Paaarp!

By all accounts we succeeded in hosting a fabulous world cup. But in the process I fear that we have visited a terrible affliction on the rest of the world.

Local palefaces and numerous people around the world have complained about the endless drone of vuvuzelas during soccer matches. Many took earplugs to matches as horror stories of damage to hearing from devilish decibel levels circulated. With the aid of earplugs my little group of palefaces and I managed to survive our first local live match (France v Uruguay) but I only lasted till half time. I left early mainly because I had to get to work early the next morning.

But another factor was boredom. On a local radio Saturday DIY program Reuben the Screwman was asked if he intended watching the world cup final. He replied that he would rather watch paint dry or grass grow. He added that anything that could go on for more than 90 minutes and not produce a single goal just had to be basically boring. My own view is that soccer is a great game to play, but watching a whole match is purgatory.

So why is the vuvuzela so popular? One reason must be that it gives people something to do during long boring matches. If something happens blow your vuvezela; if something is about to happen blow your vuvezela; if nothing is happening blow your vuvezela. So, matches become one long buzz of loud sound. Another reason is that there is an art to getting a proper sound out of the thing. Once having mastered it one feels the urge to show off one’s prowess.

A further reason is that it has an attractive shape, and comes in many colours and designs. You can wave it at a friend, or hit somebody over the head with it without causing too much damage to the person or the instrument.

As radio presenter Aden Thomas said, “People hate vuvuzelas until you give them one to blow”. This remark was sparked by the tale of an elderly man who was reluctant to go to a match because of the “bloody vuvuzelas”. Then somebody gave him one, and couldn’t get it away from him.

I don’t own one, but have spent a lot of money because of them. During my only live match I wore earplugs. And when I got home I was forced to put them back in in order to get to sleep – some mindless blower somewhere nearby was sounding off at frequent intervals after midnight. The next day I found that I was almost completely deaf in my left ear because the earplug had pushed a wad of wax against that eardrum. I tried to spear the wax with a toothpick. No luck. I tried some special oil from a pharmacist designed to dissolve the wax. No go. After several phonecalls I traced the stockist of an expensive product called Audiclean (ear-cleaning wash) which was being extensively advertised on radio. Didn’t work. Eventually I had to go to a doctor who put a special concoction in the ear that fizzed and bubbled and softened the wax. Then she syringed both ears.

Thanks to the vuvuzela I can now hear much better than before!

Oh. If you get tired of blowing your vuvuzela remember that it has at least one other use. A caller to a local radio station said the things make great candle holders: just invert, and stick the candle in the mouthpiece. The light comes from higher up than a normal bottle or candle holder, and gives much better coverage.

The banker, the bishop and the consul-general

On the last day of January I was asked to take a group of six Germans on a tour around the Cape Peninsula from the Westin Grand Hotel.

While I waited in the tour company’s Vito for the group to arrive a middle-aged man sidled up to me and said that I was to be host to some fairly exalted company: apparently the group included an ambassador and a bishop. I asked him if he was also important, and he replied that he was merely a retired banker. His name was Geiger but he was not related to the inventor of the Gieger Counter.

Later, the ambassador confided that he was actually only a consul-general, and the bishop’s wife told me that the bishop was also a professor of theology at a German university. As we set off with the three VIPs and their wives, Mr Bussman, the consul-general, started doing a commentary in German for his fellow-travellers. I interrupted and asked whether he wanted me to be merely a driver, or if he would like me to contribute. He said that I could chime in at any time if he left out something.

To facilitate this he started doing his commentary in English so that I could tell when to chip in. It didn’t take him long to realise he was losing his audience, so he switched back to German. Because of my knowledge of Afrikaans, a Germanic language, I could figure out more or less what he was saying, and during silences I could add in my tuppenceworth. But I did manage to learn during his brief English commentary that we had more to thank the Germans for than I had realised, such as our new World Cup stadium. (Apparently it was designed by them.) I refrained from saying that an opponent of the stadium had used the words “monstrous carbuncle” and that others had said that it looked for all the world like a giant bed pan.

Most of us quite like our new bedpan

During the journey I asked if they would like me to book for lunch. Mr Bussman said that they intended to have lunch at Constantia Uitsig, and I replied that due to our late start (10.50 am) we wouldn’t get there before 4 pm, and that as far as I knew they expected lunch guests to be there before 2 pm. He felt he could use his influence to get lunch out of them at this late hour.

All went well, and as we drove past Muizenberg I remarked that this had been one of those rare perfect summer days, with a gentle breeze (instead of the usual howling gale) and crystal-clear air. The bishop’s wife confidently announced that they had been in contact with the deity about such matters and persuaded him to see things their way . . .

Their influence did not extend to the restaurant, however. And no pulling of rank could persuade Uitsig to re-open the kitchen at 4 pm. Fortunately we were directed to the new restaurant at Steenberg farm, and they were able to eat to their hearts’ content at Bistro 1682.

Although the day dragged on for a lot longer than the allotted eight hours the smiles and generous tip at the end indicated that they had enjoyed their voyage around the Fairest Cape.

Save the planet!

Rice being cooked under a towel

I have just watched Al Gore’s film An Inconvenient Truth on TV and am inspired to pass on an easy little tip that can help to make your life easier, save money, and can make a difference to the health of the planet if a lot of people follow my advice.

A few years ago, while making a stew, I thought of trying the old “hay box” technique for cooking the stew without having to keep checking on its progress, and stirring it from time to time. The idea of the hay box is that you shove your pot of stew or whatever into it once you have brought the pot to the boil. You leave it there for a couple of insulated hours. And with any sort of luck the stew will be cooked and ready to eat.

