Mahendra on Youtube!

Following in the Spitting Image tradition, and based on Zapiro characters, a team that includes the cartoonist himself, satirist Ben Trovato, Lauren Beukes of Moxyland fame, and playwright Welcome Msomi (co-executive director), is working on a tv show called Z-news (pronounced Ze News, as in The News). Here's a clip featuring the Raghunath and former president Thabo Mbeki:



The show has a lot of potential and Mbeki's voice is well imitated. The Raghunath's voice, though, is a bit clipped and staccato, and the script for his news articles is also quite flat.

The clip is from a pilot for a tv show, probably not SABC. Check the Youtube account for a clip of Mbeki doing Gaynor's "I will survive" for Idols.

... and in other news

Famous Mahendra's Ties blog has still been unsuccessful in securing funding for a television for main writer RK. While our technicians are working on this technical problem, we bring you some photographs of our favourite reporter. On the left, Mr Raghunath as MC at some Ifa Lethu do. Top right: Raghunath, The Motivator (Motivators International).


Our own Raghunath should, of course, never be confused with Mahendra Singh Doni, cricket player for India.

Tie tripping (not)

What between the Raghunath´s erratic schedule and my own, I haven´t seen much of the man lately. I did, however, manage to spy him on Sunday night.

After a pretty psychedelic weekend at Oppikoppi, I was anticipating being truly fully hey shoo wowed by his tie, but it was disappointingly straight for a change. Dull gold and white stripes, that didn´t play with my eyes. C´mon Mahendra - where is the festival spirit?!

In an interesting aside: I did notice that the credits at the end of the news appeared in yellow and white, as opposed to their customary white only. Do you think the production team is matching the credits to Mahendra´s tie de jour?

Riaan steals the limelight

Time to confess my dirty little secret. The first time I ever thought about newsreaders and the ties they wore, it wasn´t Mahendra who was the man in question. It was Riaan. Riaan Cruywagen. I spotted a newspaper article about Riaan´s choice of tie - he had inadvertently (?) worn one in ANC colours. I don´t recall if this happened pre- or post-1994, but it was around that time. Dear Mahendra rarely faces this problem: pink, purple and peachy tones aren´t generally political colours. Unless he´s trying to tell us something about his sexuality?

Anyway, back to Riaan. I was presently surprised to find a documentary about him, Don´t Shoot showing at Encounters. I liked the way the filmmaker tied his newsreading career to the transition in South Africa, although some of Mnr Cruywagen´s responses to questions were a little too slick. ("I don´t write the news, I read it".)

But I am alarmed to find that die Cruywagen seems to be maintaining his popularity over our friend Mahendra. His fan club even suggest that: "Riaan Cruywagen knows the news before it happens". Whatever. If he does, that is hardly professional - and he claimed in the doccie that professionalism is his byword.

We all know Mahendra is a consummate professional - after all, maintaining his appearance and selecting just the right tie is way more important than any content he actually has to read. What do you guys say to a doccie on Mahendra at next year´s Encounters? We have a filmmaker, a scriptwriter and a PR whore in the house after all. Let´s do it!

Please note: Don´t Shoot shows as part of the Why Democracy? series at Encounters. You can still catch a glimpse of Riaan in Jozi this Saturday at 2.45 or in the Mother City in July. Don´t Shoot shows with Iron Ladies of Liberia - a wonderful doccie about Ellen Johnson-Sirleaf. If only all heads of state were female Mahendra might be reading a very different news each night!

Mahendra does it again!

Last night Mahendra was wearing a charcoal suit, and a golden-yellow tie with nary a stripe to be seen. His tone of voice was customarily upbeat: only the Raghunath can speak about Tendai Biti facing a possibly death penalty as if he were speaking about a picnic in the park.

Mahendra the voice

Sitting here working, with my back to the telly, I thought that SABC had replaced the 7 o'clock news with WWF. But it was Mahendra looking rather dandy in his Sahara desert sand suit, Johnson & Johnson's baby pink shirt and blue tie with thin purple and pink diagonal lines announcing the headlines in true wrestling style. WATCHOUTeTV!

