Hogsback Diaries- First Impressions Year 2000

 

By the time I’d unpacked and more or less settled into my very own little tumble-down Hogsback cottage, invitations were pouring in from several locals keen to get a first-hand impression of the newest arrival.

One fine Saturday morning, I was due for tea at the home of Don, a Botanist and his then partner Deon, an artist. Already I was missing a crowd of my Cape Town friends known affectionately as “The Moffia”, all of whom had shortly before my own departure from that city, upped sticks and moved en-masse to Darling. So I was looking forward to making the acquaintance of the Pink Sector of Hogsback and this was my first foray in to it.

Walking up the grassed ramp leading to their patio, my attention was drawn by the majesty of a near-by flowering tree I’d never seen before. Dinner-plate sized mauve flowers nodded gracefully along every branch and it was all I could do to take my eyes off it during introductions. My own garden was then still in the planning stages and I immediately determined to add this beauty to my list of intended acquisitions.  Made comfortable in an armchair while my hosts scuttled off into the depths of the house to rattle teacups and rustle up little edible treats, I decided to indulge myself with a closer inspection of the covetable specimen.

I sauntered over and leaned on the hip-height wall separating the raised patio from the gardens that stretched into the distance below, cupping my hands together to rest my chin in a fitting position of supplication. The sun was warm, the air still and clean, filled with birdsong.  Butterflies flitted charmingly; this was a moment to savour. My senses thus indulged, it took too many seconds for my brain to register that the tickey-creeper covered wall I had leaned on was not a wall at all.

It was a tickey-creeper, full stop…….severely clipped into a dense hedge and I was at that moment and in slow motion, busy plummeting headlong though it.

I heard an hysterical shriek from behind me as my disappearing ankles were gripped in a firmly masculine embrace. No Adonis, however could save me now, although the respite was welcome as I chose my landing place at the tree’s feet.  Deon hung on, determined I should come up, I that I go down. So there I dangled indecisively until we both agreed that he could let go. I lay there a while, not injured and certainly not dignified, all 3 of us wracked with belly-aching laughter and me thankful I’d visited the WC before coming out.

First impressions being what they are, every so often when Deon and I met on subsequent occasions, one of us would look at the other, the scene would spring to both minds and we’d both be off and laughing hysterically. The curious stares of onlookers would merely make it funnier. I can only hope my own tree dahlias are not offended by my chuckling while I busy myself about their roots.

 

A history of pizza in Hogsback

Snacking recently on a selection of gourmet pizzas whilst admiring one of the most breathtaking views in Hogsback, it struck me that recording the development of the humble delicacy in our midst may be apt. These were produced by Nadia and Morgan in a fantastic contraption fashioned from what is nowadays politely termed a 3 legged pot. Starways have a marvellous handcrafted COB affair and it may be hoped they have some stories to tell of its making and service in the quest to produce pizza for theatre-goers enraptured and enravened. Most may think that Nena's were the first to provide the Italianate repast to self-catering visitors, hikers and locals alike. In fact they were not. They merely did it in a socially acceptable manner.

The original Hogsback pizza-making endeavour deserves mention, lest auld acquaintance be forgot. Who among us in residence at the time, does not smile at the memory? The original cob concept, much "improved" by internet research resulted in a hybrid "leaning Tower of Pizza" remarkable for the fissures which adorned it; those and other apparent "faults" knowledgeably explained away by the aforementioned research that spawned its existence. Pressed nonetheless into service, the thing surprised us all by proving capable of spewing out very tasty meals with its Creator at the helm, paddle in hand, peddling Pizza. That in itself being miraculous, the cost of a pizza was soon outweighed by the entertainment value, aided and abetted by the quantity of "Chateau-Boite" imbibed by Chef, waiter and victim alike. Too many wines never spoiled this Cook.

On days expected to be quiet, which suddenly became busy, Norman, who lived across the street, would be summoned to waitron-and/or Bard duty by the earth-shattering blast of a Not-for-sale-to-the-public firework, ignited by the Pyrotechnician-cum-Maitre-D. He'd come shuffling in with his guitar over his shoulder, often a doobie or two down and ready to serve in both capacities. Monkeys would scatter and all housebreakings in progress within earshot would cease immediately. Pizza production was in full swing and all of Hogsback would know it.

