Who remembers watching this show when you we’re a kid in the 90’s? There was always this random guy popping up whenever the two dogs did something stupid.
Awwww.. isn’t that cute?
BUT IT’S WRONG!!!!!!!!!!!!
Does this remind you of someone?
I was reminded of this random character in the first few weeks at my new job. Every time I did something wrong, my boss would look at me as if to say:
Awwww, isn’t that cute?
BUT IT’S WRONG!!!!!!!!!!!!
Ek was altyd mal oor die kinderstories wat ons op TV gekyk het toe ek nog klein was. Nils Holgersson was my gunsteling kinder TV-reeks.
Ek het laas jaar by ‘n boekuitverkoping op die vertaling van Nils Holgersson afgekom en dit dadelik gekoop.
Groot was my verbasing toe ek die boek begin lees en besef dit stem nie ooreen met my herinneringe nie.
Daar is nou wel baie verskille tussen die boekstorie en die TV-storie. Die grootste verskil is dat Krummel glad nie in die boek voorkom nie. Dit blyk dat die Japannese wat die TV animasie geskep het, daardie storie element ook geskep het.
Van die ganse se name is ook anderster. Ek onthou die TV-reeks is daar Gunar, Gustar, Ingrid, Lasse en Siri. Donsveertjie is sommer Donsie en Martien is Maarten.
Smirre is darem in die boek – of eintlik net in die eerste helfte.
Agtergrond: Selma Lagerlöf (1858 – 1940), Sweedse skrywer, onderwyser en eerste vroulike wenner van die Nobelprys vir Letterkunde.
Sy het “Nils Holgersson” in opdrag van die Nasionale Onderwyser Assosiasie geskryf – hulle wou spesifiek ‘n geografie boek vir kinders hê.
Die boek is in 1906 gepubliseer. Dit was oorspronklik as twee boeke gepubliseer; die eerste in 1906 en die tweede in 1907.
Sy het baie ander werke ook geskryf, alhoewel “Nils Holgersson” die mees bekendste is.
Die Japannese TV-animasie reeks is in 1980 geskep. Die regie is gedoen deur Hisayuki Toriumi (1941 – 2009) van Studio Pierrot, Tokio. Die studio bestaan nou nog
Dié reeks is later aangepas en in die volgende lande gewys: Arabië, Kanada, Frankryk, Duitsland, Swede, Finland, Iran, Ysland, België, Griekeland, Nederland, Poland, Portugal, Romenië, Spanje, Slovenië, Hongarye, die Sjeggiese Republiek, Israel, Turkye, Italië, Hong Kong, China, Suid-Afrika en Albanië.
Ek beveel hierdie boek vir enigiemand aan. 5/5
I think social media has created confusion on what the word “friend” means. Let me try to make it clearer.
A Facebook friend is someone who likes and comments on your posts. Who tags you when they upload a photo of you.
A Facebook friend thinks that by following your profile means that they are actively involved in your life.
A Facebook friend is someone who tells you “Happy Birthday” on your wall, but only when Facebook tells them that it is your birthday.
A Facebook friend is someone who you might have been close to earlier in your life but you have moved apart from.
A Facebook friend is someone who was really your friend once and promised to stay your friend forever no matter what, promised that you will never lose touch.
A friend is someone who really cares about you and makes time for you. They will actually call you or message you or even come over to your house.
A friend is someone who knows your birthday and that you hate receiving flowers or plants as gifts.
A friend is someone who accepts you for who you are, but are not afraid to tell you when you are wrong.
A friend is someone who won’t reject or unfriend you.
So, you can just be my Facebook Friend or you can be my real friend. The choice is yours.
I have a confession to make: I could never understood why we make such a big fuss when it is someone’s birthday.
It’s only fun when you’re a kid growing up. Once you reach adulthood it’s somewhat overrated.
I wonder if Jesus ever celebrated his birthday? Maybe there is a reason why we don’t know Jesus’s exact birthday?
I also could never say “Happy Birthday” and mean it at the same time. But what does it actually mean?
Are we actually just saying: Well done! You’re one year older. Big whoop.
Who wants to live forever? I don’t. Who wants to grow older? I don’t. Celebrating birthdays is against everything the world and society stands for. Just look at all the anti-ageing products on the shelf.
Or maybe we’re saying: Congratulations, I am happy to have you in my life.
But I only see or hear from some of my friends on their birthdays. So… basically they are not really in my life… so what is the point?
There are people who believe that when you tell someone “Happy Birthday” your good wishes will keep them from harm. Which is actually bullshit, a superstition – nobody is that powerful.
What is the history of birthday celebrations?
Well, apparently the Egyptians and Greeks were the first people to celebrate birthdays – but only the days of the gods.
Romans were the first to celebrate their birthdays – well actually just the men. Women only joined the party in the 12th century.
It was originally considered a pagan ritual – until Christians decided to celebrate the birth of Jesus.
But a lot of people see birthdays as the celebration of the self or self-worship.
If it is done for the right reasons and when you are really in my life, I will celebrate my or your birthday with you. Otherwise, I’m not interested.
balderdash, drivel, poppycock, rigmarole, bombast, claptrap, malarkey, hogwash, flummery, hokum, fudge, flimflam, baloney, hooey, bilge, horsefeathers, tomfoolery, tommyrot…
They are all fun ways to express a state of
It’s also interesting to see when the words came into use for example balderdash was first used in 1590, poppycock in 1865, malarkey (1929), hogwash (1440!) and my favourite, bilge in 1510.
Here are some Afrikaans words: bog, snert, onsin, twak, kaf.
Can you think of more fun words?
