I thought I had found the perfect “tame” Cape Town handyman. He was not very different to the naked guy on the beach in Along Came Polly. He was very foreign, had a pony tail and was nothing short of “steamy.” He did everything from painting my house to tiling my deck – everything was going great!

That was until he charged R350 to lead a wire along the wall from the TV in my office to the plug socket. R350! To secure a wire to the skirting board! Like I was some sort of a fool. Like I had never touched wire before. Like I didn’t know how to hit a hammer against the small nail that secures those little plastic clips around the wire onto the skirting board. Like I couldn’t calculate out how much work was involved. I told him to go fuck himself and buried my head in my hands, wondering if people will ever stop fucking people over.

That was before I was put in touch with HomeFixers.

HomeFixers – Thank God

One of the partners is a good friend of mine and his timing couldn’t have been any better. He understood that I wouldn’t comment until I had taken them through their paces…

Since then The P.A. has called these guys for every job, big and small. Their first job was replacing virtually every light bulbin the Bantry Bay house. That was the job. Nothing else. They came to check the bulbs, went to BUY the bulbs, then came back and put them in! I’m FINE with that! It cost virtually nothing and took them no time.

Then they rewired the “new” stove at The Castle. (You might remember when The Kitesurfer decided to half-install the stove the other day, at 7pm – dinner time). This rewiring process included breaking into the garage which was locked from the inside. No problem whatsoever. That was after we realised the electric board wasn’t in another room which was locked – which resulted in them getting someone else to BUY and BRING one of those door keys that have a code written on them, so we could get into the room in the first place. Hectique!

These guys are out of control! And yes, I have had them at The Safe House. They planed down the front door (which mysteriously decided to grow), turned up the geyser, and even installed a little digital safe I bought to store the multitude of raw uncut blood diamonds I keep with me at all times. That, and Lennon’s original hand written lyrics for Woman.

There seems to be no limit to what they can do. Here are some other things I found out they can do:

That’s pretty much EVERYTHING!

Their pricing system is EXTREMELY fair, charging for time, not bullshit – producing a beautiful well-structured invoice every time. And these boys work FAST. None of the work they have done for me has taken longer than an hour. Check out their rates here. They even have special deals for a full day’s work.

They could probably build a condo in that time..

So if you’re looking for a Cape Town Handyman, check out my boys, Homefixer’s Website HERE.

OR call them on 0860 FIXERS.

Call them now, they’re tame.

I don’t often laugh out loud. Most things simply aren’t that funny these days. Everything just seems to be a variation of something else. MOST comic acts are so bad of late that I actually feel violated after watching them. I generally go home, weakened; I dive into the shower and scrub my body, in particular my ears and eyes, with wire wool – often drawing blood. I collapse in the corner on the floor, naked, holding my knees close to my chest in a little ball, crying, wondering WHY and HOW my time was able to be manipulated and sucked into that particular vortex of crap. (This process can be likened to the meetings people continuously attempt to setup, to discuss issues that could QUITE EASILY be handled via email. God, it’s painful).

That will NOT be the case on Wednesday night.

Corne and Twakkie – 19 November to 1 December
LIVE at The Baxter

My DARLING Sascha from Rabbit in a Hat sent me tickets to The Most Amazing Show for Wednesday this week. She is QUITE aware that I can be somewhat picky when it comes to shows and launches and functions, and began her email with a knowing, “Here’s something that might grab your fancy…”

Spot on!

I replied with a yes before the pixels had dried on the email. (Fuck I’m on FIRE today!!!!).

If there is one comic act I thoroughly enjoy and always refer to when asked as to what local comedy gets me going, it’s The Most Amazing Show, featuring Corne and Twakkie.

I remember a couple years back when The Roofer carried on telling me about The Most Amazing Show. Saying how “amaaaaazing” it was – but not telling me EXACTLY what it was about. I thought he was pissed because he kept on saying it in weird way, using a strange accent. It was very annoying. They (the show) had already finished their run that year and I had to wait a FULL YEAR until I found out what the fuck it was about. Jesus, it was funny.

