2oceans Vibe

As much as our every breath depends on the next TBG (Tall Blonde Guy) sighting, it is only now and then that we receive reports which enable us to get a deeper understanding of the myth. A man so deep, so treasured, can never truly be understood. All we get are glimpses….tiny morsels of information that we must try to put together to hopefully decipher the code to which he lives. What does he think? How does he know? And, more importantly, what makes him tick? Today, we receive brief, although deeply satisfying, information about the TBG – before we knew he was the TBG. Some people were aware… even then – Graham M was watching…. and has collected a further nugget of information.

The TBG and Graham M – one of his oldest fans

I was at the same party as your previous TBG sighting, and could not let the opportunity pass me by. You heard about the aura he had at the party, but let me tell you more.

Ever since I was in my late teens, I have wondered who that tall blonde guy is. It was only when I read 2oceansvibe.com that I realised I was not alone. I remember, in about 1996, driving passed a block of flats called Dulwich Green in Newlands, and almost being blinded by a shock of white hair on the side of the road. After regaining control of my car, I saw that it was the TBG laughing and joking with a friend, as he removed his body board from the boot of his Toyota Corolla.

Later I would spot him in Lloyds on a Thursday night (stripper night). There were rows of guys in front of him, craning their necks for a look at that wonderful lady, yet his view was completely unobstructed, as he stood head and shoulders above the rest, a contented grin on his face. Only in my wildest dreams have I come face to face with the man himself. I was a little nervous at first, but his incredible aura put me at ease. He even permitted a photo.

Thank you, TBG, for the memories.

Graham M

Well it doesn’t get better than that. Imagine a TBG sighting, 11 years in the making! God has blessed you, Graham.

Nay, the TBG has blessed you.

15 February, 2007 THE TBG CONTINUES HIS WORK ON EARTH

Yet another finds herself encapsulated

The might and reach of this Cape Town phenomenon seems to have no bounds. The TBG (Tall Blonde Guy) has, once again, delivered a moment of magic to someone very lucky. Tarryn S tries her best to describe the aura that we keep hearing about.

Does life get any better?

Dear Seth

Wow, I still can’t believe it.  I honestly never thought I’d be lucky enough to see the TBG, let alone have him put his arm around me and agree to have a picture taken!  I cannot explain to you how being in his presence has changed my life. I always knew that if I was lucky enough to see him it would be a truly unbelievable experience, but words cannot describe the feelings that rushed over me when this picture was taken…  even now I still get shivers down my spine just thinking about it!
I was at a friend’s house party last week (I had no idea she even knew the TBG!) and out of the blue the TBG walked in and took a seat right next to me!  I actually had to pinch myself to make sure I wasn’t dreaming!  I mean can you imagine?  First off, the TBG at the same party as me and then he sits down next to me?  I had to refill my wine glass just to calm my nerves.
We’ve all read how the TBG â€Å“glows”, but I could literally FEEL the warmth radiating from his body, his aura enveloped me and I couldn’t help but grin in awe of this great phenomenon.  He was so relaxed and laid back, you could literally SEE how his presence brought an incredible peace and tranquility to the party…
I have to say that meeting the TBG was the single most defining moment of my life!

Thank you TBG for making a difference!

Tarryn S.

If I don’t write this now then it just won’t be done. As a wordsmith, I lose the excitement to write a “piece” about 72 hours after conception. I came up with an “angle” for Saturday’s J&B Met story on Sunday evening. So it’s been just under 72 hours since then. The angle was to use the J&B Met story to talk about the Caprice tent, and then, confusingly, show pics from the day Caprice took me on a yacht to Clifton. The yacht pics were never shown on 2oceans because the 72 hour period had lapsed before I had a chance to put them up. So this, is basically a loophole.

Horses, transport or sport?

It was the J&B Met on Saturday. Some of you might know that. I was delivered to the Met in a Chrysler Voyager, by lunatics. The wine-polluted ride there was adventurous, to say the least. For example, the bass from Manny’s car’s “system” was setting off car alarms on the side of the road. I arrived at the met shaken, not stirred.

(Is that even vaguely funny? Are you finding this story funny? Is it funny at all?).

(Who am I? Why are we here?)

(Was I adopted?)

(Why does my Mother have 1,000 porcelain dolls?)

Oh……kay. So anyway, I pinky-promised myself to never arrive at the J&B Met again in anything that doesn’t resemble a helicopter.

