Sonde met die bure

Die storie het eintlik niks met my bure uit te waai nie, en ek weet nie of ek veel sonde het om oor te gesels nie. Ek is sommer net lus vir nonsens praat, en die titel laat dit klink asof daar iets is om oor te praat.

Ek het gister weer bietjie vooruit gegaan met die tegnologie in my huis. Ons het op die oomblik drie rekenaars (of neukenaars, soos my oudste dogter die ding genoem het toe sy nog klein was). Ons het egter net een printer, en die kinders van vandag ken mos nie meer van pen en papier en kryte en potlode nie. Nee-eee, hulle moet mos Powerpoint presentations doen en technicolour plakkate in 3D produseer. Nie dat dit 'n verskil maak nie, want deesdae kan niemand mos meer 'n standerd pluk nie, hulle gee jou net so algemene punt wat sê jy is net so dom soos allie ander kinders, of dalk bietjie bo-gemiddeld, of effe useless in vergelyking met die gemiddeldes. Maar niemand kan tog in die 22 ste eeu so gemeen wees om te waag noem dat 'n kind te dom is om deur te kom nie. Dis 'n vreeslike skending van menseregte, en dis klaar nie meer sonde om gay uit te draai nie, dus moedig jy nie kinders in daai rigting aan deur te sê hulle onderpresteer nie.

In elk geval. Drie rekenaars. Ek het 'n fancy draadlose netwerk ook hier in die huis. Dit beteken natuurlik dat hier vreeslike brain-waves oral om ons koppe vlieg – daai radio seine is die hele plek vol. Ek het 'n stewige stukkie internet ADSL2+ konneksie wat ek by Telstra kry. Elke maand mag ek 25G se data aflaai. Ek weet nie wat maak mens met 25G se data nie – ek kon nog nooit by die limiet uitkom nie. Ek sal daai hele Wikileak-affêre se geheime tien keer kan aflaai en nog steeds 24G oorhe.

Die een printer is nou egter 'n krisis. Die ou rekenaar wat die kinders moet gebruik, se Wi-Fi ding werk nie altyd lekker nie. En elke keer as ek die printer uit daai masjien se USB port uithaal dan vou sy wireless konneksie ook. Dit gaan nou al vir 'n lang tyd so aan, en gister toe maak ek 'n plan.

Ek sien 'n advertensie vir hierdie wireless printer – die ding kan enige plek in die huis staan, en as jy kliek op die "print" knoppie, dan spoeg hy technicolour papier uit al is sy drade nie in jou masjien in gedruk nie.

Volgens die ou by die winkel is dit peanuts om die ding te installeer – jy druk 'n knop of twee, en binne 10 minute print jy Mickey Mouse prentjies in 3D en full colour. Ek is mos darem 'n ingenieur en ek weet dit behoort vir my nog makliker wees as vir die gewone ou leek om die ding aan die gang te kry.

Ek kom by die huis met my fancy HP boks en ruk hom uitmekaar totdat net 'n printer oorbly. Die dingetjie lyk sommer heel wild, pikswart met knoppies en liggies en 'n skermpie wat praat met jou. Dit alles vir slegs $48 – dink jou dit in.

Ek lees ewe die instruksies – wil nie tyd mors en sukkel nie. Hulle vertel my ek moet die CD in die neukenaar in druk en dan die installasie doen voordat ek die USB kabel indruk. Ek doen alles ewe geduldig, maar na 'n halfuur se gesukkel vertel die installasie program vir my dat die printer nie met hom wil praat nie. Ek lees op die internet, loer oral, soek, maar niks werk nie. Ek stel aan my virus program maar niks wil werk nie.

Ek sit natuurlik ook met drie neukenaars wat elkeen 'n verskillende operating system het. Die oudste een – die ene wat die kinders moet gebruik – hardloop nog op XP. Die ouer laptop hardloop op die gehate ou Vista, en my nuwe nommertjie gebruik Windows 7. (Mens sal wonder of Windows7 beter kan wees as Windows95 – die nommer is dan kleiner?)

Elkeen van hulle doen ander goed as jy die printer probeer installeer. Nou is daar al ongeveer 2 ure verby en hierdie man is boos.

