Teenagers

The thing that irked me was the lack of sensible advice. When you have a new baby there are literally thousands of books to choose from and I armed myself with a statistically valid sample. As I recall the Marina Petropoulos book was most useful, probably because it was the most sensible. My own mother warned me not to take any of them too seriously since "the baby hasn't read them dear, so doesn't know what she's supposed to do"
But there was nothing to cover teenagers. No wait, I think The Exorcist probably started as a self-help book for parents of teenagers but the studio thought demonic possession would be a more rational explanation.

Yup, teenager in full hormone-induced rage. Image link here
 
The good times are wonderful but obviously you don't need help with those, it's the wild hormone-swings that make you wonder how the population explosion happened in the first place.
Then you also have to deal with those infuriating mothers who swear their children are sweetness and light, and would never (insert human failing here). I took them with a pinch of salt, I've always been deeply suspicious of people who pretend their lives are perfect, they're either willfully unaware or getting help from chemicals
So now that I have survived two teenagers (the second one has a few months to go) I can say, with some authority, that there are benefits to allowing them to live, difficult as that decision may be at times. It's also wonderfully heartening to know that while there are times you may not like them much you always love them.

Oh yes, and locking your makeup away in one of those petty-cash boxes works a treat for mothers of teenage daughters.

Summer storm

Walter and I went to Winex last night, lots of lovely wine to taste. If you're going I can thoroughly recommend a visit to the Port stand - the chap there really knows his stuff and he insisted we taste ALL the port (hic)
Also quite surprised to see Checkers has a stand where they sell Fairview cheese platters (R30, well worth it) and you get to taste their Odd Bins (try no 300 if you are partial to red wine)
I stocked up on beautiful olive oil from Tokara, love their little tasting bowls so you know which one you prefer.
After ordering a case of Diemersfontein chocolate wine (no I have no idea what it's called, I just know what I like) we wandered out onto the verandah and watched a storm approaching from the south.

Lovely. Johannesburg's summer storms have got to be the best in the world

Presents from the girls

This morning gym thing might be getting out of hand. With last night's wonderful rain continuing into this morning I didn't walk with my grandmother today, so I decided to swim.
Consider the Midmar training officially started then, although I'm not sure 20 lengths counts.
When I got back the dogs brought me presents - they are SO thoughtful!

Jess brought me the mangy old tennis ball

 Jazz brought me my morning paper

Of course these are much better than the presents I get from the cats. Whenever we go away they thoughtfully leave culturally significant gifts next to my bed where I can't miss them. Last time it was the heart, liver, jaw, tail and paws from a mouse of some sort. In a previous life they were obviously surgeons.

Now if I can just train Walter to bring me my coffee.

I have been in advertising FOREVER

In fact my first client was the snake, I wrote the copy for the (original) apple.

Yes, that one - not the computer/phone/mp3 player one. Image from blather.net

At no stage did I ever think of it as a potential career. To start with I got into it quite by mistake. Insulted by an increase offer of just R10 a month I resigned from my job at an insurance company (long since deceased) and arrived at my sister's office at the Rand Daily Mail (ditto) and announced I was unemployed.

 Image: David Krut publishing

She calmly picked up her phone, called HR (in those days we called it "Personnel") and got me a job in the advertising department.
And so the fun began.
This week I got to drive a car (courtesy of a client) that I absolutely would never have had a chance to drive if I didn't work in advertising. It's just so far out of my financial reach.
The client dropped me an email saying he thought I should drive it. To understand the brand. To live the experience.

You get the idea. And no, I wasn't actually driving a Maybach.

I've done this before - when I worked on a different motoring client. In that instance it was a sports car and I waited for months for the traffic fines to arrive. It seems I turn into a speed monster the second I have access to a car that can actually speed.

It wasn't this one, but it might as well have been

So what's the verdict? 

Awesome. Yes, to have an automatic in Johannesburg's traffic, to have all the bells and whistles, to arrive at Melrose Arch for a dinner is all wonderful. 


