Had to go down into town this morning for some important stuff. Invited 2 of the bigger girls along. Thimna had to meet her mother at Shoprite, and I thought Shamika and I could look for a diary to give to Andrea Wittenberg for her birthday today. So all the brats joined the trek. We walked along interesting streets. As we crossed roads we sang: “Hande vat, hande vat, 1-2-3” We met Naledi and her mother, Faith, in the Golden Acre. Faith went back home, and then we were 8. My favourite number. I was #9, #9, #9, like in that Beatles song. Most of the important stuff remain pending. We didn’t get around to it, but we did manage to swop the faulty kettle at Game, and we bought a lock for the recently renovated shower-facility. (Thank you, Llewellyn Alberts) We enjoyed a late breakfast at that Oriental place where Wellington Fruit Growers used to be. We also shopped the shit out of this city. We bought what we desired till the money ran out. Our ears should be warm this August, we bought headgear galore. When the noon gun boomed we were in Darling Street, and I knew I was missing a meeting here on the Farm. I doubt that I know what happiness really is, but I do recognise relief when it blows down my neck, so I felt naughtily, guiltily, hugely relieved. I have to admit my limitations by now. I’m too immature for meetings. I cannot inspire anyone over the age of 7. On our way back we ambled through and fed the fat squirrels and gruesome pigeons in the Company Gardens. We admired venerable trees; fantasized about the brisk finches in the big cages; gurgled over the horrendously unattractive baby dove under the wing of its mother. The mother a porcelain fragility so beautifully designed. God sure has a twisted sense of humour sometimes. We passed photogenic through a shoal of Chingchongs absolutely bristling with recording devices. By now we are probably plastered all over some cheap facsimile of this here rostrum. Anyway. We arrived home singing: “Hande vat, hande vat, 1-2-3!”
Posted on: Sat, 26 Jul 2014 21:44:47 +0000