Who said history doesn’t repeat itself. For me this week it did, in a way I would naturally have preferred it didn’t.
Many years ago I and my young family went on holiday to Ceres, having booked a week in one of those chalets under the pine trees. Our old kombi was laden down with everything bar the kitchen sink, and half-way up Bain’s Kloof the engine blew with a shattering explosion.
Motoring through what is called the Midlands Meander in KwaZulu-Natal we decided to pop into one of the province’s top private schools, Michaelhouse – not just because it is featured in the book and movie Spud but because a few of my mates are listed among its most illustrious matriculants.
One is cosmologist George Ellis, who I’ve known since we climbed mountains together as students. Another is my late newspaper colleague Barry Streek. When Spud was first published, Barry and I were fellow weekend guests of a mutual friend, and for two days he never lifted his nose out of the book.