Rainy day's and Monday.

Thanks good people for your thoughts on death last week. Our receptionist is not really the hugging kind of person. I opted just to tell her I have no words for her that would not sound empty, and that she was in my thoughts. She seemed appreciative of that.

It was a simple but honest way to deal with it. While I don't usually avoid a situation involving bereavement, when someone loses a child it is just that much more difficult.


So onto this weeks news. Some months ago my company approached me asking me if I would be interested in doing a first aid course. Being a responsible parent with wee folk in the home I thought this is not a bad thing. Sure I will render the odd bit of first aid to a collegue, but it would be great to have up to date info on what to do if something happens to one of the kids.

The first aid course got expanded in a complete assesment of the Occupational Health and Safety Act. (This is the law that governs health and safety in the workplace as well as the impact on the environment.). Just what a computer geek does not need to be doing.

So today I attended the first day of the course.

I hate been in a classroom situation, so I figured I would do what always do. I decided to fly below the radar and sit at the back of the class where I would not be noticed. This seemed like a really sharp shoot kind of plan. So I arrived at the class this morning, a short 100 km drive, (60 Miles for you imperial folk) early. I want to be sure of my seat in the back row................................

TOTAL STUDENTS ON THE COURSE....................... 1 !!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I was the soul student . Just me and the lecturer. I sat under his nose the entire day and was personally tutored in the Occupational Health ans Safety Act. At least I can't complain that the lecturer did not devote enough time to my questions.

That said Judas (that was his name) was a great lecturer. There was certain pleasure in conversing with him over lunch and tea breaks. He is of theTswana tribe, a forward thinking African man who clings to his culture with pride. He told me of his plans to marry at the end of the year. He insists on paying a lobola for his bride. Lobola been an african tradition whereby a the groom pays the brides parents for what they have invested in making the bride who she is.

His clothing though can be found only in upmarket stores. No cow skins for him he says.

Tomorrow I face The Act part 2