Mom (97) tells me the male nurse and one of the inmates asked her to play the piano the other day. I can’t, she said, Some of the oldies are watching TV.
Ha! They’d see about that. So they went round and took a vote. Mary Play The Piano won easily over Watch TV.
The TV was muted and Mom played Roll out The Barrel.
There are many “Methodist” denominations throughout the world, not only the 1960s Harrismith, Orange Free State version, although that is the most important one. About 112 are listed in wikipedia. So there must be around 112 methylated ways to get to heaven, I spose. Many – or most maybe? – will deny whatever I mutter on the topic of their booze doctrine, but this is sort-of what they sort-of think, I think.
They gloss over Jesus and His wine. Jesus was a lot more pragmatic and accommodating than His Methodists. If he tried that water into wine trick in 2023 he’d be in trouble with this modern-day kerk! They would turn that trick of His into a whine. While it seems Meths are at pains to say they don’t actually BAN grog – no fatwas – they tut tut about it, and suggest that much-ignored Evangelical and Catholic tactic called ‘abstinence.’ The one that doesn’t work. That tactic. This is surely an opportunity for someone to start a 113th Meth sect: One that fearlessly BANS Booze!
From one of the many Methodist websites out there: “Abstinence from alcohol” witnesses to God’s liberating and redeeming love, and is part of living into the life God has prepared for us. We start there. We start with abstinence as faithful witness, and as the norm for guiding our behavior.” The fact that ‘where they start’ is 100% non-biblical? Well, the Bible is full of suggestions . . it’s a guideline . .
In 1960s Harrismith they didn’t get any of the above, sanks goodness. They got Mary Methodist who played the organ beautifully, coached the choir, sang in the choir, served on the Women’s Auxiliary (where women were kept away from any thoughts of usurping the patriarchy), kept us kids in line, or tried to, AND ran a bottle store. Which bottles contained liquor. She did all of these things well, and with love, did my Mom Mary of the Methodist Church and of the Platberg Bottle Store / Drankwinkel.
Do Methodists call for prohibition? Almost. They want “public policy calling for the strict administration of laws regulating the sale and distribution of alcohol.” Give them half a chance and they’ll prohibit, bottle stores will close, and the mafia will have our family’s income stream.
Well, despite their best efforts, if there is a place as boring as heaven, if it’s a good place, and if anyone is going there, Mary Methodist is most definitely at the front of that queue. St Peter won’t even ask to see her ID or her liquor licence. He’ll just wave her right through.
~~oo0oo~~
Here are a few more wafflings about booze by sundry Methodists:
Mostly it boils down to the same old ‘Yes, the Bible is the infallible word of God, BUT . . ‘ that all denominations use for various things.
~~oo0oo~~
Harrismith’s two bottle stores that provided much-needed succour to the grateful townsfolk were the Platberg Drankwinkel and the Horseshoe Drankwinkel. Sister Sheila tells the lovely story of the Aberfeldy farm school where the subject one day was Engels. The teacher asked, ‘Class, who knows the Afrikaans word for horseshoe?‘ And quick as a flash her friend Elsa du Plessis answered “Drankwinkel.”
Plaf Plaf Plaf Plaf Plaf (growing louder) *Huff Puff Huff* PlafPlafPlaf Plaf ( fading away) Ermigawd I’m back in the Kruger Park.
The Kruger’s most abundant dangerous mammal is jogging round n round, earphones on, carrying a bottle of ‘pure’ water trucked in from hundreds of miles away, belching diesel fumes.
And again. And again. Eight laps at least, three joggers, running separately. All seem to be wearing Adidas three sizes too big, judging by the hollowness of the Plaf. Then peace descends. They’re finished. Or, Deo Volente, been eaten by a lion.
We’re camping in Letaba camp. Now the evening sounds can begin. I’m waiting for a Pearl-spotted Owlet, but nope, first to call is the Barred, then later the Scops owls. Hyenas whoop; Hippos guffaw and snigger at their own dirty jokes; fart jokes, I bet. A Bushbaby cries, followed by a loud bellow. An Ele? No, more bovine. A Buffalo?
