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Mental Note: Wherever possible try and avoid showering with weirdos.

Monday 17th June

Boggo was in a foul mood at breakfast. Sparerib has banned us from watching Fatty’s hotdog eating competition at the Royal Show at the weekend. He doesn’t seem to be very happy about Fatty stuffing his face in front of hundreds of people. Sparerib’s popularity is at an all time low.

Sparerib called me into his office and asked me how things were going. I told him I was working like a slave. He looked at me for ages with his wonky eye and then asked me if there was anything I should tell him. I shook my head. There was another horrible pause before he asked, ‘You still keep a diary?’ I nodded and he nodded back. I sat staring at his desk with my toes cringing in my shoes. Eventually he said, ‘My better half would like a chat. She’s in her office.’ Great. From Sparerib to Eve.

REASONS WHY EVE SHOULD NOT BE THE SCHOOL COUNSELLOR

1 She shagged Rambo last year

2 She’s mad (due to the above)

3 She married Sparerib

4 She’s a hippy

5 She’s a communist (according to Dad)

In fact I think she’s the one who needs a counsellor!

Eve sat me down in her office and asked me questions. She kept trying to talk about Gecko and clearly I wasn’t saying the right things back because she told me I was repressing my grief. I told her I didn’t want to talk about it anymore so she gave me a fake smile and said her door was always open. (Rambo told us that last year!)

I get the feeling Sparerib and Eve both think I’m weird. Nobody else has been taken in for a psychological examination.

Wednesday 19th June

Boggo posted this notice on all the house noticeboards:

Watch Fatty eat 15 hotdogs in one sitting! Final dress rehearsal before the Royal Show finals on Sunday.

CRAZY8 Classroom

R2 Entrance fee

Friday 21st June 21:00

21:00 NOAH’S ARK IS SINKING!!!

I’m feeling a little grim that my second appearance on the stage (after last year’s triumph in Oliver) is going to be as a non-speaking peace pigeon in a very bad house play.

As the prompt you are meant to read the actor his line, but Vern seems convinced that he has to perform the line as well. Eventually Anderson, Emberton and Pike were deliberately fluffing their lines just so they could watch Vern perform their own lines back at them. Julian has quit as the designer. He called Noah’s Ark a ‘fiasco’, and said he was washing his hands of it.

Rambo reckons all the Crazy Eights should pull out of the play as a protest. Boggo jumped up hopefully and asked, ‘A protest of what?’ Rambo looked sour and said, ‘A protest about looking a doos in front of the whole school in two weeks’ time!’ Everyone nodded but no protest happened.

Friday 21st June

The Guv fed me roast beef and Yorkshire pudding. He banged his plate with his spoon and shouted, ‘Silence!’ This was a bit unnecessary because I wasn’t speaking at the time. He then folded his left arm behind his back and led with the spoon. ‘This British initiation literary luncheon, Mr Milton, is in your honour before your travels abroad to the green and pleasant land. May God help you!’ He then sat down and poured wine into his glass. With a mouth full of food he shouted, ‘God yes, Milton! Christ’s College Cambridge. It’s where the less illustrious Milton studied. And don’t forget the mulberry tree!’ I didn’t know what he was going on about so I nodded and said it was already on the list. He peered at me over his spectacles and asked, ‘You’re not taking your grandmother, are you?’ I nodded and said she had to come because she’s paying for the trip. Then The Guv said, ‘Christ almighty!’ and shook his head in amazement before returning to his nosh. At the end of the meal we sang a raucous version of For She’s A Jolly Good Fellow to Gloria as she was packing up the plates. Gloria smiled and curtsied. The Guv told Gloria her meal was so good it could be deemed counter revolutionary. It was clear that Gloria didn’t have a clue what The Guv had just said and replied to him in Zulu and then exited to the kitchen. The Guv asked what Gloria had said. I shrugged. He leaned back in his chair and stared at me. ‘Milton,’ he said after about thirty seconds, ‘how the blinkers do we form a bond with these people if we can’t speak their language?’ I didn’t know the answer so I did my AA trick where I shrug sadly and then look forlornly out the window.



I then read out my Alan Paton essay which The Guv called ‘a triumph’. I should point out that by this stage he was onto his second bottle of wine. He did say that my repeated mentions of Alan Paton in my essay entitled ‘Changing Colours’ smacked of arse creeping.

Then The Guv made my week.

I charged back to the dormitory to tell the others that The Guv was taking us on a school outing on Sunday. And that outing is to the Royal Show in Pietermaritzburg! The Guv said he would book a minibus and sign off the day as a cultural and learning tour. Not only are we going to watch Fatty live in action, we’re also not breaking any school rules which makes for a change.

Thanks to my English teacher I am the most popular boy in the dorm.

21:00 Fatty’s final dress rehearsal was broken up by Sparerib who ordered the huge crowd of boys back to their houses and confiscated all of Fatty’s hotdogs. Boggo was so outraged that he hurled six eggs onto Sparerib’s roof after lights out. Poor Fatty hadn’t gone to dinner and had to be content with a quarter loaf of bread and a packet of Big Korn Bites.

