Sunday, November 18, 2012

Why am I so embarrassed Mr. Meyer? An open letter to the Bok Coach

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Dear Mr. Meyer

Today I feel the need to write to you about my feelings and although you don’t know me and in most cases should not care about how I feel, I think you may find – surprisingly -  that many others share the same feelings as me after quite a few months of hope, disappointment, new glimmers of hope, just to be smacked down to earth by another disappointment.
This has not stopped and I really feel like a boxer with both hands tied behind my back, while Mike Tyson is beating the crap out of me.

This will be a long letter as I have a lot to say so please bear with me to the end, as, in my eyes at least, it is very important that you do.

I am a fairly simple man. I love the Blue Bulls and I therefore every so often indulge in the national drink of Pretoria – Brannas and Coke. I have, however, disappointed many of my friends and family and even had nasty fingers pointed at me by my “enemies” (any enemy of the Blue Bulls is an enemy of mine) that I also have a taste for well aged red wine and in case I have a vegetarian meal of chicken or fish, even a nice crispy white – which, as you know, is mostly produced in the southern parts of our country, where they have recently caught sight of the Curry Cup for the first time in many, many, many years.

I love cricket but I hate chess although I know the moves. I think I have a fair idea of the rules of American Football, Football (Soccer), Hockey (Field Hockey) and I once learnt the rules of baseball over 13 beers (Guinness to be precise)  in five hours in a bar in a beautiful forest area in West Chester New York.

As I have mentioned previously, one of my great love affairs, which even my wife understands is the Blue Bulls. I also have more than just a soft spot for our national rugby team the Springboks and I will also sacrifice my life for the Springbok 7’s team.

To digress a little, I also need to tell you that I have read many books in my life. I have not written one, but I have been trying to for the past 14 years.
Among those books are the Bible, all the major works of Shakespeare, Herman Charles Bosman, most of the books written my Wilbur Smith and a few thrillers and spy novels by the likes of Stephen King, John Smit, Jake White, Victor Mattfield and most recently Peter de Villiers.

I’m sure that you must be gathering notes as we speak for your book, which will probably be published by January 2016, in which you will tell us how hard the initial stages were when you took over as coach from Peter de Villiers. How difficult it was to replace the retired players and how you had to contend with constant politics. I can just imagine how you would tell us about the pressure you had from Jean de Villiers’ father to make him captain and keep him in the team or have those “photoshopped” dirty pictures of you and Pine Pienaar in the Jacuzzi, published on the back page of the Rapport and front page of the Son/Sun.

I can only assume that there probably is an abundance of things you might have done wrong which may have been captured on film or video, but I will get to that in a few minutes.

I hope you’re still reading.

I thought at this stage to tell you even more about myself and my Rugby career.

It all started when I was born. My parents were not rich people and they didn’t believe in bringing up sisies, so my mother never saw a gynecologist after she fell pregnant. Instead, she was helped through her pregnancy by the General Practitioner, who she and my father would visit every so often, but only for a light bout of maybe Rabies, Ebola or Congo fever. Nothing major.

This GP was also then the person who helped me take my first breath after slapping my backside, while holding me upside down by my feet. His name was Ernst Dinkelmann. DOCTOR Ernst Dinkelmann for you. He played lock for the Springboks in the late sixties and maybe even early seventies.

He also brought my brother into this world at the same time the Springboks were playing the All Blacks, 11 month later. I can tell you that according to undocumented history, he was a bit miffed that he had to listen to the game on the radio, due to my brother’s untimely arrival and gave him an extra hard slap to make him realize his mistake, the moment he breached.

Anyway this is where it started. In standard 2 (grade four, I think we call it these days) my teacher, who was not only beautiful, but also the cousin of a legendary Blue Bulls Fullback and “unorthodox” lawyer, took me and a bunch of my friends to my first game at Loftus. We called her Juffrou de Meyer. That is where the bug really bit me. This was in 1976 – the year when Pierre Spies Snr took the Curry Cup away from the Free State at the Free State stadium. Remember that day, or were you not too much into Rugby at that stage?

