First he stole my youth...

It wasn't long after the echoes of the last thunderous dinosaur footstep died away that Roger and I bumped into each other in the kloofs of the Magaliesberg. Actually, we didn't bump into each other - our egos maintained a minimum separation distance of several metres. It's a little bit like the Pauli Exclusion Principle, but on a somewhat larger scale. For a while this was fine, because I was better.  And then only slightly better. And then he opened some slithery thin route in Tonquani and slapped a big number on it, and boom, I was in second place. I bought the SA Climbers Club so I could edit the newsletter. I removed his name from any news reports (with Tippex, because we didn't do things electronically). He onsighted White Rider.  I couldn't do a route of his in Boulderkloof. Fame, Fortune and Glory. And they were no longer mine. That was it. All gone. All of it.

Eventually, of course, I got over it. I emigrated to the Cape, shaved off my moustache and made a decent living pretending to be a chemical engineer. I was happy in my new life.

Until now.

He tracked me down. I don't know how he found me but he did. And insidiously he started stealing my life again. It began innocuously. The suggestion of a long weekend climbing at Umgeni. And what about a week in Oudtshoorn? Then a weekend in Oudtshoorn. Before I knew what was happening my life was out of control. I resigned from my job and grew back my moustache.I got my old lycra pants out of cold storage (if you have kept them at room temperature I am sorry to say that the elastomer will be buggered and you will be holding a pair of saggy, but nonetheless bright and spangly, tubes). He did The Eviscerator before me. Next month I am going to Boven. I don't even know where it is, but I am going. I just cashed in my pension to buy a long enough  rope and enough draws to climb at Milner in the New Year.I have surrendered my life to climbing.

The moustache I am re-growing. Nice.

The Nokia E7. Don't.

Nokia's top of the line offering. And it is total fucking rubbish.

I had wondered why they had lost the smartphone competition to Samsung and Blackberry. Now I know. because their best offering is feeble. It has nice big screen. And the worst software and operating system I have used on a smartphone. Worse, by far, than my old Samsung i780.

So if you want a heavy but sleek aluminium block with an insanely nice screen to look at, oh I don't know, a photo or something, you might think about it. If you want a smartphone, then don't. It is so clunky it more or less doesn't work.

Marmalade and opera

I have time to entertain myself with one last, quick post today.

Opera is like marmalade. And so is grapefruit. I'll tell you why. When I eat an orange, I peel the fucker and then dispose of the peel. I don't eat the peel, because it tastes terrible. So what is the idea with marmalade? Why include the peel? Throw the stuff away. It's fucking horrible. As is opera. The tunes aren't that good, the acting is lame and I don't understand the words.  It's the same with grapefruit. It's bitter and horrible and in 2011 we can make informed choices about such things.

I see that Wikipedia tells me that for a while grapefruit was known as the shadduck or shattuck. That sounds more appropriate. Why the hell would you call a bitter relative of the orange a grapefruit just because it hangs in clusters on trees like grapes on a vine? Jeepers. Did those idiots not notice that a grapefruit is more or less fist-sized, tastes fucking terrible and that grapes are the size of a fingertip and taste really nice?

Coffee is almost the same as opera but it has a significant advantage. It's medicine. Opera doesn't contain caffeine and hence there is no point in swallowing it, whereas coffee does and hence there is.

Is that clear?

The Smiths

Have you heard Tori Amos doing her live cover of Don't Look Back in Anger? Probably not. Anyway, she tells a very funny story to the audience about Morrissey. Apparently he was a small dick fuckhead, but he might be a nice guy by now. That's what Tori says. I wouldn't know. So Morrissey (I know you  read my blog), don't sue me.

So recently I went to The Palace with The Smiths. Here they are. Rock stars. They all look alike to me, especially when they are wearing their sunglasses.

While the boys climbed I ate, collected feathers for my cap and tanned.

I didn't include a photo of me tanning, because it didn't work, and I still look white and weak.

I decided to onsight The Activist.

At the point in the photo I am still looking pretty competent. I should be, as I am standing on a freaking great big ledge.

Higher up I didn't look quite this good. I arrived at the crux with a poor game plan and tried to use a foothold out left. When that didn't work I figured out the toe hook but had my weight a bit wrong, didn't stand high enough and got the hideous sloper instead of the the crimp. Boom, I was out of there. So that was the end of that.

Part 2 of whatever Part 1 was called

So, where were we? As far as I remember, I had just crushed Wet and Wild.

Next up was sightseeing and shopping.

Prior to the actual shopping I needed some fortification.

The shopping was so-so. We looked for handbags - not for me, of course. I already have one. For my daughter. The best were at Guess. R 500. This took our breath away so we walked around for a while, negotiated pocket money and parental contributions, took a deep breath to replenish what had been taken away (read the start of the sentence) and went back into the shop. Here we discovered a slight problem. The handbag didn't cost R 500, the silk scarf tied to the strap cost R 500. The handbag was so expensive that I passed out.

Luckily I recovered and managed to buy some matching tangerine climbing outfits for Roger and myself.

We shall be wearing them on our boven road trip in November,

From there, we went to the airport to pick up my girlfriend who had just jetted in. Do people still jet in? Or did they stop doing that 3 decades ago?

The weekend that followed was awesome: Karkloof Canopy Tour (do it), more Wet and Wild (the water activity in Durban) and the bakery in Howick. It is the best bakery ever. Lemon tarts and the Religieuse top the must-eat list.

At some point I did The Godfather on a freezing day and then the day before we left onsighted Nothing Heals Like Cold Steal. Brilliant. Roger was belaying and so I couldn't really fail. At some point I departed from the approved sequence and headed out onto some rather silly crimps but realised I was in no-mans land and got back to a jug and pulled things together. Umgeni. Best crag in the country.

In the photo below, Roger is refusing to wear his tangerine kit.