living and dying

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the vagaries of life, surviving, living and loving. we are not dead yet and this is good, carpe diem

 

How many Privates can say were ever 2IC?

So there we were at Ohikik, Cpl HB, OC and The sleg troep, 2IC and the sleg troep forgot something on the weekly rat run order, suddenly remembered after the run had left Omauni and thinking maybe they’d send out the Reaction force.

WR was not impressed and advised the sleg troep to walk to take 4 chaps and walk to Omauni to fetch said stuff, I am buggered if I can remember why the shit was that important, that it couldn’t wait a week.

Omauni

 

The sleg troep being the lazy fuck that he was, figured that there were Donkeys and he was going to ride, A second class ride being better than a first-class walk they say. He never considered why the Bushmen thought it was a crap idea to ride 18k’s on a Burro.

Long story short, A donkey is not designed for comfort, The spine is perfectly positioned to split the cheeks of your arse and rub anything in contact with it raw. I recall having severe pain only a few times in my life, When the love of my life used me as a support for her feet during the birth of my daughter. The bruises ran from hip to armpit.

The other is being the proud owner of a Hiatus hernia. That shit can bend you over and break all your desire to keep living. That is like having a hot poker shoved in the centre of your belly and getting no relief for hours,

And of course the Donkey. Before you ask, yes I have broken bones, wrist, elbow and I detached my fingers with a table saw. None of those compared with the blisters in my arse crack.

I walked, nay limped back to Ohikik with the goodies on the back of the beast. I don’t think I have forgiven WR for that yet. I’d rather have carried the ammo case on the chandelier.

Almost Heaven, Joburg CBD

“Fuck off, who do you think I am, Your Mother? You serviced it you fucking test it” The Goose.
1985 I had just come back from the grens, In my case it wasn’t so much a case of Boetie gaan border toe as, The sleg troep was sent to the border to stop him fucking up the war effort back here in the States.
I had klaared out in December and found a job at Joes Suzuki as an Appie bike mechanic down in Main street just under the flyover. At the time I rode a 250 Honda so had to park it round the back.
At lunch time I had an errand to run, I have no idea what it was, but I know I had to come down President street in front of the courts. The road narrows down dramatically at that point so traffic could be a bit fucked up.
Suzuki B120
On this particular day, I was heading East going back to graft after lunch. I came down to the court and suddenly there were cages everywhere I looked, two cars came out of parking bays opposite one another, two cars swerved to miss said cars and I squeezed through the middle of the mess.
When I say I heard harps and saw Angels, I am not kidding. I left brake marks in my undergarments and didn’t have time to do anything but shit myself and go for the gap. I took paint off both cars with my crash bars. I came to a halt at the robot and was rattling in my boots.
I was a skinny oke so I am pretty sure everyone heard my knees knocking on the tank. A pedestrian says to me did you see that? I says are all my parts still here?
I didn’t have a licence so decided that the better plan was to just fuck off, no harm no foul, the paint on the crash bars looked no worse than the scrapes from my altercation with the tar at Gillooleys interchange.
I got back, told my tale and put the plug back in the B120 that I was servicing and asked The Goose to go test it. Well, you know his answer already.
That was the second scariest ride of my life, no not the scraping, riding that fucking delivery bike.