Passed over as a judge

DISAPPOINTMENT is something that by the time you reach my age you should have the maturity to deal with, and largely I think I can and have. In fact, I think learning to deal with disappointment should be one of life’s first lessons, beginning when a toddler
reaches for your brandy and Coke, or wants to stick its finger into an electric plug socket, and you slap its hand and say, “No!” And all this modern nonsense of saying to children who don’t come first, “Never mind, you’re all winners just for taking part,” is just
one huge and smelly crock of horse manure. You lost, kiddo, learn to live with it.
Stone me, my current loo literature is a magazine, and just this week I read an article about the Tooth Fairy, the Easter Bunny and ol’ Santa Claus, and the question was how do we tell children that actually, these are not real entities, without scarring the little
dears for life. One idiot, a professional one at that, even suggested that we shouldn’t burden the little dears with unnecessary lies in the first place. What, so we’ll have a generation of children with no imagination or sense of wonder, and an inability to cope with disappointment when it eventually happens? Trust me, disappointment happens.
I’m serious. If you don’t learn to deal with disappointment, if you huff and puff until you get your own way, if you throw tantrums in supermarket aisles when mummy won’t buy you something you want, if you throw all your toys out your cot, literally, because
you don’t consider it your bed time yet, then you’ll end up a spoiled brat, later to be a driver prone to road rage, or the type of individual who willy-nilly invades Poland and starts World Wars.
Having said all that, and call me a presumptuous ol’ codger if you will, I must confess that I am disappointed. Let me tell you why.
We get hundreds of e-mails here at the Vryheid Herald, most of them of no relevance to Vryheid whatsoever. But one crossed my desk last week, and one word in its “Subject” caught my eye – “Drinking”.
“Hello”, I said, “what’s this all about?”
It came from a public relations company, and what it was about was that the judging panel for the Responsible Drinking Media Awards had been announced. And they didn’t invite me to be a judge, that’s what I find disappointing.
Stone me, I’ve given a large part of my life to alcoholic beverages, one way or another (quite often another), and a not inconsiderable portion of my disposable income. While in no way could I be described as a heavy drinker, I have been a consistent
drinker and with the duty on booze being what it is and has been, I can confidentially say that I have personally paid for the right wing of one of the jets that were part of the Arms Deal.
And it’s not only what I have personally contributed to the national fiscus; in addition, during the 13-and-ahalf years that I managed bottlestores for Rebel, I must have banked a couple of million bucks, a large portion of which was comprised of ordinary
VAT and the appropriate excise and duty applicable to spirits, malts and wines, both fortified and unfortified, plus Juba, and which in due course would have been paid to the Receiver of Revenue.
In fact, considering the total amount of government money that passed through my hands, and alcoholic beverage that passed through my liver, I think I can confidentially declare that I am personally responsible for the turbines in the engine rooms of the
Arms Deal frigates. Yep, they should have signs on them saying, “These turbines sponsored by ol’ JC in Vryheid.” Sailors should salute me when they come on duty in the engine room.
Then when I left Rebel, I joined the Vryheid Herald, but did I stop drinking? No I didn’t. I joined an industry which is notorious for its drinkers. If you look up the most addiction-prone careers, you’ll probably find the media in the top three, depending on your
source. But resisting the temptations, I think I qualify as a more or less responsible drinker, only occasionally nowadays less.
And then I look at the selected judges for the Responsible Drinking Media Awards.
Not one of them, and there are four, has ever worked in a bottlestore, or at least there is no mention of them doing so in the short CVs provided. Worse, not one of them admits that they love a cold beer on a hot day. It’s almost like they’re embarrassed to admit that a gin and tonic takes the edge off a rough day, and a glass of wine with supper can turn supper into dinner.

And babalaas? There’s no mention of babalaas. How can they talk about responsible dopping if they have no idea of the consequences of irresponsible dopping? Boy, I’ve had my share of babalaas. I know what being stoopid means.

No, I’m disappointed. I should be one of the judges. The Tooth Fairy said so and the Easter

Bunny agrees.