I didn’t have a hay box or hot box, and didn’t know where to find one. But then the thought occurred to me that heat rises, and maybe it wouldn’t matter too much if I didn’t have padding all round. If I simply piled some insulating material on top of the pot, perhaps I could achieve the same result. So I put a couple of oven gloves side by side on top of the lid, and a tea cosy, lying flat on top of them. And switched off the stove.

An hour later the stew was cooked, and still hot. I now use an old bath towel which I fold to make it slightly bigger than the lid of the pot, so that it and hangs down slightly all round, but remains well clear of the stove surface. Many dishes that are cooked on top of the stove can be cooked this way: just get the thing boiling, put the towel on top, switch off and relax for an hour or so. Instead of hovering over a hot stove, read a book, go for a walk, make love . . . whatever blows your hair back. You can forget about your pot of food; it won’t come to any harm; food will not stick to the bottom of the pot. And when you are ready to eat just warm it up for a few minutes if you’ve left it for several hours. With rice, I don’t even bother to get the pot boiling before I switch off. I simply switch a stove plate on to maximum heat, put half a cup of rice, and one cup of boiling water in a pot, stir, and put it on the stove with the towel on top. Four minutes later I switch off and let it stand for an hour. The result is enough fluffy rice for three meals. Even the cheapest brand of white rice, or expensive brown rice, cooks perfectly every time.

My char has followed my lead and now starts her cooking, using my method, before she leaves for work in the morning. When her children come home from school there is food for everyone. She is so impressed that she has got her friends doing the same thing.

I should mention that my stove has solid plates which retain heat for some time. If you are using gas or spiral plates you may need to experiment a bit with more insulation or slightly longer cooking before switching off. For further information on what dishes respond best, or how to make a hay box for taking on camping trips simply google “hay box”. A good site is http://www.mothercityliving.co.za/20080818/10-really-good-reasons-to-get-a-hay-box-or-make-your-own/

Let me know how it goes.

How to lose weight and look great!

1. Eat less.

2. Exercise more.

THE END

————————————————————

It really is as simple as that. But most inhabitants of the developed world are getting fatter by the day, feel bad about it, and would pay a fortune to look fabulous.

And many do. Pay a fortune that is. Trouble is they don’t research the problem. They buy the latest diet books, believe advertisements promoting diet pills and potions, or click on internet advertisements that promise to reduce their fat stomachs with “1 Wierd Old Tip”. But no way do you get that tip without parting with money, and getting bombarded with endless emails offering help. Help that requires you to part with more money. There are a lot of very convincing “experts” out there. Handing out good and bad advice, and making people feel guilty about things that are okay in moderation.

Let’s take one of the most famous: Patrick Holford. If you google “patrick holford scam” you should come across a website (http://holfordwatch.info/2009/02/)) that gives the following valuable information:

“Myth: Holford is a highly qualified nutritionist

(Former) Visiting Professor Patrick Holford has no accredited degree-level or postgraduate-level qualifications in nutrition. He has never taken any exams or been subjected to a critical appraisal of his knowledge of the sort one might expect with qualifications. Holford’s sole university degree is a BSc in Psychology from York (he earned a 2.2). Holford registered for an MPhil at Surrey University with a view to converting to a PhD (which is the normal pattern) but failed to meet the conversion requirements for a PhD. Unfortunately, whatever work he had submitted, in combination with his poor conversion viva, does not seem to have been sufficient to attain the basic level of work that would be necessary to have obtained an MPhil award. Holford’s only ‘qualification’ in nutrition is an honorary one. He must have been especially gratified when he was awarded an honorary DipION from the Institute for Optimum Nutrition, while he was Director. However, Holford can legally call himself a nutritionist in Britain – ‘Nutritionist’ is not a protected title in the UK, and anyone is free to use it – unlike the term, Registered Dietitian (Catherine Collins RD has some very interesting observations on this point).”

Now let’s think logically about a lot of advice that gets handed out and accepted by the gullible. Such as, “You can combine food but never protein and carbohydrate”, or “Eat raw fruit and vegetables before every meal” or “Drink eight glasses of water a day”.

Why would man evolve into a being that had to live by such rules? Or, if you prefer, why would a Creator design such a finicky creature? Perfectly healthy people have lived in different parts of the world for thousands of years eating whatever they could get their hands on. Few of them got fat because they had to spend a lot of energy each day getting enough food to fill their bellies. They ate when they felt hungry, drank when they felt thirsty, and slept when they felt sleepy. Animals in the wild still do, and it seems to work for them.

I have a well-thumbed copy of my grandfather’s favourite book in front of me, the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam. It contains a famous stanza in two different versions, which I have combined into one “improved” version:

       A book of verse beneath the bough
       A jug of wine, a loaf of bread – and Thou
       Beside me singing in the wilderness
       And wilderness is paradise enow

That sounds like a contented man who has his needs sorted: mental stimulation, delicious food and drink, a loving companion, and music, all combined in a beautiful setting. What’s not to like. Omar (who was a famous mathematician and astronomer, as well as being a philosopher and poet) died in 1131 at the age of 83. Now the inhabitants of his country think it is a sin to drink wine (which was first invented there about 7000 years ago), and also sin to eat pork. Not what I would call progress.

