Hollywood does South Africa proud (even if Matt Damon looks like Juan Smith)

Look. I might be new to blogging (just 14 weeks in the game). And I might be a total stranger to the intricacies of the internet. Indeed, I’m still trying to work out what pingbacks, analytics and plug-ins are. No pork. I’m groping around in a worldwidewebbed wonderland here. And having too much of fun.

But here’s a thing. This blog’s Google Analytics, whatever they are, show that the searchwords that bring the seventh highest number of visitors to South Africa’s only “medically diagnosed SA-positive” website are, cough, splutter, “Genevieve Morton naked”. Are you with me here? Yes. After, quite understandably, “Fred Hatman”, “proudly South African”, “Umdloti”, “world’s best blogger”, “unicycle” and, er, “world’s biggest liar about being the world’s best blogger” comes “Genevieve Morton naked”. What’s that all about?

OK, so I’ve mentioned Gen on my blog a few times. I would. She’s a close friend and confidante. And she raises even Umdloti’s temperature when she takes her permanently reserved suite at Hatman Mansions and lies around my rimpool in that white bikini she likes to wear. And my staff very much like her to wear.

But have I posted any naked pictures of her on this blog? No. This is, to all intents and purposes, a family blog. Even if I do have naked photographs, and I do, I wouldn’t share them with the world, would I? No. That’s quite correct. I wouldn’t. So stop searching for pictures of Gen naked on here, OK? It’s not nice.

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Take a dip into ‘Paris Hilton’s handbag’!

A tune that I just can’t get out of my head at the mo is Variety Lab’s (I Like) London In The Rain off the well-chilled Hotel Costes compilations (Quatre – No 4 – since you ask)… but – and don’t tell the Variety Lab crew – I’ve customised the lyrics (all six words of them) in my head and in the shower to “I, Like, Totally Dig Durban In The Rain”.

You see, yesterday and today are two of the roughly 23 days of the year that the sun don’t shine on our city of pure sub-tropical sumptuousness and, like the sprawling gardens of Hatman Mansions, I do like a drop of rain. Weather report over, may I give you yet another reason to fall in love with the city where all of you fantasise to be when the World Cup 2010 finals kick off in South Africa next June?

OK. So you’re on the edge of your seats, lungfuls of air tightly sucked in. Good. Here it is…

Just. Drink. It. All. In. Our ocean. Our city. Yes, OUR World Cup Stadium. With its glorious arch. Beautifulnesses all round there my babies!

Just. Drink. It. All. In. Our ocean. Our city. Yes, OUR World Cup Stadium. With its glorious arch. Beautifulnesses all round there my babies!

I thought you’d like that. This work of art was snapped by none other than Allan Jackson, scribe of the Fishnet column in South Africa’s Sunday Tribune, and you can see more of his photographic gems right here. Nice work, Allan. And thanks for sending this little i-marge my way.

OK. So I know what you’re thinking. You are sat there looking at Allan’s pic and saying to yourself: “Mmm, nice stadium but what’s going on with that beach, bru?” Nice. I love inquiring minds. Truth is, Hatpeople, that the Durban municipality, because they just cannot spend enough on ensuring that your World Cup experience is unsurpassed, are totally revamping our beachfront.

Like, totally. By the time our city fathers and mothers (and their cousins and their cousins’ cousins)  are finished tinkering with it, you lot sitting at Miami South Beach (and I know you’re reading this because my latest Google Analytics stats record a massive jump in American Hatpeople visiting this blog, no pork) will be physically contorted with envy. I’m cool with that.

What I’m not quite so cool with are the Cape Town crew who have been spamming me and saying that our WC2010 stadium (Moses Mabhida Stadium to you) looks like Paris Hilton lost her biggest handbag while on a whirlwind visit to Durban. Not nice. Quite funny. But not very nice.

As my Dad used to say, if you haven’t got anything nice to say, don’t say it. And, as always, he was right. He was my Dad. So my message to those Capetonians trying to wrench the World Cup limelight away from the most drop-dead gorgeous city in South Africa is this: “You carry on sitting under that silly little flat-topped hill of yours, sipping skinny lattes outside Giovanni’s in your poncy designer clothes and just focus on that pathetic well-sucked-Polo-mint confection of a stadium your municipality spent your rates money on.”

There. War declared against the Mother City. Cool. We Durbanites are legendary for our laidbackness. But we’re also, like, so totally Zulu up here. That’s just how we roll. And jump. And brandish our spears. So we will fight when we have to. Paris Hilton’s handbag! That’s just sick. And asking for trouble.