Saturday 22nd June

Another day of rugby carnage. We were the only under 15 side to win against Rustrek. We took it 22-18. My body felt like it had been pulverized. Those Afrikaners may know very little about running a country but they can sure tackle hard. Mom and Dad came up and remarked on how much I had grown and how I was really becoming a man. I felt pretty rugged in my boots and rugby jersey. Soon the word ‘spud’ will be a distant memory. Thank God!

Our first team lost again, although this time it was close: 12-10.

My father was sozzled by the time the first team game kicked off. He sat among the local crowd and was soon cheering along for Rustrek. I prayed nobody would notice him singing along in Afrikaans and shouting, ‘RUSTREK! RUSTREK!’

At half time a Rustrek supporter got drunk and disorderly and started abusing our school from behind the stands. He accused our forefathers of killing his great-grandmother in a concentration camp during the Boer War. Pike jumped up and shouted, ‘That’s right, bonehead, and when we leave school we’re coming to get the rest of you!’ Luthuli got involved and tried to calm the situation down but the red-faced Rustrekker told Luthuli not to touch him and suddenly looked violent. Other parents (including my father) dragged the drunkard away and the Boer War on the field continued. After we had lost I managed to stop my father before he joined the Rustrek Old Boys doing a war cry in the middle of the field. I shat all over him for supporting an opposition school. He denied everything and said he had just been getting in the spirit of things and that the Rustrek supporters were dishing out free beer and koeksisters. Clearly he didn’t think I’d noticed the Rustrek scarf around his neck.

Mr Hall was so pissed off after the match that he didn’t even talk to his team. He shook the opposition coach’s hand and then got in his car and buggered off. Pike and Devries tried to start up a fight with the opposition fans by performing a bad impression of Bobbejaan Klim Die Berg with Devries walking around on the grass like a baboon. The opposition fans started shouting and booing. Pike bowed and they all called us ‘souties’.

Sunday 23rd June

Nasty day of slogging. I’m feeling the pressure what with Sparerib slinking around and breathing down my neck.

House play rehearsals were cancelled because Anderson wasn’t feeling well. Think this might have been a ruse to avoid rehearsing because Fatty said he saw Anderson in the queue for seconds at lunchtime and Boggo spotted him playing touch rugby in the afternoon.

Friday 28th June

EXAM PREDICTIONS

 

ENGLISH A AFRIKAANS B MATHS B HISTORY A My grades spell out ABBA. Fatty said this would only be counted as a supernatural sign if I was studying Swedish.

 

GEOGRAPHY A SPEECH & DRAMA A BIOLOGY C SCIENCE D ART C Half the school turned out for touch rugby in the Friday afternoon rain. Then there was the final war cry practice of the year, followed by duck diving down at the bog stream.

I decided my handwriting was illegible so I spent prep rewriting my Alan Paton essay and made the writing bigger and clearer just in case my marker is old or nearsighted. Unfortunately, it now looks like the essay was written by a twelve-year-old. I handed ‘Changing Colours’ in to Sparerib just seconds before the lights out siren. Sparerib didn’t bother to wish me luck or even congratulate me on finishing my masterpiece. All he could do was tap his watch with his finger and glare at me with his wonky eye.

I suspect my housemaster has no imagination and no creative writing ability. How Eve agreed to marry him remains a mystery.

Saturday 29th June

Pig gave us a stirring speech behind the rubbish bins before we charged onto the field for our final game of the year against St Luke’s. At half time Mongrel shat all over us for being a bunch of monkey naaiers and told us to keep our discipline. He also told Vern to stop holding his ‘pielie’ when he’s waiting for the ball because it offends the ladies. I was busy sucking hard on an orange quarter when I saw a beautiful red headed girl striding along the touchline. It was Amanda. I turned to run off in a rugged fashion but Vern was standing right behind me muttering away to himself and pulling savagely at his laces. I fell over, clashing heads with Rain Man in the process. Any chance of nobody witnessing the disaster was gone when Vern got up and tore across the field like a headless chicken, screaming at the top of his voice.

There was wild jeering and laughter and unfortunately Amanda, too, was doubled over and ended up having a coughing fit.

I soon realised that the large crowd of over two hundred had actually gathered to watch Vern and not the under 15Cs. This became obvious when three quarters of them crossed to the far side of the field so that they could be on Vern’s wing for the second half. The support must have worked because Vern scored two tries. His second try was scored in the corner so I had to convert from right in front of a huge crowd still giggling at Vern’s zap sign running style. Amanda was standing no more than three metres from the end of my run up which meant that my right leg was suddenly convulsing. I closed my eyes and gave the ball a thump. It hit the post and didn’t go over but I still received the loudest cheer of my entire rugby career.

Amanda followed me back towards the house. She says Vern is the most extraordinary human being that she’s ever seen. When we got to the house door I told Amanda to wait outside for me but she didn’t listen and followed me up the stairs and into the dormitory. The next minute she was lying on top of me on my bed and we were kissing full on. I knew that I could get into some serious poo if Sparerib found me so I ended the passionate kiss and headed for the showers.

Back in the dormitory I found Amanda standing in Boggo’s cubicle with a huge grin on her face. She pointed at his locker and said, ‘Whoever sleeps here has porn. And a lot of it.’ I wanted to kiss her again but then I noticed that her eyes were watching something over my shoulder. Vern was standing at the door blushing bright pink. Amanda tried her best not to laugh and said, ‘Hello, Vern.’ Vern looked at the floor and didn’t answer.