A few years ago I paid to have a consultation with the renowned sports scientist, Tim Noakes. I asked him about the ideal amount of exercise and he said it seemed to be between two and five hours per week. Mainly cardiovascular. “Do what you enjoy; running, cycling, walking or swimming are all good”. (The experts tend to be non-dogmatic.) I also gathered that there had been no scientific study concluding that we should drink eight glasses of water a day. “Drink when you feel thirsty” was the gist of it. (Noakes caused a storm of criticism in the 80s when he said that many runners were drinking too much during marathon events, and that several had died from this, particularly in the USA. Now his research has been validated.)

The body is an extraordinarily adept organism that can survive for 40 days without food, 4 days without liquid, but only 4 minutes without air. We really don’t need to walk around with bottles of water, sipping away as though we’re going to dehydrate if we go for an hour without water.

Last year I went to a lecture by a South African who had run the Great Wall of China (a good way to lose weight). If you click on http://www.southafrica.info/features/milesforsmiles.htm you can read the whole story, starting with this paragraph: “South African endurance athletes David Grier and Braam Malherbe arrived home in time for Christmas having spent four months covering around 5 000 kilometres and some of the harshest terrain on the planet to become the first people in recorded history to run the Great Wall of China from start to finish, in one go, on foot.”

Can you imagine how tough it is to run a marathon nearly every day for four months?

During their run they came across villagers who were so poor, and had such limited resources, that they seemingly existed on a diet of potatoes. And had a little meat about once a year. The human body is an amazing thing that doesn’t need all the mollycoddling that modern “experts” try to shove down our throats. But, if you really want to get healthy, lose weight and keep it off, do what I did. Go and see a registered dietician. She will find out what food you like, help draw up a diet that includes your preferences, email you recipes, suggest suitable exercise and generally help you to make the process enjoyable. In a nutshell you’ll be encouraged to eat more fish, fowl and fibre; eat between meals and try to achieve a 90 % adherence. This means that, of the 21 main meals a week, 2 can be decadent. I lost 5 kg in a few months. And got great satisfaction when I took a pair of trousers to a seamstress to have the waist taken in, and heard her remarking to a customer, “See how nice he looks!” Next time I’ll tell of a few sumptuous meals Hot Chick and I went to. (She knows about diets, but prefers hers. It seems to consist of wine, chocolate and cocktails; and the occasional meal in a restaurant. She looks fantastic, but admits that she is now a bit more voluptuous than she would like to be.)

Popular myths shattered

This post comes from a website that you can subscribe to by clicking on www.skeptic.com/eskeptic/signup. I have reproduced it unchanged as I feel it is well written and deserves a wider audience. I guarantee that by the time you have finished reading this post you will have changed your mind about quite a few things!

In this week’s eSkeptic, Dr Harriet Hall, MD, (aka the Skepdoc) reviews 50 Great Myths of Popular Psychology: Shattering Widespread Misconceptions about Human Behavior by Scott O. Lilienfeld, Steven Jay Lynn, John Ruscio, and Barry L. Beyerstein.

Dr Harriet Hall, MD is a retired family physician and Air Force Colonel living in Puyallup, Washington. She writes about alternative medicine, pseudoscience, quackery, and critical thinking. She is a contributing editor to both Skeptic and Skeptical Inquirer, an advisor to the Quackwatch website, and an editor of ScienceBasedMedicine.org, where she writes an article every Tuesday. She recently published Women Aren’t Supposed to Fly: The Memoirs of a Female Flight Surgeon. Her website is www.skepdoc.info.

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The Mythbusters of Psychology

a book review by Dr. Harriet Hall, MD

KARL POPPER WROTE: “SCIENCE MUST BEGIN WITH MYTHS and with the criticism of myths.” Popular psychology is a prolific source of myths. It has produced widely held beliefs that “everyone knows are true” but that are contradicted by psychological research. A new book does an excellent job of mythbusting: 50 Great Myths of Popular Psychology by Scott O. Lilienfeld, Steven Jay Lynn, John Ruscio, and the late, great skeptic Barry L. Beyerstein.

I read a lot of psychology and skeptical literature, and I thought I knew a lot about false beliefs in psychology, but I wasn’t as savvy as I thought. Some of these myths I knew were myths, and the book reinforced my convictions with new evidence that I hadn’t seen; some I had questioned and I was glad to see my skepticism vindicated; but some myths I had swallowed whole and the book’s carefully presented evidence made me change my mind.

The authors start with a chapter explaining how myths and misconceptions arise.

1. Word of mouth. If we hear something repeated enough times, we tend to believe it.
2. Desire for easy answers and quick fixes.
3. Selective perception and memory. We remember our hits and forget our misses.
4. Inferring causation from correlation.
5. Post hoc, ergo propter hoc reasoning.
6. Exposure to a biased sample. Psychologists overestimate the difficulty of stopping smoking because they only see patients who come to them for help, not the many who stop on their own.
7. Reasoning by representativeness — evaluating the similarity between two things on the basis of superficial resemblance.
8. Misleading film and media portrayals.
9. Exaggeration of a kernel of truth.
10. Terminological confusion. Because of the etymology of the word schizophrenia, many people confuse it with multiple personality disorder.