But it took me an hour to figure out how to turn on the headlights. It costs more than my house. And I was terrified of someone scratching it. Or worse. And it's 4.9m long - that's a big-ass car to park. 
And Walter took pictures of himself in it and sent them to all his friends who now think we've won the lottery so I'm expecting them to arrive en masse any day now. But it was awesome.

The problem with a vegetable garden....

Sam, the gardener with the extremely irritating voice (high-pitched and whiny) planted the rest of the vegetables yesterday. And by "the rest" I mean just a few of the seedlings that I've grown - it seems I put enough seeds into the little containers to feed an entire village

When I planted them into the seed trays I very carefully cut the labels off the seed packets, covered them in plastic (for obvious reasons) and poked them into the soil. This was so that I would know what I was growing in each little container.

 See the labels?

After many weekends of planning, levelling, filling in, fencing, path planning etc (and a near divorce caused by Walter's intentional misunderstanding of what a raised bed means) I finally bought the necessary bags of compost and potting soil on Tuesday morning so that Sam could plant out the seedlings on Wednesday

I gave him careful instructions before leaving for work yesterday and got home from work after sunset last night so this morning after gym I rushed out to see the results

And it really is starting to come together, I just need to find a place that sells bark chips for the paths.


Oh - and he threw away the labels so I have absolutely no idea which is Chinese cabbage and which is eggplant. Or which is celery and which is coriander.

Plus there are about 6 seedling trays still to be planted - so we're planning extensions. Sigh.

Don't wear yellow with purple

We have long established that I'm not visual. I find it incredibly difficult to visualise and when I say "snake" I don't see the picture in my head first; I see the word. Apparently this is not normal.

When I was in high school, during the early Pleistocene, we were taught that women could not be colour blind. We were assured that it was a genetically inherited disorder on the Y chromosome and thus only affected the males of the species.
Given that I have a really annoying ability to retain arbitrary pieces of information which are entirely useless for day-to-day survival I approached the colour-blindness test at cabin crew flight training with great confidence. This was a test I absolutely couldn't fail. I didn't even have to study (bonus, since that's not one of my strong points)
I failed.

Fortunately it wasn't a critical test for cabin crew to pass, so I ignored it (obviously they were wrong) and carried on with my life.
I have even stated this "fact" at various dinner parties and gatherings of friends and raised it again yesterday at lunch with Scientist no 2 (Yes, we are strange and yes, we do have strange conversations at the table)

He got a gleam in his eye - "Not true" and proceed to prove it to me via a long complicated equation

Being innumerate I fold the minute I see letters and numbers in brackets - surefire way of winning an argument with me.

So this morning I Googled it and found the Ishihara Test for Color Blindness - the same test I took all those years ago. Once again I managed 2, the others are totally invisible to me.

I can see this one - the different colours are visible as a number

I can't see this one - it's a jumble of spots with no discernable pattern

This one looks exactly like the previous one to me. I checked it had a different name. Twice.

I can see this one. Not as clearly as the first one, but I can see it. 

Nope. Nothing.

Zip. Nada. Pretty spots. No number.

I am Red-Green colour blind. According to the Howard Hughes Medical Institute only .4% of women are colour blind so I guess I would have found out earlier if I hadn't had the balance issues meaning I couldn't finish my flying training. Pilots have to be able to distinguish; it's what allows you to line up your approach at the right angle for safe landings. The clever engineering people designed the lights to show green when your angle is right, red when it's wrong. Maybe they weren't so clever, maybe they should have chosen colours that everyone can see.

I'm wondering if I can approach the extremely exclusive, expensive school I attended and ask for a refund of the fees. Might be useful to pay off the lights and water bill.

Fortunately Walter's not colour blind, I shall ask Scientist no 2 to do the sums to work out his chances. Or he can just do the test.

Take the test here

The cost of speeding....

Scientist no 2 is of the opinion that he can drive at whatever speed suits him, rather than the speed limit. This has resulted in a few fines as well as a couple of other consequences. One of those is garden duty. When he's working in the garden we call him "Spade" just so that he understands his place...