Amanda said, ‘Do you know who I am?’ Vern giggled and blushed and looked around in a shady manner. He then said, ‘Mermaid’ and ran out of the dormitory. Amanda asked me why he’d called her a mermaid. I told her that that’s what he calls all girls.

Amanda kissed me again in the main quad in the full view of Boggo and Rambo. Then she strode across the grass and disappeared through the archway. Mad Dog gave me a vicious high five and celebrated by humping the gutter pipe and making loud orgasm noises. Rambo didn’t say a word and stalked into the house.

I am definitely in love with Amanda.

Sunday 30th June

THE ROYAL SHOW

The less said about The Guv’s driving the better. In fact I’m not even sure he should have a driving licence. By the time we got to the show grounds Fatty said he was feeling carsick. We all followed Fatty into the toilet while The Guv said he would catch up to us later because he wanted to attend a pig auction.

Wild screaming welcomed our man onto the stage. Fatty waved at the crowd and blushed a deep purple. He took his seat at the end of a long table with ten chairs. Bad news was that Fatty wasn’t the biggest; he wasn’t even the third biggest. One of the contestants was a lady. Her name was Sonja from Vryheid and Boggo said she could be a man in disguise. The hugest man was Heinz from Wartburg. He had ginger hair and enormous curly sideburns. Turns out Heinz won last year. In fact he hasn’t lost an eating competition since 1987 when he was in jail and couldn’t take part. According to one of the organizers, Heinz then became a Born Again Christian and started eating for charity and making speeches at churches. The announcer said the Royal Show and the city of Pietermaritzburg were honoured to welcome Heinz back for another year and hopefully yet another victory. He didn’t say anything about the others except to wish them luck and announce their names.

When Fatty’s name was called out The Guv stood up and shouted, ‘That’s our man Falstaff!’ (The Guv calls Fatty Falstaff for some unknown reason.) Pretty girls in pink bikinis brought out trays of hotdogs. The crowd whistled and cheered while Mad Dog barked loudly and shouted, ‘Hubba! Hubba!’

RULES

Each contestant has twenty minutes to eat as many hotdogs as possible.

No hooching (vomiting). This is an instant disqualification.

No leaving of your contestant’s chair until the twenty minutes is up. (Also disqualification.)

A starter pistol was fired and Fatty launched into his hotdogs like a demon. The crowd roared and clapped as ten gluttons piled into their trays like they hadn’t eaten in weeks. Five gluttons dropped out before reaching ten hotdogs and Fatty was the first to call for a second tray. Sonja the Vryheid transvestite also called for a reload but the corners of her mouth were turned down like she’d had enough. She also placed her hooch bucket right next to her and Rambo said this was a definite sign that she was a psychological mess.

Boggo also noticed this because he pointed it out to Fatty and then repeatedly thumped him on the back like a jockey hitting a horse. The next tray arrived and while Fatty doctored half of his hotdogs with tomato sauce Boggo kept shouting, ‘Come on, big boy, you can do it!’ Rambo didn’t like the way Fatty only sauced half his rolls – he reckoned it was sending a negative sign to the opposition. Another huge man with ‘Glencoe’ written on his shirt ordered another tray of hotdogs and downed a big glass of water. (Boggo has banned Fatty from drinking water – he claims a glass of water takes the space of one and a quarter hotdogs and may only be used in case of choking or fire.)

From across the table Heinz stood and waved to the crowd. He called for his second tray and then lit up a cigar. The crowd seemed thrilled with this and everyone chanted, ‘HEINZ! HEINZ! HEINZ!’

Unbelievably, the skinniest person in the competition (Boris from Howick) raised his hand and called for another tray. The tension was now hotting up: Fatty was leading on twelve hotdogs, with the others still eating their eleventh. There was a long discussion between our man and his manager before Fatty began on his thirteenth hotdog. In fact it wasn’t really a discussion, but more like a lecture from Boggo who kept prodding the hotdog with his finger and shouting in poor Fatty’s ear. I couldn’t hear what was going on but Fatty had his head bowed and seemed to have had enough. Sonja stopped eating after her eleventh but unfortunately she didn’t need her hooch bucket. She sat back in her seat and kept her eyes pinned on Fatty.

Heinz stubbed out his cigar on the table and then began preparing himself for more hotdogs. Glencoe finished his eleventh but then stuck his head into his hooch bucket. The crowd went mad as Glencoe staggered off the stage and disappeared behind it. Fatty finished hot dog number thirteen and Boggo massaged his shoulders and kept whispering in his ear like a boxing trainer in between rounds.

Boris from Howick is the Ivan Lendl of hotdog eating. He showed no emotion, chewed at exactly the same speed every single time and was also the only contestant who ate his hotdogs without tomato sauce.

With six minutes to go nobody was eating and all three contenders (plus Sonja from Vryheid, who was obviously hoping someone would hooch her into third place) were sitting back in their chairs looking down at their trays. Fatty picked up number fourteen and the crowd cheered. He ate it quickly, took a few deep breaths and then sat back in his chair again. Heinz unfortunately proceeded to his number fourteen and nailed number fifteen straight after. The huge giant sat back in his chair and smiled at Fatty. Ivan Lendl didn’t move. He just kept watching the big clock countdown. Obviously he was happy with third place.