The authors discuss our susceptibility to optical illusions and other cognitive illusions, our propensity to see patterns where they don’t exist, the unreliability of intuition, and the fact that common sense frequently misleads us. They characterize science as “uncommon sense” — it requires us to set aside our common sense preconceptions when evaluating evidence. They cover 50 myths in depth, explaining their origins, why people believe them, and what the published research has to say about the claims. Everything is meticulously documented with sources listed. Here’s a sample of the myths they cover:

item of interest…

How the Relentless Promotion of Positive Thinking has Undermined America

In this utterly original take on the American frame of mind, Barbara Ehrenreich traces the strange career of our sunny outlook from its origins as a marginal 19th-century healing technique to its enshrinement as a dominant, almost mandatory, cultural attitude Ehrenreich exposes the downside of America’s penchant for positive thinking…
ORDER the lecture on DVD

• Criminal profiling is helpful in solving cases. In most studies, professional profilers barely do better than untrained persons. Most of what they say can be inferred from “base rate information” about criminals: guessing that a serial killer is a white male will be right more than 2/3 of the time just based on statistics.
• A large proportion of criminals successfully use the insanity defense. The insanity defense is raised in less than 1% of criminal trials and is successful only about 25% of the time.
• If you’re unsure of your answer when taking a test, it’s best to stick with your initial hunch. Darn! I wonder how many questions I got wrong over the years because I believed that. 60 studies have consistently shown that students are more likely to change a wrong answer to a right one than vice versa, and students who change more answers tend to get higher test scores.
• Students learn best when teaching styles are matched to their learning styles. This turns out to be an urban legend not supported by any acceptable evidence. It could backfire because students need to correct and compensate for their shortcomings, not avoid them. The authors cite a satirical story from The Onion about nasal learners demanding an odour-based curriculum.
• It’s better to express anger to others than to hold it in. The evidence shows that expressing anger only reinforces it and leads to more aggression.
• Men and women communicate in completely different ways. There are differences, but they are very slight, probably not enough to be meaningful, and definitely not enough to suggest that they are from different planets as claimed in the book Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus. Women don’t talk more than men: a study of college students carrying recorders showed that both sexes talked about 16,000 words a day.
• A positive attitude can stave off cancer. Not only does the evidence not support this claim, but there is evidence that women who were highly stressed were less likely to develop breast cancer. And attitudes don’t prolong survival: even the most optimistic cancer patients lived no longer than the most fatalistic ones.
• Memory is like a tape recorder.
• Memories of traumatic experiences are commonly repressed.
• Subliminal advertising is effective.
• Some people are left-brained, others are right-brained.
• Playing Mozart’s music to infants boosts their IQ.
• When dying, people pass through a universal series of psychological stages.
• Hypnosis is useful for retrieving memories.
• The polygraph can detect lies.
• Low self-esteem is a major cause of psychological problems.
• Only deeply depressed people commit suicide.
• Abstinence is the only realistic treatment goal for alcoholics.
• Childhood sexual abuse usually leads to adult psychopathology.

The authors also list a total of 250 other myths in a brief “Fiction/Fact” format with suggested resources for further reading. Some of these facts intrigued me. Dreams occur in non-REM sleep as well as during REM sleep. Transcendental meditation yields no greater effects than rest or relaxation alone. Most women don’t have worse moods in the premenstrual period. Women are no better than men at guessing the feelings of others. Sexual content of ads may make people pay more attention, but they are less likely to remember the product’s brand name. There’s little or no evidence for the G-spot. Men don’t think about sex every 7 seconds — somebody just made that up. Individual efforts produce better quality ideas than group brainstorming sessions.

If you read this book, you may be challenged to give up some of your cherished beliefs. Some people find it painful to admit that they were wrong. I find it one of the greatest pleasures of skeptical inquiry and science. When I change my mind about something I don’t chastise myself for the original error; I congratulate myself for having learned better and for having achieved a better grasp on reality.

The proper stance of a skeptic or scientist is to defer judgment pending evidence. In practice, that isn’t always possible. We can’t take the time to thoroughly investigate everything we hear. It is reasonable to provisionally accept something that everyone says is true, that is compatible with common sense, that is plausible, and that is often based on some preliminary evidence. As long as we keep in mind that these claims may be based on inadequate evidence and we remain ready to change our minds when better evidence arrives.

ORDER the book from Amazon.com

We’re all susceptible to this kind of error. The authors of this book fell for one myth themselves. In a short mention of medical myths they included this one: “eating too many carrots makes our skin turn orange.” Apparently they had read it on more than one list of medical myths. I wrote the lead author to tell him this was not a myth, but a recognized condition called carotenemia. It looks just like jaundice except that the whites of the eyes are spared. I had a patient with that condition, caused by eating lots of carrots on a weight-loss diet. She had bright red hair and with her bright yellow skin she looked like something out of a comic book — sort of like an anti-Smurf. It was very impressive. As a good scientist, Dr. Lilienfeld accepted the evidence and promised to amend the statement in subsequent editions.

Apart from carrots, I found nothing to criticize in this book. The authors have done us a great service by compiling all this information in a handy, accessible form, by showing how science trumps common knowledge and common sense, and by teaching us how to question and think about what we hear. I highly recommend it.

Sparring with the Sunday Times by email

In South Africa’s Sunday Times of 27 Dec 09 the following report appeared under the heading Matter of fact:

Last week in “There are better ways to create jobs”, we published a letter by D McGillycuddy. The original letter referred to Sani Pass as being some 300m above sea level, but during editing this was incorrectly changed to 3 000m. We regret the error.
——————————————————————————————–
To: readers@sundaytimes.co.za on 2009-12-27

ERRORS!

Your faces should be red! In today’s “Matter of fact” section you apologise for incorrectly changing the height of the Sani Pass from 300m to 3 000m. But an examination of several web pages reveals that the pass rises to a height of 2 874m.

I challenge you to name just one spot in Lesotho that is as low as 300m in elevation.

I look forward to reading how you manage to apologise for an apology that shows an appalling lack of general knowledge.