I also signed up for the under 11 team of my primary school when I was 8 and had my hands full to convince the teacher to allow me to play. He eventually did and although I was OK’ish, I never played Rugby with my heart as all good players do. I played it with my head and that made me a mediocre player for the rest of my life.

It did not make me a mediocre supporter though and this is actually what this long letter is about. Mediocrity.

You see, when I started watching Rugby, the rules were still simple. No nancy-pancy stuff and if someone was in need of some “orientation” it was provided for free. That included ending up on the wrong side of a ruck and remaining there in order to slow down play, taking the ball in the lineout out of turn and so on.

In those days other teams had immense respect for the Springbok, not only because they were such a good team, but also because they were an AWESOME team that gave no mercy and asked for none. Granted the All Blacks, Wallabies and Lions (British) had similar reputations, but as John Smit and Peter de Villers said those teams needed the Springboks to keep their reputations in tact.

Rules have changed over the years and TV cameras, health and safety managers and lawyers dived onto the scene to place a damper on the “robustness” of the game. Every team capitulated and started trying to be “nice” except the All Blacks. They took the rules and through thorough analysis found ways in which they could bend them up to breaking point. They never lost their killer instinct.

KILLER INSTINCT: Throw for instance Uruguay at the All Blacks and see them wipe the floor with them. 120 – 0 is the least they will settle for. “Yew wanah plaay wieth tha bick booiys maaite, yew whiel plaay thie bick booiys gaaime maaite” is what they probably say at the first scrum and then all hell breaks loose and some mediocre team gets their backsides kicked BIG TIME!!

In South Africa we had embargoes and isolation because of politics. During those times we built nuclear bombs, conventional weapons of war and attempted to kill any team that came to our back yard for a game of Rugby, just to show them and anyone else interested, that we’re actually THE number 1 team in the Rugby world.

Apartheid was a terrible thing for many of our people and denied many good players the opportunity to wear the Green and Gold officially or because of the color of their skin. It also denied those who were given the jersey, the opportunity to officially show the world what we were about, but boy when the politics changed, did we eat those Uruguayans, Samoans and other Minos for breakfast. And boy did we show the world and especially the Kiwis in 1995.

Money then came into the game and suddenly our Rugby boys had to scoop while the porridge was falling from the sky. Injuries became an issue and administrators understood why contracted players would not put their bodies on the line anymore. Every team suffered from the same illness….  Mediocrity. Except the All Blacks.
For Europe and the UK it became even worse as some tree hugger decided to mess with their sports completely and came up with an even more mediocre plan by banning winning. Everyone would be a winner from now on even if you came stone last or lost 120 – 0 to the All Blacks.

For a little island with shitty unpleasant weather and a population the size of Pretoria, New Zealand has incredible depth when it comes to sports like Rugby. They don’t even know Pap and Braaivleis and probably have no Brannas and Coke either, but they still eat people (not literally anymore, I think, although up to recently I still had my doubts about Tana Umaga….). They have no mercy and ask nothing in return. There seems to be a national pride radiating from them, which we perceive as arrogance. Dude, if you’re good you just can’t help it can you? Very much like the Blue Bulls…

We were like that at some stage. The Springboks had depth and pride and were awesome and scary up to the day Bakkies Botha left. Or so I thought. Then I saw Eben Etzebeth and my Blue Bull heart wanted to get out the checque book and get him to Pretoria. You picked him for the squad and it was good.

There are still some monsters out there. Actually there are many, but not all of them are in Pretoria. I know, I’ve just told you that I was a mediocre Rugby player, which means that I probably know nothing about the insides of what goes on in a Rugby engine room. But I told you I have read a lot and although a lot of the books written by Rugby legends can be a bit one-sided, it did give me a little insight into the inner workings of the team and coaching dynamics.
I am also a mediocre golf player, but I can teach the basics well as I understand the dynamics of a golf club hitting a ball on a grassy knoll…


In the beginning of this letter I also mentioned that I am a Blue Bulls fan. I was lying. I am a fanatical Blue Bull supporter that will commit terrorist acts for my team if need be, but funny enough I am also objective and can recognize faults in the makeup of my team or any other when it is necessary. I learnt this art form, when I moved to a small Arab country in 1999. In those days the Bulls were the milking cows of SA Rugby. That’s not why I moved though. Just in case you were wondering.

