28November1996

28 November 1996
My dear family,

Back in London! There’s a cold, blue-sky morning glinting through the study window. From the landing comes the clap of the catflap as Mavis nips out to do his business. I’ve had a cup of coffee & leafed through the mail. Now for the serious stuff of bringing you up to date. After a 12 hour flight from Johannesburg, I ought to be gravel-eyed & ready for a kip but I’m not. I’ve seldom had a better night’s sleep & I was dropped off at the door a short while ago after a supremely comfortable ride from Heathrow through the rush hour traffic in a limo (a Saab 9000 - first one I’ve been in & rather nice), courtesy of Virgin Airlines. I guess I ought to come clean straight away & tell you that, Brendan, who had flown me down on in the comfort of Virgin’s mid-range wide seats, flew me back in the untrammelled lap of luxury. More of this later! As much as anything, my letter gives me a chance to look back over the past few days before they join the whirl of history.

On Tuesday, Brendan & I drove down to Nelspruit to look at his coffee shop in the making. The coffee shop is meant to mark his gradual transition from the building/mining business to a less frantic & more lucrative career. But right now he’s up to his eyebrows in both businesses. It’s a long commute, something over 200 kms, & one that was constantly interrupted by calls on Bren’s mobile phone. Since those ringing him were also often in their cars, communications were capricious. Brendan’s conversations were laced with curses & threats to hurl the damned phone through the car window. It barely survived the trip. Let me mention that I was most impressed by the general standard of driving by all colours & classes. Most drivers of slower vehicles pulled right over to let faster traffic through, a courtesy widely acknowledged by the grateful flashing of lights. Inevitably, there were drivers who failed to meet Bren’s exacting standards & these got the benefit of what I came to refer to as his RSI finger, as it shot into the air so often during my stay down there.

Nelspruit is the prettiest little town & now the home of the Mpumalanga government. The coffee shop (Fernwoods) could hardly be better situated. It’s in a prominent position in a shopping centre which is on the fringes of the CBD & served by offices, cinemas & the passing trade. Bren has high hopes for it & he & his partners are making a considerable investment. They had planned to open up while I was down there, but work had fallen behind because the shopfitters were more than a week late in starting. As a result, they were battling to fix the panelling & counters in the midst of deliveries of equipment, chairs & tables which were cluttering up the shop. It was clear though that once things were sorted out, the place will look superb - & Bren has obtained the right - for a song - to erect more tables on a platform over the car parking spaces immediately outside the shop. We agreed that it would be silly to rush into a busy weekend opening & it’s now hoped to open on Monday.

Tuesday evening we went around to see Brendan’s lawyer, one of the partners in his businesses. The visit was part social & part business. I needed to have a will drawn up making Brendan my heir & executor (of any property) in RSA. The specific reason for this is that, with Mum in mind & as an overseas resident myself, I managed to set up a bank account which will transmit interest overseas. (More later Mum.) The nature of the account meant that Brendan could not be a signatory & the will insures that he will inherit control of any money in the account in the event of my death. Barbara & I also have wills in Britain & Portugal.


The document was brief & to the point & I was able to sign it the following afternoon. That was after returning with Conal from a trip to Jhb in the bakkie to fetch a whole lot of equipment for the coffee shop.

Bren has sold the big BMW which gave him serious roadholding problems in spite of the expensive attentions of the manufacturer. So until he buys another car, Conal is the family car owner & Bren mainly uses the bakkie, a big blue, fat-tackied Nissan. It made easy work of the trip to Jhb where the network of freeways now rivals anything in Europe. By as much luck as judgement, we found the road we wanted, to Vereeniging - as our first stop was at a house in deepest Alberton to pick up blinds. Thence to Sandton City to buy tickets to some production for one of Bren’s mine contacts; on to Wynberg to get supplies from a refrigeration company & finally to nearby Kew where we loaded half a dozen tables & dozens of (shrink-wrapped) plastic chairs. We tied the considerable load down carefully before setting off back down the road to Witbank. I have omitted the inevitable problems & searches from my account. What was clear to me is how hard Conal works for a living. He’s learning fast, as he says himself, & is of great value to his Dad.

