Wilkinson's World

Archive for the ‘Humour’ Category

Have you ever wondered what makes some human beings tick?  I mean, what makes some people overflow with the milk of human kindness and others with the venom of a basketful of asps?  I’m always amazed at people’s sense of humour so thought I’d share some comments that I found on a website recently.
But first let me set the scene.  For the last couple of weeks I’ve had some really dreadful mouth ulcers that have rendered me almost incapable of eating or brushing my teeth properly.  I tried all the ointments one buys over the counter at the pharmacist to no avail, and then decided to go onto a website that deals with ulcer remedies.  Like everyone else who logged on to the site, I was in great pain, feeling miserable, and thought that perhaps I might come across an obscure remedy used by someone’s long-gone Grandma!
Allow me to share some comments from folks helping each other out when they are desperate for relief from agonizing ulcers (and remember that vets euthanase animals in far less pain than this) :

In 1284, so the story goes, the town of Hamelin in Germany suffered a plague of rats. A little man dressed in a motley pied costume arrived in town and offered to rid Hamelin of its problem, for a fee, to which the townsfolk agreed. The Pied Piper (as he has become known during the intervening centuries) whipped out his pipe and began playing a jolly tune as he wandered through the streets of the town. Miraculously, the rats began to follow him, enchanted by the music, but the wicked little man betrayed their murine trust and led them into the waters of the Weser River, where they all drowned.  So sad.

But, the story doesn’t end there, because the townsfolk then reneged on their promise and refused to pay the Piper. Not happy with this change to the agreed script, the Pied Piper waited until all the adults of the town were in church (apparently children didn’t go to church in Hamelin!) and then he began to play his pipe again as he walked through the streets. This time it was the children who followed him, and they were led into a cave outside the town, never to be seen again. Well, according to some accounts three of the children survived; one was lame and couldn’t keep up, one was blind and couldn’t follow the group and one was deaf and thus singularly unimpressed by the music. Thus we have witnesses to this account.

But that isn’t the end of the story either, although that is probably the part that you are familiar with. After all, that explains what happened to the rats and the children, but what became of the Pied Piper? Well, one theory (published here for the very first time!) is that he was exceedingly disenchanted with the people of Hamelin, and in fact with humanity in general, and so he immigrated to the isolation of southern Africa. To Rooiputs in the Kgalagadi, actually, although it probably wasn’t called Rooiputs in 1284.  Probably called Little Hamelin or New Hamelin or Piedpiperville.

No sooner had he settled down in this isolated part of the world, than the Pied Piper noticed that he was not alone! Several little grey heads appeared from well concealed burrows and several pairs of beady eyes watched his every move. Rats! He smiled. Rats he was familiar with. He whipped out his pipe and began to play. History doesn’t record the name of the tune that he played, but we like to think that it was the “Colonel Bogey March”, later (much later) to be used as the theme tune in the movie “Bridge on the River Kwai”. A jovial, catchy tune that soon had the rats out of their burrows and dancing along beside the Piper.

“Wait a minute!” thought the Piper, “the German rats marched behind me in orderly fashion. Left, right; left, right. Proper goose-step. Left, right; left, right. These miserable rats are dancing! Don’t they understand discipline here in Africa?” He stopped playing for a moment, indignant at their behaviour and intending to reprimand them in no uncertain manner, but the rats would have none of that and insisted that he play on. This was the most fun they’d had since Bushy passed by with his one string guitar in the winter of 1167. Short on repertoire, the Piper played the “Colonel Bogey March” again, but the rats had his measure now and began whistling along as he played. (Whistling? Could this have been the inspiration for the whistling soldiers that were featured in “Bridge on the River Kwai”?)

Now please take note – this was a momentous occasion. This marked one of the great, unsung evolutionary leaps that has gone unrecorded in most textbooks. The rats had never whistled before! They didn’t know that they had it in them, but “Colonel Bogey” they could not resist. They stared at each other in delighted amazement at this unexpected development, and enthusiastically increased the volume of their whistling, almost drowning out the piping of the man in the pied outfit.