Everyone wanted to play them so they could score bonus points. I was the odd Blue Bulls supporter that watched the game week-in and week-out just in case there was a glimmer of hope. We actually beat a few big teams that year and I told everyone around me that we had a 50-year plan and were about 25 years into it.
Those days taught me to watch Rugby objectively to see a good game, recognize the flaws of my team and acknowledge the superstars of the enemy. Since then I have never stopped doing it.

Mr. Meyer you have made me very proud in the past with the Blue Bulls winning the Super Series and the Curry Cup. The Bulls are my pride and joy even if they struggle like this year. I love them more than I love my Harley Davidson or golf clubs.
I love the Springboks just as much. They have made me very proud in the past.

Two World Cups is an accomplishment the All Blacks could not equal until last year and they started playing in World Cups in 1987.
We have been awesome and we’ve had teams that disappointed, but in the old days we were beaten by awesome teams. Unlike the recent spate of games where we made mediocre teams look good by losing to them or beating them by a margin as thin as the skin on the tongue of a cold virus. Read this sentence again please. We lost to mediocre teams we were not beaten by them.

I’m not sure if you are a Steve Hoffmeyer fan or not. I like his voice, his stage personality and most of his songs. Especially the Blou Bul song. Some years I would agree with him that all the Bulls should be Springboks, but I’m afraid you have taken that song a bit too literally, so far in your career as the Springbok coach.

There are nearly 60 million people in South Africa. Out of the 60 million we have a few million who play Rugby and from what I see it is growing. Politics still infects most sports and I’m sure Rugby too. Having read Peter de Villiers’ book, however, I cannot think for one moment that you have as many politicians on your back as he had. I cannot, for one moment, think that Minister Stofile or Oregan Hoskins or God forbid Cheeky Watson insisted that you stuff the locker rooms with Blue Bulls players. I personally think it was your own idea, which may or may not have come up during a Brannas and Coke session at the Loftus restaurant or during a braai with Pine Pienaar – So by the way, where the hell did he come from? Is he family of Frans Ludecke….?
The fact that you loaded the team top-heavy with Bulls players is one thing, but actually leaving out valuable Bulls staff is inexcusable. Please explain to me the absence of the best kicking coach in the world – Vlok Cilliers – while a real example of inconsistent kicking – Louis Koen – rubbed off on Morné Steyn so much, that you eventually HAD to drop him?

Anyway, I digress again. Let’s look at depth in South African Rugby. For the following reasons I will exclude the Eastern Cape from this as the province is a boiling cauldron of mediocrity, politics, big egos and little talent when it comes to Rugby administration and in typical African fashion, they are under the impression that life and SA Rugby owes them.

I will start with the so-called previously disadvantaged players and with this I’m not referring to the Lions, Cheetahs, Western Province, Griquas or Sharks, although some of them might have their roots there.
The transformation efforts have done a lot to develop Rugby amongst players of color in South Africa. It has been done to such an extent that I can put nearly a full team in the field with players of color on merit. I also disagree with the SA Rugby Board or Union or whatever they call themselves these days that development is not on par. Development is well on par, but money for facilities in previously disadvantaged areas is either not used or pilfered in dodgy dealings by the very same administrators who keep on sticking out their hands for more money and blaming the traditionally white unions for not supporting development.

The reason why no player of color or let’s rather say, very small numbers of good players of color come from poor areas and schools is because the large rich schools scout them and take them in to develop them further in more appropriate conditions.

So the theory of politics and interference by politicians is flawed, should you want to side-step in that direction. I cannot see that politicians will encourage you to choose mainly players from the historical bastion of Apartheid, Pretoria.

