The third website I found, after googling “most dangerous countries in the world” as part of my research for this post, listed South Africa as number 17 on their list of 20. It has to be said that the list was compiled by someone in the UK and we all know they’re just a bunch of scaredy cats. The first two sites were a little more kind and listed as somewhere in the forties. Based on this reality of living dangerously, I also own a semi-sophisticated security system that allow us to sleep at night.
Or more importantly, a system that allows us to wake up in the event of an intruder on our property.
In order to make this happen, I’ve installed a house alarm as well as four beams on the garden perimeter, that not only sets of an alarm (turning your heart into a glazier) but also automatically notifies an armed response company when it is breached. If the company is any good, they will phone home just like ET and check if everything is in order, before they arrive with sirens and bullet proof vests and guns blazing. An alarm is a fickle thing, anything can set it off. Like a bat, a bird, an elephant, a lion chasing a gazelle, a drunk husband or a sleeping child wanting to go for an innocent piss.
So they call, to check, before they crash.
Fortunately, we have not had the face-to-face confrontation with a burglar, as my waking-up-in-the-middle-of-the-night look will likely scare the poor burglar to death or scar him for the rest of his life, at the very least. We have a different problem…
We like gardening. Or more accurately we like paying someone else to do our gardening. We’re more the landscaping type, telling other people where to plant what. We like sitting outside, sipping wine and watching o
ther people work the work of others. We have birdfeeders and fountains and green grass and luscious trees. It’s truly magical. And the birds agree.
I understand that my friends up North, near the Wall, are currently freezing their asses off but down here in the #17 most dangerous country of the world, it’s spring. The sun is shining, pools are sparkling, flowers are blooming, people are braaiing… It’s also the time of year when birds do what birds do best, they sing. And mate. Like bees. Early in the morning. Let’s define “morning” shall we. Morning is when the sun peeks over the horizon and the first lights cracks the night sky. Or if I want to be frank, five’o clock. So it might be lovely if you hear the birds talking for the first time but it becomes extremely annoying when you hear it everyday at five. But this is still not the problem…
We have a wide variety of beautiful, fantastic birds frolicking in our little garden of Eden. And there we have a flock of hadedas. These birds hate us. They arrive every morning and scream like tweens at a Justin Bieber concert. They certainly don’t make, what some would call, a pleasant sound. It’s just a loud cry for help from a drunk woman in Wallmart, who can’t find adult nappies. But this is still not our problem…
Being the size that they are, the flock of spiteful creatures breach the outdoor beams of our alarm system EVERY time they arrive or depart from the grass. And this sets off the alarm. At the crack of dawn. And this wakes up Wife. With heart palpitations. She checks the time and realises it’s not a burglar because criminals do what most people do at that hour. They sleep. Wife then waits for the call from the security company to tell them that there’s nothing to worry about as it was just the f……….. birds. Again.
She never actually swears, even though I know she’s dropping f-bombs like it’s the second world war, if only in her mind. Because, and herein lies the problem, wife can’t fall asleep again. This happens every morning. You may wonder what happens to yours truly during this time and the answer is very simple. I take my sleep very seriously. I don’t fuck around. When I sleep, nothing on earth can wake me up, not even this…
Wife is not that lucky. For those single people out there, I have one life changing piece of advise, one must never wake a sleeping woman unless it is snowing. For if you do, as per wisdom of Yoda, “Sleeping woman you wakes, not a pretty picture it makes.”
It’s not my fault I don’t hear a thing. It’s not my fault that the hadedas prefer our grass to any other house in the neighborhood. It’s not my fault she is the first contact on the security company’s list of numbers to call. It’s not my fault we had to install beams…. But apparently it is. My fault.
I’m just here warning every bird out there, if I’m getting it, so will you. If you continue to wake my lovely Wife at an ungodly hour and I get the rap for it, I will kill you. And then make pie.
Before you call animal welfare, instead of me turning into a violent madman who spends mornings chasing innocent creatures in my pj’s, we decided that we won’t activate the beams anymore. Even though I paid a small fortune for the installation. We’ll rather take our chances with an intruder, whom I will probably put in a mental institution once he sees my half-naked body and bedhair, than risk being woken up by the gang of spiteful, neo-nazis, flying around outside.
And it worked. This morning she woke up at a decent time, all bright eyed and bushy tailed.
Until she remembered it wasn’t a Saturday.