The Pied Piper marched through the Kgalagadi, surrounded by his growing troupe of dancing rats, all whistling in tune as he played. He was intent on getting rid of the rodents as he had in Hamelin, in spite of their undoubted musical talent, but, alas, this was not Europe. The rivers of the Kgalagadi are dry for much of the year and the Pied Piper was unable to find any water to drown them. Instead it was he who eventually succumbed to exhaustion, slumped to the ground and melted in the heat. All to the refrain of  the whistled version of “Colonel Bogey”.

The rats, on the other hand, flourished.

If you visit the semi desert of the Kalahari and sit quietly in the low scrub at sunset you will hear the wonderful whistling of the descendants of these Pied Piper-inspired Whistling Rats. You may not hear the “Colonel Bogey March”, but, then again, you might. Who knows? A close friend swears he heard them whistle “Nine Million Bicycles in Beijing”.

Everyone is familiar with measles, mumps, rubella and the like. These are minor, mostly childhood infections that are well under medical control and no longer a real threat to anyone with reasonable access to medical care. So, forget about those. Africa faces bigger challenges from bugs; from really small bugs to the somewhat larger.

The bite of the mosquito can transmit Plasmodium falciparum and cause malaria. The bite of the tstetse fly can transmit Trypanosoma brucei and cause sleeping sickness. The bite of a meercat can transmit the Lyssavirus that causes rabies. Tramping on a rusty nail can result in an infection with Clostridium tetani and cause tetanus. The list is endless and the threats diverse, and each infection is costly to treat.

But none is as costly as the infection with Peregrinatio cimex. Spread through exposure to the magnificent scenery; the blue skies by day and the star-filled skies at night; the wonderful assortment of animals and the incredibly diverse people, Peregrinatio cimex is deadly. Although physically painless, it eats up the family budget rapidly and is no respecter of pension funds, college funds or any other jealously hoarded sum of money identified for some well-conceived, all-important objective. For Peregrinatio cimex is the Travel Bug.

A bite by the Travel Bug will lead to all manner of new experiences, including exposure to more bugs. Some of the larger bugs that will be encountered are interesting and less destructive than those referred to in the first paragraph; some are even large enough to be photographed. Let’s look at a few.

Here we have the fierce-looking (but harmless) Koringkriek, or Armoured Ground Cricket.  In some areas of Namibia there are armies of these wandering on the paths at certain times of the year, migrations may be seen crossing the road, many losing their lives under the rolling rubber of passing vehicles.

Then there are scorpions.  These little creatures have tails that curve up over their backs and their poison is potent enough to ruin a holiday.  It is always advisable to wear closed shoes after dark when they are most active.

And the infamous camel spider.  This  nasty little beast has a number of aliases because it isn’t really a spider at all, but a solifigud (a rather awkward name which apparently means ‘escaping from the sun’).  Also known as a sun spider or wind scorpion, this is not a gogga to mess with.  It moves very quickly and often appears to run after someone walking in the sun, although what it is really doing is looking for shade.  We were terrorized by camel spiders on Christmas night at Khamkirri on the Orange River (and it wasn’t only the ladies who were climbing on chairs!)

This first picture is of a female camel spider –

The male is much smaller and has a very ferocious-looking face.  Love the red hair!!!

On a larger scale and perfectly harmless, but a bit alarming to find climbing on your chair is the Turner’s Tubercled Gecko (not a bug per se but it falls into the creepy crawlie class).

In fact folding camping chairs seem to be magnets for bugs.  Put a hand on this hairy caterpillar and you could spend the next hour getting rid of its prickly hairs.

Post script:
For those with a scientific bent, the binomial Peregrinatio cimex derives from the Latin “Peregrinatio” meaning “travel” and the Latin “cimex” meaning “bug”. The Travel Bug. Of course it doesn’t really exist (as if you thought it did!), but doesn’t it make a wonderful excuse for all those rather expensive and pointless excursions?

The Godfather

He was known throughout the bulbul kingdom of Khorixas as “The Godfather”.  Wise beyond his years, he was the acknowledged guardian of the tribes folklore; he alone had access to the collective wisdom of their collective ancestors. Well, that‘s what he said and although some of his elders felt that a lot of his stories were just that –stories, he was big, strong and ruthless. And so no bulbul in Khorixas ever challenged his claim to the wisdom of the ancients. Besides which, he attracted a lot of young ladies to the group…

The Godfather

Periodically The Godfather called his flock together so that they could enjoy a few of his stories, and although this was seen by some as an exercise in self indulgence and self aggrandizement as The Godfather was usually the hero of his own stories, even if they were supposedly set at some time in the past.

