was watching Eskom people work today, Cutting off branches of trees that grew through the power lines. They were using three pick ups – Ford Ranger. Toyota Hilux and  Toyota Landcruiser. All trucks in the higher bracket of costs than similar models. Why do they have to drive such expensive bakkies? Is it only the middle class working grunts that settled for cheaper models? The government must give Eskom a R20 billion bail out. This after the cost of electricity has gone up 200% in the past few years. All this could have been avoided if they carried on with planned maintenance. Alas. Maintenance does not seem to be a word Africa understands. Run out quickly and buy a R1600 gennie? probably not. Install a R70k solar system just to have lights and electronics? Way more than I can afford. Changing my existing geyser from electricity to gas, ditto. Changing my cooking from electricity to gas, ditto. Bottom line is. if I did not have to pay tax to a corrupt government, I may have been able to do some of those things.

“Do I hear you grumble about the taxes you pay and now I’m suggesting you look after yourself? Well, get a better tax consultant. If you’re well off enough to worry about your tax burden, you can’t be doing too badly.”

If by tax consultant you mean, me, slugging away with e filing, then yes, I don’t suppose I’m doing too badly.

Dude. You just don’t know do you? You seem to think, like many other South Africans, that all middle class white people have it good. We don’t. We manage as best we can. We don’t get huge salaries, and our means are a lot less than yours. Even if I did get rid of all my short term debt, I would still not be able to buy a decent size generator cash. I would have to get it on a credit card and that just perpetuates the evil.

You know, paying tax has ever been a grudge payment. nobody wants to pay it, but you have to pay Ceasar his due. But to pay tax, over and above doing everything your tax should be used for and then sit back and watch said tax be used to uplift the poor in a country where the poor are imported from all over the continent? Not so much! To pay tax and see every Tom Dick and Government Harry driving the newest, most expensive car, hosting lavish parties, having luxurious holidays with en entourage of hundreds? Not so much.

To my way of thinking, and I have mentioned this before. The only people that should be allowed to vote, has to be people that work for a living and pay said taxes. They are, after all, the only contributors to the country’s wealth. I saw a thing on FB – something about people who work for a living going bent under people who vote for a living. And, if you don’t work and earn and contribute, you don’t get to vote. Because you will, in your desperation, listen to empty promises. Exactly what has been happening here.

Now we have the world’s most corrupt government. The world’s most idiotic head of state. A cabinet filled with morons. And a country slowly being ground down to the nothing it was 400 years ago.

Oversimplified, I know. Nothing is ever that easy. Solving the world’s problems is certainly not going to happen in an hour. probably never, Mainly because it’s the human condition. The have nots being jealous of the haves. The poor hating the rich. The black calling the white racist. This is the way it has ever been and the way it will ever be. Time, that supposed healer of all woulds, will never be enough to halt the perpetualising of the hates people carry around in themselves, pouring it into young hearts and ears, just moving along, completing the circle.

My two cents worth. My personal opinion. Just the way I see these things…