Mahendra loses sparkle

Watching the news isn't a fun experience Particularly not in South Africa. That's why I tend to rely on Mahendra's ties to bring some sparkle to the occasion.

However, tonight Mahendra was wearing a monotone dark-blue tie, a light-blue shirt, and a grey jacket. Boring. And it certainly didn't take my mind off the xenophobia in South Africa, or the situation in Zimbabwe.

Come on Mahendra, you need to up your game!

In the most unlikely places

Mahendra and a red tie pop up in this blog-post which, even if it shows no unerring focus on the said man's ties, does show that Mahendra and a tie perhaps are settling into the national unconscious:

"And Mahendra's red tie is giving me a moer of a headache."

Monday Mahendra

Switch on your television right now for the shocking site of the Raghunath decked out in a deep red, orange, and pastel blue tie, "complemented" by an orange shirt. I kid you not!

Have also been wondering if our man's had a haircut? But I haven't been following him regularly, so I could be wrong on this...

Shimmering Tsepiso

It's hard to keep my eagle eye focused on the more frivolous aspects of the news, when the actual news stories are so horrifying...

Tsepiso did give me a laugh last night though, when she referred to "South Africa's biggest mineworkers' union, the National Union of MIneworkers...". Like, duh!

She was wearing a shirt that I'm sure was one of Mahendra's ties in a previous life. The shiny fabric had a pattern of thin black-and-gold stripes. They shimmered in front of my eyes until it seemed as if she were a living optical illusion... Bizarre.

Making the news

Missed the news again tonight. Sorry, I know this is getting boring and repetitive for my readers.

So, tomorrow, I shall endevour to find out how to use the parentals' PVR. Actually, make that the day after tomorrow.

Tomorrow, I am going to help collect and sort clothes and food for the victims of the xenophobic attacks in Jozi. Perhaps our efforts shall make the news... I wonder if Mahendra will donate any of his ties?

A red-tie day

Finally spotted Mahendra. I didn't notice that he's put on weight, perhaps he's been hitting the gym?

He seemed rather up-beat, especially at the beginning of the bulletin, which provided a strange contrast to the subject matter of the news (xenophobic attacks). I really liked his tie - a glossy red - and sober grey jacket.

This is my first attempt at live blogging, and Mahendra has just wished us all a "lovely evening". Over and out.

Still missing Mahendra

Damnit, I missed the news again last night. Being back in a country that has a social life means I get to see Mahendra as rarely as when I was in Liechtenstein! I am going to see if he ever reads the lunch-time news. Such a pity he doesn't work for e.tv or we would have 24-hour access come June.

The return of the slacker

I must confess, missed the news last night, and will be out again tonight. Places to see and people to do, etc. But I hope RK, AT, or CM (when she returns from Cannes!) will pick up the slack, now that I've started to post more regularly again.

Still no Mahendra

So, last night Tsepiso was reading the news. She seems to have put on weight since I left, or perhaps it's just the softer hairstyle that doesn't make her eyes look so squinty. She was wearing a dull pink/lilac (can't remember it was that boring) jacket.

Still no Mahendra. I cannot believe that my devotion is unrequited, so I hope he will reward us with an appearance this evening.

Who is she?

So, I managed to convince my father to flick to the news last night, even though he was watching some cricket thing at the time. No Mahendra though - instead, a woman I haven't seen before. Could someone please enlighten me as to her name? I can't believe Mahendra wasn't reading the news to welcome me home - poor form!

Mahendra´s wet dream

I´m kind of cheating, cos I already posted this on my personal blog. But hey, I got all misty eyed when I remembered my former life as a Mahendra-spotter, and it was personal. Nevereless, I thought the wider Mahendra-spotting community might also enjoy reading it, so here goes:

"During my time over the seas there have been many people, places, and weather patterns that I´ve missed. One of these is the indomitable Mr Raghunath. Why, oh why, can´t I watch the SABC3 News over the Internet?

