I don't quite know why I'm awake. I'm at odds with my head at the moment : It is entertaining a massive headache, whilst I want to stage a Big Loud Musical. You know, where random streetwalking people spontaniously start singing and break out in choreographed moves that is guaranteed to end in a cracked pelvis and much screaming.

Sometimes when I'm standing in the line of a supermarket (this happens...it is S.A after all.), I imagine what it'd be like if everyone communicated in song. (To gt the full effect, get a little tango tune going in your head)

Sir, can you direct me to the juice?
I want to buy some mushrooms
but its cheaper when they're loose

A tin of soup, maybe butternut
Perhaps pea and ham
because I see there was a small price cut

Now to the chocs
oh which one to choose?
the nougat, wafer or little toffee blocks?

Ok, ok, I'l stop. At this point streamers erupt from various hidden places (one hits a dancer in the eye, and he is dragged off unceremoniously while wailing) Tills are chiming, bags are grabbed and swung around, and people twirl and smile. Twirl and smile.

The real world option is much less of the above actions. Lacklustre employees punish the keys of the cash register while avoiding looking at you , lest you ask for a bag and they have to type an additional 3 keys.

The cultural differences in South Africa really come into play in supermarkets. While some people claim to be very much Westernized, other people are quite happy in their collective little bubble. So what happens is, you stand in the queue and suddenly you feel something prodding your arse. You swing around, to find the person in question has pushed their trolley into you, and is now surveying the ceiling in a completely blissful state.

Rage boils up as the culprit then continues to violate your space by going to stand next to their trolley and basically pressing themselves into you in order to get further in the queue. Most people deem this unnecessary. I , personally, want to invest in an axe and hack them to pieces while my battle cry echoes. We need to find a name for this type of anger.


There's Road Rage, 'Roid Rage......how about Row Rage?

Hey!

Thoughts of a dying humourist is finally back! :)Not that anyone really sat on the edge of their seat to read the ramblings of a bored dilletante, but still.

Reading through the last few posts, I realise that the last few weeks of blogging has really been a load of nonsense. And not even interesting nonsense (that would have been a saving grace, for we all know how hours while away when you read *that*)

So feel free to comment, whoever you are : an old friend or stopping by for the first time.
Ok, so this was sort of the re-opening rant. Next time it'l be pure journalistic gold. (Or a few brass pennies, depending on your perspective and level of caffeine intoxication)

Have a great one