Funny how things pan out.
Queuing up at the departure lounge at LHR I’d just remarked on how smooth our export processing had been. Checked in online, swift run to the bag-drop, no queue at security and an untroubled hour in O’Neils having a farewell pint. A family of young terrorists were running amok, clipping the ankles of red-faced travellers in front of us.
‘Some poor sod’s going to cop that lot on board!’
Cue the sound of the gods chuckling in their firmament as we shuffled forward.
Sure enough, the pleasant, middle-aged couple across the aisle from us received a visit from the chief steward. A family were being kept apart by an oversight in the seating plan. Would they mind? Of course not. And so Mr and Mrs Hell and their three feisty toddlers entered our cabin.
C’est la vie. All part of life’s rich tapestry. As a seasoned traveller I’ve endured my fair share of disruptive passengers, not always excused by the exuberance of youth. In this case the parents did their best, but short of flaying the little darlings there was no way these tearaways were going to settle down.
I managed to enjoy a few hours of half-sleep having swapped the shenanigans in the next row for the ultra-violence of Martin Scorcese’s Oscar-winner The Departed. Blimey, I haven’t seen that much claret since the accident with the delivery truck outside the Lewes Conservative club. A nasty little film with few redeeming features save perhaps a definitive performance from Jack Nicholson.
The arrival process in Cape Town mirrored the trouble-free departure from London; all smiling officials waving us through. Things could barely improve, and yet they did. The Nels, our hosts for the next few days and nights, had organised a welcoming luncheon at a small yet perfectly-formed eatery in Bloeburg Sands. When I say ‘organised’ they’d gone so far as to persuade Dale, the propreiter and walking advert for his own sumptuous cooking, to stow some Guinness Draught in his ‘fridge. As we sat in the blissfully warm afternoon sun swapping tales and listening to the comforting ‘shhh!’ of bottle-tops loosening I thanked my lucky stars for good friends and fine beer.
Note to MLCMan: it didn’t take me long – two hours in fact - before I not only located but sampled your mystery Namibian beer; Windhoek (pron. Vind- hook) is an all-natural ale, light in colour, that refreshed the palate and tickles the tastebuds in a most agreeable fashion. Happily a favorite in the Nel household, arge quantities found nestling comfortably alongside a conspicuous stash of . . . well, I think you can guess.
Oh yes, and Mr Nel was his own generously-stocked bar.
In his living room. Happy trails.
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
April - Old Mutual Two Oceans Marathon