Ek sien later die IP adres van die printer op sy screen is heel verkeerd – hoe het dit dan nou gebeur? Die ding se blou liggie brand, wat beteken hy is op die wireless netwerk, maar volgens sy IP adres is dit nie op hierdie netwerk nie. Ek kon net sowel gepraat het met daai maankarretjie wat op Mars sit – die ding se posbus werk nie reg nie. Ek vind later uit ek moet die wireless router ook so bietjie skok-terapie gee. Sit hom af en sit hom weer aan en siedaar – printer het nou nuwe IP adres.

Nou sien ek al die printer op die netwerk maar die ding willie werk nie. Die neukenaar sê later vir my dat hy en die printer dieselfde IP adres het. O gonna, wat maak ek nou? Ek kry toe 'n manier om in die printer se brein in te klim deur die IP adres in my web browser in te tik. Skielik gaan 'n nuwe wêreld oop – jy kan al die printer se binnegoed hier verander. Ek verander sy IP adres, en siedaar – alles werk.

Uiteindelik werk my slim $48 plan. Maar tien minute se dinges man – jyt 'n ingenieursgraad nodig om die ding aan die gang te kry, en selfs dan sukkel jy. My vrou wil he ek moet haar leer hoe om iets in te scan op die printer – ek sien nie kans nie. Dis een ding om self te weet wat jy doen, dis 'n ander om dit vir mense te leer. Veral mense wat nou nog nie verstaan hoe om files te copy en paste na 'n memory stick toe nie.

Wel, die ding is nou gedoen – my netwerk laat loop teen 'n gevaarlike 52 Mbps, terwyl my internet konneksie getoets is op 7Mbps – eintlik veronderstel om 20Mbps te wees volgens Telstra. Selfs my WII masjien is sommer met die wireless gekoppel – jy kan ewe nogal op Joutjoep gaan via jou WII console. As jy wil.

Eendag gaan Julia Gillard vir my 'n optiese vesel na my huis toe aanlê, dan is my internet spoed sommer iewers tussen 100Mbps en 1Gbps volgens die regering se beloftes. Dit beteken my wireless router sal useless wees want hy loop teen maksimum van 52Mbps.

Teen daai tyd sal daar seker in elk geval baie ander speelgoed in my huis wees wat daai bandwydte wil gebruik. Blykbaar maak die Japsnese alreeds yskaste wat vir jou emails en SMS'e stuur as die melk opraak. Of nog beter, die yskas bestel sommer melk van die local IGA af via die internet, en as jy weer kyk is die melk by jou voordeur nog voor jy agtergekom het die melk is op. (Of dalk vind jy uit jy het nooit die melk in die yskas teruggesit nie – dit gebeur elke dag in my huis…)

Fireworks

I haven’t written a lot lately.  I love writing, but at the moment there are a few things happening in my life that I don’t really want to write about.  Frankly most of it is just so negative that I would send you into a depro if I wrote about it.  And to lose the last few committed readers that still dare to venture onto this blog, would be a fatal blow to my waning popularity.

In short, a friend of mine bamboozled me out of a lot of money, and I am in the process of demanding justice.  This process is quite intimidating and complex, not to mention costly, and may in fact not have the required end result, which should be justice. 

I’ve always been one of those suckers who continue to believe in the idea of fairness and justice.  And I still do.  A little bit.

Although I know a few good decent people in the legal industry, I have to say that in general, lawyers are a bunch of blood-sucking thieves, and even when you do have a good case that should go your way, the costs of getting this through court basically reduces your ability to act in any way.

Most of the lawyers I contacted at first, just wanted to go the easy way and create a paper-war.  They want to sit in the office being a pen-pusher, in stead of actually taking the matter to court.  And they literally charge you in 6 minutes timeslots.  When you go over into the 7th minute, you’re out of pocket for another 30 or 40 bucks, depending on the amount of personal debt this lawyer has to cover in order to sustain his expensive lifestyle.  They’re worse than engineering consultants. 

And why not?  These are the folks who end up being judges, members of parliament and other kinds of high-rollers, and they draw up our laws – why wouldn’t they create a system where they are the beneficiaries of other people’s bad luck?

Even though I was totally able to draft and send off my own “final letter of demand” to the debtor, most of the lawyers I contacted insisted that I write a letter of demand on their letterhead, which would apparently have a much better effect than my personally written one, which I simply got off the internet. 

