#alcohol ban in lockdown

[gangnambeat]

강남가라오케 Bar- Seoul

강남가라오케 1등

강남노래방 추천! https://shirtroomsingangnam.wixsite.com/shirtroomsingangnam

저희 강남에서 가라오케 노래방 셔츠 퍼블릭 서비스 이용을 원한다면 지금 전화 한통으로 안내 받을 수 있어요. 고객이 찾는 퍼블릭 시스템까지 전부 이용 가능하니 편하게 문의해주세요.

Welcome to 강남가라오케

Jyjs Junsu Reveals His Luxurious Home With Laptop Room And Karaoke Room

I urge all residents to actively take part within the lockdown for 10 million Seoulites, leaving solely the minimal activities needed on your livelihoods in order that a break from every day life can cease the unfold of COVID-19. In addition, I wish to specific my deep gratitude to SMEs and people who are self-employed for cooperating with the authorities while enduring sacrifices and loss. Seoul has ready special measures to organize for the CSAT and faculty interviews. Assemblies of 10 or more people throughout Seoul are also prohibited starting midnight on Tue, Nov. 24 until additional notice.

Karaoke room must shut after 9 PM, and the Seoul Metropolitan Government will moreover suggest limiting the number of individuals in each room. In addition to the ban on consuming and drinking at Internet cafes, it is recommended to put in partitions high enough to dam droplets. As for personal academies, in addition to the ban on eating and consuming, we are going to limit the variety of folks utilizing public areas corresponding to school rooms in the academy to 50%. With high danger as a result of massive number of aged individuals, nursing facility residents might be prohibited from visiting, going out or staying out in a single day, and outside teacher applications at day care centers will be suspended. We plan to conduct preemptive tests each two weeks for over forty,000 staff and users of services susceptible to infection, similar to nursing houses, nursing hospitals, day care centers, psychiatric institutions, and psychological care services.

The public house within the hallway and Gallery Madang, which can be discovered upon exiting the exhibition, are designed as a platform to additional discussion across the issues raised by the artworks and to construct emotional solidarity 강남가라오케. Through this system of events we explore various ideas of family and the potential for new solidarity primarily based upon empathy. We are, for positive, the karaoke bar with essentially the most fancy and private rooms in Calgary. We promote a variety of alcoholic beverages corresponding to beer, liquor, cocktails, and soju, and have a wide range of scrumptious menus that go nicely with alcohol. We have a place to drink like pub, you'll have the ability to have enjoyable speaking with bartenders on the bar, and have a great time with friends and family at a private karaoke. We regularly invite DJs to prepare numerous events so that they'll take pleasure in music.

It’s a fairly large slice of Korean culture and certainly one of its most gratifying ones at that. You’ll want to know all about it to not miss out on the experience, even if your trip to South Korea will be a short one. A Jjimjilbang is a Korean type bathhouse where you can take pleasure in hot/cold baths, a massage and even spend the evening. After spending time in the sauna and bathtub room, you need to put in your given outfit and head to the communal resting room.

When he was a child, he mentioned, "When I develop up, I'll build a dream-like house for you." And now he stored his promise. The security of AVASPO was verified through Inhalation Test and Oral Toxic Test. In addition, AVASPO Green Air System, which impact may be verified even in mega space, would be the good choice for virus  elimination from life contamination.

[not-that-blog]

I'm realising that I have to have one of those reality bubble conversations that I've always known would absolutely be a thing that comes up eventually but was hoping to avoid.

I am really good at playing the game of 'I'm fine' and like the csa was the worst of my childhood trauma.

Because in a healthier world, it would be.

But the actual reason it continued like it did and fucked me up how it did... is class warfare and poverty.

When you grow up knowing or at the very least being told, that it's lucky you have food on the table and that your abusers are the ones keeping you clothed in appropriate sized clothing, fed, making sure you have uniforms and shoes and doctors appointments and they're the only ones who actually ask about your injuries or help you with homework, etc... and you're already bullied for being poorer than the average demographic in your school at that time... and then when you leave that school to one with an even poorer demographic and you know that you're literally two-three bad months away from being in that level of poverty that is considered some of the worst in your state, at any given moment...

You at some point accept the abuse to both protect others because you'd rather it was you than them being hurt... and you don't speak up because you don't want your family to be even worse off.

And then as a teenager and young adult, I was homeless for random periods of time.

And yeah, I had a legal address and somewhere I could technically have gone back to and did during Covid lockdowns and I was lucky for that... but it was abusive, I went into psychosis, I self harmed, became an alcoholic again and tried to OD and got banned from certain prescription medications bc of it.

I was not okay. I would probably have been better on the street but had threats over my head to come back; mostly the threat of institutional violence meaning that regardless of my wants and needs, they could and would potentially take me back there and threaten me with using my disabilities against me to force me to stay.

And there were no wheelchair accessible shelters and I did not have the physical strength to fight anyone on it and thanks to covid no one else could take me.

