Coronavirus streets in Cape Town - II

Regulations alert

I have just finished reading the 19 pages of the government gazette regarding the Adjusted Alert Level 3 restrictions instituted by the South African Government, presaged by the national address by President Cyril Ramaphosa last night. [BusinessTech: Here are all the new lockdown level 3 changes – including which businesses have to close] (The gazette is linked below the news story.)

During this pandemic, things have been in flux to such an extent that one cannot act in haste, you look to the long-term and act with discretion and discernment. It is important to be fully informed of what has been promulgated and how it affects one, especially when one is on holiday in a foreign land.

Whilst the restrictions would appear to be quite difficult for those visiting as tourists, I have lived under similar lockdowns in Manchester for most of the year. As long as we can go out for walks to take the breeze and get the essentials for living, we would most likely be fine.

A false sense of security

Cape Town has been determined to be a hotspot, from what I have observed in my just over 2 weeks of being here, I am not entirely surprised as I observed in my previous blogs, there are many who think this pandemic is behind us as the opening of certain establishments to things presented as protocols giving us a false sense of security to let our guard down.

The total prohibition of alcohol sales with the perceived or actual consequences of the consumption of alcohol suggests the government thinks there is an alcohol problem in the country. Besides CoVID-19 related hospital admissions, those that pertain to alcohol consumption follow closely exacerbating unruly behaviours, illegality, recklessness, and violence. The president mentioned amongst other things, bullet wounds in relation to this.

Coping with a pandemic

Being in the Cape, we would miss visiting the Cape Winelands that we have always enjoyed going to. It must be devastating for those businesses, but the fundamental is the preservation of lives first above all else. It is a shame that parks and beaches are closed, the botanical gardens remain open.

The borders have not been closed, international travel can still take place, subject to existing requirements, the presentation of a negative SARS-CoV-2 PCR test at arrival amongst other things. Hotel accommodations can take full capacity, but faith gatherings are prohibited.

The government has made it a criminal offence not to don a face mask covering both the nose and mouth when in a public space. Looking out of my window, most seem to have pulled up the mask to cover their noses, others might need a bit more persuasion.

We made the decision, Brian and I, to meet up again in Cape Town after 11 difficult months apart, for us as a couple, it has been wonderful, some plans might have to postponed for better times ahead, which is a shame. We celebrated our second anniversary yesterday and make the best of it all.

Every piss artist should have a piss

A living thing in alcoholic excess

I remember when in my biology class, we had to coin a mnemonic for the characteristics of living things and we were given Movement Respiration Nutrition Irritability Growth Excretion and Reproduction (MR NIGER), Death was added to suggest that livings things do not have immortality, but that is pedantry.

However, a living thing of the genre man suggesting Growth had occurred from the time he had been the result of Reproduction decided on the quantitative Nutrition of 10 bottles beer and by consequence suffered multiple aspects of Irritability leaving him inebriated to consequent somnolence from which he arose to present himself by Movement to a hospital where he was informed his abandonment of essential Excretion by urination, for perspiration, would not suffice, his bladder had burst with graphic distension for which it was possible the sudden realisation by an involuntary gasp in the reflex of Respiration might result in Death.

I spare my drink

I would probably pass for a teetotaller at most times for I have no taste for most alcohol and the wines or port that take my fancy fit into an irregular and infrequent consumption pattern. I, however, know when I am feeling tipsy or drowsy for it would never get to staggering drunkenness and I am on my way home.

My bladder for which I have assumed much control after a childhood into adolescence of bedwetting holds fluids under strains of manly pressure and duress, but I have indeed wet my pants on occasion, though not to the public shame of it. When it is ready to go, endurance will not be my last resort.

Blog: Childhood: Atòólé

Plugging the channel

One can only assume if our man in China was holding off for a bet that the new alcohol in the older bladder parchment that it was torn in three places that a spaghetti confluence of intestines with the bladder met in the confines of the abdominal cavity. Then the following story might just be linked to the first, as in Cambodia, a leech had crept up the penile urethra to lodge in the body and feed on a pint of blood, that it presented a difficulty in its removal.

Bringing this thinking round to China, you wonder if a leech had during his sleep found shelter, you know where and grown in size to become a stopper preventing the man from urinating and causing the anatomical mishap that led him to the hospital. By which time, the hitchhiking leech had dropped off and the tale is one to induce muffled laughter before pity seeks to intervene.

Source

[TheWeekMagazine: Boozy man's bladder bursts as he holds pee for 18 hours]

Cursing the darkness of a drunken jaunt

I sipped and swilled

Blogs are bringing life to wry observations from which you might end up with a story or even a moral tale. Now, I do not have a ready palate for alcohol, I probably lost my thirst for strong drink by accident.

