Mr.Blobz

What better to do that flare up the ‘hood on a weekday morn’? This is one of Mr Blobz’s community-minded neighbours, adding some thoughtful action to the street. Why not?

John Samuel Streeter!  What a guy!  One wonders what the hell he was pumping out of his shack? Diatribes about missing cufflinks and collars? A bit of Handel and Vivaldi?

What were the chief concenrns of the Victorian age, besides their obsession with sanitation? The broadcasts – note – were the first regular ones.  He was then, a blogger in his day, but more so, not just casually downloading the software, but building it, with cathodes and diodes, transmitting from his shack.

This man, ultimately responsible for the Nigel ‘Nosepicker’ Pearce, had a SHACK. Don’t we all need a shack? Mr Blobz knows this shack well – ok, not intimately, having never overnighted or had high tea there – but it’s often piqued the edges of his moustache, given its lovely finishing and skilful trim.

This then, the shack where it all started.Where John Samuel Streeter sipped on his Ceylon tea from a Royal Doulton mug, or had a glass of beer from the Ohhlsons Brewery perhaps, and went live all over Cape Town.

First saw this pooch a few years back. Wonderful to look up and find her there. She’s on our side. I wish she would wave to me sometimes.

I love this spire at St Michaels church around the corner, its wooden-tiled exposure to the elements, the wet and heat and rot, eventual disintegration. I love the spiky nervousness of its heaven-quest, the splintery tiles, beginning to flake and peel away, threatened by gravity, the risk of falling towards an earthly hell.

The patina of despair like an invisible force around the urgent upward thrust. A wooden rocket of faith, ready to take off now for a hundred years, trapped in its moorings.