So outside of that, I was homeless.

Part of my job is noticing the kids who are like I was, technically had a home, but home was so bad they were constantly wandering the streets or sleeping at friends and other family members places so they wouldn't be in danger or constantly feeling like they're under threat. Because I have to get them the resources that I didn't have and advocate for them.

I am stupidly proud of being able to at one point survive on less than $50 a fortnight.

But what goes unsaid there is; I ate next to nothing and brought next to nothing and relied on a lot of help to the point it was ruining friendships because they couldn't understand why I was always asking for help when I couldn't give it... and the reason was simply that I was poor and hungry and scared and exhausted and it almost killed me multiple times.

That I've gotten into more fights than I care to admit. That I starved. That I lived on near expired food and learned to keep things ultra clean because you can't afford an exterminator when you're poor and you can't afford the judgment even more.

That I know some weird life hacks and common sense and also that I find it really easier to find the fighters who are neglected in a crowd because it's so familiar to me.

And that's part of why I'm good at my job.

And the part that gets me is I was saying to someone that idk if I can afford a pet. Specifically two of the kittens I rescued the other night and delivered to the AWL and that I would love to adopt because I am so smitten with them and miss them already.

And the response that I was given was about food and litter.

And I couldn't find the words at the time to explain that's not the kind of poor I am.

I can find and will always be able to find the money so everyone else gets fed and clean.

But there's vet bills, medications, water bills, rental costs, time costs, potential lost shifts and babysitters and a whole host of other costs that when you're poor you're always aware and afraid of.

I haven't been to the dentist in years because I can't afford it.

I will never have the thousands of dollars in my account for that.

A vet bill can cost just as much.

My friend has spent the last three years paying off a vet bill for a cat he no longer has. (Kitty is alive, the ex just has them)

It's a lot of costs in preventive care and maintenance and time and effort... and still having emergency money because cats are dumb sometimes.

Because teeth and grooming and clipped nails and furniture protectors and scratching pads and trees and litter boxes with mats and enzyme cleaners and changing products because I use a lot of tea tree products atm, and baby gates and all these little things....

It adds up.

And when you have to carefully calculate groceries because you're too poor not to... it breaks you.

Like I fight with my housemate over the leftovers issue bc we both come from a level of severe poverty. I'm 'everyone else gets fed first' he's 'don't touch it until given or everyone might starve' so I don't eat if he's not eating but he panics at the idea of touching what I cook unless it's specifically told it's his.

We're both struggling with the cost of food waste bc of this and how it fucks with my brains understanding of how much food to have when hosting.

I also know how to host but am used to help, he's not used to it and avoids everything out of fear.

We both have severe poverty trauma with different results but we understand each other bc of it.

Trying to explain to someone who I don't think has ever had a complete lack of support system that I come from a level of poverty that was so severe that I ignored all basic instincts to protect my siblings from it and still to this day know that I'm literally one or two missed paychecks from homelessness and being at risk of abused again?

That's terrifying.

Because I know it'll fundamentally change how they see and treat me and I have worked so hard to make sure that doesn't happen.

I just want to hide in a little bubble of 'no one knows' forever.

Because no one should know how scary it was and still is. I'd rather just be weird to them than deal with the knowledge they see me differently because of it.

I know I need to tell them, I know I need to talk about it... but I really don't want to because it hurts and it sucks and I hate thinking about how scary money actually is and how close to poverty I actually am at any second.

And I really don't look forward to having the 'hon, you come from a very different financial world than I do. Because I was raised in a family that was using middle class life as a threat and telling me how much I would get none of it if I didn't play their game and then eventually I chose not to. Meanwhile, I don't think anyone has ever told you that you've grown up in a higher income bracket than you realise and I didn't grow up with any of that. I got it when my sister got money and she got raised with money I didn't have because it was her other side of the family and her kids having that meant I could start fighting my abusers. So I know what it's like, but I have never ever had it.'

I grew up in poverty through a mix of neglect and abuse.

And I am fully aware of what money can and can't buy.

But I also am very aware how quickly savings go and I know that I don't have a single backup plan right now.

[head-post]

Chinese scammers follow Squid Game’s model to prey on debtors

Squid Game-trained Chinese scammers prey on financially disadvantaged people by promising prize money, debt restructuring and other schemes, according to Reuters.

However, unlike the South Korean TV series, the second season of which is released on Netflix on Thursday, Chinese players do not risk their lives if they lose. Nevertheless, Chinese courts have concluded that some participants in “isolation challenges” fall victim to fraud.

Following the rules, they pay hundreds of dollars to spend several days in a room and win up to 1 million yuan ($140,000).

According to the rules, participants can take bathroom breaks for no more than 15 minutes and touch the alarm clock no more than twice a day. Many players are outraged at not surviving the first day because of violations recorded by security cameras, which they dispute.