Must remember the rule though: For any mystery noise in a game reserve, always suspect Homo sapiens, so I can’t rule out a happy camper’s bowels being the source.
Then a Spotted Eagle Owl; Then – quieter and much nearer – another hyena? I roll onto my back to free both ears so I can listen in stereo.
Nope, just Jess having a mild little argument in her sleep, half sleep-talking. Sleep-mumbling.
~~oo0oo~~
The next night the same sounds, plus a lion’s roar. When it gets light I go for a walk along the Letaba river boundary of the camp. Lazybones Jess grunts ‘No’ and rolls up tighter under her duvet, so she misses out on seeing a distant pride of lionesses and cubs on the flood plain.
The lost puppy escaped an orchidectomy, anyway not having any external ‘orchids’ to harvest. Tiggers, the rescued kitty cat is unlikely to escape the ordeal. He’s heading off to MAWS and I don’t think he’s read the details of the invitation, poor fella.
The two heartless ladies are taking him. I was invited, but no ways I’m risking the vets getting confused as to which male needs doctoring.
~~oo0oo~~
Tigger is back. The deed was done by the voluntary vet at MAWS, and he survived the ordeal. He’s not happy, he’s resting and recovering, subdued.
One day later, and he’s almost back to his old self, full of energy and mischief, pouncing on anything that moves, including Jess, who he has forgiven, gullible cat.
Janet has a lot of energy. A lot. Also, she knows her patch. So when she said in the pitch dark of way-too-early morning, ‘Please come and help me,’ you don’t argue. Shoes on, grab your torch and out into the chilly fullmoon morning. What us loafers would more accurately call the chilly fullmoon night.
‘There’s a puppy with its head stuck in the fence. Go there, I’m going round outside to behind it.’ You do as you’re told.
And so there was: A cute little blonde pup with its head poked through the bonnox wire; its head smaller than the hole, so it could easily have pulled back but was pushing forward, determined to get into the yard. Word must have got out that the lady at number 1414 is a softie who feeds and waters five cats, a mutt, ten thousand birds and sundry cattle, goats and donkeys.
Well, the pup was right. Once it got into the yard there was food and milk and four outraged and indignant cats. Mom! You’re not letting This Thing into paradise, are you? they sniffed at Janet.
Still way too early, we left on Janet’s power walk up and down the dry Thamalakane river with Muppet, the large hound with the small brain, most of the grey matter dedicated to enthusiasm, little to forethought. Raising dust as we strode towards, then away from, then back towards the sun, which had sensibly not risen yet. The full moon was still trying to set.
And at her heels was the new arrival, trotting along as if trained and long used to this. The walk was a good long one, up to Wilmot Island and down to Kagiso and back, but lil Puppy was relaxed and happy.
As we got back to Jan’s gate a young chap who told us his name was Gift met us and asked, ‘Have you seen a puppy? A female puppy?’ at which Puppy ran to him and rubbed against his ankles. Happy reunion and happy cats who muttered, ‘Damn Right, Be Off With You!’
Lucky for Puppy too, as while we thought she was a he, we had already planned his de-nackering.
Raintree Camp is just short of Shorobe, north of Maun. Janet and I, gaily chatting our heads off, woke up when we got to the fork-off to Kazakiini Camp, a good 26km past the turnoff. We pretended we knew all along and were just reconoittring the area. Jess was unimpressed at our u-turn. We had actually both noticed the Shorobe Basket Weavers sign, but hadn’t figured out that meant we were passing through that village!
While backtracking, we went straight back to yakking and solving the world’s problems, including the fact that the bakkie was pulling to the left as a result of the road camber and the thick sand on the left compared to the harder calcrete in the middle.
