The clause in the amendment Bill prohibits “anyone from issuing a severe weather warning without permission from the weather service,” according to an environmental affairs ministry spokesman.

This, however, is not what it seems, claims a little-known advocacy and conspiracy theorist group. The Society for the Promotion of Generic Conversation and Small Talk (SftPGCaST) maintains that this law is just the first step on the road to curtailing liberties.

“Without the freedom to announce Armageddon-esque weather warnings to friends, family members, colleagues, cashiers, people we’re stuck in a lift with, people we sit next to on planes and even pets, SA will disintegrate into a base, lawless society,” says SftPGCaST spokesman, John Borington.

He further explodes: “This is horrific news for the hordes of us who so love to ask people ‘is it hot/cold enough for you?’ and ‘it’s so cold/hot, I think I might freeze/melt’.”

This conversation-limiting decree, he added, could well mark the end of civil society: “Limiting small-talk topics is just the first move towards trying to stop people sharing the banal with one another. Mark my words, we will soon see legislation that forbids us talking about our infants’ bowel movements, and our various ailments and rashes. What then?!

At the same time, adult contemporary music fans and music programme managers are uneasy about potentional implications of the severe weather clause.

Advocacy group, The Michael Learns to Rock Appreciaters, has issued a statement bemoaning the impending ban what is argues could seriously impact the playlists of popular vintage radio stations, such as Jacaranda 94.2. Songs such as “(Your love is like a) heatwave”, “Cold as ice”, “The heat is on”, “I’m on fire”, “Ice, Ice Baby”, “Frozen” and “99.9 Fahrenheit degrees” are just some in the firing line.

When “Captain Coward” decided not to stick around and lead the evacualtion of the sinking ship, the coastguard was recorded bellowing, “Vada a bordo, cazzo!”, which can be loosely translated as ‘Go on board, you fucker/dick!’

While ‘cazzo’ is Italian slang for ‘dick’, apparently it is largely interchangeable with ‘fuck’.

Shame, it happens to everyone, doesn’t it? Just the other year I drove into a low wall while waving hello to my mother’s gardener.

Also, it’s not the poor captain’s fault if he accidentally tripped into an awaiting lifeboat, is it? Reminds me of that scene in the first season of ‘The West Wing‘:

Sam: About a week ago I accidentally slept with a prostitute.

Toby: [pause] Really?

Sam: Yes.

Toby: You accidentally slept with a prostitute?

Sam: A call girl.

Toby: Accidentally?

Sam: Yes.

Toby: I don’t understand. Did you trip over something?

I shall divide the past few weeks into the good and less-than-good that has transpired, for yo’ readin’ pleasure.

The Good:

- Went to Cape Town. Beach, food, wine, friends, the best weather I’ve ever seen in CT in December … yes, it was a grand time. You will notice the fabulous job my sibling and I did trying to patch up a car window which took it upon itself to fall down inside the door.  Owing to all the public holidays, no garage workshops were open and until my pal’s handy husband managed to fix it, this was what we came up with. Should have seen the looks we got pulling into the 12 Apostles hotel in that wreck.

- Finished reading A Game of Thrones and thought it was quite fabulous, in a raw-heart-eating, war-obsessed fantasy kinda way. Have the next nearly 1000-page tome in the Songs of Ice and Fire series weighing down my bedside table, ready for me to attack once I’ve recovered from the intensity of AGoT by finally reading ‘Blood Safari’ by Deon Meyer.

The Less-than-good

- Have returned to work just as reluctant to get stuck in as I was prior to my holiday.

- I have a new neighbour across from my apartment who has an infant.

Sigh.

Bring back the young fool who used to play ‘Hotel California’ on his guitar endlessly, while trying to warble out the lyrics … all is forgiven.

- My mother is moving house, and unless we can somehow get her a month-long rental somewhere before her new abode is ready, she is moving in with me. Which actually means that I will be vacating my *own* flat and moving in with my sister for that month. My place is not big enough for family squabbles.

Carr seems to have confused being ‘controversial’ and rude for having actual comedic talent. It felt  as if I were watching the self-appointed high school class clown get up on stage, say “cunt”, “fuck”, “cock”, “fag” and “rape” a few hundred times with no sign of any story-telling ability, drag out some moth-eaten jokes that were literally a dozen years old, and bore some of the audience to tears. Sadly,  though, not enough of the audience – the teenaged boy contingent, as well as the typical 94.7 Highveld Stereo listener brigade laughed their little brains out.

If you’re going to build your ‘comedy performance’ on being extremely politically incorrect, at least be funny – women being fat, ugly and largely unfuckable is about as interesting to listen to for two hours as parliamentary proceedings are.