For this great service a company like Ah*rns Lawyers (Full Name withheld to protect the innocent) would charge you $440.00.  What a farce.  Even after I repeatedly stated that I had already sent off a letter of demand, and that I now wanted to proceed with real legal action, M*rc#s Ah*rns still insisted that I first send off another letter on their letterhead.   According to him:

“…I recommend a letter of demand from our firm. It will threaten the claiming of costs and interest and carries a lot more weight than your letter as it shows you are serious as you have engaged solicitors.”

There’s nothing in there that wasn’t in my original letter.  Except a huge cost to print a piece of paper with their colourful letterhead on it.

This, of course, was after Mr Ah*rns took more than a week to respond to my first request for assistance. 

I finally got hold off a legal company who seems to have a lot more integrity.  They responded to all my emails in a speedy fashion - they even arranged the first meeting for free.  I was free to discuss my whole case with a lawyer, and could then decide what to do based on their advice.  If you live in Perth, I would highly recommend Havilah Legal if you ever need to talk to a respectable lawyer.  Check out their website.

Anyway, this still doesn’t mean that I’ve received any of the money this scumbag has stolen from me, but at least it’s a start.  One day when the whole matter has been done and dusted, I will tell you the exact details of what happened.  For the moment, I’ll leave names and details out of this to protect the guilty.

Anyway, last weekend we attended the annual Fireworks at Hillarys, and I took a few nice photos of the events.  Fireworks seem to be part of my life for the moment:

Acer 5315 shutting down?

This is not one of my normal blog posts.  This is one of those that you hopefully would come across when you search for the following fault:

“Acer 5315 laptop shuts down out of the blue”, or

“Acer 5315 laptop overheats, causing the system to shut down”.

If you have these problems, then is the post that will give you the easy solution.

I investigated this problem and found that the system shuts down due to the CPU overheating.  The computer protects the CPU from frying itself.  The question, however is why does this happen?  The fan is running, everything else seems to be fine.  I tried a lot of different things, but couldn’t really figure it out.

I tried the Acer support centre, who took three days to tell me that this is a “software problem”.  Here’s their solution:

Thank you for contacting Acer’s online helpdesk, and for providing me with these details.

The problem you describe can sometimes be caused by an underlying software issue, and so I should like to suggest you run through a system recovery.
I have provided some simple and easy to follow instructions that will help you perform a system recovery, though please note that all personal data will be deleted, and your system restored to its factory default.
I suggest you first backup your personal files to CD/DVD, an external HDD or a USB storage device if possible, and also recommend that you keep regular backups of your personal files.
Here are the instructions as mentioned:
1. Firstly, please ensure that all USB storage devices are removed before proceeding with a system recovery
2. Restart your Acer product; please then begin tapping both the ALT & F10 keys together repeatedly from the moment you see the Acer boot screen
3. Please continue tapping both the ALT & F10 keys together until you are presented with the Acer recovery console
4. Select ‘Restore to Factory Default’ from the recovery options and enter your recovery password; the default password is six zeros – 000000, though you may have changed this at some time
5. Please press enter to continue, and then follow the on-screen instructions
6. The system recovery will be complete within 30-45 minutes, at which point I trust your system will return to its normal operation.
Thank you for your enquiry and I look forward to your response.
Have a great day.”

Got it?

OK, now this sounds like a typical IT helpdesk solution – if all else fails, re-boot, wipe out everything and re-install it – what a stupid suggestion!  How will that solve an obvious hardware issue?

I tried to read up on the web, and found people with the most amazing solutions.  Stuff like this:

1) Install the script that controls the fan
Download the script in the attachment in the post: http://www.mail-archive.com/acpi-bug.../msg14582.html
I have also attached it below.
2) Unpack the script
tar xvfz acer_fancontrol.tar.gz
3) IMPORTANT Modify the script to match your hardware (It is set up for a 2GB 5720Z as it is).
gedit acer_fancontrol
Pick the memory size which matches your memory size
4) Try it out
sudo ./acer_fancontrol
If you used the slightly modified script attached to this post, you should see that it prints some messages out like "Ignition Off", "Clutch down" or something. These correspond to the fan speeds, and you should be able to hear the fan working for anything above "Ignition Off".
5) If it works you can install the script
sudo cp acer_fancontrol /usr/bin
sudo cp mempat /usr/bin
6) Make it run automatically
sudo gedit /etc/rc.local
Insert "acer_fancontrol" before the final "exit 0"

