making the back pages...

I've been tiptoeing around some recent events that started occurring last week. I clicked on what I thought was some spurious link some yonks ago and continued clicking until I had entered some survey or another. Then I get an e-mail two Fridays ago, and it turns out I was being profiled on News24.com nogel! Would you believe it?

I thought they were making this stuff up when they said I would be mentioned on the Sunday Times, but there it was, page 17 baby! And they actually spelt my name right! When I started this blog, I never thought it would land me in the papers. My money was on some criminal activity landing me on the back pages (albeit it's not too late). So did the parents, I'm sure, at some stage of my high school career.

I'm properly chuffed! The last time I was in the papers was the Daily Dispatch when I scored some heavy runs in high school cricket and for some arb rugby match I played for the 5th XV. Nothing spectacular, and the same can be said of the Daily Dispatch, the Eastern Cape's hottest print media. But the Sunday Times? Excuse my French, but fuck me!

Then, to top it off, this morning I got a call from the City Press, and they want to write a 'lil sumthin sumthin' about the blog. Something about black bloggers or another. City Press is in Jo'burg, innit? Oh well, I have to curb those snarky comments I make about Jozi. Too bad. My "agent" is doing a hell of a job.

Anyhew, I've heard a lot of what-what from expats moaning about how inaffable people are in sunny S.A. I've never actually given it much thought, but recently, it's occurred to me how untrue that is, through my own recent experiences.

On my way to Home Affairs for instance, I stopped a lady to ask her whether I was going in the right direction, and she eventually walked me there. Hardly the behaviour of a people "always terrified of being mugged" as we have been described.

Another example was when I was lost in the CBD looking for the ABSA House. I asked a few people along the way where I was meant to go, and they all cheerfully helped me out. Maybe it's just the sun being out.

Then at the gym the other day, I rolled out the parking lot and I had to scrounge some coins from the crevices under the car seats. I was still short, but the girl attending the boom gate waved the R3 I was short and let me through (touch wood her boss isn't reading this).

Maybe I'm just an approachable character, or maybe we aren't the bunch of *@!#s safas make us out to be. Personally, I think some of them are a bunch of unmentionables for heading togreener pastures and talking horse manure about us. The cheek.