Call a Spade a Shovel
Gavin Tucker
Copyright 2012 by Gavin Tucker
Smashwords Edition
Introduction
I have always wanted to write a book. It’s been on my bucket list since a few years after I was potty trained. Although, I never thought it would be a book like Call a Spade a Shovel. I always assumed that the day I sat down to write, I would actually have plans for the course that it will one day take.
But that’s not the case with Call a Spade a Shovel. In fact, when I first started messing around with this book, I didn’t actually think that I would turn it into something publishable. That’s largely because it began with me coming home from work and jotting down random thoughts. Most of the ideas I wrote down I felt I was alone on and that no one could possibly see my viewpoints. So you can understand how I didn’t ever see it turning into a manuscript.
I began to translate my thoughts onto Facebook. Contrary to expectations people started following my page just to see what I was going to say next. And more importantly, they felt that what I considered crap and ranting’s, actually made some sense, albeit, in a very roundabout way.
It was only after a year and a bit of being vocal on social networks that someone suggested I write a book and that they would buy it. Immediately I remembered the little columns I used to write for myself when I was bored. I went back and looked for the scribbling’s that had been my old hobby and reworked them into a book.
One of the things that became prevalent to me while writing this book was that we take ourselves very seriously and seldom afford a laugh at our stupidity. How can one not want to take the piss when they make it so easy? I suppose it’s the very reason bullies pick on the short kid with the glasses and Melrose lunchbox. The temptation is just too strong.
Even though I have a laugh at you and me, and that of the country, I love this place tremendously. And I also feel that I’m ever indebted to the people who I write about for providing me with endless material.
Also, if it wasn’t for the friends and Facebook acquaintances that spurred me on to put this book together, I’d probably be writing about saving the world and protecting the Alaskan snow mouse. After that I would likely have set sail to some far off rain forest and spent my nights waving a banner with the words, ‘leave our trees alone’ emblazoned across it. So I owe plenty of thanks that you didn’t allow me to venture off in that direction either.
As you may imagine, there are a great number of people, particularly those that meet the criteria for a mocking, who have deleted me on Facebook. When they unfriended me I think I lost months of sleep at a time. And then it went down to weeks and days. I’m happy to say that I have now recovered from being removed from their friends list, even though it was only due to separate opinions. Babies only wish they sleep this well.
As much as I bicker about the folk comprising this country, I don’t think I would have them any other way. Imagine if we were all alike and said things as they are where would the fun be? Perhaps that’s why the rest of the world thinks we’re a lovely bunch of people; I think it’s just cruel to hate people who pussy-foot around tender issues. We’re a special nation and best we start believing that.
Why the expats are smiling
During the last decade, then minister of safety and security, Charles Nqakula vehemently stated that anyone not happy with the crime in the country can go seek shelter in another country. A few years later and I have reason to believe that he has a staple diet comprising humble pie.
It would be grossly unfair to blame poor ol’ Charles for chasing away all the South Africans with his callous words. Many folk would have left regardless of his negligent tongue. Those that remained behind after his speech still feel that he was a jackass for saying that, but then there are those living overseas that probably would like to thank him for his unintentional cautioning. Allow my explanation.
What Charles failed to see was that those he referred to were predominantly tax-paying citizens. And as I’ve mentioned before, a government is an abstract entity because it doesn’t earn money and only exists on paper. So perhaps if his nose was a tad longer he might have thought beyond it but he didn’t. What I’d like to know is with the amount of tax payers in the country decreasing at a tender hand-out rate, what are we going to do when we land up in a situation where we have four million tax payers (read: Government’s bitches) paying for the greater majority who don’t work or earn below the tax line? I just don’t see the point of peeing on the toilet paper before you’ve wiped your bum.
Anyway, it was only when the ex-South Africans moved away that they realised that Charles Nightingale Nqakula inadvertently had their best interests at heart. What with 50 odd people being killed every day and the numbers dwindling rapidly; it’s only a matter of time before you become part of that infamous statistic. Quite frankly I’d rather have someone laugh at me for giving sheep the evil eye when the occasion calls. But hey that’s just me.
One major perk to living overseas is that when you’re engaged in holy matrimony you don’t have to worry about some sexually depraved individual coming into your house in the dead of the night and relieving his urges on your spouse without your consent. South Africans can be very inconsiderate in that regard. Maybe it’s just a game of follow the leader.
Then there’s the issue of skilled artisans being properly remunerated abroad and if it weren’t for Charlie they may never have considered that option. Not only has he set them up for great opportunities but also for their children to be educated in a first world country. I think many thanks are owed to Charles.
We can’t forget about those journalists and avid news lovers that would have been totally traumatised at the possibility of the secrecy bill of information being passed. Where on earth would they have gotten their news from about the country and its happenings? Now that they’re living overseas they have access to the latest and most accurate news on what’s going on here.
I must admit that moving to another country is a massive change in lifestyle and often it’s not the way one imagined it. If you live in Australia there will always be rivalry between the two countries. When the springboks play the wallabies you will be a fence sitter, not being able to commit wholeheartedly to either team. The UK offers nothing more than some vocal kids with pocket knives and promiscuous teens that live for the sole purpose of having sex. And then there is the weather. That on its own is a complete put off.
One can’t escape the reality of being home sick and missing those back home. Even the police are different in South Africa compared to other countries. Our cops lack that get up and go instinct and thank God for that. They would rather receive a bribe than a badge of honour. That’s just how we roll.
Personally, I’d miss the convenient and cheap cost of living that we have here. Compared to a lot of other countries across the world we are still able to live without commanding a CEO salary. Ask those living on less than R5 a day in South Africa, they’ll tell you.
As much as Charles did them all a favour by indirectly telling them that the grass on the other side is better fertilised that ours, what he didn’t let them know is that many a day would pass where they have tears in their eyes and would give anything to be back in the country again. Before you return just have a cursory glance at Charlie and see how fat he’s gotten from the pie and tell me if you’d like to come home again?
Toss the towel on boxing
Thank God for boxing. Where else would intellectual individuals get the chance to rid their frustrations at will but by watching two barbarians whip each other? Despite that we live in a modern world that’s ever advancing we still seem to enjoy an old melee.
As voyeurs who thrive off this controlled bloodshed we don’t mind hurling hundreds of rands at morons in exchange for a decent spectacle of cascading blood. I like to put them in that box of circus animals that perform purely for the pleasure of onlookers who need respite from the real world.