En Passant: On 2014’s Festive Season

SO, THAT WAS it, was it? That was 2014 and its culmination in a Festive Season that was marked by… what? Well, judging by the masses of people in all our supermarkets, and I mean masses up to and including New Year, this Festive Season has left us with wallets that now have a thickness inversely proportional to our waistlines.

And then, not content with squeezing us for the demands of a well spent Festive Season, no sooner had ol’ Santa toddled back up to the North Pole than I saw my first Back to School advert on television. I’m not kidding – I think it may even have been on Boxing Day.

Stone me, you’re still picking bits of mince pie from between your teeth and you are faced with the prospect of forking out for new school uniforms for the rapidly growing little tyke, and an inflatedly priced Manchester United pencil set. Anyway, in December I managed to avoid direct confrontation with supermarkets until the last moment. Doris went to reconnoitre them earlier and returned to tell me that I risked my sanity and a charge of assault GBH if I then ventured forth.

She also said that the supermarkets’ parking lots, especially Pick ‘n Pay’s, would drive me to a fit of road rage, and that since Henry Ford, my old 3-litre Cortina bakkie, was not fitted with a robust bull-bar, I should stay away until things calmed down.

She said that Spar’s parking was chock-a-blok, that you couldn’t even get into Checkers’ parking what with the congestion at the entrance even blocking Mark Street, and apparently the Spar in Utrecht Street, whose parking area surely defies every building regulation ever promulgated, was so full that it made the Black Hole of Calcutta look like a particularly salubrious branch of Club Med. Pick ‘n Pay’s parking area… enough said.

The reference to a bull-bar for Henry followed on from my earlier admission to Doris that had Henry been fitted with such an accessory I would have deliberately rammed an arrogant moron driving a GP-registered car, who turned in front of me at the intersection of High and Mark. I dunno, these damned Gautengers come to Vryheid, and I don’t know if they think we are unsophisticated country hicks who suck the hind tit when it comes to driving, but they drive like morons, apparently assuming that us lesser KZN or NV drivers will give way to them. Bastards! (You see! My road rage is just under the surface!) I really do want a stout bull-bar on Henry Ford even if I would probably also need a good lawyer.

Speaking of Pick ‘n Pay, I did manage to pop into its bottlestore to take advantage of its offer that if I bought six bottles of wine I could have the cheapest of the six for free. This was an offer I could not refuse. There is something very pleasing on a summer’s evening, to say to Doris, Mmmm, I feel like a nice drop of vino, and then to be able to go straight to the fridge and have a selection of chilled bottles from which to choose. You don’t have to get in your car, fight your way into and out of a bottlestore, in the process discovering that all they’ve got chilled is Paarl Perlé and Autumn Harvest Crackling, and returning home hot and bothered with warm wine. Trust me.

Listen, I’ve got nothing against Paarl Perlé and Autumn Harvest Crackling, fine wines that they are, but I do like a bit of variety, and the variety available now in our bottlestores is astounding.

So to take advantage of the offer I had to contend with Pick ‘n Pay’s parking lot which is somewhat of a test for me and ol’ Henry. Cortina bakkies are longish vehicles with the turning circle of an ox wagon, and the space allocated to each parking bay put my driving ability on a par with the dexterity exhibited by a practising gynaecologist, although in may case I don’t have to wear rubber gloves and have no need to smile reassuringly.

A couple of Festive Seasons ago I banged someone in Pick ‘n Pay’s parking lot… Perhaps I should rephrase that: a couple of Festive Seasons ago, in trying to get out of a parking space, I reversed into someone, a woman, who was similarly engaged in exiting her space. I’m almost certain it was my fault; I was already irritated, hot and bothered, but I think the woman was also somewhat fraught and was not certain it was not her fault. We exchanged numbers but I never heard from her (or her husband).

So, anyway, this year I got a nice selection of vino – a couple of bottles of chardonnay, some chenin blanc, a sauvignon blanc and even a bottle of bukettraube just for something different.

And that was basically 2014’s conclusion. It was a funny year was 2014, and I’m not sure how and for what I’ll remember it.

And now, it’s already January 2015, the kids will soon be back at school, then the kestrels will fly north again, then it’s Easter, winter, spring and the rainy season and the morons from Gauteng will be back in town again. Maybe, this is the year to get a bull-bar for Henry Ford.