Posts Tagged ‘captain albatross


House Warming Shenanigans

Here’s a quick, honest breakdown of what happens when you invite people to a party you’re throwing according to racial and geographic breakdown and of course, personal experience.

If you’re in Joburg and you invite 20 white friends to a party, 13 actually show up. Conversely, if you invite 7 black friends, about 15 – 20 show up of which, somehow, you only know 3.

In Cape Town, it doesn’t matter if they’re black, white, Indian, Chinese or Austro-Hungarian, you invite 20 people to a party, 2 show up and they’re three hours late.

By those standards, the housewarming we threw on Friday night was a roaring success. Here’s a couple pics of the insanity that went down.



















After that point, all kinds of shit went down, so let’s just leave it at that shall we? My mom reads this blog.

It was a killer, killer party and went on until some ungodly hour at which point people started dropping like flies, but not before we got this pic of the Slain Barbarian.



And now it’s Monday and life continues from where it left off, in my cubicle somewhere, meek and mild.

And people will ask me how my weekend was and what the hell will I tell them?

“Fine and yours?”

Stay tuned for part 2 at Sidewalk Cafe the day after, where we had beer for breakfast, tequila for dessert and dug our heels in for a good five hours of Bloody Marys.

Until then…



SlickTiger:2 Moving:0

Compared to the shenanigans of Part 1, Part 2 of our epic move from Stellenbosch to Cape Town was executed with military precision.

In one day we managed to move every remaining stick of furniture loaded in a solid brick of stuff on the back of the bakkie I was borrowing from a buddy of mine.

It was every Tetris player’s dream – a double bed, a fridge, a two seater couch, a TV cabinet and a table all stacked and packed so perfectly together you couldn’t even squeeze a hand between any of the gaps and that was before Captain Albatross got to work tying it all down.



I now know that J-Rab and my life can be packed up, uprooted and moved anywhere in 3 car loads and 2 bakkie loads as long as one of those bakkie loads looks like this:



And so, by 3 o’clock on Saturday afternoon there wasn’t so much as one toothpick of our stuff left in the shed which over the past year we’ve come to call home.

Funny how you can still feel nostalgic about leaving a place that drove you completely insane every second that you lived there. Our little wooden house had a certain charm to it and when all the animals living around us finally shut the hell up it was peaceful out there.

I got some great writing done there. Sundays would roll around and J-Rab would go off to work and I’d get up early, make myself some fresh coffee and wander out onto our balcony into the blue morning and soak up the vineyard and mountains surrounding us.

We walked out to the secret dam near our house for the last time before we left. Captain Albatross, J-Rab and I stood looking over the giant Lillie pads that dotted the surface of the dam and watched some ducks float on by while a Cormorant swooped silently overhead and way off in the distance a car glided past on the R44.

I asked the Captain to get a picture of J-Rab and I before we left.



And so we left Stellies and finally moved to the Mother City to start a new chapter in our lives. My morning commute has now gone from roughly an hour to 6 minutes and the flat we’ve moved into has actual cupboards! And a kitchen! And a spare bedroom! And no rats!

Life couldn’t be better Winking smile



SlickTiger:1 Moving:0

They say that moving is right up there with the most stressful things life can throw at you like losing a loved one or getting fired. They’re all supposed to be on the same level which I always thought was a little over dramatic.

I mean moving ain’t that bad right? Load up a bakkie with all your stuffs, drive from A to B, offload, rinse, repeat.



So Captain Albatross and myself borrowed a bakkie from a buddy on Saturday and got rolling.

We loaded up two couches, a bookshelf, the washing machine (FAHK those things are HEAVY!), a couple of boxes, a heater or two, and tied it all down so tight you could pluck the ropes like guitar strings.

We nailed the drive from Stellies into Vredehoek and everything was easy breezy. We get to the other side and started unloading stuff and taking it upstairs and even that was going well until we hit one major fucking snag.

