Silly Question

I absolutely ruled in the late 1970s… the first few years, not so much because I was still figuring out which end was up and what all these things were to be used for.  If you know what I mean.  But by 1975… hubba hubba.

My old VW panel van wasn’t pimped up like the above, but it worked just fine all the same.  (I had a bumper sticker on the back which read “Go ahead and laugh — your daughter may be inside”.)  It looked like this, but was more of a bamboo color:

And then there was the music… even the bad ones are better than the crap we hear today.

I carried a Colt Combat Commander, my .22 pistol was a Beretta Model 75, my .22 rifle was a Winchester 63, and my hunting rifle was the old Israeli Mauser in 7.62mm NATO:


Simpler times, easier life.  I miss the 70s, a lot.

Boxing Day Blowout

Yesterday we hosted the family for our traditional Christmas breakfast:

…but that was yesterday.

Today is Boxing Day, which for our family is as important as Thanksgiving.

Oh yes… ’tis the time that famille du Toit has its Christmas Day dinner (a day late but certainly not a dollar short):  roast beef, roast potatoes and Yorkshire pudding, this year all ably prepared by Daughter and hosted by the Son&Heir at his place.

See y’all tomorrow.


We have a guest in our house:  New Wife’s brother will be staying with us for a week or so, having managed the 330-hour flight from Johannesburg to DFW (some exaggeration, perhaps).

Anyway, he is a man of gargantuan tastes (despite being slender in frame), so yesterday consisted of picking him up from the airport, feeding him breakfast at our place followed by an evening which consisted of beer, wine and BBQ.  Also much laughter and good times (see title).

Today promises more of the same — and we haven’t even reached the Christmas weekend yet.


And he brought with him from Seffrica all sorts of delicacies e.g. biltong, Richelieu brandy and various Christmas comestibles, so the effects of his visit will be felt long hence.

Next week will be spent pretty much at the range, as he attempts to deplete my ammo stock as much as he’s started to attack my booze cupboard.  Little does he know…

What fun.  What glorious, glorious fun.

My head hurts.

Love Story

In an age when marriage is ignored in favor of “hook-ups”, “partnerships” and “friends-with-benefits”, it’s heartening to see how one couple, at least, started young and over fifty years later, are still making it work:

Devoted couple Harry and Sandra Redknapp admit they love each no less than they did after exchanging vows more than half-a-century ago. 

Redknapp was a promising young footballer with West Ham United when he met apprentice hairdresser Sandra Young on a rowdy dancefloor above Stratford’s legendary Two Puddings pub in 1968.  

Months later they were married, with Sandra supporting her husband as he finished his football career with defunct north American club Seattle Sounders before establishing himself as a much-loved coach and manager.

My Murkin Readers will probably be going “Harry who?”  but the fact of the matter is that Harry is as famous Over There as Bill Parcells, Phil Jackson or Tom Landry ever were Over Here.

I know that to people of his generation, such loyalty, devotion and fidelity might seem nothing special, but here’s the difference:  his and Sandra’s marriage has been a celebrity one, subject to all the scrutiny and limelight that only the awful British press can bring.

Stories of his devotion to Sandra are legion (some of which are contained in the above article), but it should be known that Harry would have been a juicy target for all the fame groupies (step forward, Ulrika Jonsson) for whom his notch on their much-chiseled bedposts would have been a noteworthy one.

But he never strayed, and as he’s got older, that loyalty has made Harry Redknapp all the more beloved to the people of Britain since his retirement from football management.

Well played, mate.

Special Day

Dec 7, a date which will forever live in infamy:

However, for me it’s not quite that bad, in that it’s also my dear friend Trevor’s birthday:

…as well as that of my New Daughter-In-Law Kerryn:

Happy Birthday to both of you, and never mind the sound of exploding battleships in the background.

(I should point out that Trevor lives in Hawaii — but nowhere near Pearl Harbor, and Kerryn in Johannesburg, also nowhere near Pearl Harbor…)