And all sorts of other crazy stunts like tinkering with your BIOS and installing other operating systems.

go into terminal (or whatever you use) and type:
su root <-- it didnt seem to work with the sudo stuff, it kept saying your not root blah blah blah and thats the only way it didnt complain about it
cd /proc/acpi/thermal_zone <-- This will get you into the right folder.
gedit cooling_mode <-- make sure that its this file your editing.
and then add this into it when it opens up in a text editor:
cooling mode: active
save the file, then restart the computer.

(…What the hell?)

This is all nonsense.  The problem is not with the operating system, not about whether it’s 32 bit or 64 bit, Vista or XP - nothing to do with that.  It’s a HARDWARE problem, you stupid geeks!  Hardware is the manly stuff that actually make things work, like wheels and gearboxes.  Not everything can be fixed by updating software!

I saw one bloke’s response where he mentioned something about opening the internal fan and removing the dust bunnies.  I thought that I’d been there and done that, having already blown out the notebook with a compressor.  But then I read on, and realised that you have to open up the fan, and you’ll see what he means.

All the other wise geeks ignored this bloke’s comments and kept on with the nerdy-talk – BIOS patches, ISO file editors and who-knows-what.

But no one really had a proven solution.  Most of these geeks screwed up their computers beyond repair, causing even more problems.  Some talked about putting the notebook in the fridge to cool off, some messed with their CPU voltages.

One bloke even took his machine back to Walmart and got a full refund!

I took the advice from the smart guy on the forum, and opened the fan.  Now looky here, here’s the answer!  At first I thought I was looking at some sort of gasket between the fan and the heat sink block, but when I totally removed the fan I saw that this was in fact a dust bunny that blocked off any air supply to/from the fan:

Note that even if you try to blow the notebook out with a compressor, you won’t get rid of this little sucker without unscrewing the fan cover and removing the fan. 

So, this isn’t a virus, it’s not your BIOS patch, it’s not the Acer ePower management software, it’s just a plain old dust problem.  You can’t even blame Vista for this one.

Suddenly this old laptop is running sweet, full speed 100% CPU usage at a cool 50 degrees Celsius, in stead of the normal 80-85 when no program was running.  Awesome.

Cost to repair: $0.00

Value of this knowledge: Priceless.

Oh, and yes – don’t try the Acer helpline – a waste of time.

Apostles and Notorious Public prophets of doom

I recently managed to sell my share of a property that I owned in South Africa. I actually made a loss, because I got back the same amount that I paid for the piece of land 4 years ago, but I was just glad to get rid of this dead investment and move on to greener pastures.

My brother-in-law was kind enough to buy out my share, and he transferred the money to my SA bank account. After numerous struggles and hefty fees I finally managed to deposit the funds into my local Commonwealth Bank account – just in time to pay a deposit on a property deal in Melbourne. Don’t ask - but yes, Melbourne - even though I live in Perth... (it’s complicated.)

Anyway, a few days later his lawyers contacted me. We just need to finalise some of the documents, as my brother-in-law paid the funds even though the documentation hadn’t been finalized yet – which was a very kind deed from his side.

So, I owe him a lot – I need to sign these documents and make sure he gets value for his money.

Easy enough. At first, they just wanted my ID documents, my marriage certificate and my bank account details. Everything was going smoothly.

Then came the shocker:

If you sell property in South Africa, and you are not in the country to sign the documents, the documentation needs to be “apostilled”. I’ve never really heard this term before, but believe me - it’s nothing enjoyable. It sounds like some kind of sickness and is in fact worse than one.

I received a list of instructions with documents that needed to be signed. I had to sign these documents in the presence of someone who is qualified to apostille the documents. This person must be

1. Head of a South-African diplomatic or consular mission; or

2. a person in the Administrative or professional division of the public service, serving at the South-African diplomatic, consulor or Trade Office

This sounds easy, doesn’t it?

I jumped onto Google and checked it out. Yep, Perth does have a “South African Honorary Consulate” – good news.