Fatty then ate number fifteen and we could all tell he was finished. Boggo was obviously thinking the same thing because he was pushing the hotdog tray away from Fatty. The worst thing that could happen would be for Fatty to throw up because that meant instant disqualification. But Fatty had other ideas. He was holding the tomato sauce bottle in his left hand and pulling the tray towards him with his right. I heard Boggo shout, ‘Stop, Fatty, stop! It’s still five hundred bucks for second!’

Heinz nailed number sixteen in three bites!

Rambo elbowed me in the ribs and said, ‘Check Heinz. He’s psyching Fatty out.’ Heinz was daring Fatty to eat another hotdog. The crowd were chanting ‘GO! GO!

GO!’ We were shouting, ‘NO! NO! NO!’ Fatty picked up number sixteen and took a bite. But then the dam wall broke. There were groans from the crowd as Fatty disappeared under the table with his hooch bucket. The starter pistol was fired. Heinz was champion again, followed by Ivan Lendl and Sonja, the man/woman from Vryheid, took third. While Heinz was mobbed by his fans Boggo kept passing glasses of water under the table to Fatty. The Guv, who had been drinking out of a hipflask, stood up and shouted, ‘Don’t kick the bucket, Falstaff!’ The Guv then pointed in the general direction of school and said, ‘Onward, Christian soldiers! I have a bird in the oven!’

We all thanked The Guv for taking us to the Royal Show. He replied, ‘Nonsense, boys, the pleasure was all mine. It recalled to my mind two eras of extravagant excess: wild Elizabethan gluttony and the vomatoria of ancient Rome.’ He then told us all to f-off because it was lunchtime and he had an important meeting with a man called Sir Cabernay.

13:30 Fatty got off the bus and charged straight in to lunch because he was starving again. He said he would eat anything except a hotdog. He got roast pork and went back for thirds. Boggo has called Fatty unprofessional and is refusing to talk to him.

The Crazy Eight spent free bounds at the Mad House. Everyone kept picking up Gilbert the Gnome and talking to him like he was real. Vern was the only one who really did think he was real. Rambo and Boggo finished a bottle of brandy and got completely sozzled. They skulked back into the house just before roll call and then passed out.

One of the Darryls told me that my mom had phoned three times and my dad twice. He then asked me if my dad was deranged like Vern. I told him to drop for twenty for insulting my father, but the Darryl just giggled and ran away. My respect in this place is at an all time low!

Monday 1st July

Starting to get really excited about going to England. I’m also relieved that I’m leaving early on Thursday morning so I won’t have to skulk around the school in embarrassment after the house plays debacle which is on Wednesday.

Julian watched our house play rehearsal and told us it was ‘an infantile disgrace’. He said the jokes were so last year, and that whoever made the decision to use Norman Whiteside’s canoe as Noah’s Ark was a halfwit. Pike’s cunning plan is that Vern as the prompt will hide in the canoe and give people their lines when they get stuck. Emberton suggested as back-up that Runt should be stationed in a dustbin near the back of the stage. Anybody who forgot their lines could then either examine the ark or throw something in the bin and get a line reading.

My Dove of Peace part is completely embarrassing. After the flood (two blue blankets tied together and waved by Spike and JR Ewing) Noah ties a message to my leg and I have to run across the stage flapping my hands and cooing like a dove. Noah then opens a cool-box and cracks open a six pack of Castle Lager with his friends and celebrates the end of the world. They all haul up the anchor (Fatty hiding in the orchestra pit with a long rope attached to his foot) and then hold up their beers (beer bottles with Coke inside) and shout ‘Cheers!’ as REM’s It’s the End of the World as We know It ends the play.

Julian suggested that we should call it off and cancel our house play entry. Anderson told him to get stuffed and Emberton spent the rest of the rehearsal kicking the bin and terrifying Runt.

Tuesday 2nd July

Vern and Runt spent the afternoon watching me pack my trunk. Once I’d banged it shut they both left the dormitory without saying a word.

Mom called to say that Dad would pick me up at 7am on Thursday morning. My whole body shivered with excitement at the thought of London, England!

Wednesday 3rd July

HOUSE PLAYS HUMILIATION

As predicted we came in stone last in the house plays. There was almost constant laughter from beginning to end, although this was aimed at us rather than with us. It all started badly when Vern forgot to get into the canoe before the play began and then tried to creep onstage after the curtain had already gone up. Unfortunately, Vern’s attempt at getting head first into the canoe without being seen caused so much laughter that the first five minutes of the play wasn’t heard.

Then Devries forgot his lines and pretended to rummage around in the garbage bin for food like a tramp while Runt was giving him his line. (Devries was playing the part of God Almighty.)

