What goes 'book, book, book' - but is not a chicken?

Ok - so I am living proof that there is no such a thing as 'too many coffee mornings' - but I am getting used to it! Great to touch base with old friends through the Blog too - some via FB and some via Blog.

The answer to the question posed in the title of this Blog is quite simple . . . .

Simon Herring goes 'book, book, book!'

You see - I have now written 3 books - well, not so much books, as 1 book and 2 planners. Those folk still on my Christmas card list will know that I have written one full-length book titled Sorry for that! which is available on Amazon. I have re-packaged it and it now has a new photo on the front, but the content is the same. What do you think of the new look. . . . ?

The other 2 publications I have completed are not books, but planners. Here is the cover of The Zimbo Planner for Gentlemen - 2016 which carries as the cover photo a picture used in the blog posted on 12th September 2013 in which I advocated throwing your children off a high mountain as a sensible way of reducing school fees!

Remember?

Then there is the Zimbo Planner for Ladies - 2016 which uses as the title photo a picture of Fred featured in the blog posted on 22nd January 2013, which regular readers may recall.

So what is a 'Planner' then?

Well - simple really - what I have done is take selected blogs, shorten them and then print them on the left page, and then on the opposite page there is a small weekly planner. What a great Christmas present - no? And a fantastic book to leave in your toilet, because it takes about as long to read a page as it does to make a deposit!

For example - this is the page for August 10 to 16 of 2016. Regular Blog readers will remember as being the longest Blog ever posted. It was posted on the 6th December 2013 - and the question in that blog was: 'Who had the busiest week-end?". (The title of the blog was 'Spot the mistake')

So the prize for this week - which involves a Grande Cappuccino and a Bacon & Chive Muffin from the best Coffee House in Zimbabwe as first prize - goes to the first person who can correctly tell me what date this following Blog was posted? Or simply the title of the blog?

As you all know - every single blog ever written and posted can be found at the top of this page on the right hand side. And no cheating . . . . I have removed all the obvious search words like puncture, flat, tyre and girls from the search listings. Either you remember the title - or you you have to search for it!

Here is the blog in shortened format as it appears in my new Planner . . .

And if anyone knows a good Publisher who would publish and also distribute these Planners, I would love to hear from them. But I think we may be too late for 2015 - and may have to put them out in 2016.

So the regular readers and commentators such as Noreen C and Sally dB may well get one for Christmas this year. The rest of you will have to wait for 2016. And those folk who feature in the planners - like my kids and some of you who don't even know I have silly photographs of you, will also get one.

Whatever the case . . . have a great day!

Wanna get fresh with me?

I'm back - again!

Hopefully this time to stay. My life has been somewhat chaotic, hence lack of postings, but everything is settling down into a more ordered rhythm, and all is well. I hope to post at least once a week from here onward.

Having spent several months doing not very much, I have now taken up a 3-month contract running a small, but quality, Coffee Bar in Borrowdale Village. This is the sign above my new work-place (photo taken at 07.00 as we opened):

This is a different view of the shop taken an hour and a half later - showing our outside seating area.

Most days the covered veranda outside is full of folk having coffee, and seating is at a premium. We offer free internet access, and so the inside of the shop is normally full too, with customers on their laptops. I can assure you that there are a lot worse ways that you can spend an hour that sitting outside at Freshly Ground having a fine coffee with either a bacon & chive muffin or a pecan cinnabon, and an aimless chat!

In order to get to work, my trusty steed carries me in and out. As most of you know, it is winter in Zimbabwe, and more often than not I get to work with tears in my eyes from the cold!

This is our product board - many of the cold drinks will not be sold until our winter is gone for good, but it is the coffees made here which are the cornerstone of the business. We only grind the beans when a cup is ordered, and the size of the grind determines how long the water runs through. The grind-size is set according to the age since roasting (in days) of the beans, and . . . the weather. It takes 21 days to fully train a Barista, and I am completely clueless at coffee-making compared to the ladies working here.

Here is our range of drinks . . .

And the wizards who prepare the coffee? Here are 3 of the girls ready to weave their magic and make the best coffees in Harare. No kidding. They are GOOD!

We also sell our coffee - both beans or ground - and the packaging is something a little special! What would you call beans from Freshly Ground?

So - here is my new office - operation control, you might say.

And the interesting thing about the above picture is the file containing all documentation relating to the business prior to my arrival. The business administration was not so good - hence the name on the file.

Third from the left.

Have a nice day!!!!

So . . . where has the chapel gone, then?

