It's an ill-wind?
(begun Monday 11th August at 5.15am)




Are we providing sufficient entertainment for the new generation during their clandestine visits to our home? As they cut their teeth on Petruccione's quantum laser/wireless program, and learn to hone their monitoring skills on the bewildered labrats they've been provided with?
Names? You want names? We could quite possibly begin with young Benjamin from the DOC, ensconced down at No. 2, and then go on to add Zane, Chelsea, Samantha, Simone, and Sloane, Jade and Gaynor, Gareth and Fatima and Kerry. Not too shabby an intake for this small stretch, I'm sure you'd agree...Prameet and his siblings were among the first to violate our privacy, and I've an idea that No. 17 has a fair amount of catching up to do, but she'll get there in the end. I've left out the Paramedic and the ex-Ward Councillor's cousin, and those living up around the corner on Jan Smuts, but otherwise chances are that each of those names have already been in our home on several occasions, without our permission or knowledge.

Are you surprised? You'd never even heard of the Smart City quantum Army before you began struggling to decypher my updates? How many of the names on that list have already graduated to the extent that they're present when this not-so-great white lowers herself and her abomination into the bath tub, or sits on the throne to dump? How many of them could look me in the eye and give me a genuine smile of greeting, without going purple with embarrassment and revulsion? How many of those youngsters have been taught and encouraged to go after our animals for their target practise, and assured that it does them no real harm? Any idea, Freddie?
Granted, there are names among that lot who will take considerably longer than others, to persuade to embrace the cruel practises preferred by our two fine tutors, but in the end they'll probably comply, or risk being ostracized. Will YOUR precious kids withstand the pressures put on them?

It goes without saying that Shunnon Tulsiram deferred my honourable Vice Chair's questions on the quantum Project to the elusive Jacqie Subban. There is literally no end in sight for the installation of this astounding technology, and in the meantime it's being employed successfully to aid the Project's teams of mischief makers and organised crime bosses in the push to demoralise the population into viewing the New World Order as the only means of saving us from total destruction.
Just how many of the names on my list will go on to be in great demand among the criminal fraternity is anyone's guess. Only those with the right connections, Mr. Cochrane? Right.
Are there in fact groups of quantum 'warriors' out there who've managed to resist the temptations and pitfalls laid in their path? Could this be possible? If so, I've not been fortunate to meet any personally, and sadly, I don't anticipate doing so in the near future.

Tuesday 12th August at 4.20am
I was baffled. Right up until last night, I couldn't figure out what I'd done wrong. When the ever-so-friendly Mike D from Water had rung to say he'd been out and had checked the leak below No. 10, and it had looked as though it was sorted, I'd been up front and had replied that once the grass had grown back and I could no longer see the water pumping out in the sun as it ran down the banks, I'd keep my lips zipped.
If the Project officials weren't going to help my Good Neighbours by laying a pipe in the valley to hide the appalling waste, there was nothing else I could do about it, and that was that.
Apparently not.

At 1.50pm yesterday afternoon the dogs had gone mental, and I'd gone out to find a couple of chaps moving out from beneath our valley boundary wall. A fair-skinned chunky fellow in baggies and a white T, with a shaven head, and his darker complexioned companion, dressed in green and beige. I'd managed to snap a couple of pics as we'd waved to one another, although at that distance probably only their mothers would recognise them.
Once they'd headed back up towards Grindrod and left, I'd climbed the ladder in an effort to see what they'd been up to at the base of our wall. There was a fresh six-inch cut in the trunk of the little mulberry tree HERE. A marker of sorts? Had Adrian Kinsey's 'artwork' on the walls been added to as well? I'll have to check my pictures.
Could the larger of those two blokes be the occupant of this recently refurbished terra-cotta painted property on the edge of the playing field, at the corner of Grindrod and Mary, and just what was his business at the foot of our wall?

I'd been sitting watching Ancient Aliens at 5.55pm (oddly enough, the bit about the god-helmet and thought control!) when Someone had seen fit to re-enact the shower scene from Psycho, using my cancer as their target... Nasty. Things had gone downhill from there, and they'd gone on to concentrate their attentions on the lymph glands just below my jawline and ear for the rest of the evening.
Was that it? Not quite.

I'd been raking the dead grass on the front lawn at around ten to 10am yesterday morning, when I'd thought I'd heard the V8 kick into life, and I'd stood watching to see whether it pulled out of his driveway. It hadn't. Instead, I'd been treated to the sight of the now overgrown shoots of the eugenia hedge suddenly being blown about wildly in a gust of wind that didn't exist anywhere else.
A wind that was quite clearly generated from at least one of Agent Balliram's three aircon units crammed into that corner, as my shift monitor had sought to gain a better view of me standing there with my rake. Halleluja!!
Peace.

Tuesday 12th August 2014 at 5.47am.