As I was walking back to the train station in Brighton, I had a particularly sharp pang of Mahendra nostalgia when I passed GBTies.com. At first I thought it would be Mahendra´s wet dream, but realised some of the ties were too garish even for the Raghunath´s tastes. Unfortunately, I couldn´t go inside, as it was closed, but had some fun window shopping, with Mahendra in mind. I think he might have liked the purple tie (second row, forth from the right). Which one do you think would have taken the Raghunath´s fancy?"

Will be home soon, and plan on getting in plenty of Mahendra-spotting, and hopefully revitalising this blog, so watch this space!

Mahendra Wins the SAMTBlog Awards 2008

Mahendra's Ties made a clean sweep in all two categories of the 2008 South African Mahendra's Ties Blog Awards. It took gold in the "Best Mahendra's Ties Blog" and the "Best Mahendra's Ties Blog At This I.P. Address" categories. Organisers of the young but rapidly popular SAMTBlog Award said that the competition was no contest and that Mahendra's Ties was always going to win, given its focus on Mahendra's ties and given the fact that the rest of the field simply did not contain any references to the ties of Mr. Raghunath. Despite a recent dip in coverage due to the prime writer's loss of his television - but understandable in the context of national crime statistics - the organisers were not surprised to see Mahendra's Ties emerge once more as the winner. "We judge a lot of blogs for this award, but no other blog seeks to maintain such focus on Mahendra's ties as Mahendra's Ties, making it a natural winner of the South African Mahendra's Ties Blog Award. And you can bet your beenie it will take it again next year."

The organisers were also fielding criticism from all quarters. Many commentators and pundits believe that the SAMTBlog Awards is far too selective. It is about one topic, and only has two categories, resulting in an award and process that can only be described as elitist. In short, critics feel that the narrow focus excludes a multitude of topics and categories, and is perhaps not in keeping with the ideals of a developing democratic society.

"Balls," said Jack Sumwillwin, chair of the judging committee for the award, "Everyone cannot be a winner. For everyone to be made to feel like a winner will mean awarding mediocrity. We cannot do that. Besides, this isn't a public service or office; we're a private group who seek to award excellence. That's all. If people have a problem with what we do, they can start their own award."

The writers of Mahendra's Ties sought not to give comment on the controversy, but are happy that out of all the blogs about Mahendra's ties, theirs, Mahendra's Ties, was awarded with the South African Mahendra's Ties Blog Award for 2008. They look forward to getting back to their favourite past time.

Erm, have you voted?

Recent stressful events for this tv-blogger without a tv include a weeklong operation to kill a monster bougainvillea. Not that I was wielding the chainsaw, but, as there is no service alley to the backyard... well, actually, this is how it goes:

1. Tree-feller arrives. As he walks through the house, he looks around and says: "Shame, how are you. Are you happy here? Are you happy in this house? That's good, that's good." He looks at the bougainvillea, quotes a price (owner/landlady will pay) and says: "No, this will take three days. I can start tomorrow (Sunday). I tell you what, I bring in the chipper, we chop up everything as I cut it down, we pack it in bags and everything, no problem. I hope my price is not too much, but you see, I'll have a chipper. You go to someone else and, you know, the brothers (?) will carry it all through the house and there'll be branches and leaves all over the house." I'm happy there'll be a chipper, the tree-feller seems a nice if over-excited person, and soon the bougainvillea, which had formed a darkening cave over the bathroom and kitchen, will be vanquished. I say I won't be home on Sunday can he start on Monday. Sure! I see off Mr. Tree-feller and notice that his bakkie, while nicely painted white, is really a krok. I wonder how professional a tree-feller this man is, but I'm happy that by Wednesday evening the bougainvillea, which had become a demon of sorts, preying on my mind heavily, will be gone and I will finally be able to braai a prawn or two in the backyard.

2. By 11.00 on Monday morning, Mr. Tree-feller had still not arrived. I call him. He says, no, he's just finishing some welding job, he'll be there soon, by 14.00. Of course he doesn't arrive. I call at 15.00 - he's coming on Tuesday because I had said that I was not going to be available on Monday. ???

Since I'm not the one paying, I feel I can't come on too strong with demands so early in our relationship. I clear up the confusion; he says, ok, he'll be by first thing in the morning on Tuesday.