These guys basically slip into their own little world where they have their own sayings and accent. Referring to you as “golden people” it’s all original, good shit. They involve the crowd in a big way and have a slightly sexual undertone – always keen to impress the laydeezzzz. Twakkie (the smaller of the dangerous duo) is not shy to jump on the laps of chicks in the crowd with the mic in his hand, followed by a spotlight – hitting them with things like “Hey sexy lady!” – SITTING ON THEIR LAPS – like a Yorkshire Terrier on its back, looking for a tummy tickle.

It’s funny shit.

Try and deal with these pics of our boys:

Are you starting to understand what we’re dealing with here?

Check out their “interwebsite” here – www.tmas.co.za (Check out some of their MTV stuff in the movies section).

They’re LIVE from today, 19 November to 1 December so do yourself a favour and make your next click a click through to COMPUTICKET to book your tickets before they’re all gone.

I’m going on Wednesday and I’m already starting to pee myself. The chick I’m taking (right up your street, Twakkie) also said yes without even thinking.

She knows.

Those who know, know.

Those who don’t, beat people with umbrella poles.

After a wonderful night at Caprice, following their ever successful Caprice Volleyball Day, we were treated to another pearler from our Lord Jesus Christ in the form of today’s perfect day (late 20’s, no cloud, no wind. Very sexual).

I packed the perfect beach bag and took Libby (my scooter) down to The Strip to grab a princess wrap from Kauai (it was obviously the princess wrap. It’s not like they sell anything else). Camps Bay frightened me a bit so I decided to stick to last Sunday’s plan and pump a bit of Beta Beach. God it was glorious.

Touch yourself

Everything was just too gorgeous for words. The iPod was throwing out some crackers, as I tossed my Sunday Times into the air along with the Vanity Fair – allowing them both to open in mid-air and fall on top of me untidily. I breathed in the air. The smell of the newspaper, combined with the Vanity Fair and the Piz Buin was incredibly sexual. I had a little tweaker and got into the Beta Beach zone – the zone where hardly a word is spoken and everyone on that beach is thanking God that we have places like this. Where we chill the fuck out without having to worry about a SINGLE THING. It’s the one place in Cape Town where you don’t HAVE TO do the big fake hello and standard 2 minutes bullshit catch-up. If you recognise someone on Beta, a little nod is MORE than enough. We all came here together to escape. Everything.

It was interesting to note that God and Satan chose Beta Beach as the battleground for today’s classic good vs evil clash – as God’s beautiful setting was infiltrated by one of Satan’s FINEST. Possibly his worst yet.

A peculiarly plain looking man in his late 40’s / early 50’s entered the scene, stage right.

I began The Lord’s Prayer in my mind, hoping he wouldn’t set up shop in the BARELY available space between the rocks about 5 meters away from me. I had clearly forgotten some of the words, as our boy flicked open one of those canvas camper chairs. Pretty tame, I thought to myself, watching him erect an umbrella in between his cluster of rocks. That’s when he started whistling. I looked up, startled. Not because someone was whistling so loud that it could be heard OVER Sade’s Your Love is King playing on my iPod (making full use of our new acquisition, The Bose In-Ear headphones) – it was in response to the surely impossible prospect of this little man being a little man WITH DOGS. On Beta Beach.

Nice dog.

I decided that, although UNHEARD OF on Beta Beach, these dogs are obviously the kind that just sit still and don’t bother anyone. It’ll be fine. I returned to my secret little world, closed my eyes and floated away.

That was until I felt a wet nose in my face. I opened my eyes and realised my worst fears had come true. The man’s revolting, smelly dog was on the loose. Its disgusting snout was now INSIDE my bag, having a go at the crisps I bought from Woolies.

"Ah for fuck sakes," I exclaimed, sitting up to see where the dog’s owner had disappeared to. Alarmingly, our boy had not escaped to ANYWHERE. He was EXACTLY where he was before, very relaxed, LOOKING at me and the dog – as though NOTHING was going on.

