Curry, Worry and Hurry

A voice boomed from the entrance:

"I am Dr Deviharin, a cardiologist from Delhi."

What a relief as I nearly had a heart attack.

"Good day." I say. Welcome to Terr..."

"I would like to do a tour of Sun City and a tour of Johannesburg, Soweto and Pretoria. And the Apartheid Museum. And, I need to be back here at six sharp for my whiskey."

The taxi driver was still unloading his luggage.

"You'll need at least three days to do all that," I tell him.

"Well, then I'll just have to stay here longer," he replied.

"Do you know what brings on a heart attack?", asked Dr Deviharin, completing the register.

A big fright, I believe. Like the one you just gave me.

"It's Curry, Worry and Hurry," he says. Now I know.

Steven returns from the airport looking baffled and holding a bag of apples and two banana peels.

Before collecting a guest from the airport, Steven had bought some groceries. He asked Jeffrey if he needed anything - food, airtime or to draw cash.

"Only airtime," was his reply.

On Steven's return, Jeffrey had eaten two bananas and thrown the peels onto the back seat.

Jeffrey signed in as Major and requested a receipt.

"I need your full name and surname, please?" I said.

"I was a Major in the Army and that's all you need to know."

Jeffrey the Major then asked whether South Africa had two currencies, as he had two one hundred rand notes which appeared to be different.

He and Dr Deviharin, over a bottle of whiskey had an intense discussion on the matter.

Before retiring to bed, Jeffrey the Major asked Steven if he could have two apples to help him to sleep.

Blake our Brick

I was watching 'The Middle', where the youngest son, Brick, was nearly swopped at birth with a baby named Blake.

The mother, pacifying Brick, said: "Anyway, Blake is a boring name."

Have you ever?!

Misty was unpegging the washing, when she felt as though a gale force wind was about to lift her off her feet.

With a prior warning of: "Marmeeee," Blake with his arms and legs, clutched around Nick's shirt, swirled around the washing line like a tornado.

Even the neighbour's looked over the wall.

Nick brought Blake home from playschool, and saw the house key on the kitchen counter.

Nick pushed Blake through the window and begged him to give him the key.

Blake, however, had a better idea and jumped off the counter, ran to his bedroom, and rode his bika up and down the passage.

When Misty returned home, Nick was still standing at the window, begging: "Please, Blake, please, give me the key!"

Nick and Misty, no longer need an alarm. At 6am, their wake-up call is 'vroom, vroom, vroom'.

Blake often checks the car tyres, by kicking them, to ensure they are in order.

Last Saturday morning, Blake insisted on baked beans on toast for breakfast.

Once the beans had taken effect, Blake dramatically bent over, placed his hands on his knees and let rip.

While he looked embarrassed, he guffawed as though this was the funniest thing ever.

Misty and Aimee visited me for a natter. We sat on the front porch, while Blake batted the ball.

Blake then hid the ball under a tree and toddled up the steps to sit next to me on the slatted bench. He looked uncomfortable and slid off.

Blake then pushed his fist under Misty's bottom, which was on the comfy chair.

Misty said: "Blake, your ball is not here. I'll get up and show you."

Blake was now comfortable and smiled at his mom.










As Misty stood up, Blake leapt onto the chair, with a look that had to be seen to be believed.

Gotcha!

A Day with Blake

Blake was in hospital for two days.

He scampered about with Chloe, who had a brain tumour removed, both as happy as larks.

Blake, in fits of giggles, kept tugging at the nurses skirts, asking for a bika.

Once better, beaming Blake, visited Guppy, as Misty went to work.

Blake on his bika zoomed down the passages, around the back garden, the front garden and the driveway.

He insisted on feeding himself, and upended, the porridge onto the carpet.

I retrieved a book, and began to read with superhuman enunciation. Blake looked at me as though I was daft, and bursts out laughing.

He opens the biscuit tin, and puts his head inside. I forgot to replenish the Iced-Zoo. Blake then points, throws up his arms and says: "Gone!"

Misty calls. Blake presses every button, and cranes the mobile in his neck - "Mummy Gone."

I also forgot to put the container of tooth-picks away. Blake and I spend the next 30 minutes, picking up 100 toothpicks.

Blake has now found the permanent marker, and is poised at the lounge wall. I find some paper and crayons. Silence.

I decide to wash the breakfast dishes. Blake enters the kitchen, and says: "Gone." I crawl under the bed, to retrieve 30 crayons. All the while, Blake is smacking me on the bottom and laughing...

10am - 3 hours to go. Misty calls. She will be an hour late.

1pm - I change Blake into clean threads. Mommy is on her way. We are off to Wimpy.

Blake has found a packet of nik-naks and now he is orange, from head to toe.

At the Wimpy, Blake pours a bubblegum milkshake over his head and giggles.

Misty and I, collapse with laughter - not the right thing, we know...

Blake now looks as though he could audition for Avatar 2...

Up for Sports

Blake's potty class were the first to line up for the obstacle race. I implored his fans, to behave appropriately and not ululate, as this would be very distracting.

Halfway through the race, Blake spied plastic bikes at the end of each lane. He bolted like Usain, and, unable to contain myself, I ran along the sidelines, bellowing: "Run, Blake, Run!"

Blake realised that all his Christmases and Birthdays were rolled into one, and he ran from lane to lane, undecided as to which bike to aim for first. Once there, he sampled each one. The other participants had to wait their turn.