Regards etc
——————————————————————————————–
The Sunday Times of 10 Jan 2010 came back with this example of idiocy: In a previous correction regarding Sani Pass, we introduced another error by stating that the pass was 300m above sea level. The correction should have referred to hairpin bends along the pass at about 300m above sea level. Sani Pass is itself about 2 874m above sea level. We regret the error.
———————————————————————————————
To: readers@sundaytimes.co.za on 2010-01-10

MORE ERRORS!

Dear Editor of the Sunday Times:

Congratulations! Today’s “Matters of fact” on page 2 has now reached a level of farce seldom attained by a major newspaper. In your apology about a previous apology you talk about hairpin bends “at about 300m above sea level” along the Sani Pass.

But in my letter of December 27 (see below) I wrote: “I challenge you to name just one spot in Lesotho that is as low as 300m in elevation”. You didn’t bother to check, but just rushed into print with another ridiculous apology. If you Google “lowest point in lesotho” you will find several websites telling you that the lowest point in Lesotho is 1 400m above sea level.

You helpfully add that the Sani Pass “is itself about 2 874m above sea level”. It is not “about” 2 874m high: it IS that high; or more correctly, the highest point of the pass is that high.

I can’t wait to get hold of next week’s Sunday Times to see how you handle this one. I sincerely hope you have the guts to try.

Regards etc

PS I’m sending a copy of this correspondence to my friends. I’m sure they will read the Sunday Times with more interest in future.
———————————————————————————————
No response from the paper.
———————————————————————————————
To: Hogarth@sundaytimes.co.za on 2010-01-18

Fw: MORE ERRORS!

Hogarth!

As you are a master at puncturing pomposity and exposing idiots, perhaps you could use your influence and inside knowledge to ensure that the correspondence below gets to the editor, or at least somebody senior enough to apply a swift kick to the pants of the person in charge of the “Matter of fact” section of the Sunday Times. This person is clearly proficient in displaying a lack in the general knowledge and common sense departments, and may well be a secret buddy of the one who does not excel at woodwork.

(In case you didn’t notice, the latest “Matter of fact” paragraph did not bother to correct the glaring errors made in previous issues.)

I live in hope etc

(The previous correspondence was forwarded to him or her.)
———————————————————————————————
Email reply from Hogarth on 2010-01-21

RE: MORE ERRORS!

Hogarth has forwarded your message to a less reliable level
———————————————————————————————
In today’s Sunday Times: nothing.
———————————————————————————————
Sigh.

Have we lost the G-spot?

Stop press: Scientists say the G-spot doesn’t exist.

After some dodgy research involving female twins scientists appear to have lost it.

Relax girls. Wineou knows where it is. If you have one he will find it. Queue from the left (apply to join the queue by leaving a comment). First come first served. (Or should that be the other way around?)

Warning: attempts to find it – even if unsuccessful – may be extremely enjoyable . . .

Bangs, bangers, beer and a clown

About a week ago two frustrated lesbians (S – aged 70, and G – 69), Hot Chick and Wineou had a slightly different Saturday afternoon. The girls who don’t go for guys will be referred to as S70 and G69 in future (they live in the same block of flats as Hot Chick, and have been friends of hers for years).

We started off by attending the firing of two muzzle-loaded cannons outside the Chavonnes Battery (www.chavonnesmuseum.co.za) at the V&A Waterfront in a belated celebration of Heritage Day (also known as National Braai Day). I was given the honour of helping the expert load the cannons, and was then allowed to fire the first one. In case global warming should cause such future havoc that we no longer have the ability to shoot each other with modern weapons, I now know exactly how to do it in the ancient way.

I won’t give you all the trade secrets but can reveal that the final stage of the process is to pour dry gunpowder into the vertical vent that leads to the charge that has been rammed into the barrel. A long wick is attached to a stick ending in a piece of wire, and the end of the wick tied to the wire is lit with a match. One has to stand on a precise spot at an angle to the gun, close enough to do the deed, but far enough away not to be hit by the considerable recoil of the cannon or to be singed by the 6ft flame that shoots up from the vent, or burnt to a cinder by the massive 8ft flame that simultaneously comes out of the front of the thing.

This is not normally a difficult task, but Wineou’s hand developed a slight tremor, and pouring rain put the wick out. Eventually the patient cannon master resorted to sticking a cigarette in his mouth, lighting it and giving it a couple of enthusiastic draws. Before the downpour could dampen it he attached the smouldering ciggie to the wire, and Wineou managed to make the cannon go bang while shouting instructions to Hot Chick to capture the event on his cellphone.

The result was an exceedingly arty picture of her thumb.

Afterwards Willem Steenkamp treated us to an hour-long, fascinating tour of the battery and we learnt everything we could wish to know about guns, batteries, sailing ships and the early history of Cape Town. Willem (tall and 70ish, an army major, ex-journalist, author, military historian, tour guide and brilliant raconteur) would be pleased to know that S70 later remarked that, if she were that way inclined, he was the sort of chap she could go for. 

Hot Chick had told me that on a previous excursion to the Waterfront S70 had developed a desire to get away from poncy places and sit down at a pub and have a beer and a sausage. After traipsing around for hours they had come to the conclusion that Cape Town has every type of tavern under the sun, but not one that gives that simple combination. Incidentally, Cape Town used to be known as The Tavern of the Seas.

