Dear investigating officer

Dear Investigating Officer

I hate to bother you as you worry about whatever it is you worry about, as you tuck into your Kenflucky Flied Chiggen. I don't mean to ask you, for the eight - or is it now the ninth time - if you have managed to even get off your chair and engage with us.

I'm not sure what the progress of my THREE cases with you is. The last time I checked you told me that unless I know "who the culprit is, we can not give it to an investigating officer" after you closed the first case. I know the second time you assumed that the fingerprint division was on off for the weekend, so the first chance you had at getting hard evidence was spoiled because you decided that it could wait. *sigh*

In all the spare time I have waiting for you, I though I might take the trouble to find out the meaning of the word "investigation" for you because I believe that the trainers at the Police College may well have forgotten that in your glossary of terms. But as I did my research I discovered what the problem is. I now think I can definitively declare it. You see Mr Officer, and investigation is defined as "the work of inquiring into something thoroughly and systematically". I think systematic and thorough are well covered by the tedious protocol you use to take my statement. It's the work that gets you, isn't it? The seriousness of the crime just does not warrant the effort does it?

You see, Mr Investigating officer, I was under the impression that my hard earned tax money meant that you are actually a public servant, and you should serve me and the rest of those hurt directly or indirectly by the criminal activities around us. I wonder, will someone have to die before you start to investigate?

Anyway - I'm done talking to a disembodied voice on the other side of the phone. I just thought I would write a little public letter - for my friends (who also contribute to your salary). Tomorrow, I will bring the witnesses to you. Maybe you can do your job. Maybe you can't.

Right now - I don't think you give a fuck about me. But I also think you couldn't be arsed about the people that would definitely suffer if we decided to say: "To hell with it - we're going to rather employ the fruits of our labour elsewhere!" Your failure to care just a little bit, Mr Officer, might just mean that one day soon, the 130 people or so that work here with me will no longer be able to feed, clothe and house the over 300 people that depend on them!

So, thanks for nothing - so far! We hope that we can crack the case ourselves.

Blooms that sould beat (some sense into you!)

Mulberry madness

I must just tell you. Shiny gave me a blog award... because I grow flowers. It is my first award so I am honoured. But there was no logo for me to load into my sidebar for all to see, so I can't make up my mind if it was on of those activity "meme's" couched as an award, or a real award on it's way in the post for proud display on my mantle piece in amongst my Super Hero figurine collection.

I would put it next to all my other trophies, but the only other award I've got in my entire life had to be returned to the club I represented (much like Shiny's hurdling trophy) so it could be dished out to the next seasons 'most improved player'.

In any event, it is with a bow and a flourish that I gratefully accept the award. Thank you, thank you... I'll be signing autographs a little later. I may even get to the task associated with winning when Shiny actually allows those of us who care to post the award in their sidebar to go fetch it. ;)

But, I'm here now, posting this post in the hope that some of my former readers will come flocking back to reward my desperate attempts at seeking attention. Well, that's not entirely true - I'm not desperate yet, but I certainly don't mind a little attention.

A Facebook friend, the fabulous "Mr C.D!" made a comment the other day about how much he hates Mulberry trees. Visions of splattered berries and colourful bird poop deposits on what should be the shiny surfaces of his car sprang to mind. How irritating I thought. But for every challenge, there must be a solution! These are a few sprang that to mind:

1. Park in another spot, thereby avoiding the berries splattering from the tree above as well as the large numbers of birds generously lending an inadvertant hand to seed dispersal.
2. Install a scare-crow onto the car's aerial. It's just about Halloween and that might pass as sane for a week or two at least.
3. Spend all his free time harvesting the offending mulberries into a selection of woven baskets, complete with red and white checked lining, to be sold at the local county fair or turned into fifteen years worth of Mulberry Jam (jello for the few American readers who may peruse this blog on occasion)!

Since option three is the one with the most commercial potential, I thought I might even do a little more research on the matter and forward him pruning tips for the off season and a number of delightful mulberry jam based recipe's to help him market the fruits of his labour (and tree).

I've not listed Mulberry trees for the production of silkworm cocoons, because unless your kids are working a sweatshop in your garage after school, lets face it, shoe boxes full of worms pooing all over a fresh harvest of Mulberry leaves are pretty dull at the best of times. And all that silk production will of course not deliver the desired result: Removing the offending berries!

Alas after this stroke of sheer genius, I have to admit that I have now decided to hate Mulberry trees too! You see, we have a Mulberry tree standing close to our office. It's full of fruit and the kids on the farm that normally eat from it seem to have wizened up to their incredible laxative powers and have steered well clear of the blasted 'boom' with as wide a berth as they could muster.

I don't park near the tree and the proliferation of Indian Minah birds in the vicinity keeps most potential berry loving birds far far away. However, this wonderful tree, laden with fruit - that has so far not offended even the most precious of car-bonnet-paint-aficionado's - has spawned a gazillion miggies (tiny winged flies) that hover in rather large but barely visible numbers around the offices!

Yes - these little miggies - duck and dive around our heads all day long, oblivious to the incredible distraction they cause. They swoop so close to my head they just about chart an uninvited course up my nose, or try find the shortest route from one side of my head to the other, through the ear canal. Contrary to belief, much like Amerigo Vespucci and Chris Columbus did not find the wonders of the East Indies by sailing west, it is not a feasible route.

The worst however, is when they fly into the outer reaches of my peripheral vision. Remember now that these insects are very very small and can only be readily observed at close range. Although silent, their presence is very disturbing - which means, like all irritants that fly around ones head, they must pay the ultimate price. But, as any insect worth a little more than its weight in salt should, they employ terribly effective evasion strategys. These blighters do not fly in straight lines. They barely even fly gaily forward if you must know. In fact being so small, they are deceptively quick and are rather difficult to swat with naked hands or whatever other tools may be at hand at any given moment. To my point though...

I had quite a few meetings today, and during all those meetings with all manner of nice and important people, I found myself swatting and clapping at these near invisible creatures. And then, of course, sometimes they weren't even there! I mean, you can only apologise so many times before one starts calling for men in white coats and leather jackets with freakishly long sleeves. In retrospect - I can only imagine how freaking spazzed out I looked! I know, you haven't heard the word spazz since at least 1986, but I used it now and that's that. I can not apologise any more for using the word 'spazz' than I can for swatting fruitlessly at fruit eating bugs.

And at the root of it all: I still hate Mulberry trees!

Blooms... galore

Well - my affinity for posting these days has been totally usurped by the convenience of Tweeting. I can update all and sundry (including Facebook) about my comings, goings and share opinions and links etcetera, etcetera, etcetera!

CV and I have been very very busy of late because of changes in our work environment and lot's has happened since I last posted about daily life. The most significant being appointed a Director at Rolf Flowers.

On the personal front, I went to my first ever PRIDE event with CV and other friends and we had a gay old time! And for CV's birthday, we enjoyed a thoroughly colonial picnic at the Johannesburg Country Club, as one does as one approaches forty. He got oh so many gifts... I don't mind saying I'm a little jealous....

To my point though - before I find myself digressing too much. I love to employ my creative side from time to time. We've been working on getting a Rolf Flowers website LIVE fairly soon, but there's bee a lack of pictures. So yesterday afternoon I spent a whole lot of time taking pictures. If I dare say so myself, many of them are absolutely stunning! There's plenty more pictures than the few loaded here, I just wanted to share a little of what's makes me very very excited. And so without further ado, please see how my job definitely can colour ones life...