Rob in the ‘Hood: Running on empties

Hi, guys and dolls! Am I missing out? The weeks go whizzing by; we are supposed to be bored out of our brackets with the current ‘you can’t do this, you can’t do that’ lockdown regime. No, sir’ee – there’s always something going on, even when there’s nothing happening in our very own backyard; so keep fit, and stay young.

As someone said to me not so long ago: ‘You can’t help getting older, but you don’t have to get old!’ The sage who said that lived to a ripe old age of 102, before he popped off. On with the show.

ALSO READ: Rob in the ‘Hood: Canine capers in Uvongo

The main highlight for the CO and I was celebrating a certain wedding anniversary. Despite the prophets of doom predicting that it would be a disaster, somehow we are still around. Yes, we’ve had our differences of opinion in the last quarter of a century; like: how much football on the television I may be allowed to watch! Same threat, same response, every week, every season. Now that’s what I call a stable marriage.

However, in the line of duty, I really believed the CO should be well rewarded, even in this age of not getting out and about. I broke the news to her. “Hey, pet. Have I a lovely surprise for you. To celebrate our special day, I’m taking you out for an anniversary lunch, no expense spared, either.” “We can’t go out, we’re under lockdown,” she replied. “To heck with lockdown, we are dining out,” I decreed.” It will be my way of saying thanks for all these years together.”

With that, I told the CO where the rendezvous was going to take place, swearing her to secrecy.

“We are going to have lunch on our outdoor living area close to the house. Superb sea views, nothing but blue skies. I’ll put on some romantic Benny Goodman jazz music whilst we wine and dine. Of course, pet, you will have to prepare the meal, cook, and serve a splendid 5-course meal. I know you can do it. But I’ll wash up afterwards, but only if you show me how to load up the dishwasher, and which button to press.” I do spoil her.

The lunch, I am pleased to report, was a great success; we recalled a million memories, quaffing the last vintage wines (years 2019/2020) from our wine cellar (read cupboard).

I then had to break the seriously disturbing news to the CO. (We keep no secrets from each other. Do I have a choice?) I looked straight into her eyes. “Pet, we have a crisis on our hands. But, don’t worry, we’ll get through this together, I promise.”

The CO straightened her shoulders, preparing for the worst. “What is it? Tell me,” she cried. I held my breath, the moment of truth had arrived. More than quarter of century of married bliss was just about to dissipate; gone in a flash. I beat around the bush for a brief moment: “Darling (a term I use only when I get deadly serious), we are heading for big trouble: We are down to our last five bottles of hootch; whisky: half full, half empty; gin: two-thirds gone; cane spirit: two tots left; three bottles of wine left, including that bottle of altar wine I bought in Zimbabwe 25 years ago. I was going to save that for my funeral, but I’ll drink it now, if you say ‘go ahead’.

Seriously, unless our dear leaders and guardians of our health and lifestyles ease up and lift whichever restrictions we are ‘contained’ under, we are doomed. The alternatives are too ghastly to contemplate. And, whatever they say, things do not go better with big, big Coke.”

The CO put on a brave. stoic face. “We have enough to get us through to the end of the month. Who knows? They might ease up on the ban; and, look on the bright side: we don’t smoke.” She added: “Hey, maybe we can try brewing our own hootchy-kootchy drop of the hard stuff. They haven’t banned the sale of yeast products – yet!” Pure genius, she is, pure genius.

By now, the elderberry wine was kicking in. We congratulated and toasted each other: to the next 25 years (we should be so lucky!). Followed by a rollicking version of ‘We Shall Overcome’; then a rousing rendition of ‘Show Me The Way To Go Home’ – only to realise that we were already ‘at home’ all the time. Bottoms up!

See you. Rob.

HAVE YOUR SAY

Like the South Coast Herald’s Facebook page, follow us on Twitter and Instagram