So, while the rain got stronger, I led the trio to the nearby Paulaner Bräuhaus. There we downed flagons of German beer, and snacked on sauerkraut and a variety of sausages and frankfurters; and realised that bangers and beer are possible if you know where to go. S70 began to mellow after a bout of invective about G69 – an office-bearer in the Anglican Church, who admitted to her desires and was prepared to share her flat, but not her bed, with S70. She commented freely on the standard of talent in the room, and made acerbic observations about our dusky waitress who did not have the heaving, creamy bosoms, or snappy service, she expected at a German beer-house. It was fun to sit in a pub with a couple of girls who were just as keen to look at the other girls as I was. Hot Chick endured this with a bemused expression.

It was a bit of a change from the atmosphere and fine dining we’d experienced recently at Gordon Ramsay’s maze restaurant at the One&Only.

The lesbians left, and Hot Chick and I went to see the animated movie Up. We are not fans of fantasy, animation or violence. But Up, and District 9 – which we’d seen the week before – were two of the finest films we’d seen in a long time, despite being full of the things we thought we didn’t like. I think only a South African can fully appreciate the humour and pokes at the past that occur in District 9.

Two weeks beforehand, on a soft spring day, I met a mathematical clown on top of Signal Hill. She is visiting us from England, and helping children in poorer areas to appreciate maths and science by using props like balloons. She was happy to pose for the camera.

Roxy Louw

While enjoying a marvellous meaty meal with friends and family on national

Hot Chick looks like this after a summer of surfing

braai day (24 September) Hot Chick announced that she and her female friends, who used to be keen surfers, are thinking of taking up the sport again. The desire was sparked by a walk she and Sue took along the beachfront at Muizenberg. There it is now possible to hire all sorts of boards as well as wetsuits. And get lessons from one of four surf schools, including one run by model Roxy Louw.

I might join them.

Live like a lord; spend like a cheapskate

Jeff Yeager and his book The Ultimate Cheapskate, and the subsequent world economic downturn, have helped to popularise the concept of living cheaply. I googled “cheapskates” this morning and in less than a second was presented with 294,000 sites.

So, there are many tips out there for those who would like to try the lifestyle, or at least save a little extra cash. The first offering from Google was http://zenhabits.net/2007/08/the-cheapskate-guide-50-tips-for-frugal-living/

It came up with 50 pretty good tips, and the following introduction: “Why live frugally? First, because it allows you to spend less than you earn, and use the difference to pay off debt, save or invest. Or all three. Second, because the less you spend, the less you need to earn. And that means you can choose to work less, or work more but retire early. Or take mini retirements. You have more options with a frugal lifestyle.”

As I read through the tips I realised that I was following many of them, mainly because I’d made some wrong choices in life, had had a few “mini retirements”, and generally hadn’t accumulated a nest egg that enabled me to retire. And now that I had reached the age of retirement I knew that I needed to live frugally and save what I could for the inevitable lean times.

I also knew that I could choose to be depressed about this, or look on the bright side of life. I tend to do the latter; in fact I revel in bucking the trend, being cheerful in the face of adversity, and living the life of a lord without a care in the world.

I have read a couple of books about class distinctions and gathered that those on the bottom rung and those right at the top (particularly British aristocracy) have a lot in common. They often dress like tramps, don’t care what others think, are free with their use of profanity, generally do whatever they feel like and to hell with middle-class morality.

Those in the upwardly mobile middle feel the need to impress those above and below them, wear the right clothes, drive the right cars, live in the right neighbourhoods, go to the right churches, the right places on holiday, suffer through ballet, opera and symphony concerts; spend more than they earn, and generally have a miserable time.

But we tramps and lords enjoy ourselves and don’t give a shit.

Which reminds me, when you do need to “go to the bathroom” as the Americans so quaintly put it, you have some choices. You can fret about choosing a “clean restroom” and endure the embarrassment of humbly asking restaurant owners for permission to use their “facilities”. And sometimes have to blushingly hear that these are “for customers only”. Or, you can march into the poshest place you can find as though you own the joint (I find five-star hotels very satisfactory), allow concierges and uniformed flunkies to bow and scrape you into the building. And bow and scrape you out again after you have made your deposit. The five-star establishments always have toilet paper (with the ends folded to points), hot and cold water, liquid soap, hand lotion, and numerous dry fluffy towels. The only thing they lack is graffiti.

Nowadays hotels are relaxed about the attire of their customers. It wasn’t always so. When I cycled from Cape Town to Durban in 1982, for most overnight stops I pitched my tent in caravan parks. But in the Eastern Cape after East London there were none, and I had to use hotels. When I reached the little town of Butterworth – after toiling up and down numerous huge hills – I was informed that if I wished to eat in the hotel dining room I would have to wear a jacket and tie. They lent me a tie, but I had to find my own jacket. Later, as I ate a sumptuous meal I looked around me, gave a contented sigh, and reflected that I must be the only person in the world dining in a pyjama jacket and tie.

Cheapskates don’t belong to gyms. These things cost a fortune, and make a mint from people who pay for a year or two and only go once or twice. You can get all the exercise you need by cycling to work and the shops (you don’t have to wear Lycra) or going for a brisk daily walk. And if you are keen to have a body like mine (ahem) you can use your ingenuity to do exercises in your bedroom. I used to run, but found that it has drawbacks: I spent a lot replacing shoes every few months, and visiting physiotherapists to repair muscle tears. You also have the hassle of having to change into running shorts and shoes every time. And showering afterwards. Walking is free and you can do it almost anywhere, any time.

My usual walk is through the posh residential area adjoining mine. This afternoon I encountered arum lilies, strelizias or “birds of paradise” which are the official flowers of Los Angeles but come from South Africa, clivias with their orange flowers and perfect leaves (loved by the Japanese), towering stone pines with their distinctive flat tops, English Oaks in full leaf, and London Plane Trees just getting their spring attire. People nod and smile as I go by (they think I’m one of them); even the dogs don’t bark much (I’ve learnt to walk mostly in the middle of the quiet streets so as not to invade their space and seem a threat to them).  All this while listening to the latest book borrowed from the Listeners’ Library and copied onto my MP4 player. What’s not to like.