Never come back, Jimmy, please. And those who loved him, please go back with him.

Hands up if you’re surprised that one of the most ethically dubious groupings of  ’moral’ gatekeepers had this in its stable.

Anyone?

P.S. ‘Boarding school for sluts”…??? C’mon, where’s the creativity?!

According to that bastion of fine journalism, The Daily Mail in the UK, “ AIBA suggested to its national federations last year that wearing skirts would help the women stand out from the men’s competitions. It brought to mind FIFA President Sepp Blatter’s much-maligned suggestion in 2004 that female soccer players should wear ‘tighter shorts’ to increase the game’s popularity. Blatter’s proposal was met with widespread criticism.”

Hey, why not? If SA’s rugby sevens players have been ordered to wear shorts that look as though they;re wearing underpants on the outside of their kit, why shouldn’t other professional athletes be forced to wear something absurd and which also draws attention to their genitals?

In fact, why not ask swimmers to wear skirts, too?  And surely all male athletes should be wearing a hat and carrying a cane while doing their particular sport? If gals are going to be more traditionally feminine, it would be grand if the blokes would show the same commitment to their masculinity. I therefore suggest fencers, henceforth, wear nothing but loin cloths, and that female tennis players be ordered to play with 1950s-style wooden rackets, in order to prevent them from walloping the ball in what might be considered an unfeminine fashion, i.e. fucking hard.

Waistcoats and driving gloves will be mandatory for gymnasts, particularly during the floor and pommel horse routines. Female weightlifters shall, at all times, wear a wide-brimmed floral hat, and kitten-heeled shoes. Finally, for events that take place in the evening, such as various finals of running and swimming races, all men shall be suitably attired in a tuxedo, and women in an evening gown.

Fair’s fair, right?

Apparently,  the two hired a prostitute, refused to pay her, and SHE then called the police. HA HA. Good on her. Sometimes I love this country – that someone doing something illegal (stupidly illegal, I might add) felt so outraged that she called in law enforcement.

I sincerely hope this is step one to getting the fuckers removed. I hear, too, that they’ve not paid this month’s occupational rent either. I’m feeling better already.

Let’s not beat about the bush, here – my blogging days are over. While I see crazy, hilarious, depressing and interesting stuff all over the Internet and in my life everyday about which I would love to write and tell you, I just don’t seem to have the ability anymore. So before (I hope before?) I turn this blog into a festival of rubbish, I think it’s time to shut it down.

It’s been a marvellous five-and-a-bit years of sharing some of the contents of my head with you. Some remarkable things have happened to me, South Africa and the world during this time, and I have really loved being able to muse about them with you.

That you have taken the time to say ‘howzit’ and have allowed me to know your own opinions whether through your comments, your own blogs or in person, has been special and so very valuable and meaningful to me – thank you.

Please do keep in touch. Email me at dbawiw@gmail.com and I will give you the email address I use on a daily basis.

Thank you so much, it’s been grand!

DBAWIW

Saw Greg Homan’s stripped-down and hilarious ‘The Pirates of Penzance’. It’s starting at the State Theatre in Pretoria on 12 July, running till 6 August.

Took in ‘Bridesmaids’ this past weekend, which was very funny and very perceptive in terms of how it portrayed the ‘haves and have-nots’, i.e. the marrieds/soon-to-be marrieds and the those who are not. I greatly enjoyed how the complications were presented, and the wickedly hilarious scenes in which the bridesmaids tried on dresses, and when they were on the plane to Vegas.

Saw ‘Jesus Christ Superstar’, which was excellent. Tight performances by all and a kick-ass prop cross.

Ate and meandered around Art on Main one sunny Sunday morning. Always fun and interesting to be in a green little cultural spot in the heart of the CBD.

Finally, in an attempt to get back into reading fiction, I was advised to try the English version of Afrikaans thriller-writer, Deon Meyer’s ‘Thirteen Hours’. I’m 120 pages in, and I daresay I might actually succeed in finishing this novel.

The last few I’ve started  - a fiction novel by my one of my favourite authors that focusses somewhat on incest; a ‘true-life’ account of the drug-taking by a New York Times journalist;  a modern classic about a female murderer in the 19th century, and a collection of, sadly, quite unexciting short essays by one of my favourite South African authors – have just not managed to grab me, and I fear I am becoming unused to concentrating on reading for more than 10 minutes at a time, which is about the length of time it takes to read a long-form article on the interweb.

Perhaps this little ‘skiet, skop and donder’ will get me back to where I wanna be.