3. By 11.00 on Tuesday morning, there's no sign of him. I call. Now I'm starting to get irritated because it's a three day job (he said) and this will now move beyond Wednesday, mucking up the rest of the week I thought I might have. He says he's on his way.

Mr. Tree-feller and his helper finally arrive about two hours later. Mr. Helper is a man some sixty-odd years old, a former builder who has stopped working because of bypass surgery. I become sceptical. They have a look at the bougainvillea and consult in not quite hushed tones. Mr. Tree-feller then proceeds to load six bags of refuse from the ivy that had previously been ripped out a few days ago. It wasn't part of his job, but he offered this out of the "goodness of his heart" and because he felt that I was "such a kind man" and had been patient with him. Mr. Helper says he's just going to wander over to the Hardware store to buy a pair of loppers. I am amused that he has arrived without tools and I also wonder whether he imagines that buying a pair is like buying a packet of cigarettes. I mean, they are expensive, and will probably cost 1/10 of the total cost of the job.

Mr. Tree-feller in the meantime tells me that he is also a beekeeper and that he will bring me some honey, for me being so kind and patient. Extra special bonus, I think. Then he starts musing about the difficulties of dumping garden refuse - apparently one can only dump one load a day at a particular dump, so if he has more than one load, he has to visit dumpsites in various parts of the city. And that costs petrol, he says. So he has to worry about money for petrol, he says to me. I ignore the comment.

Half an hour later, Mr. Helper wonders in, sans loppers, gives a little laugh and says that he got lost (the hardware store is a block away from me). Also, the loppers, he says, are too damn expensive, he will attack the bougainvillea with his secateurs. Now, as I said, the bougainvillea is/was a monster. It's trunk is about one-and-a-half feet in diameter, it had grown to twice the height of the bathroom and kitchen roof, and covered the backyard entirely, a space of about 12x18 feet. Attacking it with secateurs strikes one has a skewed piece of humour in the tradition of Monty Python. The idea is that, eventually in tandem, Tree-feller would attack by chainsaw, Helper would, where he can, cut at pieces he can reach and which are in reasonable size for secateurs. At some point I notice him cutting up branches into smaller pieces, such as might fit into bags.

With his trailer loaded, Tree-feller produces his chainsaw. It is a little popcorn machine, the equivalent of Helper's secateurs. And it is probably twenty years old. It's size is not really the issue - I am sure that its bar length is adequate to the task at hand, but it does not look sturdy and green. It's plastic housing covering the tinny sounding two-stroke, which one could possibly fit into a Scalectrix car, the housing is faded pink and looks brittle. It looks like a goddamn toy.

Tree-feller will just quickly cut a hole through the monster so as to get onto the roof. That will produce enough for Helper - who has managed it onto the wall between my yard and the neighbour's and is trimming the overgrow into neighbour's yard - to start hacking up. Then Tree-feller will go dump the garden refuse and return.

There's a plan, momentum will soon be gained.

No momentum is gained, however, as Tree-feller returns from the dump quite late in the afternoon and I have a dinner date so have to get ready etc. They leave early and will be back the next day at 7.30.

4. At 9.00 or so, Mr. Helper shuffles in and starts clipping. Two hours or so later, Mr. Tree-feller arrives. I remain calm and he gives me a jar of honey, which is actually very good. Tree-feller claims it is unheated and unfiltered - I can see little black specks and a few very thin flakes of wax in it.

Chainsawing ensues. There is a 9 inch carpet of mulch and bougainvillea growth on the bathroom roof and tentacles are apparently spreading across the kitchen and reaching for the main roof. A telephone cable, one can now see, is sagging under the weight of branches at the far fence. Tree-feller is sawing through branches at the base of the trunk. "No, you see, I'm going to implode the thing, cut it here at the base, bring everything down, and the brother here will cut it up and then we put it in bags..."

"Where's the chipper?" I ask.

"No, I tell you, only because you are kind, I tell you, that's why I was late. I went allround the place and you know petrol is so expensive but all the chippers are hired out. You see this monster, I've never seen a bougainvillea this big - twenty years in the business..."