Luckily I rang them up before travelling all the way into the city. “Nope, we don’t do that”, said the lady. “You need to go the Department of Foreign Affairs (DAFT)”.

“Which one?”, I asked - “the Australian Department of Foreign Affairs?” This doesn’t make sense, but the answer was yes.

This morning I jumped onto the train in Leederville and got off at Perth station, on the way to the Exchange Plaza. The DFAT is on level 17. I saw a door with the words “Apostille” written somewhere on it, and was feeling quite happy at finding the right place.

The lady behind the window informed me that they can’t apostille something that I sign in front of them. I need to go to a “Notary Public”, and this person would be able to do it. Then I have to return to the DAFT and hand in the documentation, and it takes 24 hours for them to finalise. It costs $60 for every page, plus $20 for binding it. For my 5 pages this means that this is going to cost me a minimum of $320, plus the Notary public’s fees.

Great.

She gave me an outdated list with names of Public Notaries on it. I saw that some of the addresses were also in St. George’s Terrace, so off I went looking for these Notorious Publicans.

They’re notoriously unavailable.

Either Mr. X is in court, or Mr. Y simply does not do this anymore. Or, “you can call his secretary and make an appointment, but he’s very busy, you know…”

I was referred from the 25^th floor of one building to the 28^th floor of the building across the street – then to the 4^th floor of building Y, and on again to the 23^rd floor of building D. In the meanwhile, the lady at the DAFT informed me that they close at 1pm. So at 1:30pm it was a lost cause anyway.

I finally had to admit defeat, and I crawled into Gloria Jeans for a coffee and a sausage roll. When I finally got onto the train I felt I a bit of a failure after wasting three hours in the city without achieving anything.

Next time I’ll plan this better. Make appointments. Pay huge sums of money. Make more appointments. Pay some more. And then hopefully mail these completed documents back to South Africa at enormous cost.

Or I could ignore it all, do nothing and hope it all goes away while I let my brother-in-law stress it out on that side.

Die mannetjie met die manbag

Ek staan nou die dag hier by die poskantoor om 'n koevert te koop. Die poskantoor hier lyk bietjie anders as NamPost - dit lyk meer soos 'n klein weergawe van die CNA. Hulle verkoop allerhande groottes koeverte en CD's en almanakke, koffiebekers, poskaarte en penne, en wie weet wat nog. Amper alles behalwe seëls lyk dit my.

Ek staan en wag in die tou, want ek wil my koevert koop.

Hier twee plekke voor my staan 'n gevaarte wat my sommer laat skrik. Die mannetjie se hare staan soos wilde spykers op sy kop. Hy dra sulke swart klere - ek dog amper hy is 'n bankrower wat nou poskantore wil beroof. Sy ou swart spykerhaartjies lyk bietjie deurmekaar, en hy het sulke lekka punk-style grimering hier rondom sy ou grillerige jakkals-ogietjies. Daar hang 'n kettinkie om sy middellyfie van sy belt af, en hy dra allerhande oorbelle aan sy neus, tong en ore - en wie weet waar nog...

Sy help-my-sterk-lyk swart hempie bult nou nie juis van die spiere nie. Maar wag, hier is 'n ding op sy bo-arm. Nee, dis nie bultende spiere nie, dis nie 'n tattoo van 'n draak wat vuur spoeg nie; dis 'n regte egte "manbag" wat hy so lekker drapeer hier oor sy kunsterige armpie.

Hiert, gogga! Ek val amper om, ek sluk amper my adamsappel heel in, so verbouereerd raak ek. Ek het al gehoor van die man-bag affêre, maar nie gedink daar is mannetjies wat die goed regtig dra nie? Ek knyp sommer my bene styf teenmekaar, en staan met my rug teen die muur, so benoud voel ek.

Toe dit sy beurt is by die till, toe haal hy ewe sy geldjies daar uit sy swart sagte donserige man-bag om te betaal.

Kan jy nou meer?

Toe ek klaar my koevert gekoop het, het ek mooi oor my skouer geloer oppad terug kantoor toe, ek wil nie he die man-bag moffie moet my dalk van agter af bestorm nie. Die wêreld raak gevaarlik deesdae...

Tyd om fees te vier

Ons vier vandag twee jaar in Australië, en my verjaarsdag was ook laas week.

