Olivetti 45 — If you’ve never headed to a particular event and ended up at a different one with hilarious consequences, you’re not a real journalist. Care to explain, Astertjie? Why yes, I shall.
During last week, considering the ever-looming possibility that I might not make my story quota, I decided to take up the Roodepoort Theatre on one of their many offers. The most prominent, I felt, was the opening of the National Eisteddfod competition. Although not really my koppie tee (having never been a fan of these school art-and-culture comps because I always felt harshly judged and was rarely praised) I made my way down Christiaan de Wet Road hoping for a smooth ride.
Seeing that I arrived early, I sat down in the new Stages restaurant right next to the main theatre for a cup of coffee (more like a strawberry daiquiri, yes, a pink drink). I had been asked to review their food and have been meaning to go, so I put in my veggie order. It’s not as if the theatre will run away, I only need a couple of kiekies and to get a sense of the goings-on. While looking at all the other meaty options on the menu I noticed that they were setting up a stage within Stages. Probably some muso coming in to play some light guitar music or something, I thought, which would be a nice change from the deafening gospel that was booming from the speakers at that moment. Gospel doesn’t fit a Tuesday evening and I believe the other diners would agree. More diners settled in and now I’m thinking they might be here to support a family member on stage. Meer soos verhogie. Enter a local comedian whose shows I’ve attended and written about. He notices me and I wave a friendly wave that stated “What a nice surprise, good luck with the show”.
“Hi and welcome to another installment of the this-and-that comedy show,” or something like that, he announced on stage, “and welcome to Astertjie who always writes about our shows in the record.”
Cheers and claps.
Shut the front door! I’m trapped!
Everybody looks my way and I attempt to smile mid-bite. It’s not like I minded live comedy while dining, maar hoe kom ek nou hier uit? Ek is aangekondig en het dus amptelik kom aansit vir die geleentheid. Kannie nou uithardloop nie, jy’t skaars aan jou spicy pampoenbroodjies geraak, Astertjie. Ek glimlag maar verleë en siedaar, ek’s in die proverbial sop. Probably not worth mentioning that the Eisteddfod never saw my face. Ek eet darem dêm lekker en lag hier en daar, maar oor die algemeen raak die humor vir my seksisties en homofobies en ek skakel af en zone in op my smaaklike broodjie en pink drink. Ek troos my maar aan die feit dat ek nie so much hiernatoe gestuur is nie maar eerder uit my eie opgedaag het, so niemand hoef te weet nie. Behalwe julle, natuurlik.