The walk to the Caprice tent was a blur for me, as I avoided the various camera crews who, I had heard, had been alerted of my arrival. I was incognito, with shorts and black and silver Havaianas slops with tigers on them.

Setting up camp on the railing next to the Caprice tent bar, I received an sms from Guy at Tiger Tiger, following my request for a guest list that evening.

“With pleasure, Seth, you’re down for you plus 17″

I replied: “Thanks, Guy. You rock. Just one extra request please. My buddy and I are in shorts – we are the only two in shorts – can we make a plan”

Guy: “List is fine, but absolutely NO SHORTS ALLOWED” (He actually used capitals).

Me: “I understand COMPLETELY. Could you please arrange for two 32 waist jeans to be at the door when we arrive”

Guy: “Seth, you know I can’t do that”

Me: “Why not? Do you have another plan?”

And that was where it ended. We didn’t go to Tiger Tiger that night

The Caprice tent was without doubt the place to be. With a full bar on the house, there was a tendency to order vodka-red-bulls from the get go. (I FUCKING HATE “FROM THE GET GO”). Dave had organised the biggest, hottest tent in the picnic area with two full bars, four plasma screens and enough angels to kill a civilian. Amazingly, Gareth Cliff’s waistcoat was there, with him inside it. Positioned safely on the railing, we had leg room and direct service from the angels. Someone had arranged a light breeze which, with the stunning shade, felt exactly like air conditioning. Combined with a quiet joint, there was no need to move. I had an audience with Dave, who assured me we would have mist machines next year. I thanked him for constantly playing a DVD of our day on the yacht on the plasma screens, featuring, in slowmo, my 8/10 backward dive off the yacht. You just can’t buy that kind of exposure.

Horses ran, some didn’t. It would be boring to mention the horse in the main race that lost its rider. I’ll leave that to the others. Was that really your highlight at the Met? I doubt I have a specific highlight – the whole day in the Cappers tent was the highlight. God, the angels!

Come to think of it, I suppose there was ONE highlight that stands out for me. I was chatting to The Model who was being harassed by an angel wanting his number. He gave her his phone and told her to put her number in, as he returned to our conversation. Then she said that she wanted his number. Continuing our conversation, with his eyes still on me, he reached out his hand and took the phone back. It was never going to be that simple – she wasn’t finished with him. Pulling on his arm like a child begging for a toy gun in Pick n Pay, she said that SHE wanted HIS number.

“Jesus! What?”, he asked – putting our conversation on pause.

“I want YOUR number in MY phone”, she whinged. “What is your number?”

He looked at her like he was watching a car crash. After a few seconds went by, he tossed her his phone, and said, “Phone your phone with my phone” – and returned to our conversation.

Read that last paragraph again.

PHONE   YOUR     PHONE     WITH     MY     PHONE!

Let that sink in.

Devastating…

[If you don't understand what just happened back there. Read it again from the highlighted part above that starts "Come to think of it, I suppose there was ONE highlight."]

The after party in the Kreame tent was hilarious and I am happy to report that I left the J&B Met in a good mood – the first time in five years. Dave and co., thank you for spoiling us. Caprice does it well. Always.

(And if they don’t give you a ticket, at least try your luck in the tent hosted by Johann Doms, the Don of the Picnic Area. There are no other options.)

And, while we’re all busy wanking over each other, thanks ALSO for the afternoon on the Ferretti 761 super yacht (which, second hand, quietly retails at about 25 long. Fine.)

We end off this magnificent J&B Met 2007 “piece” with some pics from the day on the yacht. Thank you all for being here.

Give yourselves a clap.

The Ferretti 761 – fine

This is where we live.
Like, the whole time.

It’s probably to do with the “radar”

The personal jukebox, Sox

No parents anywhere to be seen

Still no parents

I think I know a little boy who needs little lie down

Fine

If I don’t write this now then it just won’t be done. As a wordsmith, I lose the excitement to write a “piece” about 72 hours after conception. I came up with an “angle” for Saturday’s J&B Met story on Sunday evening. So it’s been just under 72 hours since then. The angle was to use the J&B Met story to talk about the Caprice tent, and then, confusingly, show pics from the day Caprice took me on a yacht to Clifton. The yacht pics were never shown on 2oceans because the 72 hour period had lapsed before I had a chance to put them up. So this, is basically a loophole.

Horses, transport or sport?