I can assume that contracts probably come in to play. Then I would also assume that, like you, players may just have a performance clause built into the contract? Or have we lost the good lawyers to the “sport” of chasing ambulances and corrupt politicians to satisfy their greedy appetites?
I actually don’t really know what to say about contracts as I don’t know enough about the set-up you have going there. What I do know is that as an employee, I need to perform to certain standards and if I don’t I lose my bonus and eventually my job if it continues for too long.
I also know that recruiters look for talent when employing people and so do CEO’s.

Mr. Meyer, I see you as the CEO of the Springbok team as well as the talent scout. I am also well aware of the fact that a single performance does not make star player – what is does tell me, however, is that there is talent that can be tapped and developed.
What I am even more aware of is that continuous under-performance may point to lack of commitment, lack of skills or in some cases lack of talent.

During the summer months (your winter in the Southern Hemisphere) I watch Rugby every weekend. Every Friday and every Saturday. I watch New Zealand Rugby, Australian Rugby, South African Rugby and sometimes the odd game during that time in Europe and the United Kingdom. This made me realize that there is loads of talent in New Zealand, basically nothing in Australia and many, many times more in South Africa, when compared to New Zealand.

What I cannot understand and please forgive my ignorance; why I see the exceptional players, my countrymen see them, the Kiwi’s and Aussies see them, but our selectors ignore them. Could it be that we are all complete idiots and you and your selection team are the only people who know what is going on or are you really in a corner due to contracts, dirty pictures of you and Pine or is the Illuminati these days controlling South African Rugby too?

Why can we not choose players with talent irrespective of their color and background and most importantly province? I assume that once the touring squad is picked there can be no changes unless injuries force a player home?
So we need proper planning as far as players are concerned, especially when taking into account conditions and opponents.
I’m not sure if you only find out who you’re playing and where, the week before the match, but I get a schedule months in advance in the Newspapers and especially on the Internet. I know that winter has arrived in the Northern Hemisphere this time of year and that it will most probably rain, that the fields are heavy and that running Rugby might be a bit of a gamble. I also know that the other team knows this. So scrums will be important…. But so will surprising them by not kicking the ball away and all over the place!!

To end my letter I will only discuss the “issues” of last night and leave the star players, who never saw the ball, alone…

Why pick the worst scrummers in the Universe for the Scotland game last night!!!? The two Valies were great against Ireland last week, but you insisted on bringing CJ and “Waar’s my boetie?” Jannie in on prop. Dude. There are actually really good props back in SA. Guthro seemed a bit tired and out of form as well, so I have no idea what the plan was and I and many others need clarity on this unwise choice.

Juandre Kruger had an OK game, but nothing to write home about. Probably the only Blue Bull that I will keep in my team… oh and maybe Hougaard, but not on the wing.

Ruan was player of the season in Ireland, whooopi-freaking-dooo!! And his dad was a Springbok fullback. I think we have many scrumhalves to pick from and while you’re building up for the World Cup, try them all in different combinations – you have a few years to go – and THEN if we lose, no one can say that you did not test all the options.

Lambie should be lucky that he’s not dead yet. Pienaar makes him look like a palooka and it’s going to cost him his place. We will lose another excellent fly-half to Japan or Europe. Give Jantjies a playing chance PLEASE!!! He has talent and is not the “quota player” you think he is!!!

Ah, and then there’s our intercepting captain.

Mr. Meyer, a captain is supposed to be a leader. Some of the best leaders we’ve had were Francois Pienaar and John Smit. Not the best players in their positions at the time, but their leadership helped us win the World Cup. Twice. Our current captain is not the best player in his position and even less of a leader. A passenger, taking up space where real talent is discarded and frustrated out of their sculls.
We have plenty of Centers of all colors and provinces with real talent. If you need the names, please email me.

Kirchner is a brave choice indeed. Brave because you never know how he will play and because of the high stakes we play for, you cannot afford keeping him in the backline. Why don’t we see Gio Aplon, Louis Ludick or Riaan Viljoen on the list?

