It's still there

I finally took a (bad) photograph of the Air Angola 747 which was still at OR Tambo yesterday. I wonder if they know it's there?


It's the one facing away; riiiiiight at the back.

I know, I need a camera. Still looking.

Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Yet another business trip

I'm sure everyone will be delighted to know that the Angola Airlines B747 is still parked at OR Tambo and yes, it still has all its engines. (Rumour has it ACSA is not above taking an engine in lieu of payment)

General note: there are no ATMs at OR Tambo terminal B once you've gone through security. No, I have no idea why not, particularly since you need cash for the budget airlines. There's also nowhere to buy a camera or a watch. I am still in need of both having "donated" my Tag somewhere in Lower Ditchfield or Melton Mowbray last year and only having the iPhone camera which you can't use in-flight. Obviously. You can however get your shoes polished, buy a full set of gym gear, cheap sunglasses and a collection of perfectly hideous overpriced coins.

Things didn't start well. 1Time introduced us to a new airport game that requires airlines to change the departure gate 3 times before finally announcing the flight will be delayed by an hour. Each new announcement should ideally direct your paying passengers to the other end of the airport. Extra points if they have to use stairs or out-of-order escalators. This is particularly useful for oversold flights as you can rely on losing at least 20% to asthma/heart/child attacks as they sprint to get there before the gates close.

By the time they finally started boarding I had found a seat with a view of the gate and didn't move until the last 2 passengers were ready to get on the bus. Yes, the bus. We had been demoted from the sophisticated tunnel-attached-to-the-aircraft boarding method of the 1st and 2nd gates to the ignominy of the sardines-jammed-into-a-jerking-bus drive across the apron of the 3rd and final gate. How humiliating.

The heavens opened on cue as the bus dropped us at the aircraft, rounding off the perfect pre-flight experience. I boarded from the back, avoiding the crush on the (open) stairs at the front and almost giving the ground crew heart failure by walking too close to the wing tip.

This particular replacement flight is a brand new MD80, piloted by a Yorkshireman (Capt Mike Shorock if I heard correctly) although the cabin attendant swears he's Irish. It's freshly painted (the aircraft, not the cabin attendant) in zebra stripes but then, bizarrely, has a shark grin. Im not sure about the carnivorous zebra look; seems to be missing something. Captain Shorock duly apologized for the delay and mentioned the original aircraft scheduled to take us to Cape Town was "literally nicked from under us" (I'm hoping he meant figuratively, but in Johannesburg it's not impossible) and he proceeded to open the throttle wide as we went around the corner onto runway. None of this namby-pamby lining up for us.

Because there's no ATM this side of security I have no cash on me, and no, they're sorry, they don't take cards, cheques, jewelry, buttons or almost-new picture frames in lieu of. No food or drink. I don't think it's unreasonable to expect a free glass of water, for example, if they've delayed you for an hour after setting a new cross-terminal sprinting record. A large bottle of good red wine would be better, of course.

Tip; you definitely shouldn't play "Flying without wings" as the apron Muzak 1Time; it unnerves the survivors.

And I'll be late for pink drinks now.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Location:36,000 feet above the Groot Karroo

Riaan's ouma's oxtail recipe

2 years ago my friend Riaan invited us to dinner and presented us with delicious oxtail on a very cold winter evening. Having tried (and failed) to make oxtail numerous times I immediately set about wheedling the recipe out of him.
Being of generous nature he typed it up for me and even took me through it to make sure I understood all the tricks involved.
The first time I made it was a total disaster, it came out dry and burnt - I was convinced he had left out some secret ingredient. What I have subsequently discovered is:

1. Make sure your oven's thermostat is functional. All the cheffy-types know this, apparently, and you can buy an oven thermometer in most kitchen shops. For instance, if I set my oven to 180 degrees it is actually 220, this is partly why the first attempt resembled burnt offerings.
2. Make sure you have a heavy casserole dish that seals properly, and use lots of tin foil to provide it with an even tighter seal. This is why the first one was dry.

So here is Riaan's ouma's oxtail recipe - please try it, now that I understand the temperature/casserole rules it turned out perfectly.