Vegetable garden has a little way to go still. Nevermind. From what I can see there are another 2 fines to pay for and work off. Mwahahaha.

We're a little accident-prone (Warning: graphic picture)

I got one of those calls from Scientist no 1 yesterday morning "Now, you're not to worry, but" which probably puts most mothers into a flat spin straight away.
Realising I had no handy paper packet to breathe into (thus removing hyperventilation as a possible option) I went into deep detective mode: "Are you alright?" "What happened?" "Is there blood?" and so on. (Side note: both of my children fully understand the serious consequences of letting blood out of their bodies; I used to ground them immediately)

She had visited the daughter-from-another-mother BFF the night before for dinner and slept over. I should mention that the BFF is currently an intern so well-qualified to deal with any medical emergencies, and that single fact kept me from going into a flat panic while I waited to hear how bad it was.
Apparently she'd decided to start the clean-up early and had even been to the shops to buy breakfast ingredients. On her return she'd picked up an expensive bottle of wine (to move it, I'm assuming/hoping) and dropped it. A piece of the broken glass had sliced her forearm to the bone. Exactly where your arm rests next to the mouse if you're right-handed.

I warned you it was graphic - the BFF doctor took this, I was lurking in the waiting room

May I just say that the last time something like this happened I was innocently working in the study. She was downstairs tidying up her room when I heard a little plaintive "Mom? I dropped my scalpel on my foot"
Not sure of what had happened, but absolutely sure that I had no intention of investigating I assured her that Walter would be home soon. Silence. I carried on working, putting it out of my mind. A few minutes later: "Um, I don't think I can wait. The scalpel's got old fish guts on it and I'm a little worried about infection" I calmly repeated "Dad will be home soon, he's observed bypass surgery, he's good with that stuff"
Eventually I agreed to take her, she wrapped her foot and off we went to the rooms. The GP was ridiculously excited, she'd sliced right through a tendon which required some careful stitching. She also couldn't drive for a good few weeks so needed ferrying around.
Fortunately this accident didn't involve tendons, there seems to be some minor nerve damage which will hopefully recover.

 You fix my arm I'll fix your hair. Scientist no 1 and BFF working out the payment for emergency treatment of sliced arm.


Oh and she bought me dark chocolate to apologise (and prevent being grounded)

The staycation comes to an end....

I can thoroughly recommend a staycation for those of you who are:

• fed up with life in general
• in danger of doing bodily harm to co-workers, family or random strangers
• burnt out with leave due
• don't have the wherewithall to go somewhere else.

11 days seems like lots of time if you're just going to mooch around the house, so I made a list:

1. Fix the garden (the dogs have been trying to emigrate to Australia via the most direct route possible)
2. Create a "safe space" to keep chickens (away from the dogs, in other words) for fresh, free-range eggs, daily (insert wholesome rural bliss picture here)
3. Get the vegetable patch up and running (take that you dodgy, overpriced, low-quality supermarkets)
4. Rip up the revolting carpets and replace them with tiles
5. Read all the books piled on my bedside table
6. Spring clean the house
7. Get some plants for the terracotta pots we have artfully arranged to stop said dogs using the walls to hold themselves up as they patrol the paved perimeter of the house
8. Catch up with friends I haven't seen in ages
9. Write a blog a day
10. Get a compost heap going for the garden

I can happily report that apart from 7, 8 and 10 nothing has been done.

This is partially due to my re-discovery of the hammock. I think hammock days should be mandatory.

View from the hammock. Note the empty pots up against the house...

Hey presto! Planted pots!