In October, a court in the eastern province of Shandong ordered the organiser to refund 5,400 yuan (US$740) of the entry fee to a player surnamed Sun. The court ruled that the contract “violated public order and good morals.”

Sun tried to win 250,000 yuan by surviving a 30-day lockdown with rules prohibiting smoking, using electronic devices, drinking alcohol and contact with anyone outside the room. On the third day of the challenge, organisers claimed Sun covered his face with a pillow, breaking a ban that prohibited players from hiding their faces.

Isolation challenges, often advertised on Douyin, the Chinese name for TikTok, have gained popularity this year as the world’s second-largest economy falters. China’s economic woes have prompted politicians to pledge new measures to bolster household incomes.

The National Financial Regulatory Administration (NFRA) warned the public on Tuesday not to succumb to “debt intermediaries.” Praising their services over the phone and in advertisements, the scammers claim they can help obtain new loans or provide temporary funds. However, the regulator warns such services charge high fees.

Intermediaries charge up to 12 per cent of the loan as “service fees,” according to local media. Another scheme involves charging hefty charges to help debtors recover their credit histories. According to the central bank, loans to Chinese households totalled 82.47 trillion yuan ($11.3 trillion) in November.

Read more HERE

[newsaryavart]

लॉकडाउन: नशे की ऐसी लत, बार की छत तोड़कर पी जमकर शराब Shefali Srivastava | टाइम्स न्यूज नेटवर्क | Updated: 17 Apr 2020, 03:39:00 PM IST सांकेतिक तस्वीर

[bloodsvcker]

actually destiel is a social experiment to see how far the bigots are willing to go to defend these characters' heterosexuality. like normally these people think men who express their feelings are gay no matter how subtle it is. with destiel the same people think castiel's happiest moment ever was telling dean how much he loved him for four minutes platonically. I'm %100 sure at this point if a destiel kiss happened people would say things like "he's not gay. who doesn't wanna give their buddies a little smooch every once in a while!" then have an internal crisis for their fragile masculinity when they accidentally touch a friend's hand while passing the salt.

[janeflowersart]

South Africa COVID-19 Easter Lockdown Fears On Travel

South Africa COVID-19 Easter Lockdown Fears On Travel

South Africa COVID-19 brought a lockdown on March 26, 2020. Now, another lockdown likely comes exactly a year later. Originally meant to last for two weeks, the first lockdown long overran that and it didn’t lift for long before another lockdown came over the Christmas period. Not as draconian as the first one, it still banned alcohol. So, will alcohol limitations return over the proposed Easter…

[sachwlang]

The Brewing Industry Has Lashed Out At The Government's "Ludicrous And Unjustified” Ban On Pubs Selling Takeaway Alcohol During The Lockdown

The Brewing Industry Has Lashed Out At The Government’s “Ludicrous And Unjustified” Ban On Pubs Selling Takeaway Alcohol During The Lockdown

[ad_1]

Pubs will no longer be able to serve takeaway drinks during the second national lockdown (PA)

4 min read01 November

The decision to ban pubs and bars from selling takeaway pints in the second lockdown has been described as “ludicrous and unjustified” by the brewing industry.

Many hospitality businesses relied on the ability to serve alcohol for drinking…

[itsdneo]

Not been South African gotta suck🤣🤣🤣

[arko006-blog]

Lakhs of litres of beer may go down the drain; liquor worth Rs 700 crore 'stuck' in northern states - ET Retail

Lakhs of litres of beer may go down the drain; liquor worth Rs 700 crore ‘stuck’ in northern states – ET Retail

[ad_1]

As the coronavirus-forced lockdown stretches out, the 250-odd microbreweries across the country are staring at a loss of around eight lakh litres of fresh beer, according to industry experts.

Not only this, around 1.2 million cases of Indian-Made Foreign Liquorworth Rs 700 crore are “stuck”in northern states, except Delhi, as with the start of the new financial year, the sellers need the…

[rodolfo9999]

There was heavy rain in the mainland, but the rain in Hokkaido had stopped. It was hot at the time of the Olympics and the players were sorry, but on that day the temperature was 21 degrees Celsius, which was the original coolness of Hokkaido. 

My golf has evolved a little. All the drivers flew in front of me, I hit 3w so well, and all the bunker shots came out in one shot. Lockdown was declared and drinking was banned at restaurants, but alcohol was served at the golf course. 

However, it was boring, so I rounded up my vacation and went home. This is how my week-long summer vacation ended.

[joekitchen]

IT'S PROHIBITION TIME AGAIN!!!

So, South Africa has yet been slapped with yet another total alcohol ban. The buying, selling and transporting of alcohol is now illegal. This is the third or fourth alcohol ban since lockdown started! Here are some sketches I did to help me through these trying times.

[awanderingdeal]

In which Sirius takes back Halloween

My fic for the fabulous fic -o-ween! This is not even remotely scary and is basically a big fluff ball. I hope you enjoy your Halloween as much as Sirius and co!

