• Message from James Clarke













    "South Africa's Best Humour Columnist"
    - SA's Comedy Awards September 2008

    “South Africa’s funniest columnist.”
    - Financial Mail

    Please forgive the little boasts at the top of this column. You see I am not famous enough to be modest. And that second unsolicited quote comes from the literary critic of a rival group so who am I to argue anyway?

    Having said that, welcome to my blogsite! Please come in and close the door.
    Let me introduce myself: I was for 30 years a science writer on South Africa’s foremost daily newspaper, The Star, Johannesburg, dealing with environmental matters, urban and rural.

    Sixteen years ago The Star persuaded me to write a daily humour column. It's called Stoep Talk ( “Stoep” being a veranda in South Africa).

    I also write for various journals and have had several books published.

    I’m still not entirely sure what a blogsite is except it’s a sort of cross between a website and, I think, a Schnauzer and my friends insist I must have one.

    For some reason it is customary in blogsites and websites to refer to oneself in the third person and so, with my permission (thank you so much) I will, from now on, refer to myself as Clarke.

    You will find on this site some of my – sorry, I mean Clarke's - columns and also an idea of some of Clarke’s books and something about the fellow.

  • HOT OFF THE PRESS !!

















    James Clarke’s latest book, Blazing Saddles (Jonathan Ball publishers), is the hilarious story – a true adventure – involving six men in various stages of decrepitude who, on a sudden whim, decide to embark on a 1 000km cycle ride down the River Danube . None had cycled since childhood – nor even owned a bicycle.

    The story, reminiscent of Jerome K Jerome’s Three Men in a Boat – is told by their not terribly good leader, James Clarke.

    The ride which passed through four countries became known as the Tour de Farce.

    The Tour de Farce has since become an annual event and Blazing Saddles recounts the team’s adventures in France, Italy, Ireland and their ride from the source of the Thames, through the middle of London, down to the North Sea.

    Available from bookshops and Kalahari.net

Belinda and the Bloody Lights

Posted on January 6, 2009 by James Clarke

This week, Mrs Williams at Malhurst Primary, desirous of completing her class register, set the children the task of writing a composition on what they did at Christmas. Belinda Tamsen’s pen began to scorch up the paper.

 

My Crissmus by Belinda Tamsen

 

We hadda verry nies crissmus and I had lotsa presents in-clooding a bike witch I lern 2 ride rownd and rownd the gardin and inter the dalliers witch I flattend. My cuzzin Mark came 2 see us with his sister Mary. Mary tell me Mark tride 2 get her 2 put all her pocket munny in with his munny so they could buy thear mother a sokka ball. Mary sed she didernt forl 4 that one.

We hadda crissmuss tree with lites that go on and off but at first they wud not go on at all and daddy sed it was becos one of the tiny lites was dud and 4 an owr he cud not fine out witch one it was and he kept say-ing bluddy hell and bugga the soddin lites. Sumtiems he ack-chew-elly swear.

My little brutha gotta plorstic tool kit and just wen daddy got the lites 2 werk he hit wun with his hammer and they all went owt. My daddy orst him niesly not 2 hit the lites again but he did and they orl went owt again.

My daddy showt doant do that agen EVER or I will brane you.

My little brutha got such a frite he wet hisself.

Crissmus dinner was fun. Granny and Granpa came and bort us all sox and ornty Berrill came and she also bort sox – again. I orsk you with teers in my ize wot sort of crissmus present is sox 4 hevins sake.

She giv my little brutha a trumpit which make a sownd like a So-wetto taxy. She dusint hav any chillren so she dusint unner-stand. My brutha neva stop blowin it Paaap! Paaap! Paaap!

Daddy say if you doan stop blowin that bluddy thing I will rap it rown yor nek. Ornty Berrill say wot a terribell think 2 say 2 a smorl boy and my daddy say wy did you by him a trumpit 4 peet’s sake and she say she by him wot she like and she pick my little brutha up and hug him and he wet hisself again and orlso wet ornty Berrills dress.

She REELY doan unner-stand chillren.

We all bort millyens of thowsens of presents and daddy say it is orl a ridicu-luss waist. Mummy say we only spent abowt R20 on each so its notta train smash. Daddy say that nex year we shud all stand inna sircle on crissmuss day and hand each otha a R20 note and be dun with it.

We had turkey and ham and crissmus pudding and crackers witch we pull and things jump owt like wissels and spinnin tops. My little brutha gotta tin frog that goes click clack click clack wen you press it until peepel go mad. He drop it on the floor and my daddy ack-sid-ently stud on it and smash it inter millyens of peeses.

Wen my brutha cride my ornt pick him up and skweez him tight and he bort up all over her dress – all his crissmus pudding an turkey and custid and orl sorts of in-ter-ess-ting things sum from breck-fus.

My cuzzin then play the pee-anno. Every body clap eg-sep me. Mummy sae wie doan I tern the pages of the music so I had 2 and I ack-sid-dently drop the lid of the pee-anno on his fingas and he yell and yell but at leest he hadda stop playing and we all clap again in-cloo-ding me this time.

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