The thing is. You have been proved wrong time and again. Flippie van der Merwe, I could have told you, is a walking yellow card. May I introduce to you Anton Bressler. No, no wailing about you can only play locks on their preferred side and all that rubbish. Tell Bressler you have a Bok jersey for him, but it’s on the “wrong side” and see what he does. Then see if he disappoints.

To come back to last night’s game against Scotland, let me give you my five sents worth.

The props were diabolically pathetic. I am incredibly thankful that the Scots didn’t have a tank full of petrol.

To play a game plan like you tried last night, I would have done the following:
1.     Fire the props and got good ones from SA or put the two Valies in. I don’t think Guthro was too bad, but didn’t have the best night. In comparison to CJ and Jannie, however, he was a superstar.
2.     Get Anton Bressler on the bench and fire Flippie
3.     Get Keagan Daniels on scrum-half (and captain) and Ryan Kankovsky on fly-half
4.     Should Kanko manage to hold on to the ball, swing it to Jacques Potgieter and then to Dewaldt Potgieter on the outside
5.     Potgieter will pass to Pierre Spies, who will run until he is grabbed by the legs and collapses like a sack of sand, while Daniels tries to recover the ball.
6.     Daniels gets the ball fakes a pass and runs straight into the biggest prop he can find, but escapes unhurt, while flinging the ball to Siya Xolisi on fullback, who hands off several guys twice his size and scores under the post.
7.     Kanko misses the kick, but is confident the Boks can win on tries alone.
8.     We beat Scotland 21 – 10 and at least you have a whole brick outhouse full of Bulls players in the team and of the type that can play the “running-into-a-wall-time-and-again-while-getting-nowhere” game without getting hurt.

Mr. Meyer, I know you’re not really as slow as your team selections make you out to be and I really wish you a lot of success with the Springboks, but just to clarify the purpose of this letter, I need to tell you why I wrote it.

I wrote this because I am seriously concerned about the state of our beloved Springbok team. I am also seriously concerned about my wellbeing as a South African, surrounded by Brits, Kiwis, Aussies and all sorts of other nasties, which you probably have never even come across before. The constant heckling and unwanted taking of the… ahm…. mickey is really getting to me and I am afraid I will soon be forced to commit violent and bloody acts to defend my dignity.

I also want the rest of the Rugby playing world to fear the Boks again and not laugh at them in their faces.

I want our national Rugby team to get back the killer instinct and become as arrogant or even worse than the All Blacks. Not because we’re an arrogant nation, but because we can afford to think (and KNOW) we are really the best.
Most of all, however, I want to protect the Springbok on the jersey. It has been attacked by politics and politicians in the past and has survived because in the past, albeit a bit distant, we were a force to be reckoned with and that needs to come back. If it doesn’t and mediocrity continues to be OK, we can change the picture to a Rose (oh that’s been taken) or a Tulip (taken too) or maybe a chicken (taken too and I will rather stay away from the word cock) or a kangaroo (hmm taken too) or anything else mediocre and benign…. Maybe a Labrador leading a blind man…

Groete uit die woestyn en aan al die Arabiere

H of Arabia





Monday, August 27, 2012

Dinner at Nana's

There was a bit of a foreboding lack of conversation while only the sound of old silver on fine bone china seemed to pierce the thick atmosphere.

Heads were bowed down over the plates, while the butler stepped forward at regular intervals to fill the crystal glasses, which did seem to empty spectacularly fast that evening. No one seemed to want to make eye contact with anyone…

The older man, just released from hospital, cleared his throat, while sucking away at some orange juice, using a straw. Every so often his shoulders would start to shake and at one stage he started to cough as if choking on his mushy peas. He seemed to be crying. Or maybe he wasn't, but he did have to wipe tears from his eyes. He was clearly struggling to hold it together.

The younger of the two elderly gentlemen looked up with some concern, but when the old man seemed to be OK he returned his attention to the Beef Wellington and quickly took a gulp, of his French red wine to hide the sudden smile on his lips.