But it's also due to:

1. The chap who came to quote for fixing the Sun City beach feature (aka the dog's escape route) has not sent me a quote, 7 days later, despite promising to do so within the hour
2. Chicken coops cost more than a luxury island holiday  (I kid you not, they're chickens for heaven's sake) plus there are a zillion "public health" by-laws governing the keeping of chickens within suburban areas and an annual license fee to boot.
3. This is "partially" done, I have some seedlings and we're busy digging in the compost. The buying of the fence materials (to keep the dogs out, naturally) has been delayed. Do you know how many different types of fencing there are? 
4. sigh. Quote for the lounge alone? R4k Carpets will have to stay for now
5. I managed to read Jonny Steinberg's Midlands. That's it. The others are still there. I blame Twitter for distracting me.
6. Um. Does cleaning up the mess around Scientist No 2's computer count? Packing away winter clothes? No? To be fair, this one never stood a chance.
7. Tick. A trip to a nursery near Hartbeespoort Dam turned up bougainvilleas (all the nurseries in Johannesburg lost theirs to the black frost) at R25 each. Such a bargain, almost saved enough to cover the petrol to get there....  No wait, Lifestyle nursery is charging R289 each for the same thing. Good bargain then.
8. Tick. Tick. Thanks to Trina and Margie. Advice on chickens was helpful, I may still do it, in spite of all your warnings....
9. Well, I've managed 2 so that's a partial tick
10. Yay. Now to wait the 6 months for the compost to become, er, compost

Vegetable plantlets awaiting the vegetable garden's finalisation

Back to the hammock for the last day then...

I really need to move that disgusting table behind the bird bath once and for all.

Talking about fatclub....

The first week went well but I'm afraid the wheels came off after that. It's not entirely my fault, of course, late meetings where snacks are provided are designed to test a saint's resolve (and I'm definitely no saint)
But I thought I had it under control...
The weekend-before-last we went down to the midlands, to a friend's farm (www.farsidefarm.co.za) for a mini-break. The boys played golf, I caught up with my girlfriends and it was going to be a low-calorie weekend.
Hah!
I forgot these girls go big in the entertainment department. First off was the "What dessert should we have?" discussion

Followed by the "you do the salads" hand off (quite neatly done, I thought - they know I don't do dessert)
Followed by a delicious lunch at the Coach House with two bottles of champagne for the 4 of us. Chicken, bacon and leek pie for me, salads for the others...

 But of course it didn't end there. There was a "braai" - not the kind of braai you and I have, you understand, I mean the table setting alone....

 See what I mean? For a braai?

And of course there was red wine. And a superb dessert involving meringue, cream, strawberries and a few other calorie-free ingredients.

And so I'm dreading fat club tonight.

The first rule of fat club...

So my grandmother has lost a whole lot of weight by going to the local Weight Watchers club and following all the rules quite religiously.
I was so impressed that I said I'd go with her. It was either a fit of madness or an alcoholic haze, and there was definitely delicious food present at the time. Either way, I'm carrying a few more kilos than is absolutely necessary to get through winter, especially since we don't live in a country that has no sun in winter.

She sent me directions by sms, ending off  "sms me if you get bewildered" - cheeky old bat.

Within 5 minutes she'd introduced me to everyone there (all women, one man snuck in late, weighed in, and scuttled out before anyone could talk to him) and we'd organised a pink drinks night for next week (half price cocktails before 6pm)

It's strictly research, you understand, we will selflessly evaluate the points of all cocktails so that bars can add that information on the menu - because we're thoughtful that way.

When life hands you lemons...

It's been a tough week. What with the car accident, the family down with bronchitis and the fraud.
Yesterday morning Walter logged onto the bank account to see if he'd been paid some money he's owed only to discover a significant sum missing from the account. The statement shows ATM cash withdrawals overseas.
Given that I'm generally an optimist (cue: Always look on the bright side of life) I made a list of the "it could have been worse" things

1. The accident could have caused injury or worse.
2. The other driver might not have been insured.
3. The bronchitis would be very bad without antibiotics
4. We may have been away for the weekend and not noticed the withdrawals until all the money was gone

I was also incredibly touched by the messages of support throughout the week from my Twitter friends, most of whom I've never met "in real life"
So I took myself and Scientist No 1 (coughing and spluttering, bronchitis and whiplash) off to the nursery, bought some plants and planted up a hanging basket that's been lying around empty for some time. We hung it up at the kitchen door so that we see it every day

It will look better once the pelargoniums sprawl over the sides

And while I was burying some rotten tomatoes that we hadn't got to eating I saw the lemon tree, bursting with lemons.

