south africa – Afterwards

The number of the beast

Post 666

This is my 666th post.

It should be something creepy or evil shouldn’t it. What actually sprung to mind though was growing up in conservative white South Africa in the eighties and there being a general hysteria about the number.

From those ridiculous eighties Pentecostal preachers howling and wailing about the number of the beast to searching Iron Maiden album covers for secret 666 markings it was a number that was just often there in popular culture.

Kids would joke about it, bushy bearded racist Afrikaner pastors would warn against it and eighties horror films featured it heavily. If you’ve seen the omen you will surely recall the head shaving bit where the numbers are revealed.

In school I recall sitting through lessons where we were made quite aware of the dangers of all things modern and particularly anything relating to Iron Maiden and quite specifically ‘Stairway to Heaven’ by Led Zepplin which, if our teacher was to be believed, would inevitably lead you to all manner of beastly activities including masturbation, smoking marijuana and fornication.

Makes me realise that we really have not come that far as a species when we pay such heed to superstitious nonsense though ‘Stairway’ does remain one of my favourite tracks to this day.

Happy Friday 🙂

O is for Originality

just do it!

Not an easy thing really is it. I mean what hasn’t already been said or done? What idea hasn’t been explored time and time again and how many blogs already do something very similar to the one you just created.

You know what, I haven’t been doing this for long so I am hardly in a position to give advice but Im going to. Just keep going at it, as hard as you can because most people are really lazy buggers with no stamina at all and they will probably give up at some point.

You don’t have to be the first to do something or even the best, sometimes working hard and sticking to your guns and not being lazy will get you somewhere. And if that doesn’t work then maybe you’re just not very good at it and need to try something else but at least you tried and that’s more than most people do because a lot of people are just pointless and the world wouldn’t miss them if they were gone.

But not you. You’re special because you’re reading this and somewhere out there are people who want to hear your voice.

Michael

N is for nature

I’m no Richard Attenborough obviously. In fact I’n not even a David…

I’ve always had a bit of a love hate relationship with nature. I grew up in Africa so there was very much an abundance of the stuff and we were forever outside. Wherever you went there was flora or fauna of some description and always of the sort of stuff people wax lyrical about. It was an incredibly beautiful place but it can become a bit much.

Pop to the shop and there was inevitably something ‘majestic’ of some description there in your face screaming “Look at me” and waving it’s arms frantically. Each morning the sunrise would require a slack handful of fire related adjectives before it would leave you alone and sunset would quite rudely demand your attention whether you had things you needed to get done or not. What’s wrong with a cold grey morning that lumbers along as you get up or it suddenly becoming dark without you noticing and accompanying fanfare.

It was though a wonderful place to grow up and whether the gorgeous expanses of the Highveld or the wild rugged coastlines it’s the sort of place most people would give an arm to grow up in and I’m really grateful that I did. I’m less grateful however for the vast array of things that wanted to kill us. Whether it be snakes, spiders, sharks, scorpions or any of the larger creatures there was such an array of deadly beasties that it really does tend to spoil things.

“Remember to check your boots for scorpions” was a piece of advice I received in the army that I will always remember.

As much as I loved it there I find England far more inviting and wholly less aggressive. Not that it isn’t completely without event though – occasionally we may have a bit of a slug problem and one day there was a badger that kept knocking over the bins which caused quite a stir. Anyone familiar with Yorkshire or the lake district would probably also agree that we compare pretty favourably to some of the more grand vistas out there even if we are more on the side of ‘picture postcard’.

But we all like different things, I get that.

Michael

E is for Ectoplasm

Her name is Rio and she apparently dances on the sand

If you’re of a certain age and have had a proper upbringing you will know that E is for ectoplasm. You will also know that ectoplasm is from Ghostbusters and Ghostbusters is one of the greatest films ever made.

That should be the end of the post really.

These alphabet things seem to be turning into streams of consciousness for me and oddly they seem to lead me back to the eighties in some ways, a time which I will admit to having problems remembering. It’s all a bit hazy and feels a lifetime ago but as I write and ponder on things they start to come back to me slowly.