A slight glance and eye contact between father and son led to more shaking shoulders and some coughing and more clearing of throats and more red wine and orange juice, while the younger one with the large ears' wife elbowed him urgently albeit with a slight grimace and lip biting, which could also have been a smile.

The two much younger men seemed not to want look up and they seemed terrified of what the possible consequences might be, should they relent to the urge.

The oldest man's wife looked up with clear irritation and tapped her fork on her plate to show discontent. There was a strict thin line where her mouth should have been and an angry scowl above her eyes.
The diamond studded tiara on her grey hair seemed to move slightly backwards when she looked up, which made the old man grab his glass of orange juice more vigorously than before and he took several long dramatic gulps, while trying not to look at his wife.

The one much younger man had his wife of little more than a year next to him and below the table she was pinching his thigh, while whispering a warning through her clenched teeth to her husband not to dare look up or cause a scene. This made the man grab his wine glass as well and swallowing much too fast he started to cough as well. Shoulders shaking, while the rest of him looked like it wanted to explode. Tears were now pouring down his cheeks too.

The old woman put down her cutlery with all the grace she could muster and excused herself in a surprisingly calm voice, but those who were gathered in that dining room could hear the thunder and lightning behind it.

As the butler closed the door behind her and her daughter-in-law, who quickly followed her while lightning bolts. shot from her eyes, hit her husband and father-in-law. The two elderly men had to be assisted and supported by the staff to not fall from their chairs, while the waves of laughter burst from them like a wall of water from a broken dam.

The older one of the two younger men couldn't keep it in either even though his beautiful new wife looked at him with murder in her stare, while she got up and walked to the door.

The last thing she noticed before leaving the room was the increasing hysteria in the voices of the three men and the two elderly ones slapping their knees and the table, while screaming over and over: "He was only protecting her…!!!" before exploding in a new fit of hysterical laughter.

The youngest man with the flaming head of hair blushed scarlet flames into his neck and all over his face. Not daring to look up....

Friday, July 27, 2012

Olympic Flame - Baby you can light my fire....!!

What an exiting weekend we have in front of us. Bells were going off all over the place and grass and mud was everywhere and that was only in Hamilton.

Oh and the Sharks travel to Cape Town to weather the Storm(ers).

But the talk of the town except for the robberies BY the banks, mostly unpleasant weather, a double dip in a plummeting economy and understaffed security companies the vibe in the UK is electric with the Olympic Games kicking off officially tonight at some ungodly hour.

The main question, however, was who will light up the flame tonight and how will it be done?

I wanted to put some money on a few bets with a good mix of English tradition and see if I could make some extra pounds off this hype, but none of my suggestions were even remotely on the bookies’ lists of options, so I thought maybe someone out there would want to give me some odds.

Initially I thought something traditional might be just the thing to hype up the... ahm... hype…

Kumar Ravikrishnan of the Curry Box in Little Snoring (Norfolk) could brew up some fiery samples of England’s national dish, force-feed a group of hungry football hooligans with a few spade-fulls and just make them walk past the torch just as the rumbling sounds of their innards become audible. A quick flick of a Bick and Top Johnny Banana, we have combustion. Apparently this would not get past the Health and Safety checks and could cause environmental damage, so it was shot down “in flames” so to speak.

The next attempt was to have Graham Gooch run naked into the arena, with only a cricket bat covering his “wickets” with a helium balloon tied to his… ahm… wickets. This balloon would rub against his moustache constantly and as he runs past the torch, waving excitedly to the crowd, a spark of static electricity would light up the night.

I also thought that putting Hugh Grant in a car with a horny, albeit ugly prostitute, could warm up the atmosphere, but apparently he would struggle to drive and might lose a few inches at the time of ignition.

The Queen of England also came to mind. The suggestion was a lavish carriage covered in faux fur and a white piano, but I was told Candle in the wind brings back too many sad memories. Sorry Elton.

I then wanted Wills to fly his chopper over the stadium, with Harry and his fiery head of hair swinging upside-down on a rope below the aircraft. If that doesn’t get the flame going, nothing will.

