Guy Fawkes night
REMEMBER, remember the fifth of November, with gunpowder, treason and plots …
Such childishness. Burning the effigy of Guy Fawkes. Throwing firecrackers about. Lifting off people’s gates.
Sheer hooliganism. And what did a plot to blow up the Houses of Parliament in London have to do with us on the southern tip of Africa, anyway?
On reflection, I feel embarrassed, ashamed. That house below road level on Town Hill, in Maritzburg, where we managed to lob a big bang right down the chimney.
The way the whole house seemed to light up with the explosion.
That fellow chasing us down the hill wearing only his underpants. The language he was using! And in the presence of innocent schoolboys. The way he suddenly stopped when he got picked up in that car’s headlights. Ha, ha! Hee, hee, hee! Hoo, hoo! Oh dear!
mercidler@inl.co.za
Ahem! As I say, it’s time we grew out of this Guy Fawkes nonsense, which anyway has a decided smack about it of colonialism, imperialism, neoliberal capitalism and bourgeoise trashiness.
All those fireworks waiting to go up in smoke, the dazzle of stars and the rest of it, the deafening bangs, the opiate of the masses and the fattening of the wallets of the exploiters of the people.
It has to stop. The times are serious. The great society we are building has no place for such tomfoolery. Oh, all right then. Just this once. A handful of ladycrackers in my neighbour’s post box.
Ha, ha! Hee, hee, hee! Hoo, hoo!
Stay!
IN AMERICA the other day a chocolate labrador named Trigger managed to shoot his owner in the foot when he trod on a 12-bore shotgun that was lying on the ground.
It reminds reader Wally Cracknell of an incident at his local shopping centre.
“I pulled into the crowded parking lot and rolled down the car windows to make sure my labrador retriever pup had fresh air.
“She was stretched full-out on the back seat, and I wanted to impress upon her that she must remain there.
“I walked to the kerb backward, pointing my finger at the car and saying emphatically: ‘Now you stay! Do you hear me? Stay! Stay!’
“The driver of a nearby car, a pretty young blonde, gave me a puzzled look and said: ‘Why don’t you just put the handbrake on?’”
Stripes
YESTERDAY we discussed the young lady of Riga, who smiled as she rode on a tiger. It brings to mind a poem concerning British actress Eleanor Glynn. Would you like to sin With Eleanor Glynn Upon a tiger skin?