At the age of 10, whilst away from home taking common entrance examinations in Lagos, I found myself at parties where my choice tipple was Tennant's light lager by the can and with all the adult supervision around me, I was granted the liberty to indulge. I never got tipsy, but there was something about my privileged status that gave me a bye when other boys would have been scolded.

I was the son of the high-flying and most successful accountant from our village, I was the proverbial white boy in black skin, with an accent that when foreign guests were visiting, I was the one put forward to chat to and entertain when the children of the host were locked away and out of sight, I probably took liberties without consequence.

More for the drink, less for the taste

Everywhere I went in the 4 months I was down south, I was feted, indulged, tolerated, excused and well, abused too. Yes, that was sexually, but I did not know I was being taken advantage of. I was already used to being taken advantage of by two of our houseboys up north, this fumbling that went further was like pleasure and play.

By the time I was 15, my uncle who had just returned from the UK was both generous with means and things apart from offering good swills of rum that it got back to me that my parents were concerned that I was being introduced to drink, little did they know, in fact, with hindsight, my parents know so much and yet so little about me, it is almost an enigmatic paradox.

After secondary school at 15, I had a job in the laboratory of West African Breweries where I carried out water tests and introduced conveyor belt quality controls that fed back down the line to improvements in bottle washing and other bottling activities. My exposure to understanding fermentation, counting dead yeast cells, the tank farm and tasting the finished product put an end to my palate for a lager, beer, ale, cider and strong spirits.

I have little tolerance for alcohol abuse

I have the occasional wine with meals and sometimes an aperitif, but bitters and the rest are completely off limits. Essentially, I am dangerously sober in all that I do where people would require Dutch courage to attempt those same things.

That I have little tolerance of the inebriated and drunken is borne of the reasoning that I think the consumption of alcohol is an expression of discipline, you know when you’ve had enough and allow yourself the benefit of keeping your wits about you. We all make mistakes, but we can forgive ourselves and promptly begin to make amends.

A half-brain on a long train

So, as I was about to board the train from Edinburgh to Manchester, a man stepped in front of us with bravado and disregard to get on the train first. He did and as the train departed the station, he enquired where the train was going, the slurring of speech and the unsteadiness of his feet suggested he was all not himself, not by reason of ailment or infirmity, but for the abuse in excess of alcohol.

He was going due west to Bathgate some 18 miles away but had hopped on the train going southwest with the next stop at Lockerbie, some 76 miles away. Any other man might have comforted himself of his folly like Esau of old, but not this man. He fidgeted and buffeted, sighed and hollered, swore and cursed, murmured and blustered to the irritation of all around him that they left their reserved seats for other available seats.

For the lost of Lockerbie

He was by terms a bloody nuisance all because of drink and we endured the menace for a good hour until he disembarked at Lockerbie. Lockerbie itself brings some poignancy to me, it was where the Pan Am Flight 103 crashed on the 21^st of December 1988, which happened to be my 23^rd birthday.

That tragic event and my birthday somewhat creates an affinity with Lockerbie that I should one day disembark and visit the memorial to those who perished at that heinous act of terrorism for which I have not yet been convinced that the real culprits have seen justice.

Cursing the darkness sheds no light

However, the man railed and ranted, I thought of the proverb being played out before my eyes, “It is better to light a single candle than to curse the darkness.” It is said to be an old Chinese proverb and at the same time attributed to a sermon titled “The Invincible Strategy” given by W. L. Watkinson and collected in 1907. The former attribution is suspect and the latter is contentious, but we have a saying to work with. [Wikipedia][QuoteInvestigator]

There was nothing the man could do other was sit still until he got to Lockerbie and hopefully he could get a train back tonight to Edinburgh and then to Bathgate, that is if the conductor on the other train was in the least compassionate, he could have contemplated his folly in the solitude of regret and silence, but he was literally cursing the darkness and it made no difference to the fact that he first had to get off the train and maybe get back home tonight.

In effect, he left an odious impression and the inspiration for this blog. Never drink yourself to not being aware of what you are doing and if you do, responsibly accept that consequences of your folly without becoming a public nuisance. Any of us could have compounded his situation by calling the police to attend to an unruly and drunken passenger at Lockerbie, in which case, he would have had free lodgings at Her Majesty’s pleasure for the night until sobriety gave him gumption and reason along with even more regret.

C’est la vie!

Thought Picnic: A history of my conservative view on drink

Drinks exposure

I might well be considered a conservative for expecting people to be able to put one foot in front of the other surely, if they are able-bodied and regardless of the hour of the day.