People smile – they think I'm one of them

 

Mitzi from Venezuela and Ali from Iran at Jordan wine farm

Some quotes

Damon Runyon: “One of these days in your travels, a guy is going to come up to you and show you a nice brand-new deck of cards on which the seal is not yet broken, and this guy is going to offer to bet you that he can make the Jack of Spades jump out of the deck and squirt cider in your ear. But, son, do not bet this man, for as sure as you are standing there, you are going to end up with an earful of cider.”
 
“The race is not always to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, but that’s the way to bet.”

Wineou: A casino is a place where people who don’t understand statistics go to give money to people who do.

Dad and his daughters: I get paid to take nice people to nice places

Cape of Storms and Superlatives (6)

On Thursday night I attended a farewell dinner for my eldest son and his wife who are off to India for a year. They intend to buy a Royal Enfield motorbike and ride it wherever whim takes them. They have no plan, no motorbike licence (Dave has never ridden one, but has once ridden a scooter) and no worries. Glad to see Dave has inherited his dad’s, and great-grandfather Victor Dodd’s adventurous spirit. (Victor had a dogsled and team of dogs in Canada, was at the Klondike gold rush and did two tours of duty fighting in the Boer War.)

Dave at Bulungula

After early escapades shooting rapids with me, handling and catching dangerous snakes at 14, and touring Africa, Europe, South America, Australia and China mostly by public transport, nothing fazes Dave. He hopes to have some adventures with his wife whom he says has had a rather

One of the views from near David's hut

unexciting life up to now (although living in a mud hut on top of a hill in one of the most remote and beautiful spots in South Africa, where the couple run the Bulungula Lodge, is not everyone’s idea of a sheltered life.)

But enough about my family. Let’s talk about some adventurous men and women from an earlier era, and continue from where we left off last time I wrote about doing a tour round the Cape Peninsula – on 16 Jan 09, in Cape of Storms and Superlatives (5).

After leaving Groot Constantia we drive along Spaanschemat River Road past Ladies Mile Road. Tourists often ask me where the name comes from. In Beard Shaver’s Bush (published in 2000) by Ed Coombe and Peter Slingsby on page 36 they say: “. . . it is named for ‘Lady’ , a horse whose owner, Colonel Cloete, measured a one-mile section of the road (at that time just a sandy track) for exercising Lady.”

But, on page 76 of Discovering Southern Africa (published in 2001) by TV Bulpin, there is the story of the wealthy widow Leonora Colyn who bought a portion of the original Bergvliet farm from Hendrik Eksteen. She named it Sweet Valley and built a house for her son on it. Eksteen didn’t like Mrs Colyn and she “didn’t care a fig for him . . . She deliberately made full and flamboyant use of her right of way on the road across Bergvliet, galloping backwards and forwards each day to see her son, and sending wagons and carts to convey building materials for the new house and bring back thatching material for her own home.”

Eksteen seethed with rage and got his slaves to dig a deep ditch across the road. There was a series of court cases, and finally in 1827 “The King in Council” ruled in favour of Leonora Colyn. Bulpin writes that “Ladies Mile”, the road which runs through Bergvliet, was thenceforth named after this celebrated and costly squabble. “It proved to be the ruination of Eksteen. Costs were awarded against him. They were murderous and he went insolvent.”

I’m not sure which is the correct story; but guess which one I prefer!

Take the turnoff to Klein Constantia Road and go and do a free winetasting at the beautiful Klein Constantia farm. If you look at the interesting historical display there you’ll learn that the famous Constantia wines developed by Cloete and his neighbour and relative Johannes Colyn (whose eldest son’s wife became the feisty widow Leonora of Ladies Mile fame) were natural and unfortified. Both the red and white versions had a high alcohol and sugar content. This helped them to travel well. They were carried all over the world, and eulogised in the writings of celebrated authors such as Charles Dickens, Jane Austin, Alexander Dumas, Henry Longfellow and Baudelaire. Queen Victoria drank a man-sized glass every evening after dinner.  Napoleon, in his exile on St Helena Island, found solace in drinking a bottle a day. On his deathbed the last thing he asked for was a glass of Constantia.

In 1980 the farm was bought by Dougie Jooste (whom I’d met a few years beforehand while troutfishing in the mountains of the Koue Bokkeveld). The farm was in dire need of restoration. The Klein Constantia website tells us that “lengthy soil preparation was the first task, followed by major replanting of the vineyards. Priority was given to first creating quality housing for the staff; whereafter work began on the new cellar, planned by winemaker Ross Gower, and designed by architect Gawie Fagan. Built just in time for the maiden 1986 vintage, it subsequently received a Merit Award from the Cape Provincial Institute of Architects.

Following the re-development of Klein Constantia in 1980, all involved felt it their mission to bring back the famous sweet Constantia wine, as these vineyards were once part of the original Constantia estate, belonging first to Simon van der Stel, and then to Hendrik Cloete.

The wine-making team headed by Ross Gower studied historic records, looked to modern research, and read reports by early travellers who had tasted the wines. Choosing a grape variety was crucial, and they were extremely fortunate to find a special clone of Muscat de Frontignan propagated from vines which in all likelihood came from the original stock used in Constantia 300 years before. So, a century after its disappearance, this legendary wine saw its renaissance – in the form of Klein Constantia’s Vin de Constance made in the style of the old Constantia, from vineyards which produced it in the 18th & 19th centuries.