Anderson got a bit thrown by the sight of God Almighty riffling through a rubbish bin and forgot his next lines. There was a long pause as all of us ark animals stood around waiting for Anderson/Noah to say something. Simon (the gay Australian sheep) let off a timid bleat to fill the silence. The bleat started off some loud guffaws among the cast but didn’t manage to jog Anderson’s memory. Eventually Anderson/Noah announced he was going to check on the ark, marched over to the canoe, bent over and stuck his head into the hole. There was a lot of loud whispering until Vern became frustrated and started shouting Anderson’s lines loudly from inside. Emberton stepped forward, pointed at the canoe and said, ‘Hear the word of the Lord!’ Everyone packed up laughing (including all the actors and animals) but then Vern got out of the canoe to a loud chorus of laughter and applause by the school. He bowed to the audience before turning to Anderson and showing him his lines in the script. Anderson tried his best to cover up for the fact that the prompt had just become a part of the play and accused Vern of being a tramp who had been illegally sleeping on the ark. Vern looked terribly confused and furiously paged through the script looking for a line about tramps. Anderson didn’t know what to do so he turned to the other actors and carried on with the scene. Vern, realizing that he had made a balls-up, crouched down and then crept offstage in a very sneaky and disturbing manner.

But it got even worse when Roger came strolling onto the stage and started meowing at the canoe and calling for Vern. Pike jumped forward and said, ‘Look, Noah, a pussy!’ and the whole school erupted again. Poor Roger scuttled off the stage in terror. Then Rambo stepped forward with his hands around his massive blue baboon gonads and shouted, ‘Behold!’

My Dove of Peace was completely humiliating. To make matters worse one of my wings fell off before I reached the other end of the stage. Rambo stepped forward as the talking Baboon and said to Noah, ‘My Lord, your dove of peace is now a dove in pieces.’ I sat in the wings waiting for the nightmare to end and felt my cheeks burning with shame.

It also turned out that Noah and his mates weren’t strong enough to pull the anchor (Fatty) out of the orchestra pit. When it became obvious that the ark anchor wasn’t budging, Vern (closely followed by Roger) streaked on from stage left and joined in the rope tussle. Then God Almighty entered the fray and with the others started heaving away at the rope and managed to lift Fatty to the very edge of the stage. Unfortunately, they couldn’t pull him over the lip and poor Fatty fell head first into the orchestra pit with a shriek and loud crashing of cymbals. Thankfully Pike (hiding in the lighting box) decided that enough was enough and plunged us into darkness before playing out with It’s the End of the World as We Know It.

The adjudicator was an old woman who used to be a big cheese on Springbok Radio. She called our play ‘an aberration’. On the plus side she said that the performance of the brain damaged tramp/prompt character was extremely realistic and incredibly disturbing.

Barnes House took the whole thing far too seriously and did a serious play called My Footprints on Water, which won the trophy. It was completely boring, although the adjudicator called it ‘mature and measured’.

After lights out I said my goodbyes to the Crazy Eight and then lay awake for hours thinking about London and how weird it is that tomorrow night I’ll be on a Boeing 747. I then thought of beautiful Amanda and how we kissed like lovers on my bed. But then I thought of Mermaid in her bikini and was forced to think about cricket instead.

Thursday 4th July

MILTON OVERSEAS ADVENTURE BEGINS

12:00 The folks, Wombat and I travelled to the airport in a big yellow Eagle taxi. Mom and Wombat spent the entire trip discussing the hottest neighbourhood gossip. Dad’s big buddy Frank (who is house sitting our house and feeding Blacky) has a new girlfriend who is only nineteen years old. (Frank is forty-nine!) Mom said it was sickening. Wombat said it was grotesque. Dad said, ‘Lucky bugger.’ Mom and Wombat pretended they didn’t hear him and demanded my opinion on Frank. I didn’t know what to say so I did my AA trick (shaking my head and looking forlornly out the window). It obviously worked because Mom said, ‘You see, Mom, it’s sickening. Even Johnny’s upset.’ Wombat commented that Frank was old enough to be the girl’s father. Dad piped up and said, ‘Ja, but if the cap fits…’ He forgot the rest and said, ‘Then Bob’s your uncle?’ By the end of the journey even Alvin Naidoo the taxi driver was shaking his head at Frank and his nineteen-year-old girlfriend.

Mom has finally persuaded Wombat to visit her sister in Brighton so that she can bury the hatchet. Dad looked at me and said, ‘The only place she knows to bury a hatchet is in somebody’s head.’ I asked Mom about Wombat’s sister but she said she had to concentrate on not losing the passports and said she didn’t have time for questions.

12:45 Wombat had a fight with our taxi driver over the fare. She said forty bucks was highway robbery and reminded Alvin that he was an Indian and that she was onto his shenanigans. Alvin tapped the taximeter and said there was nothing he could do. Wombat then accused Alvin of having a faulty meter and demanded a complete refund plus damages. The next minute there was a really loud burst of church music from the speakers of the yellow taxi. (Wombat had obviously switched on the radio instead of the meter.) Wombat eventually got out of the taxi and said, ‘I got him down to thirty-five. Really, it’s a scandal! This wouldn’t happen back home.’ She then tapped me on the shoulder and said, ‘Remember, Roy, take care of the pennies and the pounds take care of themselves…’

13:06 Wombat refused to allow the black security guard to look in her handbag. She turned to Mom and said, ‘They steal, these people, they steal.’ Mom and Dad both nodded. I slunk back a few metres and disowned my family. Eventually a white security guard came along and Wombat allowed him to look in her handbag.

Wombat drank three gin and tonics on the flight to Johannesburg. When the plane touched down she thought we had landed in London and applauded the pilot.

We had four hours to wait at Jan Smuts airport so I took my Walkman and my Sports Illustrated magazine and settled at a safe distance from the Miltons. The woman next to me was sobbing to her husband. He kept saying, ‘Think forward, Cheryl. Remember we said we were going to think forward. We’re doing it for the kids!’ This didn’t seem to work because Cheryl started howling and digging in her bags for tissues.

I returned to find the Miltons all reading different sections of the Citizen newspaper. Dad, who had the sports section, said, ‘If Tony Watson doesn’t make the bloody Springboks again I’ll eat my head off.’ Wombat was shaking her head about an elderly couple who were murdered on their farm and Mom was cursing because she had forgotten to set the tape for the final episode of Twin Peaks. I turned up the volume on my Walkman and stared at the list of cities on the departures board.

London

Paris

Geneva

Frankfurt

New York

One day I’ll see them all.

Our Olympic Airlines Jumbo touched down in Athens in the middle of the night. Wombat applauded again and welcomed us all to London. Mom told her we were in Greece. Wombat looked horrified and asked if the plane had been hijacked. Dad sneakily gathered up a huge pile of empty mini brandy bottles, dumped them in his sick bag and then slid the bag under Wombat’s seat.

We had an eight-hour wait for our flight to London so we decided to take a taxi into Athens and see the Acropolis. It was pitch black outside and Wombat hailed seven taxis before she found an honest driver. (She reckons you can tell by the shifty look in their eyes.) The only word we all understood was Acropolis. This didn’t stop Mom and Wombat from giving the poor man half an hour of recent Milton history. Dad asked the taxi driver what time the sun rose. The taxi driver rattled off a long reply in Greek. When he had finished speaking there was a pause before Wombat turned to Dad and said, ‘What did this gentleman say, Roy?’ Dad shrugged his shoulders and said it was all Greek to him. He then roared with laughter and thumped his hand on the dashboard. The taxi driver must have seen the funny side because he laughed along with Dad.

The climb to the top of the Acropolis was a real test for Wombat who at times seemed to be walking horizontal to the ground. Dad reached the top, took a look around and said the place was falling to pieces. I told Dad it was thousands of years old but he still wasn’t impressed. I then showed my father the ancient theatre of Dionysus where theatre first began. Dad said the place could do with a facelift.

The sun rose over Athens revealing a dusty, dirty, but beautiful city. I feel like a real traveller in a far-off land.

Heathrow airport is gigantic! It’s like a whole city with planes instead of cars. It also makes Jan Smuts look like a chicken shed. Wombat was thrilled to be ‘home’ and shook hands with every security person she came across. She proudly showed off her British passport and gave me a pound and told me not to spend it all at once.

Dad was stopped and searched at Customs. He blamed it on Tutu who he says has given white South Africans a bad name abroad.

15:10 (Greenwich Mean Time) Wombat had yet another argument with a taxi driver who wanted forty quid to take us to our hotel. Wombat called him a shyster and shouted, ‘This doesn’t happen back home, you know!’ before slamming the door of the cab and pointing us to the tube station.

Mental Note: Keep Wombat away from taxi drivers wherever possible.

The tube thundered into the station and around us people swarmed onto the train. There was a desperate rush to lug all the suitcases on board before the doors closed. Poor Dad was lugging huge cases backwards and forwards while Wombat stood in the middle of the coach shouting, ‘Don’t close the doors! He’s one of us!’

We found ourselves packed into the tube like scared little sardines, clutching our suitcases. The people on the train all read newspapers and listened to Walkmans. It amazed me that nobody spoke – it was like a travelling morgue. Wombat lectured one Londoner on his ripe body odour, and asked him when he had last taken a bath. The man didn’t answer. In fact he didn’t even look up once from his magazine. Dad looked at me grimly and said, ‘Welcome to London.’

The Kensington Palace Hotel isn’t quite what Wombat was expecting. It’s a massive hotel with tiny rooms and the longest corridors I’ve ever seen. All the maids and cleaners are Filipino and don’t speak much English. (Actually most of them don’t speak any English.) I doubt Princess Diana has ever set foot in the place. Poor Wombat burst into tears and blamed it on falling standards, which she blamed on John Major.

Saturday 6th July

MADAME TUSSAUDS & PUB LUNCH

After a greasy breakfast of egg and kippers the Miltons hit the streets of London. Wombat and Mom decided that our mission was to be the Madame Tussauds wax museum. London is a mad hustle and bustle of people from all over the world. Dad was shocked to see a beautiful blonde girl walking down the street hand in hand with a black guy. I must admit it did look strange. We all stopped in the middle of the pavement and watched the young couple walk by. Wombat told us that it would never have been allowed in Thatcher’s day.

Madame Tussauds is truly amazing. Dad made me take pictures of him standing next to Roger Moore and the Beatles although he told me to chop John Lennon off the side because he was a commie. Wombat curtsied before having her picture taken with the Queen. Mom, Dad and Wombat posed with Margaret Thatcher. After the photographs Wombat said she was exhausted and was off to find a chair. I posed with Anthony Hopkins and Michael Jackson. Unfortunately, there was no replica of John Milton (the poet).

