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Saturday 23rd February

Mom called to say that Marge had been served with divorce papers and that she was ‘in a hell of a state’. She said they were bringing her up for the cricket because a day in the country ‘would do her the world of good’.

Great. That’s all I need.

10:00 We took to the field against an English touring team called Wandsworth. The Guv always gives us a savage team talk before we take on any Poms. He called the British ‘a nation of whingers’, and ordered us to give them ‘the Isandhlwana treatment’.

Mad Dog measured out his run up, which now extends beyond the boundary rope. The Guv looked a bit angry and told Mad Dog to ‘steady on’. Mad Dog then shortened his run up to just inside the boundary rope and then did some bizarre stretching exercises. The Wandsworth batsmen both strolled to the crease wearing bright green caps and looking smug. They smiled at each other and shared a joke, which made one of them laugh.

Mad Dog sprinted in and bowled a vicious bouncer that knocked the smug opener’s cap clean off. The smug opener turned a pale green colour and both batsmen sprinted off the field to find helmets. There were no jokes and laughter as they nervously shuffled back to the wicket.

Suddenly there came a shout of ‘PUSH!’ followed by the sound of a car backfiring. A green station wagon edged into view with about twenty boys pushing it along. Dad was shouting out of the driver’s window at the top of his voice while steering madly to avoid drains and flower beds. I felt the blood rushing to my head. Mad Dog stopped to gawk, as did everybody else. Rambo sniggered. The Guv tried to stifle a guffaw and Boggo raced along the boundary to get a closer look at the Milton circus. I spent the next two minutes on one knee tying and retying my bootlaces. Eventually, the station wagon came to rest. Dad got out of the car and savagely kicked the side door. He thanked the army of boys for pushing, and then started pulling deckchairs out of the boot. I saw Marge and Mom stroll out from behind the car and the bongo drum in my chest started banging away.

We bowled the Pommies out for 136. I took two wickets. Thankfully, because the car wouldn’t start Dad was unable flash the lights and blow the hooter for a change. At lunch I walked across the field towards the car. Mom and Dad both charged up to me and gave me a series of hugs and kisses. Marge followed nervously and seemed very sad and tired. She’s dyed her hair a very bright orange/red colour (which makes her look a little bit like a Duracell battery). She gave me a hug and asked me how I was. She didn’t once look me in the eye.

Dad (dressed in an apron that said OUMA’S RUSKS on the front) fired up boerewors rolls on the skottelbraai. The smell wafted around the ground and within minutes Fatty had galloped across the field to greet my parents. Dad raised his glass and announced to everybody that Fatty was the world boerewors eating champion, gave him a hug and offered him a beer. Fatty looked a little startled but recovered quickly and said he would rather have a couple of boerie rolls instead. Dad said it would be an honour and threw another huge roll of boerewors on the skottel. He then furiously began chopping up an onion but within seconds was in floods of tears and wiping his nose on his apron. Marge offered to help out, but Dad gave her an ‘over my dead body’ look and said, ‘Fatty may be the eating champ, but Milton’s king of the grill!’ Marge backed off and lit a cigarette. Dad, still crying floods of onion tears, then chopped down on what he thought was an onion but turned out to be his hand. He screamed so loudly that Fatty also screamed. Blood was everywhere. Marge jumped up and wrapped the tablecloth around Dad’s hand while Dad drained his beer with the other hand. Mom swigged away at her wine and told Dad to stop showing off. I led Dad through the school to the sanatorium, one hand wrapped in the tablecloth and the other clutching his beer.



Sister Collins gave Dad four stitches and a sucker but made him leave his beer on a bench outside the san. Dad thanked her and made me run back to the car with him so that he could make Fatty his boerewors rolls. We raced up to the car and both stopped dead in our tracks. It was an astonishing scene: Mom was having a chat with Lennox, The Guv had Marge doubled over in her deckchair in stitches of laughter, Fatty was nowhere to be seen and The Glock was cooking boerewors on the skottelbraai! I cringed in fear and embarrassment. Dad looked absolutely livid that The Glock had hijacked his skottelbraai, while poor Fatty was circling around the trees looking like a starving hyena. The Glock then offered me a boerewors roll in a voice that sounded like he was sentencing me to death. I took the roll, thanked him in a spudly voice and excused myself. I found Fatty standing behind a tree and gave the boerewors roll to him. He finished it in two bites.

Thank God the station wagon started first time and it was a relief to see the folks and my ex-mother-in-law leaving early.

At least we smashed the Poms!


Date: 2015-12-17; view: 550


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