Generally, I do not have a palate for much drink, I did my share by the time I was 15. I had already done light beer at 10 and rum by 14, all outside parental supervision, but still with guidance.

Cancer exposure

At 15, my first job was in a brewery laboratory, I did a few things from determining the pH value of water used in the fermentation tank farms and the also measuring the chlorine levels of water used in processes around the brewery.

There were lax safety rules because, the senior lab analysts knew o-toluidine used to test for chlorine was a human carcinogen, yet they were happy for this young man to handle it without any protection of gloves or defined processes.

With time, I got to looking at dead yeast cells under a microscope, the ones stained blue were dead, we needed a ratio of dead to living yeast cells to end the fermentation process and start filtration to draw out the lager. This was all a long time ago.

Wild exposure

However, rather than acquire a taste for beer, I completely went off it. The only thing I like was called the first wort which was the first liquid extract from cooked malted barley, before the hops, sugar, salt and yeast were added to start the brewing process. It was rumoured to be a good aphrodisiac, but for a 15 year old?

The grounds of the factory were wild, I got stung twice by bees and once saw a deadly snake slither into its hole. It was no place for the faint-hearted.

Life exposure

As I grew older, where many of my colleagues became teetotal for religious reasons, mine was just because I had no palate for the stuff. Now, I am fine with wines, but mainly with meals, I never drink alone and whatever I try is with almost extreme moderation.

I know to be at home if ever I seem to get light-headed and the once I had a hangover, having had a dry sherry and a port in one night that I was utterly sickened, I have been as well behaved as saint.

I have seen drink do silly things to people, mess up their gait, loosen their tongues and strip away dignity like nothing else could. I do not know what drives people to drink, yet those who seek help are probably on the way to recovery.

Character exposure

The social drinkers however, who appear to think they have no problem and do it to excess with regularity are probably the most dangerous. They would be reckless enough to drink-drive and nasty enough to do the most dastardly things.

I broke up a friendship of 21 years when a ‘friend’ having so stupidly gotten so inebriated in broad daylight said the most atrocious things to me. I had tolerated this behaviour for years until a point that I decided I was not taking it any more. We have not spoken for over 2 years and I do not intend to renew that relationship without a grovelling apology.

Drink should never be an excuse for bad behaviour, it simply reveals what people really are, from the lack of self-control giving place to lasciviousness to utterly reprehensible conduct.

Maybe in that way I am a conservative because I have a very low tolerance for the abuse of alcohol and if you are doing that before high noon, the less said as it leaves much to be desired.

Thought Picnic: An implausibility of junkies

Losing the mind

One is left quite befuddled by it all, the desire for some to lose their minds as if it confers a sense of fulfilled excitement and a strange sense of happiness.

They revel amongst friends, that is a good thing but the drink is quaffed in quantities that would drown fish in their habitats and a person who left home, fully aware, fully conscious and fully coherent suddenly begins to demonstrate the height of stupefaction.

This morning I watched with incredulity and embarrassment for both myself and the slightly less inebriated friends who could not get their friend to do anything reasonable.

He had drugged up on something that he began making animal sounds apart from the weird unmentionable things that accompanied his actions.

Not mindful of it

Of the four that were with him, three departed but one was left behind, running out of patience with exasperation to the point that he would have deserted his friend.

Then I wondered, why they did not arrest the situation before it got out of hand, or maybe they were caught unawares but that would be a backstory many would not know until he comes to and flatly denies he was playing up.

Yet, an obvious risk was pending as the establishment was ready to call either an ambulance or the police, both presenting a humbling of the hubris of wastage on recreational substances.

Medically, he might find accord, the health personnel aware of what to do, but the police would record an infringement of sorts, which depending on what he does when his head is sitting right on shoulders could presage serious regret.

Getting to the mind

The threat of the latter seemed to get through the barrier of the drug-addled state he was in and reason seeped through as he found his voice to forestall the looming tragedy of excess.

Whilst I did not see the end of the saga, it occurred to me that a new animal grouping was possible as an implausibility of junkies or an embarrassment of friends. Though the usual application is an implausibility of gnus and an embarrassment of pandas.

If there are ways to manage an implausibility of an embarrassment, it would take more than whispering into the ears of people to consider their options and their choices.

Parents of kids on booze should do time

The untouchable subject

Combining the right of centre demagoguery of the Christian Democratic Appeal ruling party with that of its second coalition party of the Christian Union; might just be like approaching the mount that cannot be touched or hearing terrifying sounds like roaring thunder.

There is no doubt that they both want to take our liberal Dutch society to Calvinist subservience where we all knew our places and let the social hand of authority and benevolence guide us to where we would fear no more.