Buying a bathing suit

My sister sent this to me, it appealed to me so much I think it's worth sharing....

The Bathing Suit (by a middle-age woman unknown)

 When I was a child in the 1960s, the bathing suit for the mature

 figure was-boned, trussed and reinforced, not so much sewn as

 engineered. They were built to hold back and uplift, and they did a good job.

 Today's stretch fabrics are designed for the prepubescent girl with a

 figure carved from a potato chip.

 The mature woman has a choice ˜ she can either go up front to the

 maternity department and try on a floral suit with a skirt, coming

 away looking like a hippopotamus that escaped from Disney's Fantasia,

 or she can wander around every run-of-the-mill department store trying

 to make a sensible choice from what amounts to a designer range of

 fluorescent rubber bands.

 What choice did I have? I wandered around, made my sensible choice and

 entered the chamber of horrors known as the fitting room. The first

 thing I noticed was the extraordinary tensile strength of the stretch

 material. The Lycra used in bathing costumes was developed, I believe,

 by NASA to launch small rockets from a slingshot, which gives the

 added bonus that if you manage to actually lever yourself into one,

 you would be protected from shark attacks ˜ any shark taking a swipe

 at your passing midriff would immediately suffer whiplash.

 I fought my way into the bathing suit, but as I twanged the shoulder

 strap in place I gasped in horror: my boobs had disappeared!

 Eventually, I found one boob cowering under my left armpit. It took a

 while to find the other. At last I located it flattened beside my

 seventh rib.

 The problem is that modern bathing suits have no bra cups. The mature

 woman is meant to wear her boobs spread across her chest like a speed

 bump. I realigned my speed bump and lurched toward the mirror to take

 a full view assessment.

 The bathing suit fitted all right, but unfortunately it only fitted

 those bits of me willing to stay inside it. The rest of me oozed out

 rebelliously from top, bottom and sides. I looked like a lump of

 Playdoh wearing undersized cling wrap.

 As I tried to work out where all those extra bits had come from, the

 prepubescent sales girl popped her head through the curtain, 'Oh,

 there you are,' she said, admiring the bathing suit.

 I replied that I wasn't so sure and asked what else she had to show me.

 I tried on a cream crinkled one that made me look like a lump of

 masking tape, and a floral two-piece that gave the appearance of an

 oversized napkin in a serving ring.

 I struggled into a pair of leopard-skin bathers with ragged frills and

 came out looking like Tarzan's Jane, pregnant with triplets and having

 a rough day.

 I tried on a black number with a midriff and looked like a jellyfish

 in mourning.

 I tried on a bright pink pair with such a high cut leg I thought I

 would have to wax my eyebrows to wear them.

 Finally, I found a suit that fitted ...a two-piece affair with a

 shorts-style bottom and a loose blouse-type top. It was cheap,

 comfortable, and bulge-friendly, so I bought it. My ridiculous search

 had a successful outcome, I figured.

 When I got it home, I found a label that read: 'Material might become

 transparent in water'.

 So, if you happen to be on the beach or near any other body of water

 this year and I'm there too, I'll be the one in cut-off jeans and a

 T-shirt!

 You'd better be laughing or rolling on the floor by this time. Life

 isn't about how to survive the storm, but how to dance in the rain.

 With or without a bathing suit.

The birds

Spotted our first Sugarbird, quite a friendly chap who let us get up close.


Image from http://www.fynbos.sa.com

We've also seen Southern rock agamas and Penguins at Stony Point Penguin Colony (around 7,000 breeding pairs of Jackass Penguins), Hadedahs, Sacred Ibis, Cape Cormorants, Egyptian Geese, Wagtails, Francolin, Guinea Fowl, an anonymous female Sunbird (insufficient light to identify it) and assorted LBJ's

Thanks to Walter for remembering to bring the binoculars

Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Location:Vlei Rd,Betty's Bay,South Africa

Interesting rock patterns

Took this close-up of a cut-away on the road between Gordon's Bay and Betty's Bay. Not sure what would cause such fascinating patterns, but it's quite dramatic.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone