Tale guide

The Handyman can

I'ff jutht fishintht with the dentith. A long prothedur 'cauth my nerffs go the wong way wownd. He had to puth a thit load of anathees, ..anatheesth; anatheesath...; thit; lets lather thay ‘inshekshon’, into my mouff. But ith goth me shinking about how much pain I'ff had to endure in my life both emothshnonally and physhically wish I fink is the perffest way to shtart a new shtory.

I've lost my hat! In fact, initially it seems I've found a lot on our journey back to South Africa. But my hat has gone missing. My life will be incomplete until I find my bush hat again. The last I saw it was on our grandson’s head back in the home country, but he swears blind he gave it back to me.

That’s half the problem actually. I can’t remember much from one minute to another. Down here on the coast its quite warm and humid so when we’ve used our towels, we hang them in the laundry for the day to dry. Yesterday morning I went to have a shower and was reminded by Lady Ann to fetch my towel. I wandered into the kitchen en route to the laundry and then stopped because I couldn’t recall why I was wandering aimlessly around the kitchen!

Most of our furniture has arrived but there are a few outstanding items that we are waiting for and Lady Ann, who, as our close friends know, is more than a dab hand at interior design, has insisted on waiting for everything to be in place before we decide what accessories like, carpets, cushions and lampshades would best bring the place to life.

We were sitting on the new "pebble beach" couches in the early evening, enjoying our first glass of wine for the day and contemplating the design ideas when I suggested that to liven up the combo of soft grey, oak, brown and grey face brick accent wall we could do worse than introduce a splash of sunrise red and banana yellow.

I should have kept my mouth shut!

We figured that to send our goods and shackles back home without damage requires a degree of care and expertise which is why Ann thought it prudent to order in the movers and send me to Chester Zoo with the boys for a night tour. Turned out that the night tour was actually a late afternoon tour because the sun didn't set until 22h00.

As usual, we three boys fed ourselves much more than the animals, so it turned out to be a somewhat satiated excursion as well as a route march across the tens of kilometres that make up that amazing sanctuary.

The goods and shackles were duly loaded and on their way to Southampton for their voyage to sunny South Africa where we also arrived in time to receive them. But the job of unpacking fell to me instead of the moving guys because Ann of Africa wanted to take her time placing them in our new cottage.

Have you any idea the work involved in unpacking 98 boxes, 15 pieces of furniture and 37 framed paintings and photographs? Well neither did I.

In the midst of this toil I was interrupted. "Doll," called Lady Ann (refer earlier adventure in this regard), "will you please fix the fan remotes to the wall alongside their respective the light switches?"

At this juncture I must explain that I have it all. I have a toolbox with all my hand tools. I have an electric drill, electric screwdriver, a measuring tape, a couple of spirit levels, saws and boxes of screws, nails, bolts and double-sided tape.

I decided to use the double-sided tape for now because the drill was still somewhere inside the remaining sixty odd boxes and because I'm a bushman and I know Lady Ann may change her mind later, necessitating a small relocation. Half an hour later all three fan remotes were beautifully mounted next to their respective light switches.

Pleased as punch, I returned to unpacking. Not long thereafter, "Richard!" came the call. The slightly elevated tone combined with the use of my Christian name, has proved over the years, to be reason for concern. A bit like when a Drongo dive bombs you while walking in the bush. There is trouble ahead is the general message in both instances.

"Yes dear?" the bushman asks.

"Is there any reason why the remotes are not on the same level?"

Totally unnerved, I took a look at my handywork and to my horror one of the remotes was clearly a centimetre or two lower than the other. (Hey. I never said I was a handyman. What I said was, I have all the tools.)

"Sorry love, I'll fix it!" I would have thought that would get me out of the hot water, but no.

"You see my darling," she says. "This is why I want to get Rikus to hang our pictures. You are just a moron as a handyman."

Oh my goodness! Distraught is not the word for it. I've had heard so much about bloody Rikus, I'm sure she has a crush on the reputedly best all-round handyman on the coast. OK on second thoughts I did seem to have misjudged the remote's position. It was clearly a little lower than its mate. So, I stopped unpacking and went to our bedroom to start hanging my clothes that I had previously unpacked and laid on the bed. Just to regroup, so to speak. It was a tactic I learnt in the police back in a very distant previous life.

I took a shine to one of the T-shirts that just arrived from England. As I was placing it on a hanger, I thought to try it on.

"Does this fit sweetheart?" I asked quite innocently. "This shirt seems to have gotten smaller."

Ever the diplomat, she boldly exclaimed "that shirt isn't smaller dummy, you've just got bigger!"

"Well," me thinks defiantly to myself, "I will hang the pictures if it's the last thing I do. I won't be intimidated by the threat of Rikus."

On another note, I have spent the past few years interacting with some like-minded 'morons' on Facebrook. They seemed harmless enough and they certainly kept my spirits high during those cold winter nights on mud island. So I was quite taken aback when I recently visited Oom Burt the Bookshop trader only to find him advertising soft toys in his shop window. I had to look over my shoulder a few times before daring to step inside. I mean one never knows who sees you entering a soft toy shop disguised as a Bookshop, in broad daylight, now do you?

This morning, just after sunrise, a beautiful Fish Eagle swooped over the beach and disappeared across the inland lagoon. The first light of an African day is both spectacular and spiritual. Streaks of red and orange stretch across the ocean rim. The waves continuously roll in and break on soft sandy beaches. A small brown-haired dassie poked its nose out of the foliage, sniffed about and then scuppered passed the firepit into the flower bed.

Thoughts turned to my bookshop friend. It has been rumoured that he barbecues on a gas. It occurs to me that I should invite him and his delightful young wife over for a bushman's braai fired on proper black wattle. I shared my thoughts with Lady Ann.

"You’d better do a dry run, excuse the pun," she suggests. "It’s been quite a while since you lit a fire. You'll remember the last time we ended up ordering in from Nandos because you couldn’t get the wet wood to burn."

“Have you no faith?” I asked indignantly. “Where were the days you trustingly followed me in absolute awe as I led you through the African bush teeming with dangerous wildlife?”

“Listen my man (its something new she has learnt in Afrikaans. It's pronounced 'may mun'). It took me a while admittedly, but I soon learnt that you actually haven’t a clue about dangerous wildlife. What kind of bushman pegs his tent facing the rising sun?”

The problem with women is that they are just too damn smart and have memories like flippin’ elephants.

Back to unpacking, I found the elephant painting. "Sweetheart," I called. "I can hang the elephants if you decide where you'd like them. You really don't need to call Rikus!"

So, I hung the elephant picture positively perfectly in every way and having restored a semblance of confidence, I decided to proceed to hang the rest of the pictures over the next few days.

I still can’t find my hat. It’s important. It’s the symbol of my oneness with nature. My understanding of the animals and birds and their understanding of me. I will have to find a replica very soon and before my reputation starts to fade.

But at least I am finally a redeemed handyman.