Men in Shorts

Being abroad or on holiday is a marvellous excuse for revelations of the fleshy kind. Rotund Ronnie,s , tubby Timothy's, obese Oswald's and stick insect Simon's all believe that the moment that they leave home on vacation they have a license to abandon decorum, style, good taste and dignity as they subject their bleached white bodies to inappropriate attire – namely shorts.
I was suffering from blog-block and then I saw them not 1 but 8 (in a group) men in shorts.
What does one call a group of 8 men in shorts? – probably a belly-laugh.
At this time of the year Cape Town is still a holiday destination and is filled with, both, local and international bodies of every description, shape and size. Being on holiday, men who usually hide their hairy legs, flabby chests, large paunches and white bodies beneath dignified business suits take the opportunity to let it all hang out, and if the shorts are too short I really do mean HANG OUT! I bent down to pick up a serviette in a crowded beach front restaurant and blushed from ear to grinning ear.
The too short and much too short shorts linger on the memory like tight-lipped smiles with bulging cheeks. Worn by the young and lovely they can, at a stretch, be acceptable – especially to middle aged matrons with vivid imaginations.. On the slightly older they raise an eyebrow and a giggle – on anybody over 55 they are, frankly, disgusting. From the front, from the back (stuck in the crack) and from the side – DISGUSTING!
Next we have the just above the knee variety favoured by game rangers, bushwhackers, wannabe bushwhackers and the over 50's who were once boy scouts. Worn in the right environment i.e. The bush or on the farm these, usually khaki, garments can be condoned but over white knobbly knees, with belts, either over or under the beer belly, in Art galleries, on buses, and in fine dining restaurants they do not cut the mustard.
Finally the Baggy – they mercifully do hide the knees and other bits but on the downside make the wearer look as if he has something distasteful lurking in his undergarments and has not had a chance to clean it out. The crutch hangs down, almost to the knees making walking difficult and I am surprised that they are able to defy the forces of gravity as they hang on for dear life to non- existent hips. The baggy must surely be somebodies idea of a fashion joke that has gone too far. What is astonishing is that it is a world wide phenomenon and is worn from Australia to Aberdeen and beyond.
Shorts do not stand alone in the cacophony of fashion nonsense. No pair of self-respecting (or not) shorts would be seen abroad without the appropriate footwear. Sandals and flip-flops - 10/10 docksiders no socks - 9/10 sandals with socks - 0/10. Even worse the white socks pulled up to mid- calf stretching and straining to keep upright against all odds. Dear God please spare the world from men in shorts with socks and sandals. I have even seen one with a handbag across his chest from right shoulder to left hip. Perhaps this unfortunate is living in expectation of a mugging – what more does he have to loose when his dignity is already so far gone.

The IN Crowd

The IN Crowd:
Who the hell are the 'IN' Crowd and who and what are the in? We have all read about them in cheap tabloids and expensive magazines. They have names more suited to foodstuffs and acrylic fabrics than people and we are constantly reminded of their existence on mindless reality (?) TV programmes, but none of the factionalized information ever gets to root of why, who and what the IN crowd really is.
I was recently an innocent bystander at a gathering of the IN crowd on one of the fancier wine estates in the Wastern Cape - the estate must remain anonymous to protect this innocent bystander – and was able to observe from behind very large sunglasses, the IN crowd out of doors, and alternatively laugh and weep into my, not too shabby, wine.
IN men - the hunter of the species can almost always be recognised by his white of beige chinos, docksiders, probably brown but I have seen one black pair, and a Polo shirt mind you these days cotton, linen or lawn long sleeved shirts are quite acceptable provided that the sleeves are rolled over twice. Hair can be short and sleek or long and unruly over tanned faces and very loud voices.
The female is willowy, thin, tanned, expensively dressed, vacant expression with extensive smile revealing a set of perfect teeth. High pitched voice and irritating giggle. Because they all shop at the same boutiques in Cape Town, London or New York they all look depressingly similar. Dress sense dictated less by inherent style or good taste than by money. I generalize there are those that stand out like beacons in a sea of banknotes but one is forced to wonder if they are IN or on the fringe.
What do they do? - They attend openings. Any up-market opening will do. Art exhibitions, Theatre, Buildings, Galleries and restaurants. Not at all that sure about the Opera falls into the ambit. On second thoughts it is very 'in' to boo insensitive directors who create alarming images of overweight Brunhildes' struggling to look seductive in Gymslips and Doc Martins – in Germany.
Now to why. Well they do support the sales of expensive wine, crayfish, and scallops (very 'in' right now). Being a fickle bunch no estate or industry can really rely on their consistency. The flavour of the month being just that.
Do they work? - As little as possible.
Do they have children? Not in public.
Pets are always pedigreed, cars are fast and fancy, holidays are frequent.
Activities are for the most part leisure orientated.
Don't be alarmed they are for the most part quite harmless.
Question: What is the difference between a Bergie/Hobo and the IN crowd?
Answer: Money.

Panel van people

Panel Van People.
For the past 4 years, in Scotland, I have been observed behind the steering wheel of a Silver-Pink Rover 1600 Sedan. A sedate chatelaine demurely negotiating the wet and windy highways and byways of the rural West Coast and the Highlands.
I now find myself in Cape Town, South Africa, basking in the sun, in a borrowed white diesel Peugeot Panel Van – What Joy!
Alarmed at first, not quite sure if I would be able to cope with the idiosyncrasies of driving a vehicle with no rear side windows. I was delighted when I soon mastered the techniques of wing mirrors and parking where it was not necessary to reverse – a large tip to an anxious parking attendant can always facilitate a smooth exit from an overcrowded parking area.
The real joy of, like Mr Toad, taking to the open road in a Panel van is the camaraderie. On my first diesel powered outing I was speeding – well not all that fast – along the freeway on route to the winelands of Stellenbosch when suddenly I heard a thumping. Alarmed I slowed down and prepared to pull over, certain that I was in the middle of some desperately awful mechanical moment. I looked to my right to find a gap in the traffic and into the grinning face of a young man in the passenger seat of another van. The thumping was him banging the door to attract my attention. I saw them - they saw me seeing them - they waved energetically before speeding off.
Several repetitions of this phenomenon had me returning the compliment, and there was I, a middle aged matron thumping, waving and bridging the generation gap on the highways of the Wastern Cape.
Driving out of the city three jolly fellows drew up level with me at a traffic light. “ Hey Ma got any beers in the back?” “ No sorry – I don't drive my drink.” We both sped through the next two sets of lights and were caught at the third. “ Hey it's us, we're still here!” and me “Still no Beer” Much laughter and we went out separate ways.
So you middle aged conservatives in your Mercedes Benzes 4X4's BMW's and Saabs you don't know what you're missing. Abandon convention, kick up your heels and become one of the Panel Van People.
P.S. My little van is in Hospital with an oil leak – I am desolate and wish her a really speedy recovery.