A big shout out to @ais-for-alex for being my beta for this fic. I did make a couple of changes as I was re-reading this morning (who can resist) so any mistakes are most likely my fault.😂

And finally, a massive thank you to @lumosinlove for lending us these wonderful characters to play with. They really have been a massive part of my lockdown sanity.

Rating: G

CW: Food mentions

“Do you think I should sell this house?” Sirius mused, tapping his long fingers against the rim of his mug.

Remus looked up slowly from his tablet, from which he’d been reading the daily news. “Why would you want to do that?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s just so big, you know,” Sirius shrugged, taking a second to formulate his thoughts into a coherent reply. “I kind of just brought it as an act of rebellion when I got my first pay check. We’re never really here and even when we are, we use what, maybe five of the rooms.” He leaned back in his chair, pushing his hair back off his face. “It just feels so soulless,” he finished, glancing at Remus to gauge his reaction. His boyfriend was as impossible to read as ever, not giving an ounce away until he opened his mouth to speak.

“So, give it soul then.” Remus said, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Like you said we’re never here. But we could be. We can make memories here if you want to,” he smiled gently at the thought. “Maybe, we could start with me officially moving my stuff in here?” he added, biting into a doughnut casually. If Sirius didn’t know Remus better he would have thought that the monumentality of the question had bypassed him.

Sirius wrapped his arms around Remus's waist pulling him close, smiling into his curls at the memory. It had taken place two years ago now and of course, Remus had been right. Sirius couldn’t imagine living anywhere else now. A crunching sound interrupted his thoughts. He shook his head, but didn’t comment on his boyfriend’s breakfast, a leftover toffee apple, knowing from previous experiences that it would only encourage him to make worse choices.

The conversation in his memory had been the reason that he’d first thrown his annual Halloween bonanza, a tradition (if something that had only been done twice could be called a tradition) that was quickly becoming infamous. It was a family affair with all the team bringing their loved ones to enjoy what was quite frankly, an outrageous display of wealth. Each year, Remus and he turned their back garden into a fete with, pumpkin carving, a hay maze, apple bobbing, spooky cupcake decorating and face painting to name but a few things. No expense was spared. But it wasn’t about the money really.

A soft kiss to his jawline pulled him out of his thoughts again. Remus sighed contentedly and leaned into his chest, body warmth radiating between them. Sirius glanced down at the shorter man, giving him a reassuring smile. Remus could always tell when he was in his own head.

“Just thinking about last night,” Sirius hummed, his eyes flickering to the giant corkboard on the wall. It was currently monopolized by the polaroids that had been taken the previous evening. The collection showcased exactly what the party was all about.

It was the photo of Logan, his teeth clenched around an apple, sticky liquid dripping down his chin and eyes glimmering with competition. Next to it, the photo of Katie Dumais hugging a huge, black stuffed dog, almost the same size as her.

“Logan won me a new stuffie!” she had beamed as the photo was taken. Logan, much to Katie’s distain, ruffled her hair and told her, “N’importe quoi pour vous.” Anything for you.

It was the image of a frantic James declaring, “I have lost my child!” Olli and Timmy laughing in the background because they could see a tiny Harry dressed as a pumpkin toddling around behind his father.

It was the one of Talker, for once sitting still, albeit in a chair designed for small children, his eyes closed but his mouth moving. Across from him, Noelle’s expression was fondly exasperated as she tried to finish painting his face. Another photo evidenced that she had been successful; there were two matching skeletons (Thomas and little Xavi) with faces warped by laughter.

It was the collection of photos towards the top of the corkboard. Reg and Leo. Reg and Celeste. Reg and Jules. And his personal favourite, Reg and Remus.

“I love this one,” Sirius said aloud, his fingers reaching out to brush the picture he was referring to. Even now it still baffled him to see his brother interacting with his boyfriend so casually. At this point the two men had their own relationship outside of Sirius, founded on nerdy things that he failed to understand. His heart swelled as he took in the image of the two most important people in his life.

“It’s a great photo,” Remus agreed. He and Regulus had their heads close together, hands waving as they enthusiastically discussed something. Remus had a smug expression on his face, Reg looked disgruntled. The photo captured their personalities fantastically. “I think this is my favourite,” Remus added, pointing out a different polaroid.

This one was taken inside. An entanglement of blankets and sleeping children. Smitty’s youngest, Noah, had started it. He’d crashed around 9pm after an almighty sugar rush, and his father had laid him down in the quiet of the lounge to sleep. Katya Ivanov and Katie Dumais followed soon after. Harry had put up a valiant effort not to join them. In fact, there was a photo a little to the left of Sirius rocking his godson who was fighting his drooping eyelids. Never the less, he ended up in the pile too.

“One day, we will have one of our own to add to that pile,” Remus smiled, giving Sirius a squeeze.

