That gogga of the AWB called Eugene Terre'Blanche is back stirring up trouble again, and reports say he has lost none of his fiery rhetoric.

That gogga of the AWB called Eugene Terre'Blanche is back stirring up trouble again, and reports say he has lost none of his fiery rhetoric.

A headline writer at the Sunday Times captured the tragedy aptly with the headline: "O volk! Terre'Blanche is back".

I love listening to ET. I love the energy of his madness and his way with words. Besides, he once complimented me on my command of Afrikaans when I interviewed him in his home in Ventersdorp.

I may add that Mrs Terre'Blanche served us tea and cookies - so you see, I have to like the man.

I wondered as I spoke to him - and told him so - why he chose to use his unrivalled oratorical skills on such a disastrous course.

He stared vaguely at me, quietly shook his head and roared: "Kyk hoe mooi praat jy my taal." (Look how well you speak my language).

Pity, though, that when a man like ET says nice things about you, you sense an undertone of something like "you're not like the other blacks". And that worries me some.

If you are a regular reader of this column you will know by now that I love the creative abuse of language. I do not - and forbid you to - judge people because of their proficiency (or lack thereof) with words.

So, if ET thought I was a "nice" black because I could throw a couple of Afrikaans jawbreakers at him, he would, conversely, have thought less of Mrs X, a former school teacher of mine.

An unforgettable number from Mrs X was when she brought a lunch basket to school, and a couple of young female teachers pulled a prank on her and hid the basket. In case you do not know, blacks generally call a basket a maaintjie (pronounced manki).

She looked around the staff room and asked sweetly: "Mistresses, where is my monkey?"

The teachers guffawed and ended the prank - one line had supplied more amusement than they had hoped for.

Then there was the occasion when she invigilated a home economics test.

She did not want the candidates sharing desks because they cribbed.

So, speaking slowly and as sweetly as ever, she instructed them: "You must sit once,one-one. Do not sit twice."

I hear the sweet lady has departed this world and if indeed there is a heaven, it was made for people like her.

Back to creativity and language; my Oom Lefi Malatsi of Mamelodi was at it again this past weekend.

He tells of a bunch of petty shoplifters who took a few items and paid for them, except for the little tub of yoghurt that one of them started eating in the shop.

The store manager, who had been watching the group, stopped them as they were leaving and demanded to know why they had not paid for the yoghurt.

The yoghurt eater explained: "No, sir, we came together ." (We came with it).