Perhaps it is because there is little in my life which leads me back to that time. I grew up in Africa and have little or no contact with people from back them so seldom have cause to think about it.

So ectoplasm got me to thinking of Ghostbusters which led me to remembering that I first watched it at a drive in theatre in a place called Evander in South Africa. A few of us had hitch hiked there with our sleeping bags and Granville’s dad picked us afterwards and as clear as day I can now remember him asking his son if he had slipped a certain young lady the tongue.

He hadn’t, that I remember too. Not for lack of trying I am sure.

Anyway, this turned out different to what I was intending to write but I will go with it, why not.

Tomorrow, F is for Fat

D is for Duran Duran

Her name is Rio and she apparently dances on the sand

I’ll be buggered if I know why I wrote ’D is for Duran Duran’ yesterday, but I did. Well not literally, I think that would be pretty harsh by way of action to be taken if I do at some point happen to remember.

I must have some subconscious Duran Duran issues to be worked through.

I do recall going to a disco in someone’s garage in Secunda in South Africa when I was about 13 and all they played was ‘Reflex’ by DD and Locomotion by OMD. Like just those two songs all night long. I recall I was terrified at the thought of dancing so remained mostly outside and a couple of the lads tried to put of aspirin in a coke can and get the girls to drink it because they believe it would make them super horny.

Looking back that is suddenly quite sinister and rather rapey isn’t it. No wonder we are having all these issues at the moment with sex pests and deviant artistic types.

Needless to say it didn’t work but my mate Granville did get to snog Sian Williams as I recall. They were both particularly tall and rather well suited to one another on that basis alone.

I also recall the first time I saw the ‘Wild Boys’ video. Oh god did you see it? Where you there? It was a freaking event the likes of which you just don’t see these days. One of the lads turned up with it on a VHS cassette and we shared it around just in awe. We all wanted to be Simon Le Bonne. Apart from one of the lads wanted to be Nick Rhodes. In later years we discovered why. You have to remember this was South Africa in the eighties. A whole other world, but I will probably write about that when I get to ‘S for Secunda’.

Thinking back, I can also remember the first time I went to a cinema over there. It was 1987 and we had to travel an hour and a half on a school to Pretoria to watch Living Daylights. I recall an argument and insisting, quite incorrectly, that the there tune was done by Duran Duran when in fact it was A-HA.

I also remember that was the first time I ever went to a Pizza Hut. Funny the things you recall.

Tomorrow, E is for Ectoplasm

Resonance

It was 1992 and I was living in Knysna in South Africa. I went to the cinema, a ramshackle old place with the most uncomfortable seating, but working air conditioning which at the height of an African summer is a true wonder indeed.

A while back I wrote here about my relationship with music, and felt that it was more of a series of filthy one night stands rather that a true romance for the ages.

Listening to a random playlist this morning I was reminded of the time when I indeed fell in love at first sight and in fact spent the following years in slow lovemaking on a white fluffy rug in front of a crackling fire with Kenny G playing the high notes in time with my enamoured thrusts.

I recall quite clearly sitting in my seat, and being early the projectionist had put some music on. This was no chain, but a privately owned place. Sitting there, as the music played, never had I ever heard anything, before or since, that resonated with me as much as the album he had playing that day.

You know that feeling, when something just resonates so deeply and perfectly that you feel like it’s what you’ve always been waiting for. Sometimes you will meet a person, read a book or watch a film and it feels like it was made just for you. Yes? Well that is how I felt when I first heard ‘Blind Man’s Zoo’ by 10000 maniacs.

I listened and listened and track after track just left me wanting more. I don’t remember what the film was that day, but I do remember heading up to the projection box before the film started needing to know what was playing. The chap was so excited to share as much as he could and actually gave me the cassette that was playing at the time that I could take it home and just bring it back when I was done.

Even now, when I hear the album – which I still listen to regularly – I still remember each song like it was the first time I heard it and I am taken back to that pokey little cinema with it’s uncomfortable chairs and the gorgeous melancholy of Natalie Merchant.

Photo courtesy of stevepb @ pixabay