This particular morning, though, was different.

No water in this pool!

His kingdom, as he liked to think of the 1000 square metres occupied by his flock (because that made him a King!), was in the grip of a severe drought. The heat was intense, day after day, but it had not rained for weeks. Or months even. Most of the bulbuls couldn’t remember when last it had rained. Not surprising, really; most couldn’t remember what happened yesterday. But The Godfather could remember and that, too, set him apart from his fellows. Not much point in claiming possession of all this wisdom if you couldn’t retain the memories.

No rain for months, and all the standing water was long gone. Not a dam, not a puddle remained.

The enthralled audience

So the lesser bulbuls heeded his call, dropped what they were doing and gathered in orderly fashion to listen to The Godfather.

When there was water

“There was a time”, he began, without preamble, “when there was water here at Khorixas. Not just a few drops of dew hanging from the branches – I’m talking about enough water to swim in!”

There were gasps of amazement from the listeners. Some gasped at the thought of so much water, some gasped because they had just heard a new word – “swim” and some gasped because the others were gasping and they didn’t want to feel left out. The youngest gasped in dismay because he had thought they were gathering for lunch, not for some far-fetched story about water.

Sharing with the weavers

“So much water,” The Godfather went on, “that we shared it with our friends, the weavers.” More gasps.

“Since when are we friends with the weavers?” some thought.

“What’s a weaver?” some thought.

“When’s lunch?” the youngest thought.

The Godfather (again!)

“ And now…” a dramatic pause. “The weavers have returned the favour!

“A few minutes ago I met with my counterpart amongst the weavers, and she led me to a source of water!”

What was “a source of water?” The youngest thought. He knew about Tomato Source. Worcester Source. Even Tabasco Source. But “a source of water?” And why would you want to turn water into a source anyway?

Inspecting the water-tree

“I have been to see this water,” The Godfather said proudly, as if he had discovered the origin of the River Nile. “And it is wondrous to behold!” He paused for effect.

“When’s lunch?” the youngest thought, missing the drama of the pause.

“It doesn’t run along the ground, this water,” The Godfather explained, “or lie still upon the ground in the form of a puddle. No.” Another pause. “There is a little silver tree growing from the ground without any branches or leaves and this tree spits out the water! Clean, cool water!”

There really is water!

The oldest bulbul rolled his eyes. A silver tree without branches that spat water. What bulbulsh*t!

“And I shall take you all to see this magical tree right now!”

“Can’t we go after lunch?” thought the youngest.

And so The Godfather led the group across the desert to the silver tree that spat out water.

The eldest bulbul visits the water-tree

“I will perch on this oddly-shaped stem”, he announced, “and you can all check the water yourselves.”

“What’s an oddly?” thought the youngest. “Pear-shaped I understand. Pyramid-shaped I understand. But oddly-shaped?”

The eldest was the first to approach the tree after The Godfather, as was his right. Lo and behold! There was water. Not a lot, to be sure, but a steady drip. Not enough for a bath, but, if you showed some patience, enough to drink.

Yes, the presence of water in confirmed!

“You are right, Godfather,” said the eldest, looking up at the leader. “This silver tree spits water! It is a miracle!”

The Godfather smiled. “And just in time for Christmas. I shall call it the Tree the Angels Provided or a TAP for short.”

The eldest bulbul leaves to spread the word

“I shall spread the word,” the elder said as he sped off from the Silver tree. “We now have our own tap.”

“Great,” said the youngest, finally speaking aloud, “we have a tap. Perhaps we can have lunch now?”

Anyone who read the post “Try camping – it’s much cheaper” and thought that it was about camping and buying stuff for camping missed the point. It’s really about the differences in the way men and women see the world. Observe a couple in a TV store  - the male will immediately see the importance of owning a 42 inch plasma TV; the  female will roll her eyes and tap her foot. A foot encased in a shoe that cost half as much as the TV, but which she considered a bargain.