There is no doubt however the age of alcoholic consumption initiation is falling like meteors to as low as it can be causing great concern.

Only recently a mother who provided alcohol for her 16 year old's birthday party got severely sanctioned that she would spend 2 years in prison in the United States. It was harsh, but I am hardly sympathetic about it.

Some countries have been considering bringing parents to book for allowing their children to consume alcohol and whilst we do not have laws prohibiting the use of alcohol in the home, some responsibility must surely be borne by parents for children who end up consuming alcohol in public.

Drug and alcohol fuelled

When 3 kids beat me up in December 2004, I should have known better to run for dear life when one of them picked up a bicycle and threw it at me. It should have occurred to me that only a drink and drug fuelled temperament would allow for such an exhibition of lunacy.

Basically juvenile alcoholism is a growing and serious problem; it is hitting our streets in the most unacceptable way, so as Dickensian as the plan of the governing parties might sound; breathalysing juveniles might be a welcome development - if they are immediately taken off the streets and their parents seriously inconvenienced as a deterrent with the kids put through a strict discipline and drying-out programme.

The extension to this is the rising violence of kids of immigrant descent who happen to now harbour less liberal values than their parents or the society in which they were born - they have taken to harassing other minorities, especially homosexuals, two of whom got beaten up on a popular gay street, in fact, there has been a rise in homophobic attacks in Amsterdam of late.

That should put paid to the idea of Amsterdam being the Gay capital of Europe.

Thankfully, the kids, 6 of them and all of foreign descent Morocco (4), Suriname (1) and Turkey (1) were apprehended by the police with the notice that they are repeat offenders in this atrocious banditry.

The study that most juvenile offenders use drugs and alcohol has long been read and digested, we now need some serious community action to curb these rotten activities before our peaceful cities get overrun with juveniles imitating lowlifes.

The challenge of friendship

Not on the plane?

Let us adopt a pseudonym for my friend and suggest the name Bacchus; the irony of this selection should not be lost on anyone.

It would appear that my saga is developing into one that presents additional dilemmas, if I thought my life was begin to look like a soap opera, it is beginning to look like this episode would not end till that fat lady sings - as to who the fat lady is, well, I might just have to sit tight till the end of the show.

Here I was thinking that Bacchus had caught the schedule flight back to his base in Africa yesterday afternoon and my seeming nightmare had come to an end as I was jolted awake with the realities I had to face.

Well, only a few hours ago, I got a call from his brother indicating Bacchus had not arrived - What do you mean, he had not arrived? - Well, he had not caught the flight back home.

Now, I am back in the thick of it because, it would now appear that I am the last person to the knowledge of his people to have seen Bacchus even though he had contacted another relation here that he was ensconced in some hotel and had probably rescheduled his flight.

My hope and out hopes are that he did indeed board a flight in the direction of his base today and should land sometime this evening with everyone sighing in great relief.

Not alone in this

Whilst chatting to Bacchus' brother, we compared and exchanged notes, this lead to a number of revelations chief of which is the fact that Bacchus has over the last 6 to 8 months been losing friends to this misdemeanour of alleged alcohol-induced house thrashing - this is both instructive and quite worrisome.

Worrisome in that there really is an alcohol related big issue here and instructive in that there might be something we can do about this.

We who have had long-standing friendships with Bacchus would recognise that this is not the Bacchus we once knew. Singularly, we have each been visited with a circumstance that is beyond the pale and individually we have struck Bacchus off the list of anyone who would deign to be our friend.

If we now all learn that we are not all alone in this disaster of friendship that has happened upon each of us, do we then all abandon this young man who is clearly in need of help or do we try to find out who we are and band together to help this man out of what is clearly a desperate situation?

If Bacchus is busy wasting away the friends he should be able to call on in times of trouble or when in need of succour or support; would our inaction lead us to point where destruction and grief would leave us culpable as we selfishly remonstrated about the loss of trust when probably should selflessly band together, willing and encouraging Bacchus back to the life that made us very good friends, once upon a time?

Meanwhile, this was again too upsetting to continue at work today and this is the new dilemma.

In a nutshell

Now that I know I am not the only one to have suffered a house-thrashing from my friend in the last 6 months, do I selfishly bemoan my fate or band together with others who suffered to save our friend from a worse fate?

My Bed - Violated

Where is my home?

I scoffed at the thought that a bed could be presented as art, however, in 1998 Tracey Emin did present an unmade bed as art and people did get drawn to that situation.

Tracey Emin - My Bed 1998 © Saatchi Gallery

My bed was released to me this morning by my guest from hell, in fact, it was my home that I got back because I had become a stranger in my own home all because I was being a friend.