My one couch is fucking HUGE.

It’s the Triple H of couches, nearly two and a half metres of soft, maroon leathery goodness that is the most comfortable basterd I’ve ever had the pleasure of passing out on. I mean, I’ve written some of my BEST posts lying utterly inert on that radass couch. Through the good times and the bad, that couch has always been there, it’s like a long, large maroon extension of myself.

(That’s what she said.)



Anyway, you think we could get that couch up the narrow, twisty stairwell leading up to our flat? Not a fucking chance. We wrestled that thing, we twisted it, we pushed it, we tried to walk it up the stairs one goddamn step at a time and eventually all we managed to do was wedge it in there so tight, we couldn’t get it out.

Which was when we came up with our killer idea of removing the sliding doors to our flat and hoisting the basterd up the balcony with ROPES!

I love rope. I’ve always loved rope. The old-school hemp kind is the best. Soon as I get my hands on that shit I just wanna lasso a fucking horse or climb a mountain or hang a guy. Ropes are the answer to EVERYTHING!



So we set the couch down the way it would normally sit, made two loops around each side of the couch, went upstairs and got hoisting.

CHRONIC fail. Don’t try that shit without gloves yo! What the hell were we thinking?! Also the couch kept twisting and turning and refusing to cooperate in any way, so we set it back down and had a beer.

Second time around we got the bright idea of standing the couch upright to do the hoisting and tying ropes around it like ribbon around a Christmas present. Right about then, the dude who lives downstairs arrived home and offered to help us, which I found pretty hilarious considering he looked like about 70 kgs of cookie dough and admitted to having just come back from Ratanga Junction where he smoked a joint and went on all the rides by himself.

We told him to go upstairs with J-Rab and to hoist for everything he was worth while we pushed from the bottom. At this stage, drenched in sweat and tired from taking all the other stuff up the stairs, I was pretty convinced the couch was going to kill us all. Soon as J-Rab and the Ratanga Junction Stoner yoinked it up, the weight would pull them off the balcony and they’d end up landing, couch and all, right on top of me and the Captain.

“RIP SlickTiger. His favourite couch killed him.”

All I remember after that was dicking around with the ropes, checking they were all alright before we commenced the yoinking and then BAM! the couch was halfway up the building and into the lounge!

I bolted upstairs, grabbed a hold and helped the Ratanga Junction Stoner and J-Rab get the rest of it in and stared in total amazement at the RJS who had basically single-handedly pulled our entire couch up a second story balcony and into the flat faster than I could blink.

“Babe,” I said triumphantly to J-Rab, “whatever that man is smoking, I want some.”



I tell ya, you haven’t lived until you can honestly say you’ve yoinked a couch up to a second story balcony with ROPES!

SlickTiger:1 Moving:0

Next week we haul the final load so that’s the bed, fridge, other couch and TV cabinet, so stay tuned for the next enthralling update because you know as well as I do that there’s nothing better to do on a Monday morning back at work than read stories involving stubborn couches, Ratanga Junction Stoners and ROPES! 😉




People tell me they have crazy families, but I just keep quiet.

This is my cousin She-Ninja, inches away from kicking her brother, Captain Albatross, right in the head.



You wouldn’t believe how many times we had to try this to get it right, but man, it was so worth it 😉



Post on a Saturday

The only people madder than me in this world are my family.

Here is a picture of my cousin, Captain Albatross, spraying the hosepipe at his kids who are standing on a trampoline, holding an unbrella.

Good times 🙂





Today Was a car crash

Fahk, today was a car crash.

Didn’t see that comin’ did ya? Ol’ Slick calls the post ‘Today Was A Car Crash’ and then launches right into the opening sentence, ‘Fahk, today was a car crash’!

Hahahahaha! Um, why am I the only one laughing?

On the way to work this morning I saw two taxis all fucked up, twisted out of shape, people (dead people?) being packed into ambulances and driven to state hospitals to get nasty infections.