Which was actually neither of those things. It was because of a left front puncture. Our prolonged diagnosis meant the tyre was shredded by the time we stopped.
Jess then took a near-plumber’s crack picture, which resulted in her forfeiting supper last night.
Some young guys stopped to help, only to be told we had everything under control. Noticing some slight huffing n puffing, they ignored me and kindly loosened the wheelnuts with ease. Other than that, of course, everything was under control.
~~oo0oo~~
A short drive north of Raintree there’s a lagoon in the Thamalakane with water from the last rains. Yellow-billed Storks, Spoonbills, Hamerkops, a lone Pelican, a Saddle-bill Stork, flocks of Sandgrouse, Blacksmith Lapwings, and a large pod of Hippo. A mokoro poler with two passengers gave the hippos a wide berth, hugging the reedbed on the western shore.
Along the dry shore, Magpie Shrikes, White-crowned Shrikes, Meves Starling.
We had a lovely campsite under a raintree – lots of those here! – near to Janet’s safari tent. The third night I moved the bakkie next to her tent as I had brilliantly left a light shining all night, so needed to charge the aux batteries by plugging in to Botswana Power Corporation.
To complete my puncture and battery faux pas trifecta, I then moved the car, snapping the charging cable. f&#-it! Luckily, we were fully charged already, and the fridge’s two compartments were back down to 5⁰ and 0⁰C.
Raintree Camp is a lovely place with lovely people, big trees, great ablution facilities, a bar and a pool. We enjoyed our three day stay. Some of the tents are close to the road, so noise can be an occasional factor. New chalets are planned on the water side of the property, away from the road, owner Neil Kendrick told us. So do check it out if you’re headed that way. As a transit camp on the way to or from Moremi, it’s ideally located.
Yay! Camping in Khama Rhino, good to be back in Botswana. Jessie’s first visit. She lost her passport and has only just got round to getting a new one.
Pumping up the tyres after reducing pressure for the sandy and twisty roads in the camp:
Palapye Red VW DubDub Club?
Back at Janet’s place at last! The Tamalakhane River on her doorstep dry and dusty:
– Father’s Day – a big breakfast at Sitatunga Camp –
Planning ahead as always (not), we drove into Kaoxa Bush Camp hoping to find Virginia there to welcome us. She was nowhere to be found and her phone was on voicemail. So we booked into the SA Parks camp inside Mapungubwe, the first time I have stayed inside the park. Jess was pleased – the chalet had aircon! And it was hot. Even the eles sought shade:
I drove around Mapungubwe east, the more famous half of the park, and walked the boardwalk to overlook the Limpopo and into Botswana and Zimbabwe. Jess mainly stayed in the chalet. The day we left I drove the long way round to the gate, so she did see some of this interesting Eastern section of the park.
Then we moved on to Kaoxa. We drove down to Virginia’s home and found her. She asked us to bring cash, so we drove the 70km to Musina and drew cash as we needed to do some food shopping anyway. The tar road is in very good nick except for two patches near Mapungubwe with bad potholes. So 110km/h is easy, but when you see potholes, slow down drastically! Each patch is just a couple hundred metres, but bad.
Good ceiling fans and great showers, a cool shady pool and lots of shade under thatch. As we arrived there was a squirrel in the chalet. It jumped onto Jess and scratched her arm, then fled. We ate and swam and birded and stared at the view. For wifi we drove to Duncan’s homestead and sat on the back veranda. Good birding there, too. A very special place is Kaoxa Bush Camp. Do support it so it can stay wild forever! Best to book online.
– African Hawk Eagle – Gymnogene –
~~oo0oo~~
Birds seen in the area: Cinnamon-breasted Bunting Black Eagle (Verreaux’s) Familiar Chat Jamesons Firefinch Mocking Cliff Chat Kori Bustard Grey-headed Sparrow Lanner Falcon Woodland Kingfisher Dusky Flycatcher White-browed Sparrow-Weaver Rufous-naped Lark Arrow-marked Babbler Violet-backed & Redwing Starlings Wood Sandpiper Acacia Pied Barbet Black-collared Barbet
The Kruger National Park is easy, convenient, good roads; most camps have camping as well as chalets; also shops, so Jess is happy; she can bail out of camping and book a chalet when the weather gets rough – in this case, HOT! And she did, she certainly did. We camped less than a week, we chalet’d more.