I walked into in my kitchen on Saturday morning, eggshells on the floor, red wine all over the tabletops – when my guest appeared from the safety of the master bedroom, I remonstrated about the state of the kitchen, being careful to say, it was no concern of mine how much alcohol he can handle.

It appears he just poured out the last bit of wine in the bottle and returned to the bedroom. So, once again, I had to clean up because I could not use the kitchen in that state.

Then I pulled out the cutlery drawer, wine stains – that was it – I stormed into the room and asked that he be prepared to leave my house in the afternoon.

By then, I had to speak to my best friend in London from a café down the road, I was completely distraught that I ordered food, but could not eat, when I returned, I took what was left of my wine collection in wine cupboard and stored it all in my cellar.

Alcohol regardless

My friend eventually went to the supermarket downstairs, got cans of beer and a bottle of cheap red plonk. In just over 2 days, my “friend” had downed 3 bottles of port, 4 bottles of red wine of which one was a 1998 reserve, 2 bottles of white wine, a bottle of Moët & Chandon champagne which I usually have reserved in the fridge as well as probably 24 cans of lager.

In all, I really only gave him two bottles of white wine, the rest he took without permission, strange that he could drink fine wines when free and when it came to his buying the stuff, the wine could have found better use for dying garments.

There is no doubt, this young man has issues, serious issues which might require professional help, I really do not want to get involved, but I have been drawn into the thick of it. If he had stayed in a hotel, he would get a hefty bill for thrashing the hotel as well as a one for raiding the mini-bar - this man was taking liberties with impunity and I allowed it in my own home.

Used, violated, abused, disrespected and taken advantage of by someone who thought he could use our friendship with contempt and without consideration, contemplation or reflection.

I want to believe that it was not my friend who visited me, but the alcohol that took hold of a rather nice person and turned him into a slob, a monster and an uncaring wreck as he left with the understatement – I know you are uncomfortable with me being here – I could only mutter, safe journey - I wish I had the presence of mind to take photos of everything else I have related.

As he left, I walked into my room and I cried …

I present my bed.

The pillows - he had put the pillowcases in the wash basket

The mattress would probably need to be replaced

Wine stains on the wall, was he doing libations to the gods? The headboard is all covered with the stains too.

The horns of a rampaging dilemma

My home, a sty

I returned home from work and this was the first time I saw my house in such a state, I mustered the depths of calm and patience to take in the sight.

I have a guest, a friend of about 15 years who had since returned to Africa from Europe and is one whose peers hold in quite high regard, he is invited to present a paper in Brussels.

My bathroom sink had underwear which first looked misplaced till it was apparent that it had some excrement in it - wrapped it in a bag and binned it - my toilet was in such a state with brown stuff all over the place, walls, sink, floor and toilet bowl, I must have walked into a horror movie.

I have a cleaner, but this could not wait, I was down to the shops, got every cleaning disinfectant on the shelves and was on all fours scrubbing and rubbing - very annoying - my guest just ignored the whole thing - at least since yesterday he has been quite unwell - I have been told.

Oh my, what happened?

Then my kitchen, a casserole I had made the night before was exposed; the serving spoon on the floor, some of the stuff strewn over the table and floor, and surely, this is not on.

The kitchen sink and table tops red stained, probably with wine, when I noticed that in the space of 9 hours when I was at work, a bottle of port, one of sherry, a magnum of champagne had been consumed - makes me wonder, is that enough to make it seem my home has been hit by a cyclone?

Now, whilst I like fine wines, my consumption of alcohol is minuscule, even if I had to take a wine-pairing multiple course dinner, my consumption would not come to more than two glasses of wine and is quite enough.

It is a matter of principle and considered safety that I never drink alone, I have a well-stocked cellar but only for when occasion presents itself.

Now, for two nights since my friend returned from Brussels, he has ensconced himself in the bedroom without any useful interaction.

Familiarity has begotten contempt

There is no doubt that the friendship is being treated with utter contempt, I can handle that, however, I do wonder if I should express my disappointment, check him into a hotel for his last night or endure what is just a wallowing sow for another 36 hours?

Really, I have never been met with such a trying situation before and I do wonder if my friend does need to seek help for a seeming drink problem which might be contributing to the unfamiliar and unwarranted abuse of my hospitality - I am of the good mind of making all the wine bottles in my wine cupboard disappear before the sun is up.

Much more has happened, but those I can handle, this, well, I either need more patience or a rage of absolutely righteous indignation.

We can agree that no such invitation would ever be extended to my friend again, that is if this episode would survive our long acquaintance.

I am caught on the horns of a rampaging dilemma.