watch guy

[watch guy @watchguysa]

@cooperative @COOP #COOP #coop #potatoes

[watch guy @watchguysa]

@TVKev @TalkTV You just mentioned the message that stopped a person from posting something regarding "two tier", my wife tried to access an article and got the same message. Guess what ! It was an article about Christian sights where Jesus walked or had been

[watch guy @watchguysa]

@TalkTV They are currently restricting access to #Christian posts about historical sites in #Jerusalem due to local laws in the UK

[watch guy @watchguysa]

@JesseKriel15 @Springboks @Nike Soooo happy

[watch guy @watchguysa]

@SkyNews #Glastonbury2025 #Gaza more than 80 people get murdered in South Africa everyday, and it's supposed to be at peace ?

[watch guy @watchguysa]

@TVKev

[watch guy @watchguysa]

@TalkTV Please could we stop using the name he chose to make him famous. Rather use the name that he was obviously not pleased enough with.

[watch guy @watchguysa]

@TalkTV Please could we stop using the name he chose to make him famous. Rather use the name that he was obviously not pleased enough with.

[watch guy @watchguysa]

@TalkTV @TVKev #Ukraine gave up its nuclear arms under the promise and guarantee of protection from #UK and #US

[watch guy @watchguysa]

@TalkTV @iancollinsuk Ukraine gave up their Nuclear weapons , with the deal that America and UK would provide security and protect them.

[Mike the Warthog @thyphoidjack]

PASS
They sent you into the bush for one final patrol. On the last day you fired off all your flares and extra ammunition - across shonas or above herds of frightened cattle - because you couldn’t contain your excitement: you were going home. They brought replacements into the base and got you to vacate your tent and sleep in the sand outside for a few nights which didn’t matter because you were drunk with happiness: you were going home. They left you alone most of the day while HQ soldiers packed up the base and let you lie around and drink beer and work on your sun-tan: you were going home. Then they packed you into Buffels and sent you off on one final journey down the long, de-mined gravel road towards the airport and home.
They grouped you at a transit camp near Ondangwa airport which had running showers and clean tents and you stayed there for a day or two, cleaning up, psychologically preparing for the transition to normal society. Then at the appointed hour they loaded you onto the back of a horse-and-trailer truck and emptied you onto the heated concrete of the airport apron. You watched how helicopter gunships took off to patrol the fringes of the runway and then cheered as a Flossie spiralled down from the heavens to fetch you. It spent only half-an-hour on the tarmac refuelling as it also wanted to get the hell out of there and the whole time the helicopter gunships patrolled on the runway fringes. They opened the huge loading door at the back and you clambered in, not caring to look back, and then sat for four hours in webbing seats with condensed water dripping onto your clean uniform and contemplated above the loud drone of the engines the coming days at home.
You thought about how good it would be stand in front of a braai at sunset, a cold Castle in your hand, quietly confiding to your father the truth of the war. How you spent months on patrol in tormented fear waiting to be ambushed at night, the possibilities of which slowly eroded as Pass drew near, a sure prelude to the ambush actually occurring. And then how all hell broke loose around you one night and the earth shook and people screamed in the darkness and bleeding men and bodies littered the place and your hysterical tension-relieving laughter thereafter.
You thought about how you’d hit a landmine and survived and how no one would believe you. Of how unfair it was that you should now have to convince them that it actually happened. You thought about friends who had stood by you these past few months and about enemies you had made. You thought about the things you were not going to tell your father - a proud old soldier - like the dissension in the ranks or the finer details of events where people had died or friends had lost limbs or how you desperately jabbed drips into unconscious mates or the nights in the troops’ canteen when drunkenness turned into brawls and the MPs threw you into the POW cage and left you raging in a sobering world of blood and anger and injustice.
At Port Elizabeth airport you landed alongside the civilian aeroplanes of South African Airways, slim liners with daringly orange tails which were an affront to your unaccustomed eye. They sat you on the concrete apron again while they struggled to find the late transport that was supposed to fetch you, but it didn’t matter - this was the land of home. PF wives and children would be there to meet officers and NCO's and take them away, and suddenly the company would be left virtually without rank. You sat impatiently, filled with adrenaline, talking excitedly in small groups amidst a profusion of balsaks and rucksacks and machine-guns and rifles stacked all around you. Eventually you were jammed into trucks and taken to base camp at Grahamstown where firstly you ran for the public telephones and then were fed a huge meal dished up by chefs in white in a proper mess-hall with real tables and chairs. Then they paid you lots of money and issued you new uniforms so that you wouldn’t go home in the faded, torn Browns rendered threadbare by months of patrol.
They kept you there for one night only, for already fights would have been picked with the new conscripts - the roofies - sleeping in bungalows alongside yours. You climbed into bed drunk with the delirium of impending release and for the first time slept soundly beneath sheets of starched linen without fear of ambush. They ejected you quickly the following morning. You made your way to the camp parking lot and tinkered with your old engine and eventually coaxed your car into life and set out with friends on the long road home. Your first stop was a bottle store and you arrived in Cape Town ten hours later having sped recklessly down the Garden Route, one hand on the wheel and the other gripping a long series of emptying beer tins. You laughed and joked and flirted brazenly with every woman at every shop or petrol station where you stopped. And sometimes you sat silently, taking in the astonishingly beautiful coastline and vast expanse of ocean which you had missed for so long. You journeyed down much of South Africa’s coastline on that drive, revelling in that beauty which they said you had fought to protect. From the time of arrival in Cape Town you had a week to party and in those few days lived life more intensely than ever before or since.
© Steve de Witt

[SuperSport Rugby @SSRugby]

Damian de Allende x Cheslin Kolbe 🇿🇦

That epic try just hits different in super slow motion, some incredible strength and skill on display 🤩

#AutumnNationsSeries

[watch guy @watchguysa]

Shocking @sainsburys @talktv @TVKev @JeremyKyleLive

[WeGotitBack 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁥󠁮󠁧󠁿🇬🇧🇺🇸 @NotFarLeftAtAll]

Sainsbury’s

Protesters are blocking an isle that a disabled customer wants to go down.

In today’s world .. I would have thought this would be classed as a disability hate crime from the protesters ? restricting his access ?

The police are useless and so is Sainsbury’s

[Rugby Bits @RugbyBits]

The 🍒 on Cheslin to wait for that ball to drop while Freddie is charging down

[DummySwitchPod @DummySwitchPod]

🔥🔥🔥

[Rugby World Cup @rugbyworldcup]

Define clutch kicking 🥶

Handre Pollard to send South Africa into the #RWC2023 final 👇

#RWCFinal | @Springboks

[Craig Ray @craigray11]

Cheslin Kolbe. Irreplaceable. Boks have had great wings, Habana being among the greatest to play the game anywhere. But Cheslin is just so dynamic, so smart and so game changing. There is has never been one like him.