Rob in the ‘Hood Not quite down for the count, not yet
I've made lots of friends, plus a couple of dissidents along the way, but you can't win 'em all.
For the loyal and faithful readers of the Herald, the good news is that your Uvongo scribe, euphemistically referred to as Rob in the ‘Hood, is dedicating this week’s offering just for you.
It so happens that it is exactly six years this week when yours truly started writing for the Herald-Bonus.
No kidding! That’s over 300 articles, give or take.
It has been a labour of love, and mostly a lot of fun. I have met many fine people here since making my debut as a writer on July 1, 2015.
I’ve made lots of friends, plus a couple of dissidents along the way, but you can’t win ’em all.
Getting to know you
By writing for Willy Boy Caxton, the CO and I were able to easily settle here on the South Coast.
We met many a person who had an interesting story to tell, and in the process, we easily became part of the community.
Of course, the coast is not perfect. The local government service delivery drives us mad.
ALSO READ: Fidler in the Hood: 70 years of unrequited love
The potholes drives us insane, and don’t get me going about not being able to get my favourite English brown sauce anymore. Not that I can blame that on our municipal masters.
But, overall, there is a fine sense of community spirit here.
Friends and neighbours
When we arrived to live in Uvongo, upon moving into our new home, that very day we somehow locked ourselves out.
No kidding. It was dark, not a sign of life.
Of course, it ‘was all my fault’ (who said that?). Nil desperandum. I climbed over the wall to the not-yet-met new neighbours, in desperandum.
Knocked on the door and explained the situation. No problem. It just so happened that the departed owners, who were then ‘somewhere in Germany’, had left a spare key with neighbours, Brian and Joan Muir. We were saved.
Brian and Joan have become good friends and neighbours over the past six years, so it was a pleasure to be able to attend Brian’s special 40th x 2 birthday celebrations over the weekend.
With the latest lockdown, restaurants closed, it was a case of a well-spaced out garden party.
The Muir’s family and life-long friends came from near and far to honour Brian reaching that special milestone in life.
Daughter Glynis Edmunds, along with her family, son Bladen (18), and daughter Mia (13), travelled from Cape Town.
Unfortunately the Muir’s two other daughters, Brenda and Alison, now true-blue Aussies, couldn’t make it here from Sydney to share in Brian’s special day, again, due to Covid lockdown in Australia.
Messages of congratulations to Brian and their disappointment from the two daughters were read out by ‘little sister’ Glynis.
California dreaming
The weather was at its incomparable beautiful best, as only the coast has to offer in winter time.
Tributes were paid to ‘young Brian’, with several letters from other absent friends read out by Glynis.
She had been living in Tanzania for the past eight years, but is now domiciled in Hout Bay, Cape Town.
As a very young woman, Glynis drove across the United States from Miami, Florida, to Los Angeles, California, completely on her own, no mean feat.
Somehow, Hollywood’s loss was later-to-be-husband Lynton’s gain, the Edmunds celebrating 21 years of marriage.
Glynis also confessed, that whilst driving across America, she was able to eat food in her own car, which was absolutely forbidden in her dad’s prized and much loved family automobiles.
Now there’s a story in itself. To many more, Brian.
It’s only a game of football
Despite the Covid lockdown, conversation all but exhausted, the writer has been studiously quiet on a certain subject.
I had made a solemn promise to the CO, the English football season over (with my beloved Manchester City becoming champions), that I would not watch any more football, at least until the new season started in 11 weeks’ time.
I promised the CO that I would not watch anything, not even the European Nations championship.
However, I thought I would just switch on and watch ‘just one game, love,’ as a matter of passing interest. The rest is history.
Now choruses of “Come on Ingerland, come on Ingerland!” reverberate around the place.
See you around, Rob.
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