“One day,” Sirius agreed, wiping a thumb across Remus's lips to remove a trace of toffee. "We better go and wake those two up. Marcie will be here soon – she won’t want to clean around them,” Sirius declared, his head inclining towards the lounge. Remus chuckled in response, spinning in Sirius’s arms and taking his hand to lead him to the other room. Sirius allowed himself to be led, picking up the camera from the counter as he passed.

The camera flashed and pushed out a photo with a click. Sirius grinned, shaking the small square whilst it developed. Slowly it revealed two men curled into one another, the taller of the them had his arms wrapped around the smaller. They looked peaceful. Remus tried to wake them up gently, but apparently the small shake to Kuny’s shoulder was enough to startle the pair. A string of Russian – almost certainly profanities – left Kuny’s mouth as he pulled himself away from Nado. Sirius noted the blush that spread over Kuny’s cheeks as he realised how entwined they had been. 

“Right boys. I hate to kick you out but my housekeeper will be here soon and she does not need to be subjected to your hungover asses,” Sirius said, although he didn’t sound regretful at all.

Nado grumbled, showing Sirius his middle finger and sweeping his hair back of his face. “Come on Koon, I’ll drop you home.”

Leaving Remus to deal with their two unexpected guests, Sirius wandered back into his kitchen to pin the photo he had just taken with the rest. There wasn’t a lot of room left, but he managed to squeeze it between a photo of Natalie and Kasey holding their carved pumpkins, and a particularly sweet one of the cubs. Finn’s lips were pressed against Leo’s nose, red from the cold. Logan cocooned between them, resting his head on Finn’s chest. Sirius couldn’t help but smile as he realized that none of them were wearing the same sweaters they had arrived in, seemingly having swapped them over the course of the evening.

Remus came back soon enough, shaking his head and huffing out a laugh. Sirius didn't want to know. “They'll be gone soon. We should pick up. Marcie isn't paid enough to deal with…this" Remus said, gesturing towards the chaos of the kitchen. Sirius looked around, a grimace forming on his face before he nodded his agreement. The floor was littered with costume parts, either lost or removed as games were played and alcohol was drunk – devil horns here and iron man’s mask there. There was a stain on the rug where a bowl of perfectly spiced pumpkin soup had been spilt. Toilet paper had managed to make its way into the craziest of places, casualties of the mummy competition. Popcorn crunched under his feet – the impromptu viewing of ‘The Nightmare Before Christmas’ had happened two rooms over - how popcorn had ended up in the kitchen, Sirius did not know.

Despite it all, Sirius would do it all again tomorrow. Growing up, Halloween had been characterized by loneliness and jealousy. His overly religious parents had declared the holiday heinous and banned even mentions of the event. In the supermarket, they snatched offered candy out of his hand and Sirius had listened on wistfully as the other children spoke about their hauls. The memories made him a little sad, but it was okay now, Sirius had reclaimed it  – Halloween was his again.

[orchres]

Whomever does these map stats is always so wrong lmao ppl in my country drink like fucking fish like 1824 is always packed even on weekdays and that's an upscale joint. So say nothing of the thousands of locals in every neighborhood. Literally when lockdown happened and the sale of alcohol was banned at restaurants they lost so much money some closed down permanently. Food and alcohol were *the* things ppl spent money on last year. That 50% better be children bc it don't make sense

[pirunika]

im too broke 2 buy any alcohol but man this latest alcohol ban during the lockdown is making me so angry,,,, im one step away from becoming islamophobic

[janeflowersart]

COVID-19 Curfew Kept Baragwanath Rescue Trauma Patient-Free

COVID-19 Curfew Kept Baragwanath Rescue Trauma Patient-Free

COVID-19 curfew laws might have helped to lessen the number of trauma patients at Baragwanath Hospital this year. While some people assume the alcohol ban probably accounted for the news, more likely a combination of the curfew and closed nightclubs impacted hugely. After all, alcohol evidently didn’t disappear completely. COVID-19 curfew means fewer rescue trauma patients at Baragwanath…

[taofarren]

Tina The Cortina

It was December in Cape Town and the South African president decided to surprise us with the gift of additional lockdown restrictions. Alcohol was banned, and spending time on the beach or sea in any capacity was suddenly highly illegal.

With our surf plans turned on their head, my girlfriend, Renske, and I decided to head in the opposite direction of the forbidden ocean, and celebrate New Years Eve in the Cape wine lands. It had been a debate in my mind between taking my mom’s plastic, yet reliable car, and returning before she got home from holiday the next week, or taking Tina, my 1969 canary yellow Ford Cortina, and having the freedom of cruising home when we wanted to. We chose risk, pleasure and freedom!

Renske had always accepted my car without too many questions, but during this particular trip she teased me each time we drove up the smallest hill. “Babe, are you sure we can make it up this one?”.

Of course I defended Tina the Cortina loyally.  For a 52 year old lady, she had taken me on many successful adventures, and could surely handle a slow cruise to the wine lands. I was almost offended that Renske was teasing her. It didn’t cross my mind that it came from a place of real concern.