Traditional methods are carefully followed in the making of the modern Vin de Constance: grapes are left to ripen on the vines until late March, when they shrivel to sweet, raisined berries. Hendrik Cloete’s earlier writings are true today – the making of this wine is a labour of love, a high-risk, low-yield enterprise. We feel the goal has been achieved, with the intensely aromatic, golden-coloured wine with its unctuous sweetness and lingering flavours.”

In 2001 agents sent to an auction of the estate of the Duke of Northumberland were able to return with a rare prize: two bottles of original Constantia wine dated 1791. And on Dougie’s 75th birthday they opened one of them. Dougie subsequently told me that as they drew the cork, it crumbled, and he handed the bottle of 210-year-old wine to his winemaker, saying, “You go first.” He tasted it and pronounced it excellent, with a sweetly nutty flavour. And 13 people present were able to enjoy a taste of history.

The neighbouring Constantia Uitsig estate has its fair share of superlatives. It must surely be the only wine estate to have its own cricket field and three top-class restaurants. Luke Dale-Roberts the executive chef of the estate’s La Colombe restaurant won the 2008 Prudential Eat Out Chef of the Year and Restaurant of the Year award. And the restaurant was voted one of the top 50 restaurants in the world by the San Pellegrino World’s 50 Best Restaurants Awards 2009.

The next farm had another indomitable woman as its owner, and is possibly the oldest existing farm in South Africa. The following comes almost verbatim from www.capeinfo.com:

‘Steenberg’ existed even before Simon van der Stel had built his great house in the heart of the Constantia Valley. Steenberg, ‘Mountain of Stone’, has a romantic ring, but the original name was more beautiful still, for it was called ‘Swaaneweide’ – The Feeding Place of Swans. Whether swans did indeed fly down to drink and swim in the cool clear waters of the farm, or whether the first owner, Catharina Ras, was being nostalgic about her former home in Lubeck, on the Baltic coast of Germany, is hard to tell. Whatever her reason, she named her estate Swaaneweide. Ras had named the farm after swans although these birds are not indigenous to South Africa and certainly not Constantia; maybe she had mistaken the spur-winged geese for swans because today you will still find a large population of these spur-winged geese at Steenberg.

Catharina Ustings Ras was one of the most daring and controversial figures ever to settle at the Cape. Life was not easy when she arrived, only ten years after Jan van Riebeeck landed; for 1662 was far from being the age of rights for women, and yet this indomitable woman had boarded a sailing ship and made the perilous journey to the furthest tip of Africa. What she found was certainly no land of milk and honey. It was a fierce, wild place with laws to match. Keelhaulings, hangings, lashings and brandings were normal occurrences. This being no place for a lone widow of twenty-two, she immediately found herself a second husband, Hans Ras. He was not a particularly eligible catch – a soldier and free burger with a penchant for female slaves; but he had a house on the Liesbeek River, which he had bought from Jakob Kluten, founder of the famous Cloete family, whose name has dominated Constantia for more than two hundred years.

Once the wedding knot was tied, Catharina’s life seemed to take on the dramatic overtones which marked its course from that day forward. Two wagons left the ceremony, with the bride and groom in one and the guests in the other. Lit from within by good Cape wine and overcome, no doubt, by the spirit of the occasion, the drivers decided to race one another back to Rondebosch. While the guests clung fearfully to their seats, praying to Heaven with truly Protestant fervour, the wagons vied for position and as the road was rough and narrow, a collision soon occurred. Enraged at this conduct on his wedding day, the bridegroom jumped down from his seat and soon became entangled in a fight, receiving a knife thrust, which almost proved fatal – the weapon breaking in two between his ribs. He survived this incident and lived to father several children, but came to an unfortunate end when he was killed by a lion some years later. Legend has it that, like Annie Oakley, Catharina courageously fetched a gun, leaped on her horse and gave chase, finally shooting the lion herself; but this may well be a case of historical embroidery!

Fate had a good deal more in store for the girl from Lubeck however, for a Hottentot murdered her next husband and his successor was trampled underfoot by an elephant. Seemingly no less endowed with energy than Henry VIII, who surprised all Europe with his impressive total of six wives, Catharina then took unto herself a fifth husband, a hardy German named Matthys Michelse.

In 1682 Catharina Michelse, also known as The Widow Ras, had asked Simon van der Stel for a portion of ground at the foot of the Ou Kaapse Weg and he agreed to lease 25 morgen to her. After he became the owner of Groot Constantia in 1685, she asked him for a legal title deed and a mandate was granted to her in 1688 to “cultivate, to plough and to sow and also to possess “the farm below the stone mountain.” According to Baron von Rheede tot Drankenstein, who visited the farm and was served a luncheon of “radishes and freshly baked bread and beautiful cabbages”, Catharina was a fiercely independent woman, “riding bare-back like an Indian and her children resembling Brazilian cannibals!”

Steenberg golf course near the winetasting venue

As time passed, the Dutch East India Company decreed in 1741 that from May to August each year Simon’s Bay would be the official winter port because “the north-west winds in Table Bay had been causing untold damage and loss of life.” Because Swaaneweide was exactly one day’s journey from Table Bay and one day’s journey from Simon’s Bay this meant that many travellers would be obliged to overnight at the farm. Christina Diemer (another widow!) became the recipient of a highly profitable business of supplying hospitality to travellers and provisions to the fleet.

I think this is a good place to halt our journey round the Peninsula.