Just a couple of catch-ups before I start today's blog:

The winner of the prize as advertised in the last blog was Debs Saunderson from South Carolina - who (quite correctly) pointed out that I look like . . . me! But with a silly little dictator-style toothbrush mustache. Runner-up was my daughter, but she was disqualified. 

Apologies to all those who thought I looked like a fellow called Adolf someone or other. Better luck next time. And if you haven't read the last blog (or indeed any of the 175 blogs I have posted) - you can see them all listed at the top of this page - on the right hand side.

Secondly - a development report on the puppies - they are coming along and growing by the day: their eyes are starting to open, and they look like Vietnamese pot-bellied pigs at the moment. Mum is doing SO well, and she is coping brilliantly.

For this week - I need to go back in time - about a month or so.

The holidays came to an end, and it was time for school to start again, so the car was packed for the term; the combined luggage of 3 girls is not a thing to be sneezed at! Suitcases, golf clubs, tennis racquets and who-knows-what-else is all hidden under the pile in our truck . . 

we reached the school, and I helped one of my daughters unpack her worldly goods ready for the next 3 months. . .

The bed was made, and a thick blanket & duvet spread in preparation for the bitterly cold winters of Marondera. . 

Once my daughter was unpacked and sorted out for the term, I went in search of the Chapel, because, you see, it had disappeared during the course of the holidays.

Believe it or not!

As I remarked in my blog dated 29/4/2014, the Chapel at Peterhouse Girls' and Springvale has always been very much at the heart of the school. This is a reproduction of a pic from that blog taken at the 'Farewell Tea' for Dr Bradshaw - showing the Chapel in the background

And the photos with the Chapel in the background go quite a way back. The following photograph was taken over a year ago - when my youngest daughter first started at Peterhouse. Again, the Chapel features prominently in the background. . . 

So that view of the Chapel at Peterhouse Girls' has been replicated in several past blogs. And here is how it looked at the start of this term - slightly different! The photo is taken from almost the identical spot as the previous photograph - but now only the rear wall of the building remains.

For me it was quite a thing to see such a large part of my past obliterated!

I had been confirmed in that chapel as a young boy almost 40 years ago, and have attended services there both in times past as well as recently. I have sat on the pews recently and listened to welcome speeches from the Rector, Headmaster or Headmistress; and I have a vague memory of one of the boys getting into trouble for pinching the Alter Wine all those years ago - possibly in 1975/6? Was it Balneaves? Or Ferreira? I can't remember the details now, but the fact remains.

 I remember playing with my pet snake (a Brown House Snake) in the pond that used to be in the shadow of the Chapel, and the strange smell combination of thatch roof, wood polish on the pews, and bored schoolboys. I remember limping into a Sunday service after doing damage to myself playing rugby against Ruzawi the previous Saturday, and being allowed to sit right at the back where the teachers usually sat - because it was easiest. And the terror of having to read a lesson from the pulpit at age 11. And the stifled giggles when someone had sneaked in overnight and made the hymn boards all announce that we were to sing hymn 132 over and over again - four times in a row.

So it was a little sad to see it go - but times must change, and we with them.

Even though the Chapel had pretty much disappeared by the first day of term, the symbolism was still very much evident as shown in this view of the side of the building. Rather like the hole representing the Twin Towers, the Chapel remains at the heart of the school - whether it is there or not. . .

What a fantastic photograph?

Have a great day!

The day my haircut got out of control!

As regular Blog Readers will know, I hardly ever feature in the blog myself, and have never devoted an entire blog to myself. But this post is different. And justifiably so.

Today started out pretty much as any other. Two of the girls were home, and so I had the pleasure of playing a few games of squash with Dayna (which foolishness I shall surely regret first thing tomorrow morning) and then we got the camera out and started taking photos of the puppies (of which more to follow in another blog). Then I decided I could do with a more up-to-date photo for my Facebook profile, so Courtney helped me take some pics.

Everything was going fine to start with, and the matter would have ended there as I was quite pleased with the pics she took. . . .

What a handsome devil I am?

However, when she focused in for a tighter angle, we made the astonishing discovery that while my beard has the distinguished 'salt 'n pepper' look achieved only after 50 years of honest living, my mustache - quite unexpectedly, is ginger when expose to the sun. Quite where that came from, I have no idea. As far as I am aware, the only family member with ginger hair was my cat Petty Cash (I got her when she was a little kitty, hence her name) and I very much doubt I have some of her genes floating around inside me.

Ginger? Well I never.