Let me explain a few things that were omitted from the post in question. There are a few snide comments on buying a 4X4, but this was a no-brainer and really not worthy of further discussion. I proved that by taking the Opel Monza up the first stretch of Sani Pass. Point made.

You'd take a sedan up here?

So let’s consider the other items.

A man says “I’m going to buy a rooftop tent” and his wife thinks he is going to buy a rooftop tent. Only a rooftop tent. But the man knows that you need load bars to fit the rooftop tent to the bakkie – how else are you going to put it on the roof? Nail it on? The load bars are so obvious, it isn’t really worth mentioning them. If you are going to buy shoes, you don’t really have to mention that you need shoe-laces as well, do you? And if you buy a rooftop tent, then clearly you plan to go camping, right? In remote places (in Namibia anywhere outside of Windhoek is remote). So it is a given that you will need some recovery equipment – high-lift jack, tow strap, sand tracks, compressor, spade. No point in taking a chance on getting stuck out there in remote Namibia. And of course you will need camping stuff like sleeping bags, gas bottles, lights, chairs. So if a man says “I’m going to buy a rooftop tent”, he doesn’t mean only a rooftop tent, he means that he wants to go camping. I would have thought that much was obvious. Anyway, it was Jane who wanted the chairs.

And, to set the record straight, the drawer system so derisively referred to in the post below was made absolutely essential because of the amount of unnecessary “stuff” that Jane has to cart around with her. Take toiletries. I take nothing from the bathroom on a camping trip beyond a toothbrush and toothpaste. After all, you don’t need a comb if you wear a hat; you don’t need to shave if you don’t take a mirror. Jane? 321 separate items in a toiletries bag the size of a respectable Nike tog bag, most of which are unidentifiable and some of which look positively lethal. So the drawer system was actually bought in self-defense to contain these weapons of mass reconstruction.

The black bags on the left are Jane's toiletries bags

Now I concede that a man may be vain enough to sneak a peek at himself in the rear view mirror once or twice during a camping trip to see how his beard is progressing, or how his hat fits. Bad mistake. Beards always feel better than they look, and although women look great in hats, men just look like dicks. But we might sneak a peak now and again. Women, on the other hand, look at their reflection in any shiny surface that they can find; a silver tea-spoon, a pot lid, a darkened car window, the neighbour’s bald head. Even a mirror. A big mirror, which they will take with them expressly for this purpose. Into the drawer with it.

Camping vs hotels - would you really trade this for the bathroom at a Holiday Inn?

Camping vs hotels - Or this shower for the shower at the London Hilton?

Of course, women do have more reason to look into a mirror than men; most men have bodies that shouldn’t be seen unclothed in daylight; women are works of art. Have you noticed that just about all men’s magazines have pictures of near-naked women in them? And most women’s magazines also have pictures of near-naked women in them? I’m not sure what that proves – just thought I would mention it. I read somewhere that most women would rather get undressed in front of a man than in front of another woman. This is because women are critical; men are just grateful.

Back to the drawer system. Another reason that it proved essential was to accommodate the clothes that Jane takes camping. A separate outfit for every day and every weather condition, plus a few spares. When all you really need is a change every couple of days. (Clean underwear becomes quite a treat after a few days!) We take off for a weekend in the Namib Desert; she packs a raincoat. But, with all those outfits, she will still find it necessary to launder something sometime during the trip. Amazing. Why can’t she just turn the stuff inside out and carry on wearing it?

So was all this camping stuff expensive? Depends on your frame of reference, really. A man will happily pay $500 for something that is only worth $250 if he really wants it. A woman will pay $250 for something worth $500 that she has no use for whatsoever, and think she got a bargain. I wanted the camping stuff, therefore it was cheap at the price.

In conclusion, to compare the cost of camping to overseas holidays doesn’t make any sense at all! Only a woman could possibly think that a romantic evening wining and dining on the Champs-Élysées in Paris is more fun than digging your 4X4 out of a river bed under the blazing sun in the Khowarib Schlucht in Namibia.

Far more interesting plants here than at Kew Gardens.

Now, if we pass up the trip to the Greek Isles next year, I can get a set of Old Man Emu shocks and maybe a snorkel ….