Blog Archive

CABS aplogise: wonders never cease

Dear Gold Class Clients,

All of us at CABS have realised that communication is absolutely vital, not only between ourselves but most importantly to our clients – a factor that was not taken into account over the recent increase in the minimum balance limits for Gold Class clients from $ 500,000 to $ 5 000 000.

We profoundly apologise for the lack of communication from CABS and fully appreciate that this error has caused untold difficulties in your banking lives. You deserve to be given the proper period of notice and to this effect; we will be revising the date of this change to 1 November 2005 and reverse any charges incurred.

To our Gold Class clients who are currently 60 years or over, the minimum balance will stand at $500,000.
The reason for the increase is two-fold: The ramification of the current economic situation means that increases are necessary in order to continue to exist but also, we wanted to raise the level of service you receive from Gold Class.

If you feel that retaining this minimum balance is difficult we do have alternative options for you to consider.
Blue Class account: Minimum Balance is $25 000 and a monthly service charge
of $15,000 per month.
icabs account: No minimum balance and no monthly service charge, however you are restricted to 5 transactions in a banking hall per month.

We take your feed-back and your comments very seriously and would appreciate hearing from you. Please feel free to contact us on any subject and we have set up a Contact Centre especially for this reason. The toll-free number is 0800 2200 500 or landline numbers are 870559, 870567 or 870518. Please could you telephone us and let us know your latest contact details, including your email address, as we would like to start communicating with you on a regular basis.

Please accept our apologies once again; we really do value your support.

Do I have horns on my head?

Okay really, I must have, like, these horns growing out my skull, a forked tail and a trident sticking outta me somewhere, cos everyone be like, hey y’all you got Jesus? Jesus Christ!

So there I was last night, needing to meet my bruv in Borrowdale so I could get a lift home. Chilling on 7th Street minding my own shit, and here comes this little cutie. I scope out the bag, and there it is – the Good Book. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not against religion or anything, hell I’m for it if keeps people happy and peaceful and shit. It’s just not, you know, for me.

Anyway, we exchange a few glances and I think, it’s on, we exchange names (she’s a very cute and high-pitched “Rachel”) and so forth. So she’s like, where you going? I’m like, to Sam Levy’s, you know, I’m feeling like parking in the Scud & Donkey for a coupla hours and drink some beer, you know how we do. She’s like, oh, I’m going to church, wanna come? I’m like, no I don’t want to come to church with you.

She gets all offended, like I bit her ear off, then I really start to unload on her. I’m like, no i’m not being rude or unpleasant or unfriendly here at the bus-stop, baby, but damn! why can’t people ever have a simple conversation without bringing up divisive topics like religion, politics or whatever. I’m like, why couldn’t this just have been hi, I’m Joe, you Rachel, weather’s nice, you in finance I’m in computers, blah blah here’s my number poof! That would have been so nice, but noooo, she’s here tryina convert a brother. So I said, why don’t we meet here same time next week, you on your way to youth or meeting or whatever, and we start again? And that’s how it ended.

And now, my homie AT sends me a song, and it starts, and I’m thinking, nice and “rocky”, opening riffs go like that Smallvile song, and the Creed-wannabe dude comes on, and there they go, asking Jesus to come down and save them, blah blah. I mean come on!

Do I look so bad that every Christian I meet feels an urgent calling to convert me? I’m not so bad, in fact i’m a downright alright bloke, and bet I do more for the ordinary man on the street than some o’ y’all BACs (born again etc) out there…

Somebody save me.

Strength & Vision? I doubt it

Fun and games. Went to the ATM yesterday, and something was terribly wrong with my bank balance. Somehow, the available balance seemed to have shrunk considerably over a matter of hours.

Turns out CABS, who I bank with (not for long), had increased the minimum balance on Gold Class accounts (not as larny as it sounds) from $500,000, about US$6.25 – this is just to maintain the account – to the princely sum of $5,000,000, yes, 5 meters, bar, large, whatever you want to call it. US$62 in real currency.

Now, I wouldn’t mind if they did this and notified their clientelle, no problem. But for fuck’s sakes, I was in their banking hall on Wednesday, I’ve been at their ATMs, there’s been nothing in the papers, fuck-all notice of this change. And it’s a big change, let me tell you. I mean, how do you do this without some sort of…bloody hell, they have my email address, my home, work and mobile numbers, my postal AND physical address, and they just couldn’t be arsed?

What do they think this is? Damn, if only the service from Gold Class was any bloody good, I would also understand. This is the same account with a max teller withdrawal amount of $2m, and if you want more, if the teller feels like giving you more, they charge you 1% of the extra. Here’s an idea, you buggers, how about *raising* the withdrawal amount and stop charging for it.

Makes you wanna muller someone, it really does. Is this what Zimbabwe has come down to? When banks can treat their customers like this?

Welcome to the candy shop

Well, another Saturday, another hangover 🙂 What to do? Go down to the Inter-Bank games and cruise for chicks, that’s what.

So I hooked up with my boys went to have a look. Damn! There were honeys all over the place, they had a beer tent (of course) and a really *really* loud sound system. So yeah, cruised around a bit, had a coupla brews and just saw the sites.

The Tetrad netball team, especially, was something to behold. Wish I was a rich man, and so on and so forth…

Livin la vida loca


Went down the Scud last night and had a few beers with me mates. Somewhere around the 7th dorp, someone passed me an invite to La Dolce Vita (yes, the restaurant at Avondale). Now, I haven’t had much time for the place, but I went along to have a look-see.