"Your dog, bru!" I pleaded to the man, pushing the WET mutt away from me, appalled by what was transpiring. I looked at him, expecting him to apologise, or jump up and get his dog and, hopefully, get the fuck off the beach. He didn’t move a muscle. But he did respond:

"Come on, man, she’s 16 years old," was his retort.

I was stunned.

She is 16 years old…

He went on to say that if I had a problem I should "call the cops."

Oh dear….. WHAT are we dealing with here?

He didn’t quite get it. The dog’s AGE was irrelevant. I mean, I fucking love dogs but there’s a time and place for everything. It just wasn’t about that. This wasn’t a case of anyone hating dogs or being scared of the dog or ANYTHING else – this was a case of the dog BOTHERING people. I don’t give a fuck if the dog has won a Pulitzer Prize and is a direct descendent of The Queen’s Corgi’s – that’s not what it’s about.

I explained this to the man, but he just shook his head. I got into the Sunday Times in an attempt to forget what was going on around me. A friend of mine and her boyfriend were also a few meters away and a few minutes later I looked up and spotted the guy pushing the very same dog away from him, disgusted. The dog scuttled away, with something in its mouth, a roll of sorts which had been acquired from the gentleman’s packet of goodies next to him.

"You just don’t get it, do you?" I asked the evil man who was, AGAIN, simply watching the events unfold. Again he told me the dog was 16 years old. It was too much for me and I informed the man of his unfathomable levels of selfishness and how he was single-handedly ruining everyone’s day. I told him that it was PERFECTLY fine for him to take his dogs to Camps Bay beach or Llandudno beach, but people came to this beach to ESCAPE that kind of shit.

"Ooooh, CAMPS BAAAY," he replied in a mocking voice. The kind of overly-posh, larney voice people from Jo’burg put on to tease people from Cape Town. I looked around at my fellow beach-goers, who were shaking their heads in unison. This guy had some serious issues. I have no doubt that he still lives with his mother.

"You’re a weirdo," I informed him.

"You should consider rehab," was his outstanding retort.

"You should consider wiping that secret 3 gig folder off your computer before the police get you!" I said.

He seemed miffed and went for a dip. I didn’t know what to do. He simply couldn’t grasp what was going on. He didn’t understand that there was a time and place for dogs and a wet dog nose in one’s face was NOT something one has to deal with on this beach. There was only one thing I could think of to let him understand the intrusion. I turned my camera’s volume on full and started taking photographs of him.

"Stop taking photographs of me," he said.

"But how else are you going to understand the intrusion you are causing for the rest of us?" I asked.

"What are you going to do with those those photographs?" he replied.

"I’m probably going to take them home and wank over them," I said.

"That’s what I thought," said the guy.

A minute passed and, unhappy with the result, I said, quite loudly, "Or MAYBE I’m going to put them on the internet so that everyone can see what people like you look like"

His chest began to heave as he tried, unsuccessfully, to suppress the anger building up inside his weak frame. 10 seconds later he JUMPED UP and began dismantling his umbrella.

Then, without warning, HE CAME AT ME WITH THE BOTTOM PART OF THE UMBRELLA!

"GIVE ME THAT CAMERA!!" he screamed, hysterically – charging at me with the umbrella pole.

I didn’t move a muscle. It was simply impossible that he would hit me, on the beach, with an umbrella. It wasn’t going to happen. It COULDN’T happen. The day just couldn’t get any crazier. And anyway, who hits someone else with an umbrella pole when the person isn’t even defending himself?

That was when the guy gave a FULL WIND UP and hit me across my legs and shins with the umbrella pole – bending it over 45 degrees. I COULDN’T BELIEVE WHAT HAD JUST HAPPENED!

"Jesus Christ, bru," I shouted, jumping up, with the pole now in my hand.

"Wipe those pictures off that camera right now," he screamed, fetching the top part of the umbrella. He had the umbrella in his one hand and had also released the PEN he had from his shorts, and was holding it in his other hand – like one would a knife.