"I thought you had a chipper."

"Yes, yes, I said I would get a chipper, I went to All-Hire, they're all out."

I am now starting to get irritated - no chipper, his lateness, and dust and sawdust is also now accumulating in the house.

"Look, you said this will be a three day job, I thought you would be finishing today..."

"No, sorry, yes, listen, my brother, I'll tell you. I was on a R300 job, quick quick, just R300, out of the goodness of my heart. I did this job for an old lady, and we were finished, and she just went inside to make us some tea and I asked whether I can just give this old rotten tree a kick and clean that up for her as well and...," his eyes widening, he clasps his hand to his mouth, "and there it falls onto the neighbour's wall. R15 000 wall. And an iron railing on top. So I had to ask this brother here, shame, who's sixty already and had bypass surgery, I asked him to come and help me out. So we had to fix the wall and I had to weld. I've never done any welding in my life; I had to quickly learn. That's why I couldn't start Monday."

"And the other day I was taking away some refuse. I took away that stuff in the front there for you, just out of the goodness of my heart. But I also took some stuff for other people to the dump, just so I can make a bit of petrol money. You know I can only dump one load at a site per day, so I have to go first to Woodstock, then to Wynberg, then Constantia. And Tuesday petrol went up by, how much, 60c a litre!"

I shake my head and say: "Look, you gave a quote, a time-frame. It's now Wednesday, I'm supposed to cook dinner for visitors, I was hoping you would be finished. And now I'm not going to be in in the morning tomorrow - I had made plans based on the job being finished today."

"Okay. I tell you, we come in at 7.00 tomorrow."

"No, I'm not going to be here."

"Okay, then Friday 7.00. And today, I've just called some friends. I think we'll move the stuff over the roof, tie it up with a rope, just move it over the roof into the front, and some friends of mine, they have a bakkie, they can come and load and dump it for me. Shame, they only charge R100 a load. But don't worry, they won't come into the house. They can take it right from the front and so you don't have more people walking through your house."

I say: "No, no. I have plans for this evening, and I'll be home by 12.00 tomorrow. Come at 12.00. I want this all cleared by Friday evening."

I now show my irritation and frustration, and quote the litany of issues: chipper, three-day job, lateness, etc.

"Oh, don't worry brother. You are so kind, so patient. I'll bring you more honey. I'll be here tomorrow at 12.00."

Soon, at about 15.20, his wife calls; she finished work early, can he fetch her from the station. He tells me this, but that he will be back soon after. I say, no, no, it's fine. Come back tomorrow. I am relieved to see Tree-feller and Helper leave, but remain anxious over the bougainvillea. Heaps of it now lie in the yard. The trunk is now a stump, but half the bougainvillea is still hanging on the telephone cable. I ask him about it. He says, not to worry, it has a support wire (it's the thick cable one sees between poles, not the individual wires going to houses) and it will hold up. I worry about the wind coming up and it not holding, and Telkom holding me responsible for whatever damage the Southeaster might wreak.

5. Thursday and it is hot, hot, hot. Tree-feller arrives. He has told Helper that he wasn't coming (shame man, he is a help, but I think I can work faster today). He is on the roof, swinging with the chainsaw. I warn him about the fibre-glass panels over the bathroom.

I hear him clambering over the roof, massing tangles of bougainvillea branches on the front roof; then he's back again with the chainsaw. And it is damn hot. Feeling sorry for him, I go out and buy him some food and some Superjuice (his request, for the vitamins, he says).

Of course he steps through one of the fibre-glass panels and says nothing about it until I ask him about it. He maintains that it was the Zimbabwean creeper, from the neighbour's yard, which was getting under my roof and that he pulled on that and that caused the 1 foot tear in the panel. I remain sceptical.

Later that day, I go to the bathroom; he is on the roof and I overhear him badmouthing me to the neighbour, and how he has never worked this hard in his life, but at least he got a free soda today (!). I figure out later that she took pity on him for being under my tyranny, and gave him food and drink.

He works until 17.00. The telephone cable is free, there's some space in the yard, but still a mass of bougainvillea entanglements on the ground. The roof and gutters have been cleared.