I drove on in the driving rain and I turned my fog lights on. I don’t know what I hoped to achieve by doing this, but it made me feel marginally more safe.

The whole day, my guts have been melting. They feel like hot coals inside me. The weekend was a harsh mistress and all I can say is thank the good lord that J-Rab was stone cold and able to get us from A to B cause I probably would have been lousy at it.

Friday night we headed out guns blazin’. Bottle of tequila on the backburner and a pile of beer you could build a fort with. We hit The Barbarian’s place first, then Da Vinci’s for the best goddamn pizza I ever tasted, then a house party with some good people, and a man, we’ll call him The Giant, who had hands that were so massive he could probably break your skull if he ever flat-handed you.



He reads this site everyday, The Giant. He said it keeps him sane on days when office life is too boring to handle. My life had a lot of purpose in that moment, and everything, everything was worth it and I guess it still is.

It was his lady’s birthday party and I arrived sprouting tequila like a leaking ship.

It’s not rocket science. If you’re going to a party where you don’t know a lot of people, take a bottle of tequila. The people that drink it, make friends with those people. The people that don’t drink it, tease them until they drink it, then make friends with those people.

No one remembers you this way. But somewhere down the line you’ll be at another random do on another random night and a person from across the room will call out, ‘Hey! You! I know you! You’re the Tequila-guy from that party that one time…’

We drove to Komemtjie after the party, we snuck into my aunt’s house, passed the hell out and slept like dead people.

Saturday my cousin, Captain Albatross, woke me with a beer and a firm pat on the shoulder. ‘Cuzzy’ he said to me, ‘come let’s talk.’

We sat on the upstairs balcony in my aunt’s old comfy blue chairs, sipping cold beer and watching the cloudshapes changing with time and he told me about his crazy night and I told him about mine.



I kicked a soccer ball with The Captain’s kids and taught them to strum a few chords on the guitar. Dylan is a natural. All of seven years old and already he can count a solid 4/4 signature. I could make a rockstar out of that kid.

We ate mountains of braaied meat and it was good. Jimmy’s marinade was the clear winner that day. We drowned everything in it, even the boerewors and fuck me it all tasted like sticky, glazed heaven. I ploughed through a lot of it and afterward I lay on the grass and didn’t do or think of much for a long time.

A few hours later, J-Rab drove us back home and I dozed like a kid in the passenger seat, waking only when we went over bumps, then gazing through half-shut eyes at the spaces where ocean and land met, those brilliant white beaches along Baden Powell, the greeny-blue ocean the sun reflecting red off the mountains.

We ate at Buena Vista that night with The Loub, a good meal, good company, good times. I kinda wished I wasn’t already half dead at that stage. Energy was hard to come by, it had been a long day.



Sunday I got up late, sat on our balcony and played my guitar for 2 hours to a rapt audience of Anatolian Sheep Dogs. The low chords made them growl and the high chords made them howl. I felt like a demon guitarist, dragged back out of hell to play auditoriums full of growling, howling animals for all eternity.

Not a bad gig come to think of it. Better than rolling a rock up a hill.

I met a man who reads this site from time to time on Sunday afternoon. We’re working on a project together, something that’s going to blow people’s fucking minds.

And that’s really where this is all leading up to.

There are things, big things, in the pipeline for this site. I’m stepping up and calling a couple of shots for once and if this works, if I can actually manage to pull this one off, you’ll be proud to stand and be counted as one of the first people that found this crazy, fucked up place.

‘Oh yeah, SlickTiger?’ you’ll say, ‘I was following his blog WAY before …………… happened. Yeah, those days he used to write differently, like he was talking to us, like it was a private conversation. We liked his stuff mainly, but sometimes he clearly had nothing to write about, so he’d just write about his own life.’

‘We enjoyed some of those posts…’

It’s happening people. It’s all coming together and I couldn’t be happier 😉


A Word From The Kind Folks At Nokia

May 2020