It was the J&B Met on Saturday. Some of you might know that. I was delivered to the Met in a Chrysler Voyager, by lunatics. The wine-polluted ride there was adventurous, to say the least. For example, the bass from Manny’s car’s “system” was setting off car alarms on the side of the road. I arrived at the met shaken, not stirred.

(Is that even vaguely funny? Are you finding this story funny? Is it funny at all?).

(Who am I? Why are we here?)

(Was I adopted?)

(Why does my Mother have 1,000 porcelain dolls?)

Oh……kay. So anyway, I pinky-promised myself to never arrive at the J&B Met again in anything that doesn’t resemble a helicopter.

The walk to the Caprice tent was a blur for me, as I avoided the various camera crews who, I had heard, had been alerted of my arrival. I was incognito, with shorts and black and silver Havaianas slops with tigers on them.

Setting up camp on the railing next to the Caprice tent bar, I received an sms from Guy at Tiger Tiger, following my request for a guest list that evening.

“With pleasure, Seth, you’re down for you plus 17″

I replied: “Thanks, Guy. You rock. Just one extra request please. My buddy and I are in shorts – we are the only two in shorts – can we make a plan”

Guy: “List is fine, but absolutely NO SHORTS ALLOWED” (He actually used capitals).

Me: “I understand COMPLETELY. Could you please arrange for two 32 waist jeans to be at the door when we arrive”

Guy: “Seth, you know I can’t do that”

Me: “Why not? Do you have another plan?”

And that was where it ended. We didn’t go to Tiger Tiger that night

The Caprice tent was without doubt the place to be. With a full bar on the house, there was a tendency to order vodka-red-bulls from the get go. (I FUCKING HATE “FROM THE GET GO”). Dave had organised the biggest, hottest tent in the picnic area with two full bars, four plasma screens and enough angels to kill a civilian. Amazingly, Gareth Cliff’s waistcoat was there, with him inside it. Positioned safely on the railing, we had leg room and direct service from the angels. Someone had arranged a light breeze which, with the stunning shade, felt exactly like air conditioning. Combined with a quiet joint, there was no need to move. I had an audience with Dave, who assured me we would have mist machines next year. I thanked him for constantly playing a DVD of our day on the yacht on the plasma screens, featuring, in slowmo, my 8/10 backward dive off the yacht. You just can’t buy that kind of exposure.

Horses ran, some didn’t. It would be boring to mention the horse in the main race that lost its rider. I’ll leave that to the others. Was that really your highlight at the Met? I doubt I have a specific highlight – the whole day in the Cappers tent was the highlight. God, the angels!

Come to think of it, I suppose there was ONE highlight that stands out for me. I was chatting to The Model who was being harassed by an angel wanting his number. He gave her his phone and told her to put her number in, as he returned to our conversation. Then she said that she wanted his number. Continuing our conversation, with his eyes still on me, he reached out his hand and took the phone back. It was never going to be that simple – she wasn’t finished with him. Pulling on his arm like a child begging for a toy gun in Pick n Pay, she said that SHE wanted HIS number.

“Jesus! What?”, he asked – putting our conversation on pause.

“I want YOUR number in MY phone”, she whinged. “What is your number?”

He looked at her like he was watching a car crash. After a few seconds went by, he tossed her his phone, and said, “Phone your phone with my phone” – and returned to our conversation.

Read that last paragraph again.

PHONE YOUR PHONE WITH MY PHONE!

Let that sink in.

Devastating…

[If you don't understand what just happened back there. Read it again from the highlighted part above that starts "Come to think of it, I suppose there was ONE highlight. "]

The after party in the Kreame tent was hilarious and I am happy to report that I left the J&B Met in a good mood – the first time in five years. Dave and co., thank you for spoiling us. Caprice does it well. Always.

(And if they don’t give you a ticket, at least try your luck in the tent hosted by Johann Doms, the Don of the Picnic Area. There are no other options.)

And, while we’re all busy wanking over each other, thanks ALSO for the afternoon on the Ferretti 761 super yacht (which, second hand, quietly retails at about 25 long. Fine.)

We end off this magnificent J&B Met 2007 “piece” with some pics from the day on the yacht. Thank you all for being here.

Give yourselves a clap.

The Ferretti 761 – fine

This is where we live.
Like, the whole time.

It’s probably to do with the “radar”

The personal jukebox, Sox

No parents anywhere to be seen

Still no parents

I think I know a little boy who needs little lie down

Fine