So the decision was made - the goatee must go. Out came the clippers.

Unfortunately . . . . in mid-trim, we experienced yet another of the famous Harare power-cuts (or power-outs for you Americans out there) and my trusty little electric trimmer ground to a halt. This meant that I had to hide in my bedroom for quite some time as I didn't feel I could present myself in public . . .

However, the tragedy with the power gave us pause for thought, and so once the power was restored, we proceeded with the haircut a bit slower than would normally have been the case. And, of course, we had a little fun along the way . . .

Eat your heart out, Tom Selleck! Magnum P.I. has a new face.

Dare I say - improved, new face?

So having discovered the fun to be had with a little judicious trimming - well, there was no stopping us. And this is where we made the somewhat startling discovery that looks can indeed be deceiving.

Startling indeed.

Be prepared to be blown away . . . . .

The next picture is a little blurred, but conveys a little more of the new 'look' currently prevailing chez-Simon

So I think by now, you may have guessed, but here is a clearer picture for you. The person who first writes to me and identifies who I look like will win themselves one night's free accommodation in our flat in Harare. Replies at the bottom of this blog. I look forward to hearing from you!

So - the final picture, and your chance to become a true winner. Complete with a 'Death's Head silver-plated cobra', and a brand new hairstyle!

My wife, of course, is delighted with this new look, and so it shall remain for a while.

I, on the other hand, am not so sure, and have a feeling that things were better before I got the trimmer out?

Have a great day!

The chipolatas are here!

So . . . . the puppies are here. Or at least the chopolatas are! (For my international audience - a chipolata is a small cocktail sausage that we get in Zimbabwe).

But that is only half of the story, because the delivery ward swung into full action when I was Home Alone.

Eish.

Warning!!!! Today's Blog includes photos of puppies being born - if you are a little squeamish - stop, and wait for the next Blog!

It's not as though I wasn't expecting the puppies to arrive. Indeed Honey - who features on the Header Pic of this blog, and has done so for over a year now, had grown positively enormous in the days leading up to Birthing Day: This is a dog who is normally extremely stream-lined:

Of course I am not new to the whole birthing thing - and in fact I firmly believe that there are very few better entertainment options in Harare than the Anevues Clinic Delivery Ward if you have nothing to do of an evening.

 Highly entertaining.

 I have spent three very happy evenings there; you can walk around and visit everyone - (asking how dilated they are and so on), and you get the most amazing results from the smallest tweaks to the taps on gas cylinders, spotlights and stuff.

And it is evident, in Shona culture at least, that the more brouhaha that accompanies the delivery of a baby the better - or at least that is the way it seems. Plus, if you ever want to see an effective enema, go visit a Delivery Ward! Impressive.

With this vast experience behind me, I thought I was not only ready, but fully equipped, to deal with all eventualities.

I was wrong.

I had quite forgotten that though I had been at the delivery of my 3 children, (and had thoroughly enjoyed the labor part of proceedings - popping out for a cigarette as the need arose), when the time came for the children to actually arrive, I had not done much more than shout enthusiastic encouragement and advice from up around the head of the bed!

So when the head of the first pup appeared after about two hours of contractions, and then the delivery stopped as it got stuck at the shoulders, I was a little at a loss as to how to proceed. The puppy was in obvious distress, and its tongue started protruding quite prominently. I didn't want to start tugging and pulling as I was not entirely sure that was the correct way to go about things, so I just resorted to what I knew best, and called out Honey's name with exhortations to "push" - seeing as that had worked so well for me in the past.. Fortunately - after a minute or so of my best efforts, Honey got up and started walking about. . . and out plopped the first puppy!

I was so caught up in my role as mid-husband that I quite forgot to get photos - even though the camera was primed, (and here my highly proficient and competent American nursing friends like Julie Warren, Diane Travers and  Jeanne Wyatt are rolling their eyes at my ineptitude!), so all I managed to capture was the tail being born . . .

But talk about stress! Seeing that pup on the floor was a very good moment in my life as I am not sure what I would have done had it stayed stuck

The amniotic sack had broken during the delivery,and so took a while to sort out . . .

The first pup to be born was by far the largest (twice as large as the others) - a black & tan male. The others were all small, and simply popped out when Honey next sneezed - it was that easy. I guess the road had been cleared?

Of course there had been much excitement in the family, and bets had been placed on the number of puppies that would be born. I settled for 2, (hoping, incorrectly, that this would be easier for Honey to cope with. As the vet pointed out - the more puppies, the smaller they will be, and the easier for a first birthing), two of my daughters settled on 3, and my wife on 4.

