Two Bits: Of unpaid bills and unsteady sailors

Elsewhere in this issue it is reported that the Durban High Court has ordered the liquidators to settle the outstanding amount before the building can be transferred to the new buyers.

In the lengthy ‘media release’ from KDM that landed on my desk last week, their chief financial officer is quoted as saying: “In accordance with its legal and constitutional obligations, KDM vigorously pursues non-paying consumers and ratepayers and those who tamper with electricity, and will continue to do so.”

I am sure all right minded ratepayers will agree with this sentiment. However, actions speak louder than words.

There was no vigorous pursuit when the bill was being racked up by the mall’s developers, Consolidated Aone Trade & Invest 6 (Pty) Ltd.

In the two and a half years between December 2010 and mid-2013 before Aone bit the dust, the directors paid a fraction of the electricity bill. By the end they owed about R10 million. And yet the municipality sat on its hands and allowed the mall to continue business as usual, arguing that it should be allowed to trade itself out of debt. Gee, didn’t that work out well!

Here’s a little saying I learned at my mother’s knee, that KDM should apply to debt collection: “A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush”. Or if you like, the Zulu saying goes: “Bambisisa lokho onakho ngoba ikusasa alaziwa” meaning, look after what you have because no one knows what the future holds.

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My father, not one given to grand gestures, announced one day that one day we would be sailing to the Seychelles. We kids were thrilled to bits for a couple of reasons, mainly because our father being the martinet he was, it was our duty to be thrilled.

There was much poring over atlases to discover where the Seychelles were and excited chatter about what we’d do and how we’d do it. Then it dawned on us – first we’d have to build a boat! My father was not the sort to give anyone a free ride. If we wanted to come along, we’d have to pitch in with the boat building, each to their abilities.

So, the garage was cleared out and piles of timber arrived. It was going to be a wooden-hulled, single-masted cruiser, sleeping six. And so began, if memory serves correctly, a saga of about five years. I was only a little chap at first so all I could do was fetch and carry, but my brothers had to help with the cutting and planing and all.

It was a brilliant education in woodworking. We were given jobs to do – sanding, varnishing, polishing, clearing up – and a mistake earned you a crack around the head. Childline was still light years ahead, so you had to suck it up! My father was a competent and meticulous carpenter, I’ll grant him that, but he could be easily distracted and the project would go on hold for months on end while he pursued some other interest.

Eventually the yacht was finished. But by then my father had come to his senses and realised that this itty-bitty boat was not going to make it halfway up Africa. Well perhaps it could, with an expert sailor at the helm, but that he was not. So, it was confined to Midmar dam and still provided a lot of fun.

Which brings me to the story I heard this week.

Ken Bircher of Chaka’s Rock is a master boat builder, though he works mainly in steel and fibreglass. He builds these huge, 10-berth catamarans that sail the Seven Seas and cost a bomb. We had the pleasure three years ago of accompanying him and Sue and six other North Coasters for a two week sail in the Caribbean.

What a holiday that was!

Anyhow, he builds a couple a year and sells them to Americans (who else?). The other day he had a little party aboard his newest boat in Durban harbour, to celebrate handing it over to its new American owner.

Well, the party goes along fine until it’s time to leave. One Pete Matkovich prepares to step from boat to quay. Someone offers him a hand. ‘No, no,’ he brushes it off, ‘I’m fine.’ Such are the preludes to disaster.

He misjudged the gap and fell straight into the bay, kersplash!

Panic! Owners and guests hauled him out and dried him off, solicitously inquiring as to his health. The little birdie who told me this tale says while it could have been serious, it was more funny, though nobody dared laugh. (And lest anyone think that Matko’s judgment was somehow impaired, the birdie says he was stone cold sober.)

Now Matko is undoubtedly a master designer and builder of golf courses, he’s run 10 Comrades marathons and is a single figure golfer and, not least, is a fervent Christian. But the truth is, he still can’t walk on water.

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I once tried to date a tennis player, but love meant nothing to her.