Then Dad and I went down to the Chamber of Horrors where we saw the Jack the Ripper murder scene. Further down the chamber a huge crowd of Japanese tourists were jabbering away and taking pictures. We pushed through the crowd with Dad saying ‘Saki saki’ to everyone as if he was greeting them. There was another crowd of Japanese photographers snapping away in the far corner of Murderers Row. As we got closer Dad and I stopped dead in our tracks. A large sign read DOCTOR CRIPPEN. Next to the sign was a bench. On the bench was Wombat, fast asleep with her mouth open and her yellow tongue exposed. The Japanese were pointing at her, shouting ‘Kippen! Kippen!’ and snapping away with their fancy cameras. Dad took out his camera and snapped a picture too! Then a second crowd of Japanese tourists came over and photographed Wombat. I told Dad that half of Japan would think Wombat was a savage serial killer. Dad shrugged his shoulders and said, ‘Who am I to argue with half of Japan?’

11:30 After spending the morning impersonating Dr Crippen the serial killer, Wombat peered up at the overcast sky and announced that the sun was over the yardarm. The Miltons piled into a local pub. Dad seemed thrilled with the place and said, ‘You can say a lot about the Poms, but when it comes to pubs…’ He gazed around looking impressed and whistled softly to himself. Wombat handed Dad a twenty pound note and told him to get a round of drinks. Dad looked around to see if anybody had seen him taking money from his mother-in-law and then shot off to the bar. We found a table and settled down to a lunch of pork pies and chips with gravy. Dad drank three pints of Guinness and got completely smashed. He blamed the Irish who he says make crazy beer. Our lunch cost us sixty-eight quid. Mom and Dad were astonished. Wombat didn’t seem too concerned about the cost although she had drunk five gin and tonics and had repeatedly piped up with morbid old war songs whenever there was a pause in conversation.

Sunday 7th July

OXFORD STREET

Mom and Dad said they were jetlagged. They sent me down to the Pakistani corner shop where I bought them bread rolls, cheese and pickles. They reckoned they were going to spend the day watching TV in bed. Wombat shouted, ‘When you’re tired of London, you’re tired of life!’ and then turned to me and said, ‘Come along, young man, we’re going to Oxford Street.’

Wombat is brilliant in London. She’s also not shy to abuse people where necessary. We hopped onto one of the red double-decker tourist buses and sat on the open top roof. She showed me so many landmarks and interesting historical buildings that I was starting to think that perhaps Wombat isn’t losing her marbles at all until she pointed at a Barclays Bank building and told me it was Buckingham Palace.

We jumped off the bus and made our way up Oxford Street. There were so many CD shops – looks like tapes are soon to be a thing of the past. We stopped at a fancy coffee shop called Lace & Syrup for what Wombat called ‘elevenses’. (Basically a pit stop between breakfast and lunch.) Wombat ordered a pot of tea and a round of egg sandwiches. I had a huge stack of crumpets and a chocolate milkshake and then felt too full to carry on living. After elevenses Wombat gave me twenty pounds and said she was off to buy shoes. We agreed to meet back at the Lace & Syrup in half an hour.

I figured that with twenty pounds I had enough money to buy a new release and a cheap old CD. I found a small music store under the level of the street where you could listen to music on headphones for free. I settled for U2’s The Joshua Tree and the Greatest Hits of Bob Dylan.

I decided Elton John, Phil Collins, Erasure, Fleetwood Mac and Lionel Richie were too naff. I thought about impressing everyone at school by buying Metallica or Iron Maiden but I hate heavy metal.

I arrived back at the Lace & Syrup to find no sign of Wombat. By one o’clock I realized Wombat was missing. I suddenly felt scared. There I was, stuck and disorientated in the middle of London with hundreds of people around talking in different languages. I walked up and down Oxford Street looking in each shop for my grandmother. She was gone. I was too scared to take different roads because I had the feeling that I’d never make it back to Oxford Street again. I took a few deep breaths and counted the money in my pocket. Three pounds fifty!

I tried to retrace my steps to where Wombat and I had got off the bus. But then I noticed buildings that I was sure I hadn’t seen before so I turned round and walked in the opposite direction. Around me were London traffic and shops and strange faces. It felt like I was striding along in a great army of ants. (Except all the other ants knew where they were going.) I stopped to get my bearings once again. A blonde lady about Mom’s age walked up to me and said, ‘All right, son?’ I must have looked in a bit of a state of panic because she put her arm around me and asked, ‘Where you going?’ I don’t think I answered her because I was a little caught up with her strong cockney accent. I eventually told the woman I was staying at the Kensington Palace Hotel. She said, ‘Oooh bless.’ I then told her I was South African. She said, ‘Oooh dear.’ My final killer blow was when I mentioned that I had been deserted by my grandmother. She shook her head sadly and said, ‘Well, lovey, you stand here until a big red bus comes and then you stay on that selfsame bus until you find South Kensington.’ I repeated the words South Kensington like a moron. She nodded and said, ‘From the station it’s down the road and you can’t miss it.’ I thanked her for her help and stood behind a queue of wombats waiting for the big red double-decker bus.

I bought my ticket and climbed up to the top deck. The sun was shining and the city of London was flashing by. I flipped open my Walkman and loaded The Joshua Tree. I wasn’t scared anymore. Now I felt like a real traveller surrounded by complete strangers in one of the greatest cities in the world with the perfect greens of the park on one side and the three hundred year old buildings on the other. My left foot was tapping to the bass and my head was nodding along with the jangling guitars:

I want to run

I want to hide

I want to break down the walls that hold me inside

I want to reach out and touch the flame

Where the streets have no name.