So it's margharitas all around then. Screw you life.

More car drama....

While I was giving my professional diagnosis to the GP on Wednesday the receptionist interrupted us to tell me that Scientist No 1 had been in an accident but was fine.I immediately whipped out my phone and called her. She had tried Walter (who was in the bath, so not answering) and me (my phone was on silent in my bag) and finally called the rooms.She was remarkably calm, telling me in answer to my questions:
1. No, I'm not hurt
2. No, nobody else is hurt
3. A van made a u-turn in front of me
4. I think the chassi's bent
5. No thanks, dad is on his way
I thought I did well not to hyperventilate (although if you must the doctor's rooms is undoubtedly the place to do it)

P

Poor little French car. Zut alors!
Being as precise as she is she even managed to get witness statements.
Walter rushed there and shouted at the other driver then felt sorry for him (well, he's a shrink, so he would) I decided I shouldn't go since I would have slapped the other driver silly for nearly damaging a child of mine.

Later on I told my grandmother what had happened, we sighed together and got on with our day.
That evening, as I was driving home, my grandmother called:
Me: Hello
Grandmother: I believe you crashed your car this morning
Me: No, that was scientist no 1
Grandmother: Who is this?
Me: Karen
Grandmother: Why do you have her phone?
Me: (Looking at my phone) I don't, you called me on mine

Grandmother: Silence
Sigh. This aging thing is a bitch.

It wasn't a heart attack after all

Walter was away for 2 nights last week doing a "workshop" in the Drakensberg. On the first night, loving the idea of only sharing the bed with the 3 cats, I dreamt I was being stabbed in the chest. I woke up, looked around, realised I wasn't and immediately self-diagnosed a heart attack.
After a while of lying there waiting for the harps, angels and bright light, I realised it was on the right side, so probably wasn't a heart attack, and quickly ran through re-runs of Greys Anatomy and House in my head.
Right - so possibly a pulmonary embolsim, pericarditis, pneumonia, TB or a deep vein thrombosis from the overseas trip then.
After a few more nights of this I realised that it was only at night and finally took myself off to the doctor yesterday for some qualified advice (after my grandmother breezily told me it was acid reflux, gave me a tablet and told me to call her in the morning)
The good diagnostician GP listened to my tale of woe, my own carefully considered diagnosis, took my blood pressure (perfect), listened to heart and lungs and announced my grandmother was right.
The drugs I've been taking for sinus have a nasty stomach irritation side effect. Should clear up when the course is finished. He gave me more of the drugs my grandmother had dished out (don't tell her she's right) and sent me on my way.
So. No need to update my will just yet then.

How hard can it be?

We aren't really car people. I've had scientist no 2 (a boy) call me (a girl) to ask where the battery is in Maggie the Modus, for example.
Tyre pressure is one of those things I try not to think about too much. When I bought the Modus Walter asked me (after a year) if I'd checked the tyre pressure. I replied that it was a new car, with new tyres so why should I?

W

Walter and scientist no 1 waiting for me on the side of the road to bring my Renault's wheel-removing equipment since his broke and hers didn't fit. Mine didn't either, fortunately a friend rescued us with his Toyota wheel-removing thingy.
 
But I've always assumed there is a right answer to What tyre pressure should I use?

Wrong.