I always wondered what the fuss was all about when people talked about Moby Dick. I also wondered why would anyone call their book by that name. It is only later when I found out that it is the name of the whale.
I took out the book last year during vacation and it wasn’t what I expected.
I can understand why most people find this book so tiring. There are just an endless supply of poetry in the prose. What I mean by that is there is descriptive language everywhere. Most of the time I zoned out wishing the author would get to the point. Dialogue only starts on page 13!
Honestly I can’t remember the last time I hated reading a book so much. I just wanted to finish it. Sometimes I couldn’t figure out who was telling the story. The moment when Ishmael steps upon the whaling ship it’s as if he just disappears.
Then some chapters actually read like a biology book: going into detail about the anatomy and history of whales.
If you don’t care to know how they used to hunt, catch and slaughter whales then this book is not for you.
You get the sense that when Captain Ahab and Moby Dick the White Whale meet again it will lead to everyone’s doom.
What I did like about the book: I liked Ishmael’s first meeting with Queequeg, the cannibal harpooneer. Those chapters plus the last three were really the only parts of the book I enjoyed.
First published: 1851
Interesting fact: Turns out the fictional white whale got his name from a real notorious albino whale known as Mocha Dick.
*note: Really well-written, but I struggled to work through all those descriptions and detail.
Conclusion: Herman Melville was a dick and his book a pain in the ass.
My hair seriously needs saving.
For normal people it would be a no-brainer. Just pick up the phone and make an appointment.
But for a person with anxiety with a trich addiction, not so much.
How do I explain to a stranger why I have so many split hairs?
This might sound weird to you, but yes I like pulling out my hair. I even like cleaning my brush every morning.
I’m afraid the hairdresser is going to say that she can’t save my hair, that my hair is beyond saving. That it will be better to just shave it off and wear a wig for the rest of my life.
It’s actually very frustrating, putting my life on hold because I’m afraid. I always think up the worst scenarios. Obviously that doesn’t help with my anxiety.
The moment when I have to make contact with the outside world and step out of my comfort zone I go into a frenzy.
I finally worked up the courage just to send a WhatsApp message. She’ll let me know. Phew!
Ek het onlangs na die verskillende maniere gaan kyk hoe van my gunsteling Afrikaanse storieboeke begin. Kan jy reg raai?
Dis somer op Sadewee.
Alie staan met haar rug teen ’n pendoringboom en kou aan ’n groot stuk blink gom wat sy teen die stam gekry het.
Wat ons, wat in die Karoo woon, die ‘Grasveld’ noem, lê tussen die berge en die see.
’n Malende, siedende, tierende skare wat slegs in naam menslike wesens is, want vir die oog en die oor is hulle skynbaar barbaarse skepsels, aangevuur deur walglike hartstog, haat en die sug na wraak.
Die dag toe die kind weggeraak het, het die mis vroeg begin toetrek en teen halfdag was dit of die Bos onder ’n digter wit wolk lê.
Die Sondagaand het die plan hom skielik binnegeval: hy moet ’n boek skryf.
Kupido Kakkerlak is nie die gewone manier uit sy ma se liggaam gebore nie, hy het uitgebroei uit die stories wat sy vertel het.
“Los!” sê haar Ouma.
You know that saying “Don’t judge a book by its cover”? Well, it’s nonsense because that is exactly what I do when I’m looking for my next book. If I don’t know the author by now and the title or cover doesn’t sell it, there is a 99% chance I won’t even bother picking it up.
The first lines of a story is usually the hook. It has to be interesting enough for the reader to want to continue reading. I went to all my favourite books to see what their first lines are.
I’m going to give you the first lines without telling you from which book it is. Some will be easier than others:
When he was nearly thirteen, my brother Jem got his arm badly broken at the elbow.
That was easy. It’s the first line from Harper Lee’s To kill a mocking bird.
Alice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister on the bank, and of having nothing to do: once or twice she had peeped into the book her sister was reading, but it had no pictures or conversation in it, ‘and what is the use of a book,’ thought Alice ‘without pictures or conversation?’
Clue: The author of this book also wrote the Jabberwocky poem.
Now see if you can guess these:
Christmas won’t be Christmas without any presents,” grumbled Jo, lying on the rug.
First the Colours.
Mathilde took out her diary and wrote: The man sitting next to me has got one hell of a nerve.
There was no possibility of taking a walk that day.
Dad was a tall man, with a large head, jowls, and a Herbert Hoover collar.
Would any of these first lines hook you?
One thing was certain, that the white kitten had had nothing to do with it: – it was the black kitten’s fault entirely.
In 1625, a young man of eighteen arrived in the town of Meung.
I have been arrested. – The second sentence will give it away.
There was once a gentleman, a tall fellow with an air of superiority about him, who made it his business to come down to the marketplace in Portsmouth on the first Sunday of every month in order to replenish his library.
It was just three days, seventeen hours, and thirty-three minutes until Christmas in Whoville.
Sophie couldn’t sleep.
In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit.
The following three is from three Agatha Christie’s novels:
Mrs McGillicuddy panted along the platform in the wake of the porter carrying her suitcase.
Miss Jane Marple was sitting by her window.
Mrs Bantry was dreaming.
Another Roald Dahl classic:
In fairy-tales, witches always wear silly black hats and black cloaks, and ride on broomsticks.
From other classics:
Call me Ishmael.
Left Munich at 8.35pm on 1st May, arriving at Vienna early next morning; should have arrived at 6:46, but train was an hour late.
You don’t know about me, without you have read a book by the name of ‘The Adventures of Tom Sawyer’, but that ain’t no matter.