One of the most dangerous possibilities, however, would have been to set up a kitchen close to the torch. Get a few burger flippers from McDonald’s, Steers or Wimpy and tell Gordon Ramsay they are competing in master chef and he needs to coach them. I was then told that whatever would flow from Chef Ramsay’s mouth would burn down most of London, so the answer was an emphatic NO!!

But let’s be realistic. The only way to get the flame going, which would not only be effective, but also classy and inspiring, is a pair of skin tight pants. A red rose in the buttonhole of a sports jacket, fill it with Pippa Middleton and ask her to curtsy at the right moment…

Groete uit die woestyn en van al die Arabiere
H of Arabia

Tuesday, January 24, 2012

Barring them from falling is an offence and it's all about being negligent

So it's been all over the news for the past few months. There's been a wave of kids falling from high storey buildings. Killed on impact. Especially in Sharjah.

Doing something about it like trying to prevent these tragedies has now become illegal according to the authorities. What?!!

Yep. Putting up barriers to prevent children from falling off balconies has led to the authorities clamping down on the highly dangerous criminal conduct of several concerned parents and even land-lords.

According to building regulations, all balconies have to be covered by walls at least 1.20 metres tall. That's fantastic as the average four year old is probably about 80 cm tall, if not more. That leaves another 40 cm for the monkey like antics to get onto the ledge and with the average four year old's ability to keep his or her balance on a five cm ledge firmly in mind, chances are that gravity might eventually take its toll and the newspapers will have another tragedy to write about. Oh. And the authorities might have another set of parents to hold in custody for negligence.

Yes. People should not leave their kids home alone in high storey buildings. Yes parents should not put boxes or crates on their balconies, but tables and chairs...? If I had a balcony... oh, I actually have one, I would put some furniture out to have a seat to enjoy the sun and maybe even a high altitude barbecue every so often.

Yes. People should make sure that their children understand the deadly consequences of climbing up the balcony wall and the possibility of falling to the ground floor, but what's this rule about building regulations on putting up barriers to prevent tragedies like children dying after a fall of seven floors?

Yes. Landlords need to be informed of every new attachment or erection attached to their property, but maybe landlords need to see the light and erect the precautions themselves - even at a cost to the lessee if necessary. However, I'm sure no one wants to have the blood of an innocent child on his/her hands if it could have been avoided by putting in place the necessary preventative measures - including proper discipline, but that's another subject for another time....

H of Arabia

Too many ex-, stalking girlfriends may get to you in the end Harry.... The return of the Psycho-the-rapist


The thick fog lifted a little bit as the moon peaked through the clouds for a fleeting second. The snow covered landscape looked like a scene from a fairy tale where frosted trees threw long and daunting shadows over the untouched white carpet.
Suddenly a caped shadow moved from a cluster of trees, leaving boot marks in the direction of the quiet, dark castle.
A flash of ginger coloured hair was visible for a fleeting moment from below the hooded figure and then he... or she disappeared in the darkness of the castle walls.
It started snowing softly. The flakes covered the very dead and bloody body of a the unlucky girl, while pale white hands were scrubbed with soap and water in the stables to put distance between the murder and the hands responsible for the vile, unimaginable act.
*******
The man from MI5 looked at the miserable wet figure. It was 03:00 in the morning. He noticed the red, tired eyes and the shiver in the clasped hands. It reminded him of prayer. The confession he just heard stunned him, but there was no surprise.
He turned and stared out the window towards the trees. The snow was at least one metre thick by now. All the tracks were covered. Tomorrow Her Royal Highness will take her horse out to the fields and be none the wiser. No one will have to know about the dead girl in the royal grounds. By the time the snow melts, the body would hopefully have been decomposed and become one with the soil. His charge and the confession would be something of the past. It would have never existed to start with. He would have nothing to cover up.
Not being a medical practitioner, he did not take into account the preserving powers of the ice and snow. He would have his hands full in the morning....
Groete uit die woestyn en van al die Arabiere
H of Arabia
* DISCLAIMER
An act of pure fiction and a very warped state of mind...