Half way through the journey I realised this was my longest trip Tina and I had taken in the three glorious years we had spent together.

My previous car had packed out after surviving me through the madness of my late teens. There were only terrible replacement options available within my very limited budget at the time. A ridiculously bright yellow car constantly popped up within the Gumtree search results, and I browsed the pictures as a joke. Yellow was my least favourite colour, and I wouldn’t dream of having a car that obnoxiously bright. Curiosity, and lack of a better option lead me to a test drive with the owner in Grassy Park. Despite my terrible driving and constant stalling of the old clutch, I instantly fell in love.

Just the feeling of sitting in the car felt so right. There is instantly a connection when driving a machine that old. The low seat, the thin steering wheel, having to throw my entire body weight into each turn of the power steering-less wheel. This was a real car. I couldn’t explain it, but I knew I had to have her.

We agreed on a straight swap. His keys for mine at the traffic department. As happy as I was, I was too scared to tell my parents. In our initial chats about potential new cars, they shot down any idea of something classic and dangerous. I knew she was exactly the match that they were dreading, and I hid her from them until it had truly sunk in, and there was no turning back for me. They had to meet and accept her whether they liked her or not.

Even though she caused my mothers head to shake in disappointment, everywhere else she went, people would whip their heads around and smile. Whether a passenger or an observer, it instantly made you happier.

From the beginning, this car was surrounded by an invisible force-field of love. This came in handy, as rather stupidly, I think I only wore the stiff seatbelt a handful of times.

1969 must have been a time of minimal accidents, as this particular model had no headrests, and there was no such thing as an emergency stop. Stopping would require you to jump on the brake about 30 metres in advance. Surprisingly (most probably due to the colour), I never had a single accident other than driving very slowly into a few walls.

Contrary to popular belief, owning a classic car is not about self-image, and in this case, most definitely not a “chick magnet”. To most women it was just an old yellow car. Once they had their photo for Instagram, the reality of the journey would set in, and it would be a true test of their level of “maintenance”.

It was in fact more of an old man magnet. Or rather every man. From the day I got her, old men asked me complicated questions about her regularly. I learnt about her anatomy by rushing home to Google what on earth they had asked me.

Almost every day I had offers to buy her. Even though these  were mostly from car guards, petrol attendants, and a few times from a persistent garbage truck driver, I would obligingly take down their numbers, knowing I would never sell her. I knew that Tina enjoyed the attention and got the ego boost she deserved.

I wasn’t the only one to feel an emotional pull. It seemed to be the car that many people’s parents had, and seeing it triggered fond memories of their youth.

I was once approached timidly approached by an elderly lady who I mistook for a Jehovah’s witness:

“Excuse me!”.

“Good morning?” I enquired, squinting up at her, while flashing my most realistic, fake smile. She stooped in closer - Her wide eyes magnified by thick glasses,  grey hair exploding out from underneath a Christian hat.

“Did you know that my mother had this car when I was younger?”

She blinked at me expectantly.

I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to have known that, but I decided to humour her.

“Uh…. Good memories?”

She leaned in closer with a crooked grin;

“Yes… especially on the back seat!”

She giggled and walked off with a vacant smile

A few days later, the memory of that lady’s grin still fresh in my mind, a beggar at a traffic light told me that his father had the car when he was younger. Cheerfully, I responded along the same lines, saying that he must have been a great man, to which he responded:

“No, he was a horrible man”, and walked away sadly.

Despite constantly threatening to overheat in traffic, she dominated the city roads. To get across a busy intersection, I would slowly drive into the middle of the road, and people would smile and let me in, just to stare at her beautiful square bum with glassy eyes.

She had a knack with roadblocks too. On a particular incident, with the car filled with mates drinking beers after sundowners on the beach, I was pulled over with a lit joint in hand. I panicked and stalled diagonally across the road.

“Fuck fuck fuck”

I tried to casually stamp the joint out with sandy feet as the policeman walked over with a serious look on his face. Smoke hung in the sweaty interior and the beer bottles on the floor clinked to a halt as he leant down to the window.

“Excuse me sir… what year model is this?”

“Uhm,1969” I replied nervously

“Yoh, look after her hey!” He smiled as he waved us through.

One of the main reasons I had rationalised the choice of a classic car, was that I would learn about how cars actually worked, feeling so detached from my previous modern car. Over the years I learnt intimately what was possible to break in a car, as everything slowly fell apart.

Electrical faults, numerous flat tyres, the radiator exploding in the middle of a petrol station, ball joints seizing, the floor rusting through to the road, using torches as flashlights to get home at night. I got really good at putting my ego aside and asking people for help.

For summer there was definitely no air con. The beautiful black pleather seats became stove plates against your skin, and the only fan was created by the draught rushing through the holes in the bodywork.

This cooling system, so useful in summer, became a freezer in winter. Long johns, extra hoodies, a beanie and gloves were always packed in the trunk. To this day, the usually comforting sound of rain outside the window shocks me awake. I would lie in bed as it poured down, dreading the inevitable puddles filling up the car floor through these holes and the aged window seals.  

