The little nip in the air couldn’t take anything away from the glorious sunshine. I spared a thought for family up towards Underberg who reported a snowfall on Saturday, then promptly forgot about them as I dusted off my surf-ski and headed out off Catfish for a paddle in the oily swell. There were plenty of pale winter bodies catching rays out on the sand, so it’s definitely time to shed the winter flab and measure up for new bikinis.
The perfectly clear water meant there were a few pods of dolphins rolling through. The first one I saw surfaced only a few metres away from me with a great poof! of air. My heart was in my mouth for a few seconds before I realised what it was!
Over the years, particularly in the area of the Tiffany’s reef, there have been turtles, huge jellyfish, yellowfin tuna and even a raggie or two cruising lazily through the water, fin displaying, which is when I increase the pace a bit. Who am I kidding – I put in a sprint, but try to do it in a non-panicky way! It is not the moment I want to fall off. But on Sunday for the first time I scared up a school of flying fish further south, off High Rock. They fly more like seagoing locusts than anything, but are a real pleasure to see.
With no real winter storms this year, the sea has been kind to North Coast beaches. Salt Rock and Catfish are looking their best since the big storm of 2007. It’s taken six years to get someway better, but I suppose it’ll take at least another another 20 to return to the state it was in when fishermen could drive skiboat trailers onto Catfish from Little Maritzburg Rd.
Local fishermen are a bit downhearted about the scarcity of fish this winter. Most mornings when we take the dogs down for a walk, the fishermen shake their heads sadly when we ask about the fishing. My nephew landed a 10kg Garrick off the rocks at Southbroom on Saturday, then in this world of instant communication proudly flashed the picture around to the entire family, Facebook and beyond, so I can offer some encouragement that fishing might improve from the south one of these days.
To change the subject entirely, former Tongaat town clerk Archie Parkhouse sent me this lovely story about a lawyer and an insurance company – two subjects we all love to hate.
A lawyer in Charlotte, North Carolina bought a box of 24 expensive cigars, then insured them against, among other things, fire.
Within a month, having smoked his entire stockpile of these great cigars, the lawyer filed a claim against the insurance company. In his claim, the lawyer stated the cigars were lost ‘in a series of small fires’.
The insurance company refused to pay, citing the obvious reason, that the man had consumed the cigars in the normal fashion.
But the lawyer sued – and WON!
Delivering the ruling, the judge agreed with the insurance company that the claim was frivolous. Nevertheless, the judge said, the lawyer held a policy from the company in which it had warranted that the cigars were insurable and also guaranteed that it would insure them against fire, without defining what is considered to be unacceptable ‘fire’. The insurers were obligated to pay the claim.
Rather than endure lengthy and costly appeal process, the insurance company accepted the ruling and paid $15,000 to the lawyer for his loss of the cigars that were destroyed in the ‘fires’.
Now for the best part . . .
After the lawyer cashed the cheque, the insurance company had him arrested on 24 counts of arson! With his own insurance claim and testimony from the previous case being used against him, the lawyer was convicted of intentionally burning his insured property and was sentenced to 24 months in jail and a $24,000 fine.
Now that’s justice . . .
* * *
Little Tony was nine-years-old and was staying with his grandmother for a few days. He’d been playing outside with the other kids for a while when he came into the house and asked her, ‘Grandma, what’s that called when two people sleep in the same room and one is on top of the other?’
She was a little taken aback, but she decided to tell him the truth. ‘It’s called sexual intercourse, darling.’
Little Tony said, ‘Oh, OK,’ and went back outside to play with the other kids.
A few minutes later he came back in and said angrily, ‘Grandma, it isn’t called sexual intercourse. It’s called bunk beds. And Jimmy’s mum wants to talk to you.’