Ek het hierdie jaar ‘n klomp goeie geskenke gekry vir my verjaardag. My een vriend James het hier opgedaag met ‘n big-screen TV.

Daar is ‘n prentjie van die Pous op net om die ding heiliger te laat lyk…

Ek het al voorheen ‘n big screen by my ander vriend Tony gekry, maar hy was een van daai meer outydse tipes wat ‘n ton weeg.  Hy staan in die kinders se speelkamer.  Dus is hierdie nou al die tweede big screen wat ek present kry vandat ons hier geland het!

En my vroulief het vir my ‘n ordentlike koffiemasjien gekoop. Die ding forseer warm water teen 15 bar deur die koffie - ‘n regte egte koffiemasjien hierdie.

Daai koffie is so lekker, as ek in die oggende werk toe ry dan proe ek nog daai lekker koppie koffie hier in my mond - al het ek my tande geborsel. Die hele dag lank droom ek van daai lekker koffie, en kannie wag om weer huis toe te gaan en nog enetjie te brou nie. Mense, dis ‘n lekker lewe die.

Gisteraand het ek en my mooi vroutjie gaan uiteet. Ek het ‘n plek bespreek in die stad. Dis ‘n restaurant op die 33 ste vloer van die St Martins gebou. Die hele vloer draai stadig in die rondte terwyl jy daar sit. Dit was ‘n ongelooflike ervaring. Die kos was uit die boonste rakke, alhoewel ons nou en dan moes vra wat beteken die goed op die menu - dis sulke franse woorde.

My bestelling was:

“Char grilled grass-fed beef fillet, cacciatore sausage and brie polenta, roasted Field mushroom and red onion jam and a port jus”

Die sogenaamde polenta is eintlik maar amper soos mieliepap, en alhoewel ek nog nooit ‘n groot pap-vreter was nie, was dit lekker om ‘n slag bietjie mieliepap by my kos te kry.

Die vleis was uitstekend.

My ander helfte het vis bestel:

“Fresh ocean trout, cucumber yogurt, herbed and crumbed zucchini and eggplant, chorizo, chilli confit.”

Dit was blykbaar ook besonders lekker. Die kelner praat ook met so stewige Franse aksent, dus was dit by tye moeilik om uit te vind wat ons eintlik bestel, want hy het gesukkel om dit te verduidelik.

Ons poeding was

“Chocolate moelleux with a raspberry melting heart, vanilla bean ice cream”

Mensig, dit was ‘n stukkie hemel wat aarde toe gekom het. Dis amper soos ‘n chocolate brownie wat nes ‘n muffin lyk. As jy hom oopmaak, dan peul die warm sjokolade sous uit sy magie uit. Heerlik.

Die hele petalje het my amper $200 uit die sak gejaag, as jy die $11 parkeerplek in die basement bytel. Dis teen vandag se koers amper R1400 vir twee mense. Ek weet nie wat dit deesdae kos om in Suid Afrika uit te eet nie, maar dit klink vir my stewig. (Maar dit was elke sent werd, glo my!)

Ons is nou presies twee jaar al hier in Perth. Kan nie glo hoe die tyd vlieg nie. Vanmiddag vlieg my oudste na Canberra en Sydney vir ‘n skooltoer - ek is so lus om saam te gaan, ek kan my lag nie hou nie. Maar ek sal maar hier by die huis moet bly en die vroumense oppas!

i simpl storiki

Ek ht bslyt om vi julle i storiki ti skryf in “SMS taal”.

Vnoggnd tu ek by di garage uitry toe sien ek my kar si 1 wiel is pap.  Ek moes toe di wiel omrl.  ek ht vreeslk gevluk & kwat geraak oor di simpl wiel.

Eers mut jy di sparwl lat uitkom.  Die sparwl het i ding innie midl va di vloer ondir di mat.  Dar sit i mur wat jy moet drai tot di wiel oppie grnd is.  Dan mur jy di wiel tot hy loskom va di ding af.  Di sparwl is omtrnt helfte va di regte wiel – hy lyk soos i marie biskit en het grot letrs op wat sê hy maggie vinigir as 80 ry ni.

My hanne ht vrslk vyl gerak met die wiel ryliry.  Weetie hoeko i bleri wiel altyd so vuil moet wesie.  di pat is mossie so erg vuil ni man?  Ht somma my eie mur ook gestrip.