There was mass celebration when I returned alive to the hotel. Mom and Dad (who claimed to have been worried sick about me) were still in bed surrounded by food and a couple of empty wine bottles. Wombat had arrived back ages ago with ten pairs of K Shoes and three tea cosies. The K shoes are all exactly the same colour (white) and look like very embarrassing tennis shoes. Wombat refused to apologize for deserting me in London and said she wasn’t here to babysit. I informed everyone that I wasn’t a child anymore anyway, marched out of my parents’ room and slammed the door, nearly bashing into the Filipino waiter who was bringing up more wine.

I returned to my tiny room and watched the BBC news.

Wombat may be right about John Major. There’s definitely something shifty about him.

Monday 8th July

BUCKINGHAM PALACE AND VARIOUS PARKS OF LONDON

It was another early start for the Miltons. For the third morning in a row the Filipino waiter brought me yoghurt and nuts when I ordered a cheese and mushroom omelette. Wombat told the waiter he was a disgrace to England and then told him to buck himself up and clean up his act. The waiter grinned and nodded and then took away our orange juice. Mom and Wombat agreed that England had become a godless place.

Today was a walking day. We made it through the massive Hyde Park and then St James Park and Green Park and finally to Buckingham Palace. Wombat was beside herself with excitement and pointed out the Queen’s bedroom. Soon a small group of tourists were standing next to us listening to Wombat’s descriptions of the Palace and what the Queen would be doing at this very moment. Unfortunately, Wombat then pointed at the window next to the Queen’s window and told us all that it was her own bedroom. The tourists laughed and then quickly moved on, although a Japanese tourist took Wombat’s picture and bowed to her. Wombat glared at him and said, ‘Go away, you horrible little man.’

Wombat turned to us and said, ‘It wasn’t long ago when we were entitled to shoot these Japanese chappies, you know.’ Mom nodded along and went on about how London didn’t feel like London anymore. I pointed out to Mom and Wombat that we were also tourists and that the Japanese have as much right to be here as we do. Dad accused me of being a bleeding heart commie, and Wombat said we had more right to be here than the Japs because our ancestors were English and the Japanese ancestors were all Mongols.

HYDE (HIDE) PARK

At Hyde Park Corner there’s something called Speakers Corner. On a stage with a microphone members of the public are allowed to stand up and make a speech about whatever is on their minds. A crowd gathers below and either heckles or cheers on the speaker depending on what he is saying.

When we got there a punk with orange hair was shouting on about fox hunting. I hardly heard a word he was saying because his accent was so bad. Most of the crowd looked bored and chatted amongst themselves.

Next up was an old Welshman who went on about getting compensation for the closure of the coalmines. He told the crowd that Margaret Thatcher should be tried for crimes against humanity. He then called John Major a Nazi. Three skinheads with swastikas tattooed onto their arms stood up and did a Nazi salute. The crowd booed and the Nazis laughed.

Then there was a whiney woman who went on about rates and taxes. The crowd ignored her completely and a few people told her to sod off.

And that’s when Dad got up to speak. It was possibly the worst speech in history.

THE WORST SPEECH IN THE WORLD! (LOWLIGHTS PACKAGE)

Dad arrived on stage and forgot to switch on the microphone.

When he did switch the microphone on it made a terrible screeching noise.

The poor start must have made my father quite nervous because his voice was shaking badly.

He then told the rowdy crowd that he was South African.

Despite the boos, he pointed across Hyde Park and said, ‘Look what the blacks have done to the rest of Africa.’

He finished off by shouting, ‘I say the Indians back to India! The Japs back to Japland! And the commies back to jail!’

Mom, Wombat and the three skinheads gave Dad a standing ovation. The rest of the crowd were hurling abuse and picnic food at him so he scampered off the stage and disappeared behind some advertising billboards.

Dad was on a disturbing adrenaline high after his embarrassing speech. Now he’s thinking of a career in politics.

Tuesday 9th July

Dad said he was exhausted after his speech yesterday and decided to spend the day having a pub lunch. Wombat said ten-thirty in the morning was an obscene time to start drinking and stayed behind in the hotel for elevenses and forty winks. Dad gave me three pounds and told me to buy another CD. I told him that CDs were twelve pounds so he told me to buy a record instead. I nipped in to the corner shop and headed straight to the magazine racks. There on the top shelf was the magazine I had seen on Saturday.

Racked and Stacked UK

My heart was pounding. I was terrified the Pakistani shopkeeper would think I was a pervert and call a bobby. My hands were shaking as I reached up and grabbed hold of the shiny magazine covered in plastic. (No doubt this is a cunning plan to keep perverts from getting horny and performing dodgy deeds in the shop.) Then there was an enormous crash as about ten magazines and five tins of baked beans fell to the floor. I felt myself blushing and there was a weird humming noise in my ear. I quickly started picking everything up but I had obviously caught the storekeeper’s eye because suddenly he was looming over me asking if he could help me with anything. I said, ‘No, I’m fine,’ but had a terrible knackjump in the process. I felt myself blushing and quickly packed up the magazines and left the store trying not to make eye contact with anyone in the shop. Strange things are happening to my mind and body. Let’s hope I’m not turning into a Boggo.


Date: 2015-12-17; view: 594


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