Following a well-worn trail we trekked up to Harrismith and enjoyed a lovely night at Pierre and Erika’s home. Again. Then on to the splendid hospitality of the Brauers in Tshwane, home of the ancestral Tshwanepoels. Again. One doesn’t need to eat vegetables for months after a Terry dinner, as I have to eat Brauer’s veggies as well. He’s pure carnivore.
Then a four-year reunion of six colleagues who met as first year optometry students exactly – gulp! – fifty years ago.
– 1974’s eighteen year-olds –
On to Phalaborwa and into the park. But not before I’d gunned the old bus up Magoebaskloof pass, passing a much younger Toyota and Ranger and causing a high-pitched squeal from under the bonnet. It sounded like a fanbelt and it stopped when I switched off the aircon. This made me happier and Jess sadder, so we spent the next morning watching handsome young rooikop Pieter fixing the belt tensioning bolt, WTMB. Jess confessed later she’d been watching his pert blue-overalled bum as he leaned into the engine bay.
With our coolness restored and the 2008 Ford Ranger looking like a million dollars R600 later, we headed for Letaba camp, on the way spotting a ratel (honey badger) carrying its prey – a likkewaan (monitor lizard) about a third of its bulk. A special sighting! After staring at it in wonder through my Zeiss binocs, I remembered the camera just as it trotted off.
On the banks of the Letaba river, lots of hippos in and out of the water. About twenty floating while a dozen, including a small calf, grazed in full sun on a hot day!
Herds of eles. We drove into one herd as we rounded a corner. Got flapped at by go-away ears on our close left and right. I obliged. Jess needs lots of space between her and eles, and I’m happy to oblige. I don’t need to interfere with their lives, I just want to watch them.
In Letaba I had a problem with the stupidest primate in the whole Kruger National Park. Homo sapiens. Me. I left my car door open for “just a minute” as I went to our nearby safari tent and a vervet got my nuts. My luxury tree nuts from Checkers. That primate is a big problem. Hopefully he can evolve and improve his focus and short-term memory.
More Homo sapiens grumbles. I am not a hunter. But if I was I would maybe consider missing (shoo-ing, not shooting) three kinds of animals in the Kruger: – People on their phones talking to Venda or Cape Town at a volume appropriate to the distance. One was telling someone to drink eight glasses of water a day, and take rehidrate morning n evening. *sigh* Kak advice and I must listen to it. – Rugged camper okes using their fancy electric n mechanical camping aids, such as aircon running all night in they karavaan; Ryobi hammer nut-tighteners on their levelling jacks; and remote-controlled motorised jockey wheels! – Joggers plaf plaf plaffing round camp panting and thinking of Comrades or Waai-tality points, checking their odometers and their heartache, you know the type. Otherwise I’m chilled. I wave at them and force a grin. I very seldom shoot them.
Beautiful dawn chorus in the mornings, the new members being Mourning Doves; the oboists in the background were our biggest hornbills. If they formed a band they should call it The Leadbeaters.
Bucorvus leadbeaterii
– ve oom’s crocs –
Later I heard a sound I thought might be the Red-billed Hornbill tutting slower than usual, but it was a croc! Well, an oom’s Croc. He was walking past on his way to ablute, and his left Croc was squeaking.
Martial, Bateleur, Fish, Wahlberg & Brown Snake Eagles; Brown-headed Parrot, Puffback, European Bee-eater, Lilac-breasted Roller, Marabou Stork. Night sounds included nagapie (bush baby / galago) crying, Levaillants Cuckoo, Scops & Pearlspotted Owls; Crowned Lapwing. Hippos grunted and hyenas wailed.