Tree-feller has to fetch his wife, but he'll come back this evening still and remove the branches still lying lose on the roof in front. It doesn't look like rain, so he'll fix the roof the next day.

I say good, but the minute he leaves, I check the weather forecast. Fine, no rain, but wind. By 19.00, he has still not returned. I text him saying that I don't want to be a bother, but if the wind comes up, these branches might blow off, all over the neighbourhood, etc. He texts back and says, he's on his way.

He arrives and says: "Okay, let me quickly do this. I just got out of the bath. Phew, I worked hard today, never worked so hard in my life. But okay, you're a kind man and I don't like to see you angry."

I'm in the bathroom while he's hauling down the branches off the roof in the front, standing on the front wall. My doorbell goes and there is a commotion out front. Armed response and an agitated neighbour from across the road, rudely pointing at Tree-feller: "This man was just in my backyard, I saw him. Who is he?"

I have to vouch for Tree-feller with the Armed response man. The neighbour is adamant that he is the man: "Same blue shirt and hat."

Tree-feller is non-plussed: "Please man, I've been working here all day, never worked so hard in my life and now they want to accuse me of burglary."

He kind of mutters this to no one in particular, but loud enough so that the whole street hears: "I just had a bath, I've been working all day there at the back, but now I must just clear this from the roof." Etc.

This while the security response is trying to ask me something but the neighbour is kind of apologising, but assertively, in my face, and in such a way that she makes me feel guilty that the tree-feller is not her would-be burglar. She wants so hard for him to be the burglar, she starts sounding pissed off with me.

"You were burglared here weren't you, a few months ago?" she spits at me.

I nod.

"So you can understand."

I think so; yes, of course. But I am completely thrown by her accusatory demeanour.

The neighbour is perhaps a little too quick to accuse. Her house itself has an impenetrable bougainvillea at the front, and for Tree-feller to get out of her backyard, down a (closed) service alley over barbed wire and all, back to my roof hauling down bougainvillea is highly improbable, if not impossible. (A few days ago, I saw a blue shirt lying on the pavement round the corner, where the service alley behind that row of houses had been closed up, and where it's likely the real burglar had dropped it to escape identification.)

Tree-feller leaves. I am irritated by this job going on for so long now, and I still have a hole in the roof. But I feel bad for him, suddenly under attack and accusation. I text him and apologise once again to him for my rude neighbour. He responds: "You are so kind. It makes my day. GBU."

GBU? Oh, God Bless U. Eek!

It goes on and on and on with the craziness, doesn't it?

6. Tree-feller arrives early on Friday, with Helper, whom I am relieved has not yet died in my backyard. Throughout the day, they basically drag heaps of nasty bougainvillea on a sheet of plastic through the house. It's a jungle inside my house: branches, leaves, flowers, dust. There is dust everywhere. Naturally, as the wind starts to blow, the patches of denuded sand just blows into the house. I grit my teeth, literally and figuratively, for the whole of Friday.

7. Don't believe for once Tree-feller finished on Friday. He had to come and patch the roof on Saturday, just before the owner came to inspect the job and pay him. Of course, I had to hear all sorts of insinuations: Shame, his wife is at the fete, but he has to fix my roof; it's a good thing he had this sheet of fibre-glass, do you know how much it costs now? Etc.

After the inspection, the owner mentions planting a different creeper, etc. and Mr. Treefeller just jumps in: "I'm your man. I am a horticulturalist. I've got a lovely creeper, with a beautiful red bell-flower. It's in a pot. I'll bring it this afternoon. And you can have it, for free."

I protest, saying, well, it's very nice of him but, really, he shouldn't. He says: "No, not a problem. You were so kind, and you were patient, while I was doing other work, but you know..."

He then proceeds telling the story about the damaged wall to the owner, who humours him. And then she asks him about extending a wall in my backyard. And it starts again: "Yes, I can start this afternoon. There, you can go look, I've got sand and cement in my bakkie. And my son is bringing me some bricks this afternoon. I can just ask him to deliver it here."