On our way back from the anniversary adventure in Magoebaskloof we stopped to fill up and I (very responsibly, I thought) decided to check the tyre pressure. I looked on the driver's side door where they conveniently put a little sticker with tyre pressures and confidently asked the attendant to put in the recommended pressure. I could tell he was impressed with my technical knowledge because he leapt into action, air hose in hand and started the process. I was fixing my lipstick in the lipstick mirror so I didn't notice him until he tapped on the window and asked me if I was sure that was right since there was much more air in the tyres already..
Being a girl, and not altogether sure,  I called the salesman who sold me the Ninja. I keep his number on speed dial for exactly these kinds of emergencies. I expected a straight answer, but the silence on the other end of the line wasn't because he was laughing at me, it was because he actually didn't know.
He promised to speak to the workshop manager and get back to me.
Five minutes later he called back with a different tyre pressure, which I told the attendant. I also wrote it down in my obsessive-compulsive-control logbook so that I wouldn't forget.
We've used that ever since.
However, last weekend on the teenytiny4x4 adventure, when the jolly offroader told me to reduce tyre pressure to get through the course without destroying my tyres and kindly offered to do it for me (Walter was distracted by a lurking bird with his binoculars and the bird book) he nearly had a hernia on the spot. "Your tyres are WAY too overinflated" he squawked "who on earth told you to put this much pressure in?"
"The dealer and the workshop manager" I said
"Idiots" he muttered
So now we're back to what it says on the door sticker.

H

Happy Ninja
 
Actually, it's much more comfortable and doesn't skip around on the highway anymore.
.

Blonde or brunette?

So we got back from the teenytiny4x4 adventure to discover that Scientist No 1 had decided to go back to being a brunette.
The blonde journey has probably cost more than the GDP of a small Arab emirate PLUS I explained that she wouldn't be able to travel internationally without a new passport.
She's off to work as a brunette for the first time, I'm hoping the security people let her in and that her boss recognises her. Perhaps a hat?

S

Scientist no 1 at the beach when she was about 2, loved hats even as a baby.

The little car that can

Walter and I finally made it to one of the offroad days to have some fun with the teenytiny 4x4
Of course we had every intention of getting there in time, Groenkloof Nature Reserve is about an hour away, we needed to get petrol, buy braai stuff and get there at around 9.30 so we left at 9.30 (of course)
Things didn't start well, we both paid for petrol - fortunately the petrol attendants know Walter, so they keep a close eye on him and gave us back the money he'd paid over. Then he wandered off in the Spar so it took me some time to find him so that I could establish what he wanted to eat at the braai while he was catching up with the butcher. I finally sent him off to the bottle store to get some liquid refreshments while I packed everything into the cooler box. He returned with a huge bag of ice for the tiny cooler box, so that required the entire car to be re-packed before we could finally set off.
Fortunately it was fairly smooth sailing after that, we even managed to find the turnoff on the first attempt.
Me: Walter, why don't you ask Bob where we should turn
Walter: I don't know how to use him
Me: But you used him in Magoebaskloof
Walter: I've forgotten
Both of us: sigh
We finally got there, paid, found the 4x4 trail and set off with great confidence. How difficult could it be? The road looked good, the invitation had said it wasn't challenging, but more of a nature drive. Perfect.
Hah. After a while we arrived at a mud channel.
Me: This is obviously not the road, it's not tarred.
Walter: This car can do anything. I'll check how bad the mud is. Put it into low range, don't rev it, just drive through at a constant speed.
Me: Why don't we just turn around?
Walter was out of range by this time walking the track

Obviously this isn't the road
The Ninja took a deep breath, clunked some deep bits and set off bravely through the deep primal slime. We arrived on the other side and Walter climbed back in "See? I told you this car can do it" Now that we had done the offroad bit we took it out of low range and set off once again.
Another surprise awaited around the next corner....

These are loose rocks. You are expected to drive over them.
I took one look "Walter, I'm reversing" but his testosterone was engaged - "Nonsense, just drive slowly over them and we'll be fine"
Sure enough the Ninja rose to the challenge and brought us safely through. By this time we considered ourselves old hands and ready for anything the trail could throw at us.
Except the next bit.

