CHAPTER 11
I craved sanctuary from this madness and sought out friends and alcohol in the Village. The usual mob was gathered there celebrating another day in the fast fading paradise. They seemed oblivious of the precipice upon which we all were teetering. Or perhaps they did know and were just determined to go out with a bang?
I joined right in because it was a blessed relief from the anxiety my recent research had brought. The alcohol numbed the senses and soon the world took on a warmer glow as intrepid muso Willie Nelson, the resident music at Larry’s Linguini, began a set of golden oldie tunes which had the womenfolk swooning. Rounds were ordered, feet started tapping, some sang along and soon unabashed Fred Astaire and Ginger Rodgers pretenders spilled onto Ambush Alley in slow gyration.
Bones creaked, feet were trampled and false teeth clacked as the lovers of the Village co-mingled affectionately.
Seventy year old Willie Nelson then extracted his revenge on the aged Villagers by pumping out ‘Mustang Sally, Satisfaction and Hard Headed Women’ in quick succession. The oldies jived, boogied and wiggled until, exhausted, they flopped back to their seats gasping. Recovery was slow and for a long while all that could be heard were long drawn out slurping noises and husky panting. It reminded me of the time they had removed my Aunt Agatha’s heart/lung device by mistake.
Bleary-eyed indecent proposals were made, lopsided smiles twisted into declarations of eternal love and derisory laughs echoed up and down Ambush Alley.
More than one head slumped onto the table in surrender to an early evening.
Requests were been screamed from the floor and some fool’s request for ‘Hang up the washing on the Siegfried line’ got the derision it deserved.
Willie Nelson slowed proceedings down with old Irving Berlin and Gershwin numbers and soon the Villagers were flirting and drifting, sometimes more than two protagonists in tow, in sentimental two steps around the cobbled dance floor.
And then, after long farewells, tearful departures and slurred soliloquys, the Villagers retired to their villas to rest up for the next day’s shenanigans in the last outpost of the British Empire.
Morning brought a blinding headache, queasy stomach and unfortunately the same unpleaseant feeling about the future of South Africa. Not that I could be affected that much at my age but what kind of a country were we leaving for the kids and grandchildren. How bleak was their future?
Nigeria had been decolonised for forty years and, despite the length of time that had expired since that happy event, was still bowed under the yoke of black on black oppression and African kleptocracy.
Was there enough petrol in the tank to climb one more hill or should the car be simply left at the foot of the incline and the driver limpingly proceed on foot to the nearest pub?
After returning from the pub I started reluctantly to think about where those million new businesses may be found.
This would definitely be my last gasp. Maybe South Africa’s too.
Aflame with resolve I answered my own question which was ‘So what will you do with your last gasp?’
‘Well first of all I will form a Venture Capital Company under Section 12j to make any investment into the company attractive to South African taxpayers. I will call it Chartwell Venture Capital Fund to reflect its Umhlanga Village domicile and I will focus on finding business opportunities in the KwaZulu Natal Northern Corridor being an area of major planned development. I will staff it with young and old volunteers to keep the overhead within reason and I will tap my foreign well-heeled mates to induce them to invest in my junk equities where conversion from foreign currencies into Rands will seem to be a mere donation’ So what do you think Jack?’
‘I think you should go and sit over there in the shade Bryan and I will order you a nice Merlot and ice to cool you down. Then you should go home and have some rest. The dozens of pills you take each day to enable you to stand upright are beginning to addle your brain, man. Your last gasp will definitely be………..a round please waiter’ said Jack unfeelingly. Jawellnofine