true. Carla Hamman had to make soup for a league race and hubby Gerald helped. On the
race day, Carla wanted to warm the soup slowly before they set out to do the race, but many a
club member, without being asked for their opinion, made all sorts of suggestions. What time
to warm the soup, how high the temperature should be etc?
Poor old Gerald was as confused as a chameleon in a smarty box, and he was easily led by
what appeared to be more experienced “cooks” and that is when the soup burned. To top it
all, it was suggested to stir the burned soup, ensuring that the nice burned flavour is now well
mixed within the entire pot. Needless to say, when Carla returned from her run, and was met
by the burned soup situation, all the “cooks” that were giving advice were nowhere to found.
Carla was so embarrassed about the disastrous soup experience she actually went home and
buried the soup. This soup died an unnatural death by the sound of it. Carla, I trust that you
buried it as a sign that it passed on and not in the hope that it will grow.
A belated Comrades story is that of Heleen de Bruin, Emile Myburgh, and Danie
Cornelissen. These three members were running together and enjoying their race, with their
names on the number on the front of their vests, until some wise ass read Emile as Emily.
And that was it, from that point in the race Emile became Emily and the actual laughter of the
other two made the distance somewhat shorter, be it at the expense of “Emily”.
We now know that too many cooks spoil the broth, but too many organisers can also spoil the
pancakes. Somewhere between the planning triangle of the “bar moeders”, the social
committee chairman (lady) and the representative of the Doringboom Bende. The numbers
of members to be catered for against the number of pancakes to be made was miscalculated.
Then there was the misunderstanding; if only filled pancakes were to be made, or would
sweet pancakes also be required.
So many toys were thrown from the individual prams/cots, it nearly created a tripping hazard
in the Lapa. Fortunately, the bakers were not put off from their task and went about their
business as usual, and in the end, all work out well. I just wonder who threw his/her dummy
at me, which was thrown from a pram, and I eventually left with it, and it tasted like……no I
will let you wonder.
Well folks, that’s it for now so cheers vir eers.
The Running Reporter