Joubert Malherbe
YOU KNOW that sinking feeling you get when you misplace something. Well, that was the case with me the other day when I “lost” my wallet.
Thankfully, the reason why “lost” is in inverted commas will become apparent shortly.
I had just returned home from a stint at Café Delisiozo at the Doringkloof Mall where a delightful guitarist called Annarie was entertaining the locals to a selection of lovely folk songs.
Her rendition of the old number, Lemon Tree, was quite appropriate I figured, because at one stage it was really tipping down. Still, mustn’t grumble, as Basil Fawlty once had it …
When I got home, I went into the bedroom, took off my jacket and put my wallet down.
Ten minutes or so later I realised I needed something from the corner café and I reached for the wallet in my denim jacket pocket. I have two jackets on my current-wearing list; the denim one which I usually put on, and a black blazer.
I recently started wearing the black blazer on a regular basis. On the day in question, I was convinced that I had donned the denim garment, so I felt in the pockets for the walle t… nothing, nada; and that’s when the sinking feeling hit home.
The wallet was “gone”, and panic ensued as I rushed round the house looking for it. I searched every nook and cranny where I figured it should be, but nothing was forthcoming.
Just to explain: as it is for many people, I’m sure, the wallet contains pretty much everything that is important in day-to-day matters; like bank cards, driving licence, credit-card style ID, as well as store cards and the like.
I jumped into the car and raced back to the mall, where I explained my predicament to the Delisiozo waiters, especially Fanie, who helped me when I was there earlier … but nothing. Neither he, nor owner Marinda, was any the wiser.
It was, to wildly paraphrase REM, the end of the world as I knew it … and no, I wasn’t feeling fine.
I dashed back home to resume the hunt, while at the same time cursing the heavens above while, simultaneously, imploring those very forces to assist me.
On the way home, it suddenly struck me like a thunderbolt: I hadn’t looked inside the drawer of the bedside table during my earlier hunt around the house; only on top of the table where I thought I had put it.
I screeched to a halt outside the front door, bolted down the passage into my room, opened the drawer and, sowaar, or voila, if you will, there the offending item was…
I immediately rang the restaurant to inform Fani about the happy ending … Phew, relief all round.
Meanwhile, I’m happy to report that my erstwhile DK watering hole, Café de Café – two doors or so down from Delisiozo – has reopened. It has been dubbed Darling Delights and specialises in coffee and cakes.
It is run by a friendly young woman called Judy who told me she has big plans … it will probably lead to split loyalties for me – as far as Delisiozo goes – but to paraphrase the aforementioned Fawlty again: “… always glad to be supporting something new in Torquay (or, Doringkloof in this case)”.
Bon appetit, as they say in the provinces.
Anyway, talking about happy endings, this sure wasn’t the case when the MK vets protested on Tuesday in support of ANC SG Ace Magashule outside their Durban HQ after his visit there. The most telling image of all, I thought, was that geezer standing right behind the alleged state capture ace.
He wielded a placard that read: “Liberators are poor. Comrades are rich.”
What an indictment, I thought to myself, but then again …
Sigh.