Go­ing round in cir­cles is the thing to do be­fore you croak

Pretoria News Weekend - - OPINION - Jou­bert Mal­herbe

THE other day I had just got back from my per­am­bu­la­tion around the by­ways of funky Dor­ingk­loof with our big dog, Ziggy.

The tiny Jack Rus­sell-Chi­huahua cross, Fudge, chose to re­main en­sconced be­neath the red blan­ket at home, since it was cold.

Strange-ish weather at the mo­ment; chilly in the early morn­ings, but a few hours later, the sun re­ally starts beat­ing down (to para­phrase Peter Gabriel on the exquisitely en­ti­tled Gen­e­sis song, I Know What I Like In Your Wardrobe).

Well, we got back and I went to check on the state of the dogs’ wa­ter bowl which I al­ways keep filled up. When I turned around, I no­ticed a frog in the swim­ming pool.

It was on the sec­ond step in an up­right po­si­tion – al­most in a yoga pose, arms aloft. I won­dered for a bit whether I should leave it in said po­si­tion to en­joy its aquatic ex­cur­sion.

But, since it seemed oddly mo­tion­less, I fig­ured that it had prob­a­bly had enough and that it was in need of some air. So, us­ing the net, I gen­tly picked it up and de­liv­ered the crea­ture into the ad­ja­cent flower bed, think­ing it would prob­a­bly know its way around.

Well, I’m afraid that when I laid it down – in the Strawbs sense of the word – in­stead of hop­ping mer­rily along terra firma, it promptly went belly-up. It was, to quote a phrase, dead, bereft of life, a stiff… an ex-am­phib­ian.

I in­spected it from close up and it showed no signs of life. At one point I con­tem­plated ap­ply­ing a spot of mouthto-mouth re­sus­ci­ta­tion, but de­cided against the idea.

Quite a size­able toad-like crea­ture, it was ly­ing on its back at that point and I sort of turned it around lest there was still some life there and it had ex­ces­sive wa­ter in the lungs – to no avail, of course. I thought I’d check again later.

I went for a shower and a nap. Be­fore set­ting off for my reg­u­lar sor­tie to Café de Café for a jar or so of the de­light­ful am­ber nec­tar, I went to have an­other look and saw that the frog had re­mained in situ, in ex­actly the pose that I had left it.

Well, what to do? I thought that it at least de­served a de­cent burial and that I couldn’t just leave it to suf­fer the in­dig­nity of rot­ting away in full view of who­ever cared to look. I couldn’t find the shovel, so, I got the fork, but di­cov­ered that the ground was ex­cep­tion­ally hard.

The pick-axe was nowhere to be seen, so I fig­ured that I’d do the next best thing and carry the car­cass to the com­post heap where it will be­come one with na­ture, and from where it will even­tu­ally nour­ish new plants… ah, the cir­cle of life, death and re­birth, hey (not en­tirely ap­pro­pri­ate, but I thought of that great song by Ten Years Af­ter al­lud­ing to just that; Cir­cles).

Well, con­grats to our mayor for clinch­ing the DA nom­i­na­tion for the post of Gaut­eng premier. He’ll have his work cut out, try­ing to con­vince the elec­torate that the DA is a vi­able op­tion. This is es­pe­cially so in the light of the fact that Cyril’s pop­u­lar­ity seems to be soar­ing, as evinced by the Ip­sos poll re­sults re­leased this week.

Even the most diehard JZ sup­port­ers in the ANC must re­alise that the present UBs in­cum­bent is the party’s great­est as­set.

The re­moval of Ja­cob Zuma has robbed op­po­si­tion par­ties of their great­est vote win­ner. The stuff set to be re­vealed at the Zondo Com­mis­sion of In­quiry into state cap­ture is go­ing to be hair-rais­ing, I reckon, as Mce­bisi Jonas’s tes­ti­mony yes­ter­day showed.

Hope­fully, the find­ings will spur Mr Ramaphosa to be more de­ci­sive in act­ing against the rot­ten ap­ples. The in­ces­sant calls for pa­tience, and the as­sur­ances that he’s tak­ing a “long term view” when it comes to root­ing out cor­rup­tion are be­com­ing a bit tiresome.

Ah well, life goes round in cir­cles, as the song says…

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