Back From Transcription Hell!

Warning: This posting contains scenes of violence (bush pig hunting), bad language and you will have to understand a smattering of Afrikaans to read the last bit. The bad language has been included not to be crass but purely for its contribution to humour. This material might not be appropriate for sensitive viewers. And it’s a long one!

My life over the last two days
Lately however I have had major trouble sleeping and I suspect that a certain herbal slimming concoction is the culprit. You see, it comes in the form of blisterpacks of really foul smelling tablets. Instructions say that you must drink one before your breakfast and one before your evening meal. And then you read what it does to you and it tells you (with a halo around its head) that it detoxes you, it speeds up your metabolism, it suppresses your appetite (that one hasn’t worked on me yet) and it gives you energy. Amazing stuff, hey? There is however just ONE flaw in this whole scheme. Please, someone explain to me why I need energy when I am trying to sleep!

At 00:00 last night, whilst lying wide-eyed and bushy-tailed like a squirrel on LSD I discovered how lucky I am and how romantic My Flyboy is. He serenades at me 'to sleep' by snoring. Just this soft purring which is not loud enough to be really obnoxious but just loud enough not to go unnoticed. *swoon* It does wonders for my sleep and crabbiness levels. In his defence however I will add that I think the fact that his rib is now probably broken (we suspect so because something literally cracked in his chest on Saturday and he has been in pain since) makes it is uncomfortable for him to lie on his side, the non-snoring position.

There is another reason for the insomnia and to relate I first have to make a confession.
Katt: “My name is Katt and I am a …. Transcription typist.”
Group: “Hi Katt.”
Katt: “It has been one hour since I typed my last document and…”
Well, you get the picture.
When you tell people you are a transcription typist they get currency signs in their eyes and ask how you get paid and how much. And then they start imagining the perks like sitting behind your desk at 11:14 in the morning in your pyjamas with a cup of coffee in your hand because you have a good excuse, you have been up since sparrow fart finishing a document that had to be finished by 10:00 OR ELSE. However, what is not apparent is that

• no amount of money per page can make the shocking, cell ‘phone plagued recording any more audible,
• no amount of money will make the person whose verbal drivel you have to type speak more coherently or properly and
• no amount of money will make you type the word democratise for the Nth time and not cringe because I mean come on, democratise?

My recommendation to any young person faced with a career choice and considering transcription typing, rather become an S & M gimp; you will enjoy slightly less pain and more job satisfaction.

Yesterday we had a bit of action. Bushpigs were spotted on the farm and seeing as they are classified as a pest, some of the local guys decided to ‘hunt bushpigs.’ Personally I think it was just a good excuse not to work because you can have fun (very illegal for staff) under the auspices of “We are doing something for the good of the farm.” A summary of what transpired:

• My gundog (pointer/retriever) took it upon himself to ‘fetch’ a live porcupine (pronounced Porky Pines in the EC). Fortunately nothing vital got in the way of the quills but if one had to skin him his facial skin would probably resemble a tea strainer. When he saw another porky later that day he looked the other way and pretended he was admiring the clouds – Poor Baby felt very sorry for himself!
• The pigs appeared half a minute after Flyboy left the scene of action with the result that there were three guys left with only two guns between them. When the opportunity to get a good shot off arose none of the shooters could fire straight and the guy without a gun actually incapacitated the pig by throwing a rock at it. I kid you not! The guys with the guns are not going to live that one down easily.

Bits ‘n Pieces
Happiness is:
The 2 cats actually coming within close proximity of the dog (alias Tea Strainer) so that they can cuddle up to you. This morning I woke up to discover I was the filling in a Human/Canine/Feline sandwich. It makes me feel loved!

Now I just wish someone could explain to me why all cats come standard with a factory fitted device that can detect that early morning full bladder. Of course, once the target has been discovered the damn cat will proceed to tap dance on it. Why? Tell me why!

Hopefully I will be able to supply a Pearl of Incredulity with each posting – considering the vast amounts of material available and the source, I am sure that will not be a problem. What is a Pearl of Incredulity? The woman who gave birth to me must be one of the strangest, most bizarre people I have ever known. Yes, I do love her when I am not strangling her in my mind or staring into space contemplating the strong possibility that I am adopted.

So without further ado Today’s Pearl of Incredulity:
Transcription of cellular ‘phone call:
Mother: “Did you SMS me?”
Katt: “No, why?”
Mother: “I didn’t have my cell ‘phone with me a short while ago and now I see there are SMSes on it. So it wasn’t you, it must have been the office. Okay, bye.” In case you don’t think there is anything wrong with that, just think about it carefully.

Conversations:
Overheard in our kitchen last night after ‘phone call from Katt’s mother:
Katt: Please shoot me if I ever become as cantankerous as my parents.
Flyboy (without missing a beat): Where’s my gun?

And finally the following is an extract with a chat I had with the Viking yesterday:
The Viking says: LO? Where the hell art thou?
Katt says: LOL I am here.
The Viking says: I'm a poet and don't even know it.
Katt says: The funny thing is with my current frame of mine I read the word poet in Afrikaans and it came out... well, you work it out. It sounds strange.
The Viking says: You've got sex on the brain, haha, and not just any sex.
Katt says: ... huh? How do you figure that?
The Viking says: Poet = poes = 50% of sex....
Katt says: No man, no “s”...
The Viking says: all you need is a penit...
The Viking says: then you have a poet, a penit and tex.

Yes, I am actually paying for an aeroplane ticket up north and I am going to stay with this creature!