Tu mut ek die annir wiel afhal & di wiel-mur is bai styf vas.  Tu vluk ek wee baje.  Na ek di wiel afgekry ht mus ek di dun sparwiliki opsit.

Ek het di sparwiliki oppie kar gesit en toe mus ek na di tajr plek toe ry ommie tajr te fix.

i bleri skroef ht innie wiel gasteek en hy sit oppie kant va di wiel nou kan ekkie eers di wiel lat fix ni – moet nuwe ene buy.

8 nee man dissie lekka nie etse.

Ek wag tu viddie maniki ommie wiel om te ryl.  Tiwyl ek kyk sien ek di mensi wat karre was da by die kawasj.

Di wiel is kla ma ek mut nog di sparwiliki trig sit.  Dan mut ek wee di ou mur drai tot hy di dingiki oppie grnd lat sak.

Di dag kannet betr rak va hi af.

‘n Luilekker Aussie-biltongboer dag

Vandag het die Biltongboer weer een van sy hard-verdiende afdaggies gehad by die werk. Elke “fortnight” kry ek die Vrydag af. Met ander woorde, elke tweede Vrydag sit ek by die huis. Die kinders is by die skool en my vrou hol rond in die dorp. Ek is alleen - ek hou van alleen wees.

Vanoggend het ek bietjie afgestap na ons naaste IGA winkelsentrum net om die hoek, en bietjie inkopies gedoen.

Een van die artikels wat ek gekoop het, was ‘n Vanilla Slice, ook bekend as ‘n “snot block” in sekere dele van die land. Ek het die snot blokkie met ‘n vurk en ‘n skerp mes beetgevat, en hom versigtig benader saam met ‘n koppie vars koffie. Lekker man.

Toe word dit tyd om die vlam aan te steek vir ‘n paar mushrooms oppie barbie. Die armige sampioentjies het nie geweet wat hulle getref het nie. (Terloops, die aussies verstaan om een of ander rede nie as jy van sampioene praat en na hulle verwys as “sampy-jones” nie.) En toe kom die hoofgereg - ‘n lekker ou stukkie rump steak. Die IGA verkoop altyd vleis teen afslag as dit te naby die “use by date” kom. Ek weet mos ek gaan hom dadelik eet, so ek koop die goedkoop vleis.

Ek was bietjie lus vir ‘n bederf, en het toe sommer van hierdie vleissous gekoop wat jy in die mikrogolf warm maak. 40 sekondes later sit jy met ‘n heerlike pepper-cream sousie, net om die hoofgereg mee af te rond.

Die rump kry so twee minute op elke kant op die warm plaat, en dan is dit tyd vir hom om te wys waarvan hy gemaak is.

Heerlikste ou sappige stukkie vleis. Man, hierdie Wes-Australiese beesvleis is koning.

Ek voel nou bietjie moeg, en die dag is nog nie halfpad nie. Tyd om my koerantjie te sit en lees, en dan gaan ek eers bietjie lê. Dit was ‘n lang, harde dag die...

Trip to the Wild Mid West

I’ve recently done some travelling around the Midwest region of Western Australia.

We got onto the Great Northern highway early in the morning.  The only reason the call it “great”, is because of the massive distances that you travel – not the size of the “highway”.  It mostly consists of a normal 2-way bitumen road that looks similar to the Trans-Kalahari highway on the way to Swakopmund on the Namibian coast.

An interesting concept around these parts is what they call a “road train”.   It’s not a freight train that crosses the road; it’s a massive long truck that can pull up to three trailers, all trailing behind each other.

I saw heaps of kangaroos lying dead next to the road.  Over a distance of 60 km l actually counted more than 100 roadkills strewn around the place.  (The road trains don’t brake for anything…)

The first part of the route was through the Chittering valley.  Once we got closer to a place called Payne’s Find, the region was looking extremely familiar.  Payne’s Find is pretty much just like Kalkrand in Namibia – a petrol station with a garbage can next to it.

On the way there, probably about 50km before we reached PF, the area reminded me a lot of the road from Rehoboth to Windhoek, with the Auas mountains in the background.  I had to pinch myself a few times just to remind myself that I was not driving in Namibia.

