Sunday 3rd February

Because of the choir singing at Evensong, it meant I had the whole day free. Still feeling inspired by Dead Poets’ Society, I suggested to Fatty that we do a day of exploring in Nottingham Road (a small farming town near school) so we borrowed two bikes and got ready to go. We were about to leave when Boggo said he was bored and wanted to come with us. Boggo took Thinny’s bike without permission and we set off into the Midlands to carpe diem.

Fatty’s bike really took strain under his huge weight. Boggo and I took bets on when his back tyre would explode. Fatty didn’t seem concerned about possible tyre explosions and pedalled along at a furious rate. Unfortunately, we had to stop and rest every 300 metres so that he could get his breath back. Upon arriving at Nottingham Road, Fatty bought three packets of salt and vinegar chips. Boggo tried to buy a Scope magazine but the man at the till asked him for ID. I bought a small Tropika.

We then moved on to the farmers’ market where people sell anything that’s homemade. As we approached we could see that a big crowd had gathered and loud music was being played. We chained our bikes to a fence and went in to check things out. A huge banner over the gate read:

BITE MY BOERIE

Underneath was a bad painting of a boerewors roll smothered in tomato sauce. Fatty took one look at the banner and charged towards the crowd. When he found out that we had stumbled upon the annual Nottingham Road boerewors eating competition he nearly fainted with joy. The bad news was that it cost twenty bucks just to enter and we only had about eighteen rand left between the three of us.

After grovelling around in the dust for half an hour, we gave up on finding a lucky two rand coin. We then saw a brunette with huge boobs. Boggo smacked his lips together and said, ‘Watch this, I’ll kill two birds with one stone.’ He marched up to the girl and said, ‘Hello, gorgeous, do you mind if I borrow two bucks and your phone number?’ The girl looked Boggo up and down and replied, ‘Fuck off, spot face.’ She then tossed her hair back and stalked off towards the ladies’ toilet. Boggo didn’t seem fazed by the savage bat he’d received and said the brunette with big boobs was just playing hard to get.

The entries had to be in by midday, and with ten minutes to go Boggo and Fatty finally decided the only way we could make money was for me to sing and for Boggo to pass a hat round. I refused point blank, but then Fatty promised me and Boggo a third of the prize money each if I made him two bucks. (The boerewors eating prize is a hundred rand and half a sheep.) We found a spot next to a stall that was selling lampshades. I cleared my throat before letting rip with Another Day in Paradise. Boggo stood next to me with his cap in his hand. Fatty said he needed to focus and collapsed against the fence and finished off his third packet of chips.

Before I reached the chorus there was a crowd of about twenty people enjoying the singing and staring at the three of us like we were a bizarre circus act. At the end of the song everyone clapped and Boggo sent the hat round. He motioned for me to keep singing so I tried I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For. This seemed to hit the right note with my audience because soon there was a big crowd gathered, half of whom were singing along with me. At the end of the song there were whoops and cheers and Boggo sent the hat round again. He motioned to me to keep singing and handed Fatty the extra two bucks needed to qualify. Fatty galloped off back to the Bite My Boerie caravan to enter.

Next I hit my audience with The Final Countdown. (I know the words because my parents sing it whenever there’s a special occasion.) Suddenly a funny looking man with long hair and a wizened face arrived on the scene with a guitar and a bar stool. He sat down next to me and said, ‘Kid, let’s make some rock and roll.’ A lady from a stall selling wind chimes then shouted, ‘Feel the love, baby!’ The man shook my hand and said, ‘Peace out.’ I said ‘Peace out’ back to him. He slipped his cigarette under the strings at the end of his guitar, and asked the crowd if they were fans of Janis Joplin. A drunken farmer in khaki cheered and the strange guitar man played a song which I’d never heard before.

Boggo looked flushed with excitement and told me that I’d made eighty-six bucks in just three songs! He then gave me a piece of paper which had been thrown into the hat. It read.

I CAN MAKE YOU A STAR.

ERROL (NOT MY REAL NAME)

PHONE 3663171 (STRICTLY AFTER HOURS)

Boggo said I shouldn’t get excited because he’s most probably a paedophile. Looks like Boggo has elected himself my singing manager!

A fat man called De Wet (not sure if it’s his first name or surname) got up and announced that a record thirty-five entries had been received for the boerewors eating competition before announcing the competition rules.

NATIONAL BOEREWORS EATING COMPETITION RULES

1 No more than 30 second breaks allowed between rolls

2 A roll is only counted as eaten once the contestant has swallowed the last bite

3 Vomiting = disqualification

4 In the case of a tie, the prize is shared

Because Fatty entered late he was only number twenty-eight on the list of thirty-five people. This gave us time to suss out the opposition. None of the first few contenders got beyond four boerewors rolls. But then a huge bear of a man called Russell got up and ate seven rolls very quickly but then had to quit halfway through his eighth. Fatty began to get a bit nervous so he decided to head for the toilet to throw up the salt and vinegar chips he’d eaten earlier to make space for the boerewors rolls to come. After a successful hurl, he settled himself down on a large wicker chair and got into one of his Macarthur meeting trances. Boggo looked worried and whispered to me that he reckoned Fatty wouldn’t be able to make eight rolls because he was too nervous.

Russell’s seven wors rolls was by far the best effort, and the nearest challenger was a large lady who had managed five. Eventually it was Fatty’s turn and there was loud laughter when his name was called out. The big guy strolled onto the stage looking like he meant business. He then sat down at the table and didn’t stop eating until he’d finished nine boerewors rolls. He then dabbed his mouth with a napkin, looked at De Wet and said, ‘Thank you very much. That was a delicious snack.’ The crowd roared and clapped. Boggo was so excited that he jumped up and down and then hugged me. The rest of the contestants threw in the towel and Fatty was declared the 1991 Nottingham Road Boerewors Eating Champion, and De Wet handed over the prize of one hundred bucks and half a sheep.

There was quite a long debate about how to get the half sheep back to school. Fatty offered to stuff it in his shirt but Boggo said it would put too much weight on Fatty’s tyres which looked permanently on the verge of explosion. (I think Boggo was more worried about the half sheep becoming a quarter sheep.) Fatty then attached the half sheep to my handlebars but that made my bike keep veering out into the middle of the road. I was already getting nervous because just about every car hooted when they recognized Fatty and I was then forced to wave with one hand and look for hot girls while trying to stay in the emergency lane and keep the half sheep between the handlebars. Eventually, the half sheep was untied from the front of my bike and Boggo bravely strapped it to his back with the help of six shoelaces and my T-shirt.

Unfortunately, the half sheep began to defrost on the way home and by the time we returned to school Boggo looked like a victim of the Texas chainsaw massacre. Further bad news was that the half sheep couldn’t fit in the prefects’ room freezer so Fatty said we had to eat it by Tuesday and stored the carcass under his bed.

21:00 Feeling nauseous after watching Fatty eat half the half sheep which looked badly undercooked on Mad Dog’s gas cooker.

Date: 2015-12-17; view: 551