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I was born to be a duchess: Bare bums and a puddle on the bank manager’s carpet

There were about 40 people in the bank queue at the time and Karen soon had most of them down on their hands and knees, searching for Woof‘s nose.

AS this was not really a pleasure trip, I felt that I should get into town as quickly as possible and get the business with the bank manager over and done with.

The bank in Orapa had been short of rand travellers’ cheques, so I was carrying only R20-worth, along with a sizable bank draft and a cheque book.

The car rental company was not impressed. No cash, they said, no car. So we hauled ourselves, our collapsible pushchair, over-stuffed hold-all, briefcase, handbag and toy dog aboard the airport bus.

At last the topic of conversation changed. “Car,” said Karen. We saw several hundred cars on the way to town and she remarked on each one.

At one point we passed a patch of grass and a few trees. “Where the kudu?” she asked hopefully.

The bank manager was out and the assistant manager was most unsympathetic, especially when Karen was caught short on the way to the loo and made a puddle on his nice, new carpet.

Upstairs in the banking hall, I found that I couldn’t cash my draft, because the forms were all wrong and there wasn’t a revenue stamp where there should have been one. I was getting confused and, to make matters worse, the toy dog lost its nose.

I managed to persuade Karen that, rather than have hysterics in the middle of the bank, she had better find the nose, so that I could sew it on again.

There were about 40 people in the queue at the time and she soon had most of them down on their hands and knees, searching in vain for Woof‘s nose. All the while, I was very conscious of the fact that she had no pants on.

We eventually emerged from the bank with an uncashable draft, a very small amount of negotiable currency, a noseless toy dog and no knickers. The department store across the road was as unsympathetic as the bank.

They could not, they said, accept a travellers’ cheque. So I pushed my bare-butted baby further round Johannesburg, until I found a sympathetic chemist, who not only accepted a travellers’ cheque, but also offered the same brand of disposable nappies at a lower price.

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