So who won the bet?

There are definitely 4 puppies at the Milk  Bar. Photos don't lie . . . .

OK - that evidence is somewhat inconclusive, so I waited for them all to move around so that a clearer picture could be taken.

Well, I can see 4 sausage dog puppies, you can see 4 sausage dog puppies, and so, as far as we all are concerned, the bet was won by my wife!

We officially have two males, one female and one indeterminate.

Have a great day!

'Goodbye' to old friends - 'Hello' the new!

Our departure from La Rochelle meant saying 'Au revoir' to many old friends - as is the case in any upheaval.

It also meant, unfortunately, saying a permanent 'Goodbye' to three friends who had been a part of my life for a cumulative 54 years. When the apple cart gets upset, you sometimes lose a few apples. These are the three special friends I won't see again. . .

First of all, Shupa the cat. (The word 'shupa' means an annoyance or a bother in the Shona language).

Those folk who visited La Rochelle (Hotel!!) while I was there will have come across Shupa. She wandered into the hotel one day - and stayed. Of impeccable taste (obviously!), Shupa had a rib that stuck out at 90 degrees, an injury I guessed was a result of getting caught up in a farm 'take-over'. Whatever the case, she had lived with people before, because she simply settled in as though she had been there all her life, and no-one ever claimed her. Her rib never bothered her, and was just simply part of her.

At the auction to sell the hotel belongings, one of the Buyers told me that his children had fallen in love with the cat, and asked if he could have her. Because we were obligated to leave the hotel by the end of January and had no solid plans for our future, and because I didn't simply want to abandon Shupa in an empty building when we left, I agreed. He took her home that night.

Here then, is Shupa - a cat of rare distinction, sitting on a barstool in the pub at La Rochelle. My constant companion through many days and nights at work. And a bloody pest at feeding time!

The other character whom visitors to La Rochelle would have come across was Blackie - the three-legged dog.

Blackie had come to us as a puppy, and while still a young dog he had run away into the bush, following another dog we had at the time - Pepper. Unfortunately Blackie was caught in a wire snare, and we could not find him. He managed to bite his way free after a week, but the wire had cut right down to the bone, and the meat from his hip downwards was all rotten. The vet cut his leg off, and he lived happily with us for another 12 years.

When we left La Rochelle, we had to choose between taking the children - or the dogs - with us.

It was a tough choice indeed.

After much soul-searching, we decided we would take the children, and so I left the dogs with Jannie Martin to look after for a couple of months. Unfortunately Blackie passed away a couple of weeks after we had left, and we never saw him again. So this is 'farewell' to Blackie - a fine and noble dog, who was a constant companion to our years at La Rochelle. . .

Then Scotch.

Those of you who know me well (or, indeed, those who have read my book) will know that Scotch has been an integral part of my life for the best part of 30 years. He first appeared when I was a student at the Hotel School in Bulawayo, and he proceeded to follow me around the country - to Vic Falls, Hwange, Nyanga, Harare, and finally Penhalonga.

If you wish to see the book (available on Amazon.com) - use the following link when you have read the Blog

http://www.amazon.com/Sorry-that-Simon-Herring/dp/1490579052/ref=sr_1_8?ie=UTF8&qid=1400149818&sr=8-8&keywords=sorry+for+that%21

Scotch retired from work about 2 and half years ago, but because he did not have a meaningful pension, I continued paying him a monthly retainer. He would go home for 6 months, and return to stay at La Rochelle, where he had a room in the Staff Quarters. He would come and eat at the Staff Canteen until he was strong enough to go home again.

Because we had to leave by the end of January, and because he had only arrived at the start of December, I arranged for Clemence the chef to accompany him home. His home area (what we Zimbos call 'kumusha'), is actually in Mozambique. The journey is long and hard, and necessitated finding shelter and a place to sleep at huts along the way on 2 nights. This time the stress of travelling must have been too much for him, because we got word that he had passed away 2 days after reaching his home.

On the eve of our departure from La Rochelle, I took some photos of Scotch - he had come with an old umbrella innards as a walking stick to say goodbye, but unfortunately I also said 'goodbye' to my camera in the move as it underwent an 'alternative ownership program'. I lost those pictures.

So here is Scotch - who watched me grow from a dribbling and mumbling student at the Bar counter in our Hotel School Mess, to a father of three fine young ladies. A good and faithful man, this photo was taken about a year ago.

Travel well, old friend, wherever you are.