For the second race, after weeks of practicing, Blake decided at the inopportune moment that - On Your Marks, Ready, Steady - was a complete waste of time, and had to be held back by his daddy to avoid disqualification.

Blake wept.

The gentleman with the funnel, then requested all the mommies and grannies to ditch their heels, and after a moment of stretching, they formed an orderly queue. The daddies and grampies, followed suite, and a good time was had by all.

Misty and Aunty Aimee, ran for a laugh and Granny Nonna, fell. Nick, talking on two mobiles at once, nearly missed his turn.

Daddy was also jokingly reprimanded, for false starts. Father, Son? Daddy and his mate, Matthew, took the sprint very seriously, and flew to the finish. After much debate and back-slapping, they decided on a tie.

But, the highlight was, Blake's Grampy, won, amidst, much jubilation!

One gym bunny mommy, togged in a tracksuit, ran with one arm behind her back, laughing like a hyena, leaving the competition and spectators wiping the dust from their eyes.

After, boerewors rolls and beverages, the teachers, may they always be blessed, cleared the fields for the more advanced obstacles, which included shapes and hoops.

Everything has a place, Blake, decided to stack these in an orderly fashion. Aunty Aimee and I, rapidly restored these items as the advanced classes proceeded to their places.

Blake pointed and wept.

He then spied a stray bike and all was well...

The Law

An irate neighbour is shouting from the front gate:

"You come out here now! I am contacting my lawyer tomorrow, and the Council, and the Police. Just watch me."

His mother emerges from the front seat, screaming: "This is bullshit!", while his wife sitting in the back, is showing me the finger.

"What is the problem?' I ask.

"Your dog barks all night and keeps us awake. We work hard all day and my mother is aging rapidly from lack of sleep. My wife has had numerous psychological check-ups and I have no medical aid left. I have a good mind to make you pay." he screams.

"We don't have a dog," I reply.

"What are you going to do about it?" he continues.

"We don't have a dog," I confirm.

"So then whose dog is it?" he asks, while making a hasty getaway.

The Smythes arrive later, gushing: "We were recommended all the way from Port Elizabeth."

They kick off their shoes at the entrance, carry their luggage to the room and lock the door.

I knock tentatively and ask them to fill out the register.

"We will pay once we leave," Mr tells me.

By a stoke of luck, the owner of the hostel calls from Port Elizabeth. He would like to speak to them as they left without paying and he would like their credit card details.

They huff off to the room to gather their belongings, trip over their shoes at the front door and demand free transport to the airport.

I have been told that to run a backpackers business I have to be a bitch. Unfortunately.

"I have received a call from Mike. He says you did not pay. You will also have to pay me now for your accommodation and the taxi fare," I tell them.

Mr: "My wife has not one but two law degrees from Poland and Canada. She knows what she is talking about. You have overcharged R20 for the accommodation."

Mrs: "And, there is a special on at the Intercontinental, and you have the cheek to charge more."

"I charge more than the Intercontinental?" I ask. "Let me call them."

They throw their credit card on the desk. R4500 per night is a vast difference between R420.

I fall asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow and didn't hear the phantom dog barking.

Blake's New Bed

Misty assembled Blake's new Toy Story bed.

Two hours it took. 15 minutes max on the instruction manual.

Blake, watching the construction of the bed intently and pointing from bed to bike, laughed so lustily he nearly stopped breathing.

As Misty also needed to regain her breath after the bed building, she flopped onto the couch to read a month old magazine.

Blake was pounding on the computer then stopped mid-press, looked at her, stood up and slowly walked over, and hugged and kissed her.

At bedtime Blake eagerly snuggled into his new bed and silence prevailed.

Around 2am, Misty hears :"Ma, Maa, Maah!"

"Go to your new bed, Blake."

Blake tip-toes to his room. Silence again. Then a chair is scraped back.

Twang! Twang!! Twang!!! Beethoven Blake is playing the piano.

"Go to your Toy Story bed, Blake," says Nick.

When Misty wakes up the following morning, Blake is sleeping on Nick's bottom and has one big toe in Misty's ear and the other up her nose.

"I like my bed, mommy," says Blake, "but yours is so much kinder."

Passport Be Gone

Late one night a taxi driver deposited six gentlemen at Terrylin and sped off into the darkness.

There was a cacophony of blubbering and babbling. I didn't understand a word.

The leader Flavio, could speak a smidgen of English. Marcio had left his carry-bag on the seat at the airport.

All his money, his passport, traveller's cheques, his life, was in that bag, Mario explained excitedly.

Steven 'phoned airport security and was told that they had the bag, intact.

The message was relayed to Flavio, who waving his hands in the air and grinning like a madman informed all and sundry. They whooped and hollered.

And, nearly lifted the garage door off its hinges to push the Renault down the driveway.

While Steven was looking for the car keys, he loses everything, I was frantically attempting to open the gate, with Marcio running in and out.

The next morning Flavio told me that Marcio did not sleep very well as he slept on his carry-bag.

On the other hand Emily arrived as calm as you please.

While in Cape Town she had mislaid her passport.

Emily then had to fly to Johannesburg find accommodation and travel to Pretoria the following morning to apply for a temporary passport.

"Tomorrow is a holiday," I tell her.

"Another one?" she sighs. "So I'll have another day then. And I've just re-arranged my flight schedule!"

We have many public holidays in South Africa. Best to check on the days first.