First, boundless heartfelt thanks to all those people involved in rescuing the dog from Kimberley’s Big Hole. It was an amazing feat, one which that resilient dog truly deserved. Naturally, one wonders how the dog wound up there in the first place, and whether there was any malicious human involvement. Whatever the case, it was a magnificent accomplishment. Bravo, John Seeley and the team!
My wife and I went to the Waterfront on Saturday, after lunch; the main reason being a necessary visit to the pharmacy. As we sat waiting to be served, two young males plonked themselves down beside me. They were both full of bulls**t prattle about a girl who might or might not have been cheating on one of them. The pimply youth pointing his disgustingly dirty bare feet at me fancied himself as the blasé relationship guru, explaining to his bespectacled friend – the one possibly betrayed – that relationships were like cancer. You just had to cut them out immediately after diagnosis. This twaddle, and a torrent of other inane insights, was dispensed in a voice suited to a school sports day’s public address system. The bespectacled one left the shop "to get a breath of air" because his curly-haired head was "reeling from the trauma". His garrulous buddy sitting next to me continued dispensing his platitudinous wisdom to the pharmacy’s astounded queue.
And then … the cashiers’ queue. What is it with people queuing in shops that have those Stephen Hawkins-like voices, telling you exactly which till to search for? I mean, when the sign says "8" in red letters and the voice says robotically, "Till number eight", why do they have to stand motionless to listen, and then check the sign twice before moving? Do they think there’s some sort of conspiracy going on here? Do they believe "Till number eight" actually means "Till number thirteen"?
And why must those folks with pudgy parcels who’ve purchased nothing insist on squeezing past us poor sods in the queue, when they can use the ample exit? Oh, if only life were considerate and idiot-proof! Yes?
Tony Ullyatt
