Waar is my tiekie? Tog snaaks dat ek eers aan die einde van die reis moes kom om die begin te kon sien. 'n Pad wat nooit eindig nie en waar daar net gestop is as dit reeds te laat was en ek klaar, karsiek, opgegooi het. 'n Pad gedeel met baie. Ek moes eers vyftig word voordat ek die pad vorentoe kon lees. Die pad tot op vyftig was interessant. Die pad na vyftig 'n ondervinding en ervaring. Altwee paaie was en is grondpad; ek is bly. Oud-Suidwester ken van grondpad ry. Die mense wat tot op vyftig saam met my gery het, kon nie altyd by hou nie. Almal ry nie dieselfde pad nie; daar is afdraaipaadjies en stalletjies. Vir Damaskus donkies kan mens ook nie altyd stop nie. Dit leer mens egter eers later. Party mense leer dit nooit nie. Daar is aan die einde van die dag (of is dit nou aan die einde van die pad?), meer as net huise en geld. Erens langs die pad stop mens vir jouself. Erens langs die pad laai mens jouself op. Dit maak nie saak hoeveel keer mens stop of hoeveel afdraaipaadjies mens volg nie; al die paadjies kom weer terug op die hoofpad. Al die paadjies bring jou terug na jouself. Erens langs die pad laai mens jouself op...

A thought provoking look into the brilliant mind of a person diagnosed with Schizophrenia as he slips in and out of reality. Schizophrenia makes you vulnerable. Taking medication for it make the people around you vulnerable. It is hurting those closest to you without being able to stop. It is crying with those that cry for you. My hurt is more than any hurt that I can possibly inflict. I am sorry. I am so sorry.

Synopsis Bleed for the Queen is in part the story of KOBUS CRONJE, a pathologist from South Africa in Northern Ireland and his attempt to come to terms with the philosophical and psychological consequences of the brutal murder of his sister-in-law and her five month old baby. His own guilt and retribution causes his moral compass to go haywire in the way that he sees his wife, Lucy after she stood in for him at the morgue on that fateful Sunday morning. Bleed for the Queen is also the story of the city LONDONDERRY. A 400-year old city that he felt he had to defend no matter what the cost. Kobus Cronje, the main character, losing touch with reality more and more... seeing himself in the history of the walled city, a wall that was never breached. Feeling her heart beat as if his own, walking next to the wall, circling the city with his hand running along the wall, reliving the ancient pulse. Kobus Cronje a man craving for acceptance but afraid of the personal pain that human loss may bring, turned to his new city for acceptance. Overwhelmed by the four century old history of his new adopted city he took it on himself to be the saviour of a city that did not need saving. An ordinary man that feels deserted, by not only his own country but also his wife, willing himself the guardian at the gate. Willing the people of this beautiful dark city to see, to force them to realise what they are destroying while at the same time fighting his own demons. Working with the dead and cut off from the living, he slowly loses touch with reality. His own doubts blocked out he started to see himself as the new pulse, the cleanser at any price of this beautiful old city. This city scared but never taken: the mother than he misses, the wife that he lost, the daughter that he never had, willing himself to bring the ultimate sacrifice for that that he believes in - to win her back at any price. Kobus Cronje: struggling in his own mind but never coming to terms with the events of his own life - a life superimposed on those events that raged around him four hundred years ago. Historic events that started in 1608 when King James 1 gave the City of Derry to the City of London Corporation. A time further shaped by the Irish potato famine of the 1840's. History still playing out today after the troubles of the last thirty years... History in the making with the birth of their child, Carla's child four months after the court case ended. Bleed for the Queen is a fictitious crime thriller of obsession, sex and murder. Word Count: 19005

I Wynand Johannes Wentzel, take you, Linda Joyce Boyd, to be my wife, my partner in life and my one true love... but that only came later, much later: 1711 days and 71 emails later to be precise. The intention was never to group all my emails 'home' into a single document. That also came much later... only after Ireland became my 'home' My way of giving something back to this the most beautiful wee island in the whole wide world: Fri 11/08/2006 13:47 - I have discovered that certain things work and others should be left alone. Mon 18/09/2006 15:45 - A paperless society based on paper Fri 14/11/2008 11:05 - And there I was thinking that Australia is still only inhabited by convicts. Thu 16/04/2009 09:28 - There are really lots to mediate about in Ulster. Tue 30/06/2009 09:45 - A funny lot the Brits. Mon 18/01/2010 17:39 - The land of milk and honey this is. And bread, snacks, buns, a lake of coffee and an ocean of tea Fri 19/02/2010 11:44 - The strangers are the English Thu 22/04/2010 16:46 - And she sometimes sounds as if she has a wee diesel engine somewhere deep in her chest. Tue 20/07/2010 12:13 - It is just that I am now living on Irish time - a bit like African time, just much slower. Tue 31/08/2010 16:07 - And I thought, who else but the proud stubborn god-fearing Irish can spin a national engineering disaster like the sinking of the Titanic into a money making racket that attracts people from all over the world, even Australia? Wed 05/01/2011 14:43 - PS - Don't tell anybody you pretty wee bride Sat 02/04/2011 12:00 - I will cherish our union and love you more each day than I did before.