He then quotes a ridiculously low price, that can't possibly include all of the materials and labour. The owner says, fine, but I suggest he starts Monday. I mean, I want some peace around the house for two days.

Monday it is. Tree-feller also gives me advice on herbs and, in fact, promises to come round with the creeper and a few plants of king basil, rosemary and oreganum, which he'll quickly plant, in two rows so that one can walk through and brush against it. "Lovely," he says, "that will be just lovely. But listen here, what about that creeper? I can also give you a granadilla plant rather. You know, nice purple flower, and then granadilla fruit. Do you eat granadilla?"

I point to the fruit basket and the 5 or so granadillas there. He claps his hands together: "Yes! I knew it! I'll give you the granadilla plant then. It's in a pot as well, so it's contained, and it grows fast." Etc.

He never arrived that afternoon, nor the Monday. I'm still waiting for my herbs...

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An idle thought from over the seas

The organisers of the SA Blog Awards 2008 have yet to announce the "celebrity" non-blogging judges of the competition. I wonder if the Raghunath will crack the nod? We all know that at least he reads blogs, which, I assume, is more qualification than most SA B-List celebs. And imagine what a spiffing tie he would wear to the awards ceremony!

Mahendra's Sunday Times

I see the Sunday Times carried a small little post about Mahendra's ties and Facebook groups, and the rigorous Mahendra Tie-Watch Project received a big fillip. However, they failed to mention this blog. They do quote Mahendra, though, and he refers to the blog, but doesn't mention it by name:

The dressing is part of my personality, and the bloggers and Facebook crew have picked on my little idiosyncrasies, the way I smile or look at the camera, my quirks and especially my quips at the end of the programme. (Sunday Times)

He goes further to say:

I visited the site to see what was said. I take the negative and positive in the same way. It’s a way to improve my craft and it’s worth looking at what people are thinking about my presentation and investigating areas of improvement.

Could this be the slow start to a movement which might lead to a television set for the Mahendra Tie-Watch Project Head Quarters? Or do I, like Guy Bennett, hope against hope?

The Mahendra's Ties Television Fund

No, seriously, this blog needs an injection of [chemical] or [propellant]. It is true that I espy Mahendra and miscellaneous newsreaders on occasion, but it's often by chance. [I caught a glimpse of him on Saturday evening: dark jacket, dark red/maroon shirt, stripy tie of dark hues.] But since the loss of my very own idiot-box, I haven't been in watch-mode and therefore was overcome more with a despair, reminded again that I have no television by way of which to follow the Tie-man. I have consequently been reading a lot and have become a bit more ruminative on the nature of things.

E.g. why does our man read the news articles with such - how shall I say - such wild diversion in tone, as if he is reading a story of some narrative and dramatic import? I mean, yes, news items do have narrative import and many, of course, are of high drama. But I feel that our man in Auckland Park needn't add such intonations as would render the telling of the tale as melodramatic performance. Of the older generation, I am quite prepared to have my news come to me in neutral tones - not droll, not droning, but some neutrality of voice will have me focus on the content of each item and not its delivery. Then I will leave it to media studies students to launch enthusiastic but ultimately formulaic critiques of the contradiction between neutrality of voice and its ideological intentions.

In any case, it is partly my fault: losing focus in my mission, straying off message, etc. It shows a weakness, yes, and I shouldn't let the redistribution of television sets become a major setback.

Alas, it has. I can't imagine myself strolling over to the local and asking the struggling proprietor to switch the channel from the football/rugby/cricket to the SABC3 news now, can I? There are not enough Mahendra-watchers yet to turn this television event into a moneyspinner such as a FIFA or FIA event.

So, apart from begging co-writers, who have their own moments, phases or seasons of rumination, to contribute more freely, I have decided, also, to suggest - quite reticently, reluctantly - to suggest... or, rather, I was thinking that maybe I should suggest a television fund to buy a television set of modest proportion. The kitty already sports ZAR16.00, revenue generated through advertising on this site - we could be well on our way if we can find a chink in the closed circle of no-TV-no-entries-no-readers-no-ad-revenue-no-TV. A television fund may well provide hammer, chisel, wedge and ramrod.

Dear reader, you decide.