Paul Rose of Brettenwood Estate is feeling cheated:
Good morning fellow readers, I kindly beg your indulgence.
If you cast your minds back to January 2018, I wrote an article protesting as to how unfairly I was treated at my wife’s bible group Christmas bash, which they always hold in January the following year just after Christmas.
During which time it is customary to hold a sort of Secret Santa regarding swopping of presents (Where one could take someone else’s present if you liked it better than yours).
In 2018, yes, I know, 2018 it is a long way back, but I still remember clearly when the “Editor in Chief” of our local newspaper went to great lengths to successfully steal my box of Black Magic chocolates which up to that stage, I had guarded with my life.
Fortunately for me in 2019 we were away and therefore could not be subjected to his scheming and dastardly tricks, but then January 2020 was another story; there we were 16 people in total sitting round a table enjoying a lovely lunch put on by the various ladies within this group, when Secret Santa once again raised its head.
Do not get me wrong, I love receiving gifts, but I also like to keep them.
I was number five, thus chose my gift early on and that left me very much open to theft by others.
What I chose out of the 11 gifts remaining was a scrumptious box of chocolate coated orange slices. Yummy!
I knew then I was doomed as many eyes focus on this wonderful box of chocolates, least of all the beady-eyed “Editor in Chief” but unbeknown to me he was the least of my worries.
As sitting quietly and unobtrusively in the corner was the “Chris the Vicar” (Surname withheld to protect the innocent) a man of the cloth and godly person someone you would not consider losing your box of chocs to.
Well mark my words, no sooner had I unwrapped the box of chocolates and his turn came to choose, when his hand reached over and procured my box of chocolates.
I use the word procured with tongue in cheek as definitely the eighth commandment was out of the window by this stage, but he who laughs last laughs longest, as all of a sudden, the “Editor in Chief’s” boss, memsaab, lady of the house Rose (Surname withheld to protect etc. etc.) leaned across and stole it from the “Vicar”.
God Bless you Rose!
As I had lost my chocolates which were now in the hands of the “Editor in Chief’s” memsaab, I had in the meantime, joy of joys, chosen a bottle of fine wine.
Not a bad replacement, I thought, but I had forgotten to take number 15 on the gift list into consideration.
Who was number 15, you may be wondering? It was no other than that conniving and dastardly “Editor in Chief” Bruce (Surname withheld etc).
He leans across the table and, with great glee, procures my bottle of fine wine.
At the time I never gave it a thought, but I see it now, they are working together as a team the “Editor in Chief’s” memsaab and the “Dastardly Editor in Chief” in taking away things that a few short minutes ago I held as very precious.
Just picture this, they welcome you into their humble abode, wine you and dine you and then together they connive to procure those gifts that a short while ago you held close to your heart.
Bang goes my chocs and wine!
You might be at this stage asking yourself what I ended up with? Well let me take you out of your misery.
With two last gifts remaining, I once again go back to the hamper and picked up – much to my excitement – a fairly large box, which I opened with much anticipation.
Only to find an item so hideous, horrendous and completely indescribable, that those with a conscience sent the children from the room for their own protection.
The fact that Rose the “Editor in Chief’s” memsaab and a person of good standing, could without qualms or any self-embarrassment have purchased this horrific plastic (environmentally unfriendly) imitation pineapple drinking bottle with plastic straw, sitting in an imitation blow up pineapple ring of ghastly proportions, amazes me.
I know, I know it horrifies you all, but I am sorry, I had to share it with you.
I even shudder at the thought of a shop selling such an item in “Ballito” of all places, horror of horrors.
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