Ahoy there all you young whipper-snappers out there in computer land! No, there hasn’t been a glitch in the Matrix, and yes this post has been written by a Mr. Fylan Streep.

“Fylan Streep? I don’t remember a Fylan in the ever-increasing-band-members-band commonly-known-as-the-Brothers-Streep?” I hear you ask. Yes. Fylan Streep. To the max. I’m the one who is less interested in guitar, but more interested in blog posts. In these posts I will attempt to provide you with journeys into the mind of a Streep band member. And this is my first... 

I think it’s always important if you’re posting a new blog to choose a topic that is hard-hitting, balls-to-the-walls, and generally of crucial importance. Which is why I’ve chosen to address the Geneva Conventions!

The Geneva Conventions. What’s it all about?

I quickly realized that no-one knows that, which is why I’m rather going to write about Rusks.

We’ve all been there. Sitting in your room, waiting for your podcast to download, and you glance at the box of Rusks by your bedside table. You’ve got nothing better to do, so you read that blurb on the side. What you find is that the story of Rusks is by no means a happy one. Something about an Ouma getting greatly depressed and having to sell her family for recipes or whatever (I may have skimmed). But the fact remains that Ouma Rusks now form part of the staple diet of most self-respecting South Africans.

Thinking back on matric, my happiness and well-being during many hours of studious behaviour was directly related to how many Rusks I had consumed. The only conclusion that can be drawn from these results is that Rusks must in fact be the meaning of life. Unfortunately the marketing directors at Nola decided that it would be a great idea to branch out from the traditional Buttermilk brand, and introduce a wide range of flavours. I, however, feel that Ouma would be rolling in her grave if she heard of this travesty. So I don’t compromise. Ever.

The actual process of eating a Rusk is also filled with controversy. Are you a dipper? Are you a chomper? Are you a scooper? You are one of these 3 categories whether you like it or not. And it’s not me who decides this! It’s genetics...

When sitting around eating Rusks with friends, there’s always that moment when someone butts into the conversation with an emphatic, “Oh NOOO!” shortly followed by the words, “Get me a teaspoon! GET ME A TEASPOON NOW, OR IT’S GONNA DISINTERGRATE!” Hurriedly you get them their implement of redemption, and then there is the moment of intense concentration felt by all in the room, right up until the spoon emerges from the milky depths. If the mission was victorious, a smile of sheer glee forms on the face of the accused, as they merrily slurp up the sweet goodness. If they tried and tried, but couldn’t save it, condolences are passed to the victim, and possibly a pat on the back. No one can withstand that kind of torment without shedding a tear or two.

So that’s it. Rusks are the new Tennis Biscuits. If you like Rusks, and want to know more about these lovely things, please feel free to write to your ouma and ask her about them. It may not look like her on the box, but trust me, it is...

Fylan