En Passant: If oldies played Survivor

OK, I ADMIT it, I watch Survivor on television. I thought it was a daft concept when I first heard about it, but now I find it entertaining and sometimes interesting. Yep, I like Survivor!

Doris often reminds me that what we see in one hour is an edited version of events that condenses about 48 hours of real time into a weekly 60-minute package. In other words, there’s a lot that we don’t see. I understand that, but assume that the film editor chooses the film footage that makes a continuous and understandable story, allowing characters to develop that we, as viewers, can either like or loathe.

And although it is reality television, it is a story that unfolds as the weeks go by. When Jeff says at the beginning of an episode, “Previously on Survivor…” it’s much the same as the clips of the previous episode of Isi-bleeding-Dingo that remind us, or bring us up to date, with the story so far.

For all that, I have to tell you that in my opinion the Americans we see on Survivor, the vast majority of them anyway, exhibit all the survival skills and pioneering spirit of… I dunno, I can’t think of a creature more useless than an American out of his or her comfort zone. A silkworm, maybe?

I’ve never seen the South African version of Survivor, but I know that if you dropped me and a dozen of my cronies on the sort of beach that you see in Survivor, and I mean a dozen of the sort of older blokes you see in the streets of Vryheid (or holding up the bar at the Spoeg & Spittle), if you dropped a dozen of us on such a tropical beach, with a machete and some rope, we’d have a reasonable shelter up (and be looking around for a method of brewing coconut milk) before you could spit and say “sawdust”.

I dunno, maybe it’s my generation, maybe us older blokes are simply more practical. I think us older blokes are the last generation to have fixed things. Seriously.

Our dads taught us to fix things, ‘cos in them days, my child, that’s what you did – you didn’t replace, you fixed. As kids, we fixed our own bikes. Cars in them days: if it had spark and petrol it went. If it didn’t go, then there was either no spark or no petrol getting through, so you fixed it.

Kettle conked in – you fixed it; iron nor working – you replaced the element; radio not working – check the valves; plate on the stove gone – get another and instal; typewriter keys jamming – take the cover off and bend it straight; lawn mower won’t start – hit it with a hammer. Bloody hell, I even remember emptying the septic tank myself! That was a kak job, but I did it.

We fixed everything, and we could fix everything, and if you couldn’t then someone else could and would for a small fee, and show you how it was done so you could do it next time. He was an artisan, skilled at his trade, and his trade consisted to some extent on fixing.

At the time we didn’t take pride in our abilities because that’s just the way it was, but retrospectively I think we can take belated pride in it. And that practical sense, the ability to analyse the situation and implement a solution, made us ideal Survivor candidates.

I dunno, do you think the younger generation of South Africans are more practical than their peers in Europe and the USA? I don’t know. It’s all very well having the hand-eye coordination that makes you an ace with Play Station (whatever that is), but that ain’t necessarily going to build you a rain-proof shelter on a beach, is it?

And looking at these bumbling Americans on these various beaches, when are they going to realise that a rain-proof stone fire place is not that hard to construct. Me and my mates would have a stone “braai” area erected in a jiffy, it would keep out the rain, be impervious to a Pacific typhoon, and the fire would never be allowed to go out. We’d come back from Immunity and Reward challenges, and even if it had been raining, the fire would be going.

It would have its own weather-proof shelter for wood fuel, and instead of lying around all day on the beach scratching our armpits, we’d be foraging for wood and exploring the possibilities of catching, trapping and eating the various species of fauna we encountered.

And given some fishing gear, on the understanding that there were edible creatures to be caught in the sea, there would never be a time that we would not have a line or net in the water. They give you fishing equipment because there are fish, but you see these useless Americans lolling about in their shelters wondering why they’re lethargic, and then gnawing on pieces of coconut ‘cos they’re hungry.

Not me and my pals. We’d have a pot of bouillabaisse on the fire whenever we wanted. It’s a traditional fish stew from the south of France, and you can toss anything from the sea in it. Imagine that, all done in coconut milk à la Thai cuisine. And if at a challenge we won a selection of spices…

Nah, nobody could match us for beach living, which gives me an idea. I think I’ll write to old Jeff Probst and suggest an oldies Survivor, with my pals versus the Americans.

Watch this space…