د خیبر درہ

Every time I pass this aptly named passage in Stromness it gives me a chuckle. Dare I say it is nearly as treacherous to navigate as its namesake after a few of the local Orcadian brews. The Islander's opium.

A suspicious tale

PS this morning as I was driving to the shops (we've no work today - "Youth Day" - in memory of the Soweto Riots when the cops opened fire on and killed a load of schoolchildren for not wanting to finish their Afrikaans homework) I spotted two extremely dodgy looking lads hanging around the nicer University buildings and residences. And believe me it's not uncommon to see a rough fellow or two loitering about in this country, but these lads took the biscuit. Sketchy-eyed and gawping over hedges, hands in pockets - the elder had on a Blacky Connors leather jacket and a turtle-neck, the younger a white tracky-pants and bomber jacket. Both sported skintight TimJoe start-of-summer haircuts, with complexions not unlike the same fellow's after a summer on the Dawn Treader.
"Hello!" I thought, "how utterly quaint. There's something not quite right here. I wonder did I remember to lock the back door?". Regardless, Betty Bakkie and I bounced along to town to fetch the messages. Two right-turns later we happened upon three more undesireables kicking and shouldering each other and scutting all-round in the street - this time tall, gangly, high cheekboned with red noses in the winter nip.
"What commotion!" I declared under my breath to my 1.6L confidante "you'd swear we were in Casablanca central station ready to hop aboard the 3rd class carraige to Tripoli what with this clutter of uncouth youths hanging about!". Needless to say, my nerves were just about shot.
Then, of course, it dawned on me.
I had just siddled past the Algerian football team killing time in scenic Stellenbosch before facing the Brits Friday night in Cape Town. Phew!
The knickers on my clothes line were safe, for another day.