Bush Shrike & Bush Snake
In Shingwedzi camp Jess said, Dad! A snake just fell out of that tree! She pointed at about six mopani trees. I couldn’t spot it, but I know Jess spots things, so I walked towards the trees. A helpful Grey-headed Bush Shrike flew down next to the snake. The Spotted Bush Snake fled up the tree trunk, and the bird buzzed off before I could get a pic of its beautiful colours. That would have made a stunning pic. Oh, well, here’s the skinny lil colourful snake on his own:
We met up with the caravanners who’d helped with our mfezi invasion last year. They have now been camped in the same spot in Shingwedzi campsite for over fifteen months. They reported that the snake had visited them some time later, and been removed from their caravan tent by the same Ranger Shadrack, resident snake catcher.
On to Punda Maria where we camped right next to the lovely pool; Twice a day we cooled down in the heat. Then Jess said, Whoa Dad! It’s too hot! booked a chalet and switched on the aircon. All the units had these noisy old window-rattler aircons! Aargh! Ah Haydim, as Bob Friderichs used to say.
Technocamping! Fanie arrived and porked his cor. Martie hopped out and watched, tjoepstil, as Fanie hak’d af and started manoefring ve treiler wif a remote control ding. After a while I thought I’ll just record this, and filmed a bit of ou Faan’s faan. Or fun. It was all worth it op die ou einde, the West Wing and the Norf Wing were ontplooi’d, and the double verdieping rose up. Once ve satelliet dish was up he could settle down and watch rugby. Just as if he’d stayed home by the house. Pic to come
That was ten days in the park and we left Pafuri gate after visiting the very special Pafuri picnic spot on the Luvhuvhu river and Crooks Corner where Moz, Zim and SA meet.
Handyman Running Repairs
I’d been flagged down twice driving around by kind drivers stopping me to inform me ‘your number plate is ‘falling off.’ It’s not, it’s just creatively attached, vertically instead of horizontally. But now two camouflaged soldiers with R1 automatic rifles stepped out of the shade of a baobab and told me the same alarming tale. I told them my same response, ‘Thanks, but I can’t fix it now as ibhubesi might eat me.’ Usually that got a sage nod of agreement, but these gents said, ‘Nah, no problem! You can get out here and fix it!’ brandishing their weapons. That put me on the spot. I hopped out thinking, I spose at this stage a rugged oke would haul out his full toolkit, start his generator, power up his drill and choose the right bolt n nut from his annotated collection. I opened the back of our camper and aha! found what I needed to effect a permanent repair: Jessie’s pink sneakers. Sorted.
Next stop Nthakeni Bush Camp where owners Kobus and Annelise have set up lovely duo Gloria and Thelma to run their own Thusani Shack Restaurant independently.
We enjoyed two full English breakfasts – with a large helping of potato slap chips – and two huge suppers of their homegrown chicken, pap, veg & salad; then beef stew, rice, veg & salad. The third night we just sat outside our chalet and burped.
– Muriel and Jessie –
Now, after about six nights camping and seven in chalets, we headed west – on to Kaoxa Bush Camp and Mapungubwe National Park, where Bots, Zim and SA meet, and David Hill’s mate has a wonderful bush camp.
. . but as a friend wrote, ” . . I have such a sense of dread for 2024″
I share her foreboding. Among many other things we just had COP28 – where we “address climate change.” And it was held in an oil-producing country and chaired by the CEO of an oil company. And the newly-elected chairman for COP29 also worked for an oil and gas company for 28 years. Don’t worry – they are good people and they really ARE trying to reduce use and sale of their primary $$$-producing products! Yeah, right. And most people nod sagely and slate Greta Thunberg – or anyone else – when she DARES to speak truth to power. Fuck me!