Fuck me gently! Walked in there, and the place was hopping with some of that old-skool flavour. Damn, it was like walking through a time machine, all those lovely soul/rnb rhythms from the 90s.
So we partied, although it ended up turning into just “another” club, you know when the usuals start streaming in, and the music changes to run-of-the-mill shit, hip-hop/pop/bullshit with a sprinkling of house/kwaito thrown in. Ordinary.

So went to Stars for a bit, had a beer, then of course visited Tipp’s around 4am for a couple of wind-down beers. All in all, a pretty rocking Friday night. Lovely.

One Night at the Scud & Nanny

Yes, it rained – sort of. Light showers, as you call them, not enough to green up Matabeleland but a top effort nonetheless. You know that irritating light sprinkling in your hair and on your shoulders. Peeps were traipsing into the pub like there was free hairspray samples at the door.

Chilled with the crew at the Scud, waited for the Liverpool-Chelsea “match”. So there we were in our corner, screaming and hollering for the Reds, and the ref misses a couple of clean obvious penalties! For fuck’s sakes! Bleeding heck, the bastards drew *again*…what does it take for us to win?

Bleeding Crouch lumbering around up front: the geezer drifts too deep anyway, and it almost defeats the purpose to punt high balls to him cos he’s too weak to win them anyway. Anyway, why am I whining? Cos we had the posh bastards, that’s why. No worry, there’s always Sunday.

Had a laugh, though. As always.

Phil Collins lyrics, anyone?

Looks like the rainy season is finally upon us down here in sunny Hahaharare. After a couple of really really hot days, up to 40C in places, it seems someone’s about too flush the Great Toilet In The Sky.

It’s late afternoon, and today began blistering hot, but since lunch-time it’s gone nice and overcast, a welcome relief let me tell ya. Took a walk through town, and man…the summer-wear! Ha, wet t-shirt heaven if it rains, belie’dat!

I don’t mind the rain, really, and after the past coupla days I’d be welcome. I wonder if the New Farmers have a crop in the fekin ground? Wouldn’t be nice if they got caught with their pants down-again.

Anyway, if it rains tonight, I’ll be comfy and safe in the Scud & Nanny, watching Liverpool (hopefully) taming the Chelsea beast. Roar!

What a weekend


It takes only one drink to get me drunk. The trouble is, I can’t remember if it’s the thirteenth or the fourteenth. (George Burns)

That about sums up my weekend…what a party. Firstly, last week was pretty ordinary, so I couldn’t be arsed to write anything, cos sweet fuck all happened until Friday.
So…we have a company get-together, playing tennis, swimming, lamb on a spit, booze and spouses, the works. Yes, I took a spouse 🙂

Anyway, we partied hard, then went to Platinum Lounge…which was booting. For the first time in ages, I actually took a woman to the club – not that I don’t got dates, mind, it’s just…you know, what if you find a takeaway. Really, movies and dinners I do, but never club. Anyway, I digress. Plat was rocking.

Had a liquid breakfast on Saturday at the Scud and Nanny, watched football all day (fuken Liverpool drew again), then drove around a bit with my homie Tre, went to Stars and…fell asleep in the car park. Woke up at 0430 when it was time to go home 😀

I was so pissed, I thought I’d take a power-nap in the car then join everybody else in the Studio, but that was it for me…lights off, man down. How pathetic is that?

So all in all, a good time was had by all, and I had a rocking weekend. More tomorrow.

Sucks to be me

Okay, so I may be feeling a bit sorry for meself this Monday morning. Gawd, what a crap weekend! Sitting at home, doing nothing but watching telly and DVDs…that sucks!

Finally got to watch Coach Carter, that was alright, nothing like a good sports movie. Although the featurettes on the real Coach and his team were more interesting. But that wasn’t the low-light of my weekend, good folks. I saw Vin Diesel in The Pacifier, and what a load of tripe that was! I mean, is this guy for real? Talk about a career-killer?!?!

Okay, maybe that’s an overreaction but seriously, It’s been a while since I watched a really painful movie, and that has to rank down there with the worst of ’em.

Back to the matter at hand, I missed Rock Down Harare, how I was so looking forward to that (there’s something about rock concerts. y’know? drunk white chicks…) *and* I missed my beloved Western Province getting wired by the Bulls *and* I missed Liverpool’s bore-draw with ManUre. That’s why my weekend sucked. No sex. No alcohol. No sport. Just telly, movies, babies, books and guitar practice. Sucks to be me….

Rewind, man selecta!


So I’m sitting here chained to my desk listening to Buju singing Batty Rider. Awesome tune, and it’s got me thinking: where in Harare can you listen to sweet old tunes, not necessarily by genre but just feel-good, memory-invoking, foot-tapping massive tunes?

I’ve only had good vibes at Circus on a Friday, and of course at Cousin’s (that’s Tipperary’s to the uninitiated). Wouldn’t it be nice to just throw an old-school party? By old-sk I mean nothing recorded after, say, 1995? Cancel out the last ten years of bubblegum pop, fake-ass rappers (Lil’ jon? what the fuck is that?) and all that Goonit mess.

I’ma throw a party one of these days, throw down some of that Buju Banton, Chaka Demus et al, Lakeside, Ronnie Hunt, Cameo, Kool G Rap, Eric B & Rakim, Dre, Pac, Westside Connection, BBD, New Edition, oh damn I get chills just thinkin about it. Rewind back to the blazer boy (thanks TKM) days, my people, and just feel the music.

Now, wouldn’t you come a party like that? Time to get organising, AT!