The pen – can be used as a sword.

I told the man to put the umbrella down and calm the fuck down. I said I would erase the pictures. Everyone sat down.

I fiddled with the camera as I packed up my things. I couldn’t imagine myself staying there much longer.

"There, it’s done. The pictures are gone. Do you want to see?" I asked the demented freak show.

"No, I’ll take your word for it," he said.

Well, he shouldn’t have, because there was no way in hell I wasn’t going to keep those pictures for you to see.

Can you believe it?

This is the result of the attack. People have mentioned pressing charges against the guy but I mean, really, do YOU have the time to press charges against someone who’s only defense for his dog sniffing faces and stealing food, is that the dog is 16?

No, you don’t. These people are best avoided.

Substantial bruising..
Including very unnecessary glimpse of bum
  

Tennis ball swelling on left shin.
Not ideal.

Otherwise the weekend went very well.

How was yours?

(Monya, I hope you enjoyed that Sunday beach entertainment.)

I surveyed Camps Bay from The Safe House, caned a joint, hopped on Libby (my scooter) and took a cruise to The Strip to scope out the skirt. You’d be a fool not to on a day like today. I liked what I saw. I parked the beast and made a couple calls on the grass section between the road next to Caprice and the beach. It’s a good spot to make calls. Try it. The next time you’re nearby and you have some calls to make, park your car and make the calls on the grass. The sea air will do you good. I mean, Christ, look at yourself – you’re a fucking WRECK!

Whilst brokering a deal between two global superpowers, I noticed a bit of movement a little further down The Strip – in the new section that we chatted about the other day.

“Well lookie here,” I mumbled under my breath, intrigued, as the person on the other end of the line carried on about “diplomatic pouches” and the like.

Yes…..as I thought, the new Camps Bay Vida e Caffe had opened!

The red chairs – very naughty

“Whatever, Gordon, I’ve heard that bullshit before” I said, as I hung up the phone and directed my important-looking phone-pacing towards the red chairs.

Ja, look, there is no question – this is easily going to be the coolest Vida yet. I mean, the others are cool – but this one is going to be a joke. It’s all so perfect – you’ve got Cappers on the one corner, and Vida on the other – and enough beautiful babies to fill them both! With every hour of the day suiting one of the two, and ablutions on hand when you need, you could probably LIVE there.

The boyz..

Fine..

Yes…yes. That’s all fine.

I think you”ll find the house beer and wine working particularly well at this branch…

Welcome to The Strip, boys.

I’m not going to get heavily into it, guys. You know, I’ve tried them all. Some are good, some are crap. Some will do. Some won’t at all . Some are cheap, some are pricey – some are dry, some are greasy. It’s a mine field out there. Finding the right product for your hair can be a tricky process.

But don’t panic, you’re not alone. I’ve done the work for you.

This is what you’re looking for:

The Holy Grail – for now

Yup. That’s right! Redken seem to have pulled it out the bag this time. A bit of blue-sky thinking over at the R&D department has resulted in something the guys can be proud of – “Redken Maneuver – working wax.” It’s JUST what the boys have been looking for.

Look, it costs a fuck load. But you know what I say? It’s “reassuringly expensive….” You’ll be looking to drop between two and three hund for this little tub of pleasure. At roughly 10 blow jobs per tub, is that something you need to worry about?

No, it’s not..

Christ, do the math – with Mavericks coming in at R600 for one private lap dance, you’re laughing!

We’re talking a VERY NICE matt finish here, boys – no grease – and a consistency that rinses out very easily with a splash of tepid water. By the same token, a quick rinse of the hands under the taps are all you need after perfecting your bouff. Whilst I am also a fan of the Hairgum range, I just find their Matt Wax too sticky on my hands and hard to rinse out of my do, and the Gummy Wax is just a bit too shiny for Daddy Cool.

Redken have done well and they should be rewarded.

Give it a bash, team, and let me know how it goes.

To be the best you can be, you REALLY have to be the best you can be – let me show you the way.