Patrons were never assured of being readily able to identify all ingredients in the resulting offerings, nor of any of it bearing any relation to their expectations or even their orders. Some were delighted by the quick service, happily tucking into meals ordered hours ago by the next-table unfortunates...customers all looked the same in the darkened "dining room" rented from old Bob Hoskyn. The romantic ambience disguised the mushrooms sprouting from the ancient carpets. It could and did happen that pizzas delivered with too much gusto, simply slid off the other end of the table and the whole process would perforce begin anew. A later pizza was always more artistically constructed. Terry of course would argue that this is all entirely exaggerated and hasten to defend his memorable renditions in colourful expletives. However, these experiences remain embedded as described. To this day and as a result pizza and laughter are entwined.

Ingrid

Welcome to Hogsback Diaries

I thought to entitle my periodic posted-to-HBT ruminations on the state of the Village and beyond, "Hogsback Diaries", if I may be so indulged: prompted to do so by a member of my fan Club. Those who do not count themselves among that number should press "delete" now with no offence taken.

So! 2011 is upon us. To someone born in the 50's or below that baby boomer number, this is the realm of science fiction. Those who do not have their heads buried below their knees ( possibly trying to kiss their anuses goodbye) might agree that we are in trouble.

The Country's in trouble, the Region's in trouble and the Village is in trouble. Without dwelling too much on the devolution from the Centre of the trouble ( Government ) we should, however be watching our own ripples in the pond, expanding as a result of our own stones thrown.

What do we see right here among us?

1. Groups of good folk concentrating on issues that interest them, in need of attention, to make things better for everyone.
2. Individuals or consortia conducting businesses, hoping to add value to the Village and still make a profitable living.
3. Residents with a stake in the land just going about their daily lives as private citizens.
4. Residents and nearby-dwellers reliant on jobs from forestry, tourism or private households.
5. The unemployed, unemployable, don't works, won't works and their visitors.

What is wrong with this picture? Let's play the numbers game, whereupon it may be concluded that too few are doing too much for too many and that too many are doing too much to too few.

1. The groups and individuals giving of their time and expertise for no reward do so prompted by their Eurocentric requirements for a sense or order and lawfulness, peace and harmony and in the hope of creating an "expanding universe" capable of embracing the aspirations of "lesser ( poorer) beings". These persons are in the minority, as have they
   always been. Be that as it may, their efforts are stymied and strangled to a large degree by dissenters and fence-sitters too passive-aggressive to be useful and too self-righteous to allow majority consensus to reign. Pity that, it is the scourge of Hogsback, going back decades.
2. People conducting businesses do so mainly out of necessity, sometimes also out of greed...profits are not always retained at source ( this is perfectly legal) but still this group consists in the main of tax-payers and otherwise beneficent citizens.
3. Retirees or the wealthy live on the proceeds of whatever they have accumulated in their earlier lives or had bequeathed and that is none of our business.
4. The employed workforce is a shifting, rolling mass, larger in number than the previous 3 categories put together. At its centre are productive and decent folk, many of whom can show stable employment records going back many years. At the periphery are another group of somewhat more shifty character, job-hopping among us with impunity ( no one has ever phoned me for a reference for anyone no longer in my employ, though I have been in all instances aware of those persons being later employed, thereby pooh-poohing any possibility of there being a legitimate cause for dismissal ...I have, however also had the experience of someone "passing on" a contemptible thief as a "reliable worker" in order to avoid their own obligations to that worker...which adds up to the same problem among us employers).
5. Ah yes and what to say of this lot? Some known, many not, especially of late. Always someone known's aunty's, sister's, brother's cousin uncle. Came to visit and used their last buck to get here, just need to sell the proceeds of a housebreaking to get back to wherever. Just came to party at the kraal and now thinks hogsback is kwaai, a broer kan maar a plan maak. These whiteys are mos half geslaap in the daytime. Brought by a Builder as a handlanger, got fired and what to do but hang about looking for a buck for a paarl and lookie here, no one's home, hulle's kerk toe en niks honde. Lekker in die Berge. It's a kind of perfect stomping ground, isn't it? Us with our heads in the skies of idealization or stooped to smell the roses, or just buried in the sand ( or halfway there, between our knees) . Current science fiction decreeing it VERY un-PC to call a spade a shovel.... And if upon the Spade where the local pond-ripples are, we have insane property rates-hikes / nonsensical water bills for occasional delivery of alternatively muddy , then over-chlorinated then NO water / a when-we-feel-like-it refuse-removal system / no internal roads maintenance ( Provincial scores a few points here) a bunch of locals who prefer infighting to working together to solve their own local problems, break-ins, thefts, rapes, tourists being accosted, drunks falling all over the place, flippin baboons with more rights than property owners / a half-baked Police force / no reliable electricians or plumbers or other maintenance okes...and never mind the cost if you find one who actually comes when he says he will!

Dear God. What the hell's on the Shovel?
Happy New Year.
Ingrid