My trip coincided with Micaela’s Standard 7 end-of-year exams which finish this week. Most afternoons, we’d sit down with her books for an hour before going off for coffee at one of Witbank’s shopping centres. The CBD is very black & a bit down at heel but there are miniature Sandton Cities springing up in the suburbs & of course that’s where your average Witbanker goes to relax. In the evening & again the following morning, there’d be further revision sessions at which Bren & I, as well as Conal & his girlfriend, Sandra, assisted. Micaela - an avid Bon Jovi fan, like Erica - will be spending much of December in Germany & was hugely looking forward to it.

Coming back to Wed, there was just time for me to finish packing & tying up loose ends before Bren got back from work & we needed to leave for Jhb again, this time for the airport. He came into the terminal to see me off. I was thoroughly questioned about my luggage by a security man who was vastly more conscientious than his counterpart had been at Heathrow & I told him so. As a traveller in Virgin’s “Upper Class”, I was invited to the Airline’s lounge prior to departure. After checking through, I found myself with other Virgin passengers seeking vainly for the lounge, being mis-directed from one venue to another. It was only after looking closely as the invitation that I discovered why. “Loungers” were warned not to proceed through immigration but to make their way to the arrivals hall to relax prior to the flight. I shrugged & used the time to call Mrs Gohdes & Louise Benson instead.

From there on the flight was a joy. “Upper Class” is divided into two by a galley. I was in a small section behind it, in a window seat. There were four seats (two abreast) on either side & couches around a central table in the middle of the cabin. The seats are marvellously comfortable as well they might be. The arm rests contain hidden trays as well as miniature screens on which to watch the film of your choice. There are also buttons for raising or lowering both the chair backs & foot rests. I was among the first passengers to board & I confess that I felt slightly awkward sitting in my solitary glory, clutching a Buck’s Fizz, as the masses headed past me for the stables at the back. I refrained from telling them that I was usually among them.

Beside me was a pleasant young Englishman who had obviously done well for himself & was curious to learn more about me. We got on well. He also got on well with the several hostesses who looked after us, gorgeous girls whom my fellow traveller compared most favourably with the “old bags” in BA. He’d flown out with the same crew a few days earlier & was delighted to renew their acquaintance.

I make no apology for any sexist remarks. Brendan hoped that I would be spoiled silly by the prettiest girls in the world & I’m pleased to assure him that I was. Repeated Buck’s Fizzes were politely pressed upon me & politely accepted. Our 4-course dinner was served on a white cloth with a choice of select wines. I opted for Thai chicken over beef or Kingklip, & I preferred the Sauvignon Blanc to the Chardonnay - I think. I declined a liqueur in the interests of a clear head in the morning. Breakfast was equally special, although I think I surprised the hostess offering me a choice of starters by asking for a little of each.

In-between, I slept the sleep of the innocent. I should add that I also watched Arnold Schwarzenegger destroy dozens of his enemies in spectacular style in another of his “actionfests”. The guy beside me was watching a film about a stripper whose assets I could see out of the corner of my eye. As I told him afterwards, when we compared the shows’ merits, I wanted to sleep that night rather than to dream. He found his film disappointing but not so disappointing that he didn’t watch it through.

And so here I am back in London. Jones called me from Portugal before leaving for the airport at Faro. I’ll pick her up from Heathrow in a few hours’ time. I could see the Rocket still parked in the street as I exited from the limo. I’ll give it a wash before setting out. I work next on Friday night. Between then & now, I have to turn my thoughts around 180 degrees. They’re still full of Witbank & wide avenues, of Micaela splashing in the pool & the dogs haring around the garden, of delicious chicken suppers accompanied with the finest malt whisky. It was a wonderful break & I hope that my hosts enjoyed it nearly as much as their guest.

Blessings ever,
T