So I lost 3 parts of my life during the course of our move. Thank you for helping me to say 'goodbye'  to them.

And yesterday . . . I had 3 new friends come into my life.

It is amazing how the Circle of Life keeps turning. These new friends may not be with me for long, but they are certainly here, and certainly taking a great deal of my attention. So please now help me welcome my new friends - who arrived yesterday.

More of them in the next Blog.

Have a great day!

Shedding a little blood for the common good!

One of the advantages of not being employed is that I have had the time to attend many events which I missed while I was at La Rochelle - for example the Eisteddfod (at which I assisted with announcing), the Harare International Festival of Arts where I have seen 2 productions, the Peterhouse concert; and this week the Schools Rugby Festival.

Just today I have had over 84 American visitors to the Blog, so I am going to devote today's posting entirely to . . . rugby!

In Zimbabwe, we play soccer as our national sport, but rugby is played in our schools, and it is a game which causes much confusion to those watching it for the first time. It is, however, a simple game - much like American Football (grid-iron) except that we don't wear crash helmets (though cloth skull caps for some players are acceptable), we play continuously for 80 minutes without 'huddles and cuddles', we don't wear padding under our shirts, and we do not wear genitalia-revealing spandex tights as our uniform.

No Siree Bob, we don't!

Watching the Festival was very much a trip down memory lane for me - I played  in the very same Rugby Festival some 32 years ago, when I played as fullback for Peterhouse. Those who know the game will be aware that the player in that position wears the number '15' on their back, and today's Peterhouse fullback looked just like me - back in the day!

OK - maybe I wasn't quite that black - but you get the idea!

The crowd today numbered around 2,500 at peak, but on the final day will probably number around 4,000.

Throughout the Festival, there are 132 teams representing schools from all over Zimbabwe, which translates to around 2,900 children playing over the 6 days, inclusive of substitutes. And out of the 132 teams - 22 are made up of girls! No-one can accuse Zimbabweans of being wilting willows!

So there is an almost carnival atmosphere, which may surprise my international readers who are more accustomed to reading of schoolgirls being kidnapped and sold into slavery by the radical Islamists of Boko Haram, than schoolgirls playing rugby. But this is the way we roll in Zim. There were even some 'cheerleaders' in attendance...

I was very fortunate to be able to watch the Peterhouse v Botswana U/19 game today, as well as a lot of other rugby along the way. All in all, the spirit shown throughout the day by the players (with the exception of one 'victory celebration' by an unnamed school which was regrettable as it basically ridiculed the losers) was excellent, and generally all matches were played with integrity and respect.

So let me try and explain rugby to my American audience . . .

The skills needed to play rugby are quite simple. You need to be able to fight for the ball, though it is considered bad manners to punch your opponent while doing so ...

In addition, you need to be prepared to tackle, and be tackled. The game does not stop once you are tackled - all that happens is another gentlemanly fight breaks out for the ball. So it makes sense for 3 players to tackle one . .

In addition, you need to be able to jump fairly high - because when the ball goes out of the field of play, it is thrown back in, and the highest jumper generally secures it  . . .

What a great photo - no?

So what happens when you play a fairly physical game without all the namby-pamby protective clothing worn by the players of the favorite sport of the world's most powerful nation (after China)? Well a few injuries do occur - but when a player goes down, it is customary for play to continue until the next 'foul play' after which the injured player will be attended to. The other players all try their very best not to run over injured players while they are lying on the ground - indeed, everyone tries very hard not to trample on unconscious players . . .

And, somewhat inevitably, a little blood is spilled - but it is all for a good cause. Once you start bleeding quite a lot, you have to leave the field and go and get medical attention to staunch the flow as much as possible. . .

The thing is this - bleeding all over the field makes the grass very slippery, so if they can't actually stop the flow of blood, then they patch things up as best they can, and send the player back onto the field to carry on playing. Any stitching that is required is done when the game is over.

But some wounds are easier to tape up effectively than others. This next photo, for me, epitomizes the game of rugby, and I am only sorry that my playing days are over! Once more into the breech, dear friends. . .

The best thing about having a really good 'blood nose' is the unexpected bounty it offers up the following morning. Indeed, you can safely skip breakfast secure in the knowledge that complex (and colourful) proteins will be at hand throughout the day.

Congratulations to Peterhouse on winning the match, and doing so honorably, and likewise kudos to Botswana U/19 for playing hard, and their 'ne'er say die' approach. Good luck to both teams for the rest of the Festival.

Have a great day!