Strangely enough, the lack of headrests and questionable seatbelts made me feel more alive. The constant struggle to keep the loose steering wheel in a straight line, while listening to every sound in case of a problem, forced me into complete presence.

I saw so much more while travelling slowly. It felt like a leisurely stroll while on holiday, compared to a frantic run. Even if I was late it was literally impossible to drive faster. I learnt that at this point, it wouldn’t help to stress. Pushing the car further than its current 90 km/h top speed would most probably result in something breaking or flying off. I was forced to relax and enjoy myself in every situation.

Every ride, no matter how short, felt like an adventure, a real road trip. Each time I arrived at my destination, I was overcome with gratitude for having accomplished a magnificent feat.

On the streets I was instantly respected. I would pull up to traffic lights next to the latest luxury cars in elite places like Bantry Bay, and have the driver wind down his window to tell me how much he loved my car. When I’d ask them to swap, they would chuckle and zoom off while I tried not to stall.

We also received major street “cred” within the more alternative communities. This came in most useful when working on a documentary with the Ocean View Spinners, a community who passionately (and illegally) spun their cars until their tyres burst. I eventually realised it was safe to park inside the actual spinning parking lot,  and upon seeing Tina for the first time, their perception of me shifted. Even though I refused their offers to spin her, I became one of them.

I was invited to an event in a township in Paarl to shoot one of their sessions. When we met at sunrise, their car was too full to take me, as it was a big family affair. The young pit crew boys fought over who would join me in my car for the journey, and eventually all piled in. Their excitement and pride of just being a passenger in Tina filled me with an ovewhelming sense of gratitude as we cruised past the grannies of Fish Hoek main road. A white boy driving while they hung out the window, hooting and hollering to their rap music blaring from a portable speaker.

At the Lavender Hill traffic lights, a notorious crime hotspot, the fun spluttered out along with the engine. Dead. In the worst place possible. Literally a bright yellow sitting duck with doors that couldn’t lock, and a boot full of camera gear. Even though they were the pit crew for the spin car, they were youngsters, and didn’t have any tools or the right knowledge. Internal panic kicked in as I ran through unrealistic solutions in my head. My internal spinning was interrupted by someone pulling in behind us. Sweating, I reached for the locking mechanism that didn’t exist on this model. Hijacking clearly wasn’t a problem in 1969 either It was a member of the Ocean View spinners convoy and most importantly, a mechanic.

They all crowded into the bonnet and fiddled until she begrudgingly returned to life. A few hundred metres of relief, before another cut out. Another stressed session of heads crammed together and hundreds of theories thrown around before we were back on our way.

During the event in Paarl, I was so overwhelmed by the deafening sound and smell of the cars being whipped around the “pitch”, that I completely forgot about my own car troubles. As the sun began to dip, it was advised that we leave the township and start the long drive home. Tina was towed out in amongst the traffic jam of exhausted spin cars and we started the painful process of resuscitation. The Spinners were just as tired as the cars, but they kept their patience with the old lady. An eventual tow-start and I was instructed to not let her cut out, whatever I do. No stops allowed on the hour long journey home.

Night shortly fell, and as we rattled along the road, one of the headlight fuses bumped out of place. The two headlights in their full glory hardly lit Tina’s path, now we were reduced to a single headlight. I couldn’t risk stopping to re-adjust it as I was sure she would cut out wherever she rested. I tuned out the passengers as they animately debated the events of the day, and zoned into the sound of her unhappy engine. We had lost the rest of the convoy on the highway, and this time I didn’t even want to contemplate what would happen if we broke down in the middle of nowhere in the dark. I stressed us the whole way back to Ocean View, and as soon as we turned into the road and Tina saw our destination, she cut out.

This time she was done for the day, and nothing would bring her back to life. After everything she had been through that day, she had to spend the night in Ocean View. I got a lift home from the spinning crew, and arriving without a car, and a black face full of tyre particles, I wasn’t quite sure how to explain the day to my family. “Good, thanks” had to do.

After a few weeks of rehabilitation, Tina was returned by a mechanic in Ocean View but still wouldn’t run properly. For more than a month she sat in the winter rain, while I desperately tried to figure out what parts she needed, and from where I could source them. Because she was so old, it was difficult to find someone that understood her.

She sat there limp and lifeless. My only form of freedom in those lockdown months, dead without much hope.

I eventually found the part that would get her moving and to Uncle Wasief, the world’s most reliable mechanic. He delivered the news that it had finally come to the crucial moment we had both been expecting: Very soon, I had to either let her go, or give her a complete makeover.

He fixed her up as best as he could until then, and we were temporarily back in action.

That day, I made a promise to her to give her the love she needed. I wouldn’t just take from her, but would listen to her requests.