If we hadn't caught up with all the other Suzukis at this stage I would definitely have turned around. Loose rocks and sand, a 45 degree angle, this ox wagon track is definitely not a road. The jolly offroaders made us sign an indemnity, hand over more money and proceeded to ask me if I was comfortable driving up the cliff. Um, no. Walter, testosterone in full flight, was having none of it so I threw him out of the car. While I was considering my escape route options a perfect stranger leapt in and said "1st gear, low range, revs at 2,500" I stared at him like a rabbit in the headlights. "Oh, and keep an eye on the chap in the yellow jacket, he'll tell you where to go"
I call this offroading peer pressure, there were cars behind me so I went. A little way. "Stop" shouted the stranger as we went around a corner "I'll show you where to go" So we got out

You should avoid this rock at all costs
By this stage there's no way out. You also can't just close your eyes - I apologised to the Ninja, got back in and promptly stalled. Then I decided that it was nowhere near as scary as the first time you do stalls and spins (fly straight up until the aircraft stalls, drops a wing and tries its best to fall out of the sky end over end). That cheered me up immensely and I set off with gusto. By the time we got to the top (to much cheering and applauding) the helper was strangely quiet and pale but Walter was impressed. "Sjoe"  A man of few words is our Walter.
There was only one more part that gave me pause for concern, we "walked the track" discussing the various options and what to avoid "You don't want to stall here, it's all very loose so you could slide backwards over that cliff" and so on. I'd already decided that Walter could indulge his testosterone on this part and was waiting patiently for him down the track when another jolly offroader patted the roof of the Ninja and said "On your way then, we're just waiting for you"

Little 4x4s all in a row
I set off slowly, looking for Walter (who was conveniently right at the top of the mountain) while various people (all men) gave me different instructions. I picked one, followed his hand signals and when he said "Floor it!" I did. First time. No sliding. Clever Ninja.

What's the password?

I hate passwords, it's no secret that I find it extremely difficult to remember a string of numbers, symbols, letters and random squirrel sounds in the right order so I inevitably end up:
a) writing them down somewhere (which apparently defeats the purpose) or
b) locking myself out of my computer, cellphone or bank account

I'm sure I would manage if it was only one, but I'm confronted with "enter username/password/pin" at least 4 times a day.I can see myself standing at the corner of some busy crossroad in Johannesburg with a sign "Family to feed, forgotten pin, please help"

Where is summer?

A weather search crisply informs us that in South Africa winter starts on 1 May and ends on 31 July. Just like that; the seasons are supposed to fit neatly into our season boxes. People assume that South Africa is warm, in fact the biggest economic boost we got from the World Cup was all the tourists buying jackets and beanies to survive the matches.
As a tropical child I take exception to winter. In Lusaka the minimum temperature is 15C, which is far more suitable for humans than Johannesburg's regular forays into the minus zone.My garden looks like a death zone from the black frost and the labradors have given up trying to excavate their way to Australia because of the permafrost layer.I can't for the life of me understand why people actually venture outside at night in winter. Most places look like a Michelin Man convention at night.
Of course real summer doesn't get here until December, this is why I have a firm rule about not swimming in an outdoor swimming pool before Christmas day.
I'd like to make a request to the relevant authorities to update their search information: Winter in Johannesburg lasts from March to November. The other months are (in order) warm, decent, decent, cool.

Oh joy. Another update

All these software updates are starting to wear me down. Just when you think you might make the end of the month with enough "broadband" for once you switch on the computer to be greeted with: Click here to download updates.
In June it was the iTunes and iPhone software update. Version 4.0. We duly trotted off to buy more "airtime" on our ADSL line so that I could do the update.
Then Apple released the iPhone 4. After a while, when people started complaining about not being able to make actual phone calls Apple retaliated by saying all their customers were essentially stupid and were holding the phone wrong. Put it between your feet, idiots, then find a tall building, do a headstand on top and make your call. Eventually they admitted they had a problem with the antenna and that it applied to all their phones. Well, actually everyone's phones (which isn't true - Walter has Bob now and Bob shows 3g signal when I can't get any off the iPhone)
So they released a software update to fix the problem (Question: if the antenna is not good enough, how will software fix it?) iPhone 4.0.1
It took me 9 hours plus a trip to buy more ADSL to download that update. I actually think the solution is far, far simpler

When I plugged in my iPhone yesterday a new message popped up: iTunes version 9.2.1.5 is available. Download?