Here’s what COP has managed in twenty-plus years, us FOOLS:
COP28 agreed to reduce fossil fuel use verbally, while actually arranging to produce more, drill more and burn more. Our grandkids are fucked. They’ll have even more wars and poverty than we have now.
And then we’re having elections, in which people will be promised services like water and electricity and be disappointed. Again. What could possibly go wrong? *sigh*
A quiet week in the Soutars’ Mtwalume cottage on the KwaZulu Natal south coast. Tom joined Jess and me for a few days. On xmas day we enjoyed a lovely lunch, expertly sourced by all of us in a supermarket about 25km away. Pre-cooked gammon, me-made veges and Tom-made pasta. Jess probly did pud, but we can’t remember what is was.
– Larry in Ohio called my delayed timer pic “Four Hams” –
My hair is mussed as I’d just come down the chimney – dunno what Tom’s excuse is . .
– Jess took this one, showing more of the lounge – I will get round to that paperwork one day –
Dad! I found a very nice rehab place! Oh good Jess, are you thinking of rehab, girl? Um, yes I am *thinking* about it, she hedges. She’s in Folweni and alone so she has time to surf the internet on her phone. It’s called White Rhino Manor, she says, and it sounds very nice. They do courses and hikes and outings and stuff. Great, love. Sounds like Terry’s one that she recommended that her friend owns and runs. Oh, OK.
(This was some time in 2021).
I go looking online. There’s a Manor with white rhinos in Pembrokeshire, Wales. They run a fancy zoo with three white rhinos as the star attraction. There’s White Rhino Manor House Murder Mysteries who run team-building exercises ala Agatha Christie murder-solving. They don’t have a place – you have to supply your own venue in England.
Then I find White River Manor in Mpumalanga that do rehab. Ah, thank goodness, I think, we’re not talking Pommy ££ Pounds here! But they bill themselves as a 5-star discreet retreat for executive rehab. And I’m thinking Pommy ££ Pound numbers again. See their introductory pic on top. Nice! Wouldn’t mind a bit of rehab meself! A hot towel and a complimentary drink usually means ££ in my book!
Oh, well, it’ll be a good while before we have to commit, so in the meantime: All Options Open, Jess. Quick background check: Would our medical aid contribute towards this, I wonder? It seems they will. A little.
~~oo0oo~~
Later – June or July 2022 Jess spent a month at a rehab outside White River – I wouldn’t recommend them. Currently she’s on Dad rehab – aiming to beat her fourteen week record. Fingers and eyes crossed.
Lucky me, Jess chose St Lucia village for a three night getaway with good friend Tarryn for her birthday this year. The beautiful isiMangaliso Wetland Park is nearby, and I thought, ‘Great!’
The word mangaliso means ‘miraculous’ or ‘wondrous’ or ‘amazing’ in isiZulu, and it lives up to its billing. The tiny section I explored this time is marked on the map of the greater park in squiggly yellow: from St Lucia estuary to 20km up the Eastern Shores. I’ve been to many corners of this amazing place since my first visit ca.1965.
Birds I was looking for were White-backed Duck and Southern Banded Snake-Eagle (my main targets, I hadn’t seen them in ages); Also Lesser Moorhen; Rufous-bellied Heron; Pygmy Goose; and I saw all of those. Plus, as a bonus, Half-collared Kingfisher and Green Coucal – now Green Malkoha. I stared at these last two thru my lovely Zeiss binocs and by the time I remembered the camera they’d moved off. I’m still mainly a binocular person, not a photographer! Gazing in awesome wonder rather than recording.
The Samsung phone feature pic is on the vlei loop road, looking west across Ngunuza Vlei towards the setting sun. I turned round where the road went underwater as I wasn’t sure of the depth of the water flowing across the road. Being 2WD, lazy to deflate my tyres, and on my own, I thought best let discretion be the better part of valour! And retracing your steps is a new road anyway – you never cross the same river twice*. On the map, the vlei is south of Mission Rocks. What a joy the frog calls are all over the park after good rains.