I was expecting a kudu to jump over the road at any moment.  All I saw, however, were emu’s, dead skippies and feral goats all over the place.  It was a weird experience.

At Mount Magnet I saw two local indigenous people sitting at a table.  They got up later, and I watched as one of them walked over the road with one foot totally bare, and the other one clothed with just a dirty sock.  With this irregular footwear he was merrily walking across the dusty road.  Once again I had this weird feeling of familiarity – I’m not sure why…

There are quite a few of them folks around. There were two blokes standing around the public phones – they just never seemed to be able to get away from the phones.  Another bloke was crossing the road every now and again.  I have no idea what he was trying to achieve.  All of this was happening while we were waiting for our local contact to arrive.  I therefore had a lot of time to observe some of the things going on. 

One of the defining moments was when I saw an indigenous lady come out of the BP shop, and as they left the shop she gave her poor kid a smack that made the snot fly.  I then heard someone in the vicinity saying something about “bloody coons”.  Obviously the inter-cultural love runs deep in these parts.

A local bloke told me that in one of the towns in this region, they still had the “black and white bars” until a few years ago.  This meant that “black fellas” and “white fellas” did not drink at the same bar.  Interesting. 

We finally ended up in Sandstone, and holed up in a place that my colleague cheerfully described as a “dog’s house”.

I met quite a few interesting locals at the bar.  All of them were wearing leather hats for some reason – even long after the sun had set.  One bloke looked like a mix between crocodile Dundee and the Terminator, with a little bit of country music thrown in.  I was just waiting for this bloke to present a banjo and start singing country songs, but fortunately this didn’t happen.

I even met a South African here.  Yep, out here in the sticks, I walked into a saffer.  You can’t go anywhere without running into one of them.

Around these parts people like to dress like cowboys. At the BP in Mt Magnet I saw a bloke who looked like a miniature version of Bob Katter.  These two blokes were driving in a Land Cruiser, and when they stopped the driver got out wearing a bright red shirt, black jeans, boots, and of course a massive leather hat.  When his hat-wearing buddy got out of the car, I suddenly noticed that she was a pregnant lady, although she looked a lot stronger than the skinny driver.  And her hat was bigger.

Well, back in the bar in Sandstone, I met this friendly fella who was wearing a footy shirt with the words “adventure tours” written on it.  I asked him about his adventures, and he explained that he took people on all sorts of adventure tours around Sandstone.  He’ll do anything you want to do – you can shoot roos, go camping, 4x4 driving, or just sit drunk around the fire – whatever your fancy.

I liked this idea about roo-shooting, and he explained that he provides the weapon and a little bit of training - and live targets, of course.  You can start out on tins cans, and once familiar with loading and cocking the gun you qualify to take out some live targets. 

I like this guy.  When I explained to him that I’ve done a wee bit of hunting myself, he responded enthusiastically by telling me that he recognised my horrible Souf Efrikuhn eksehnt, and that “you guys kill anything over there!”

I decided not to get a quote, cause I might have ended up shooting roos instead of getting the job done that my company sent me over here for.  But I’m still keeping it in the back of my mind.  Maybe a little team-building exercise?

I love these country towns.  They have an atmosphere that you just can’t get in the city.  And I enjoyed not having to stop at traffic lights or having to sit on a freeway for half an hour on the way to the office.  And I love seeing animals roam around, even if they’re just boring emu’s and skippies.  I also saw millions of sheep, feral goats and cattle.  Awesome.

The restaurant was another abnormal experience.  The chef, who also doubles as the waiter, is a classic.  He walks around in shorts and thongs, with an apron covering his stomach.  He nearly threw a fit when one of the ladies in the restaurant requested veggies.  He handles his guests in a very informal manner, and everyone inside the restaurant was talking to each other, even if they were not seated at the same table.  Great atmosphere.

I ordered some dead kangaroo, and he made a good job of it.  He mentioned that his roadkills are normally scraped off the road in the early morning, so that it’s still fresh.

The food was really good.  This place is great, although the rooms look a bit like a jail on wheels.  I had to share a bathroom with the couple next door to me. 

How will I sum this up?  It felt like a trip to Otjiwarongo , with a detour through Kalkrand and a quick stop at Mariental.  I had no idea where I was, but it sure felt like home…