I had all the windows and seats fixed, all the little odds and ends that I had previously dismissed as “character” and saved the quoted amount for a full restoration. She would be booked in at the end of January.

Over the howl of the wind though the holes, the disappointing sound of the portable speaker’s battery dying, brought me back to Renske, and our current journey to the wine lands As we arrived in Franschhoek, I think we both let out a secret sigh of relief, happy that we had made the right choice after all.

After a peaceful week of unnaturally green grass and  far too much bootlegged wine, it was time to return to the city, reality, and the new year. As usual we were running late. This time for the last available Covid test appointment before Renske flew to Kenya for a job. If Tina travelled at full speed with no stops, we could just make it to the appointment on time.

The impressively spacious boot, as well as every other surface of the back seat, was crammed to full capacity We had both of our lives packed into the car: Camera gear, laptops, and weeks worth of clothing.

Driving down the first hill and taking in the beauty of the passing vineyards one last time, Renske abruptly turned to me: “Hey man, I think your car is smoking”.

This wasn’t completely unusual, and I attempted to sniff a few times with my hay fever impaired nose. A few metres later the engine cut out completely. She’d done many strange things, but this was certainly out of character for the old gal. We sat in silence, and heard the usually soothing sound of crackling flames, confusingly out of place on a sweaty 30 degree day.

The smell of smoke quickly formed a grey cloud as I ran around to the bonnet, lifting it to reveal a healthy fire. Right in the middle of my engine bay.

“Uhhhmmm…”

Renske hopped out as my brain struggled to compute the next step.

The only knowledge I have of burning cars is from action movies, where they quickly explode in a ball of fire. The passengers are generally running away, or flying through the air in slow motion. Sometimes both. Not interested in the flying option, we started to grab all our bags, and run them up the hill.

During each frantic trip, we tried to figure out which bags were the most important, as we took them higher and higher. If we can only grab a few bags before it explodes, what do we take? My beach umbrella rolled down the hill and my toothbrush flew through the air as unzipped bags vomited our lives out.

“Tao, your laundry!”

Your mind gets a bit muddled under that life or death pressure, and you start to ask yourself important questions about attachment. I was aware that Renske kept running back for random things that seemed unnecessary, yet I couldn’t help worrying about Sunny, the dashboard Hula girl.

After the toothbrush was successfully rescued, Renske remembered that her laptop was right in the front near the flames. Without a second thought, I sprinted to the car and grabbed it. As a video editor, my fear of losing saved work will always be far, far greater than potential death of any form.

We eventually sweated our hundreds of bags to the top of the hill and we stood to truly take it all in. It really was a beautiful sight that I will never forget. There was not a breath of wind on the perfect summer day. Plumes of smoke billowed out of the bright yellow car, framed by lines of vineyards and a perfectly still lake. Not a single part of me could feel sad while taking in such a surreal scene. The sight of this paradoxical beauty was enhanced by the anticipation of it exploding, and lighting up the nearby crops. Realising that this was not the ideal way to thank the farm owner for the lovely stay, I quickly called her up.

“Hi Ginny, quite a strange one, but my car is on fire. Ya… my car…. We were driving and it lit up…… Ya….. I was wondering if there was any chance you could please call the fire department?”

A few moments later, Francois the farm manager roared past. He barely parked before sprinting towards the burning car, wielding a fire extinguisher in each hand. In the shock, I had forgotten that I was a photographer, and I quickly grabbed my camera, and ran to join him. I was now filled with a different sense of urgency: to capture the tragedy.

A few photos, yet still no explosion as Francois and the fire extinguishers quickly snuffed out the flames. The dodgy wiring in the bonnet had reacted to some leaked oil, and everything in the engine bay was toast. The interior, which was the only part of her that hadn’t fallen apart in our love affair, was completely untouched. During her last dashboard hula dance, Sunny’s dress had been partly undone, yet not entirely removed by the flames. Her dignity was proudly intact as she obliviously continued to play her ukulele in amongst the smoke.

Once the curious farm workers cleared off, and the insurance company was notified, I found myself sitting alone with Tina’s burnt carcass in the shade of the vineyard.

Strangely enough, the only thing that came to my muddled mind was regret that we didn’t ever have sex in her extremely comfortable back seat.

Nothing could have prepared me for the many life lessons learnt by owning a classic car as my daily runner.

It’s amazing how adaptable we are as humans, and what we can overcome for love. Broken window? No problem, open the other one. It’s just how it was.

Their age allows you to understand and accept their imperfections, and this understanding leads to love and compassion.

As we all struggle to come to terms with our own constantly changing and ageing bodies, would it be possible to treat ourselves with the same level of compassion?

I was snapped out of my reverie by the tattooed tow truck drivers from Bellville arriving. A quick elbow bump and signature, and they winched her onto a flatbed truck.

I watched as she was towed away on her last ever journey; a burnt chunk of bright yellow metal to everyone she passed.

If only they knew.

Dear old Tina the Cortina . My friend, saviour, teacher and true love.