Two Bits: Thursdays have been a bit rough lately

A police station charge office in the middle of the night is never a calming place. It is usually the casualty ward of some form of unpleasantness – domestic or criminal violence – under the pitiless glare of over bright neon lights.

And the unpleasantness is not confined to one side of the counter.

In Umhlali charge office while giving a statement last Thursday night to an efficient WO Reddy, out of the blue a bolshy uniformed constable leaned over his shoulder and spoke very aggressively at me: “You must tell me everything!”

I replied that I was busy giving a statement and she must wait her turn.

After shouting a few times, she said accusingly, “So you won’t talk to me!” and stomped off to a desk where she sat with her head in her hands.

I’m no Sherlock, but I detected a fruitcake.

This was a follow-on from having been set upon in my garden by five youths, one armed with a pistol and another with a very big hunting knife, who threatened to kill/shoot/stab me. I gave one a crack over the head with my Maglite torch and shouted to Rose to call the cops, at which they turned tail and ran off to the beach.

No reply from the police station. My security people eventually put in a half-hearted appearance, but our neighbour called IPSS Security and they arrived with tyres smoking.

They arrested the five on Salt Rock road, searched our garden, searched the beach, took me to identify the gang and handed them over to the cops.

Nice job, plus one new customer.

* * *

Thursdays have been eventful lately.

The previous week it was the biggest thunder and lightning storm we’ve ever been through.

As the lights went off and I watched the flashes, I reckoned if ever I was going to be struck by lightning, it was now.

Then the almighty bolt of white light and crash that made me jump and Rose scream was a direct hit on my TV dish, TV, Telkom line (and half of Salt Rock’s phones), my neighbours’ wi-fi aerials and a palm tree.

* * *

We were in the ‘Berg over the Easter weekend when a friend staying in our house rang to say ‘Umm, the sewage has backed up and it’s all over the downstairs room’.

In these situations, I try not to panic, I just phone Robbie the magic plumber who, after a long digging session, found that a pothole in the road outside our house was directly over where the outlet pipe joins the sewer main.

A big truck had squashed it flat, hence redecoration of the downstairs room.

Now the pothole had been growing steadily for months with no sign of the municipal repair team, so I’m thinking oh no, this is going to get messy. Correction, messier.

But Rose popped along to Siza Water and told them about it.

Imagine her surprise when she got home and the Siza man arrived hot on her heels, took some pictures and promised action. He did not lie. Whether his doing or coincidence, a day later a pothole gang fixed the hole but must have realised it was too big for patching with premix, so the following day the municipal road repair gang was on site to do a proper job! Impressive.

* * *

When the stress gets too much, go play golf.

SMG Ballito, the BMW people, invited Courier director Pieter Naude and myself for a round last Saturday. There was a little bet to give the game some edge, of course. Well, after the front nine, Krish Mudali and I were three holes and two units down to Paul Naidoo and Pieter.

They were cock-a-hoop and already counting the money but we were planning a comeback. We made brave noises about a comeback, anyway.

Wonders never cease. We got one back so were three down with four to play. It did not look good. Then I parred the stroke one 15th and the next hole, while our opponents didn’t fare well.

Krish equalised the 17th for a half while I was farming in the trees. On the 18th, I was stuck in the bunker while Krish was just short of the green but had the bit in his teeth.

He went on to sink the winning putt and square the game! Which just goes to show, it ain’t over ‘til it’s over! Do we have boasting rights? You bet! Anyhow, my mood had lifted and I was ready to face the week.

* * *

Exaggerations went up by a million percent last year.

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