I’ll upload pics when I get home – (done) – left my Canon to laptop cable behind! My mighty Canon is a SX620 HS. Lovely pocket camera, tragically ‘discontinued!’
Meanwhile, Gen Z was taking pics of their food. This in Mtunzini, well south of St Lucia.
For more organised and more frequent trips into Southern Africa’s wild places, see Dewetswild. Dries De Wet recently went to isiMangaliso – he guides photographic safaris. His blogpost on his last visit is what prompted me to look for that duck and that snake-eagle.
*Heraclitus, the Greek philosopher said, ‘No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it’s not the same river and he’s not the same man.’
. . is beautiful. The sandy rivers have huge fig, jackalberry, apple-leaf, marula, nyala and thorn trees along their banks. Lots of shade.
The surrounding area is dominated by mopani woodland and mopani scrub. Little shade.
When Jess chooses to loaf in camp, I go on slow short drives consisting mainly of parking and letting the birds come to me. When she comes along there’s more searching for furry creatures.
On one of those I left early to the sound of a booming duet: There aren't, There aren't, There arent any earthworms! There are There are, Dig Deeper, Dig Deeper! of a pair of Ground Hornbills.
Later, when watching a pair of Jacobin Cuckoos chasing each other round and round my parked car, the distant sound of a lion giving his best constipated rendition: Ooom, ooom, ooh, uh uh uh
– Jess finds the third leopard of our trip in a faraway tree –– me n Jess’ travels in the park in pink –
After three nights in Shingwedzi I said Punda Maria next, Jess? But she said, Whoa! Dad. Three weeks is enough. I need some DSTV and aircon. So we left the park thru the Phalaborwa gate and Jess found a chalet with her essential necessities. There was good birding there, and a great outdoor shower. Phalaborwa Safari Park.
Chuffed to have spent my longest spell in Kruger yet. More to come, I hope!
So Jess and I have been in the park for over two weeks now. We’ve stayed in Pretoriuskop, Berg n Dal, Skukuza, Satara and Olifants camps so far. I’m hoping to keep heading north – Shingwedzi next, but will have to negotiate. I’m aware that three weeks in nowhere with an old toppie might not be every 25yr-old’s idea of heaven. Can’t understand them, huh?
Negotiations opened with (and ended with), ‘First let’s get to a town so I can get all I need, then we’ll come back into the park.’ Fair enough Jess, so tonight we’re in a chalet just outside the Phalaborwa gate. Tomorrow hopefully camping in Shingwedzi.
– Found an Aitch tree – Sterculia – the African Star Chestnut –
So Jimmy Buffet died yesterday. This reminded me that I met Aitch in 1985.
Being polite and needing to make small talk I suppose I did tell her about the time we rented a Lincoln Continental in Atlanta. I’m sure I only told her once, or anyway less than a dozen times, but you know how she was. I also told her once that I was not fond of country music, having had my fill in the year I spent in Oklahoma.
So of course, the next trip we go on to a game reserve in Zululand, she’s playing this song full blast on the stereo in my white 1981 Ford Cortina 2.0GL sedan:
Just cos the oke drives a Lincoln Continental!
She played it so often and so loud we both learnt the words and the choon and would belt it out on many a road trip.
he's a cheeseburger eatin', abandoned Sunday meetin' Brand new country star He rides around in a Lincoln Continental No steer horns on his car
I also introduced her to my Mom’s cousin Dapper Dudley Bain who would unfailingly tell you he was born in Harrismith (ca. 1923 I guess) and the sound of turtle doves reminded him of his youth in his Scottish oupa Stewart Bain’s Royal Hotel. He had a pencil-thin moustache, so Aitch would also play:
I better not let Jess see this. She did some line dancing in her day and is prone to playing loud country music on the stereo in my white 2007 Ford Ranger 3l turbodiesel 2WD bakkie on our road trips. Her mother’s genes, I spose. The suffering continues.