I have found my Tickey. Rejoice with me, I have found my tickey. Plus two brothers and a sister a son and two daughters more than one wife... Actually, my tickey has always been there: together on the long road, with the inquisitive discovery of all ten secret openings, the 'naked hikers', with the birth of my children, the death of my parents, my brother, my son my own journey back, always back... I am a child of Namibia. Lariza van Niekerk: What a pleasure it is to go on a reminiscence journey with Johann Wentzel in "I have found my Tickey" This journey stretches from his barefoot childhood days in South-West Africa and South Africa to Northern Ireland, from curry-tripe In Okahandja to curry-chips in Letterkenny. With the author, we have the honour of a near royal reception at a wedding in Taung, to be intrigued by the medicine man's fresh goat-skin apron and eventually to find true happiness in Waringstown. The narratives are presented in a casual style and that captivates the reader and lets the reader join the visit.

Where is my tickey? Isn't it strange that I had to get to the end of the road to be able to see the start? A road that never ends and where a stop is only made when it is too late and I travel sick, have already thrown up. A road shared with many. I had to turn fifty four before I could read the road ahead. The road up to fifty four was interesting. The road after fifty four an experience. Both roads were and are gravel roads; I am pleased. Ex-South-Westerners are familiar with driving on gravel roads. Not all the people who travelled with me up to fifty four could always keep up. Not everybody travels the same road; there are turn-offs and stalls. Also, one cannot always stop for every donkey, but one realises that only later on. Some people never appreciate that. There is, at the end of the day (or should it be at the end of the road?), more to live than only houses and money. Somewhere along the road, one stops for oneself. Somewhere along the road, one picks up oneself. It does not matter how many times one stops, or how many turn-offs one follows, all the little side roads eventually lead back to the main road. All the little roads bring you back to yourself. Somewhere along the road, one stops for oneself...

Ek het my Tiekie gevind. Wees saam met my bly ek het my tiekie gekry. Plus: twee broers en 'n suster 'n seun en twee dogters meer as een vrou... Eintlik was my tiekie maar altyd daar: saam op die langpad, met die nuuskierige ondersoek van al tien gaatjies, saam by die 'naked hikers', met die geboorte van my kinders, die dood van my ouers, my broer, my seun my reis terug, altyd terug... ek is 'n kind van Namibie. Lariza van Niekerk: Wat 'n genot is dit nie om weereens saam met Johann Wentzel in "Ek het my Tiekie gevind" 'n herinneringsreis te onderneem nie Hierdie reis strek vanaf sy kaalvoet-kinderdae in Suidwes-Afrika en Suid-Afrika, tot in Noord Ierland, vanaf kerrie-skaapafval in Okanhandja tot "curry chips" in Letterkenny. Saam met die skrywer smaak ons die eer van 'n koninklike ontvangs by 'n troue in Taung, wonder ons oor die toordokter-voorskoot en vind ons uiteindelik geluk in Waringstown. Die vertellings word gelewer in 'n gemaklike styl wat die leser boei en heerlik laat saamkuier.

Emails from Ireland. (This is the paperback colour edition. A much cheaper printed black and white edition is also available while the digital edition will also show the photos in colour.) I landed at Dublin airport early on Wednesday, the 26th of July 2006. I turned 54 that August, August 2006. Don't ask me why. Don't ask me why I came to Ireland less than a month before my 54th birthday. The answer may just depend on what the weather was doing at the time of asking, or what I was eating, or how much sleep I had the night before or how the Irish or Ulster Rugby team was playing. What I might have thought (that I know), was that I may just get on the plane and go back to South Africa whenever I felt like it, but not today. Not even today nearly eight years on. I will be 62 this August, August 2014. I had a job offer in July 2005 at roughly half of what I was then earning back in Sunny South Africa. I started working in Londonderry / Derry / The Walled City, Northern Ireland on Monday the 31st of July 2006. I did not know then that Londonderry / Derry / The Walled City is the same place. I also did not know that all the jokes about potatoes are true. There are still many things, about this most beautiful country in the world, which I don't know. I do however know that I am here to stay. I knew that from that moment when I declined the offer to go back to South Africa. That was about six weeks after first setting foot in Ireland. It took me less than a second to decide. It was not necessary to even think about it. The plane has taken off without me. It is so simple: life does not have a reverse gear.

Om te lees blaai om sak terug kussing jou rug lees my kniee opgetrek laat my uitspring deur jou oe tot lewe kom wysvinger gelek donkie-oor my vou my weer en weer stryk my plat sleep jou vinger oor my rug prewel my naam laat my bestaan in einde jou met glimlag uit te strek in tevredenheid sielsversadig met glimlag jou oe te knip agter jou gaap my af te stof en te herlees