The Chronicles of the Mexican Horse Thief IV by Wayne Bisset - HTML preview

The Chronicles of the Mexican Horse Thief – IV Madness

My first day out of rehab, wake up early as is my habit. Pam tells me she shall not discuss religion with me any more. Thank God. I am fired from Dick’s bible study as well, can’t have an intelligent recovering person in a Christian bible study group, we bring up too many questions on their inconsistency, their hypocrisy, their lack of knowledge of the bible and Jesus’ actual words. Oh all sorts of things. The model doesn’t like me any more so no real loss. I am tired of their dogma and ignorance, so all is good.

Deirdre calls me, she does this often. Sarah picked me up and we went to an NA meeting in Mitchell’s Plain. It was held at a High School. The place had more barbed wire and bars than I see in the average lock up facilities. Some really hard looking people in this group. To hear them talk about fighting the addiction and being so open about their feelings, is unreal. Sarah is a character and a bloody book on her own, we get along okay, but she talks and seldom listens. One day I am locked out of the house, I wait for Pam, the house has never been locked. When I first got here and asked about this I was told, by Pam, that she leaves it open in case her kids come around, she is not scared of burglars as God and Jesus (doesn’t she believe they are the same?) look after it. I now get told after asking why it is locked, that she is scared of  burglars. Wonder if Jesus and God don’t like her any more either? Decided I am pissed off with her. Would have let me stay in Polsmore, William and Carroll were right – she will treat me well only if I fulfill her Christian expectations.  I do not accept this type of friendship any more.

I spend a lot of time building up my data. I meet Thys that afternoon, we are going to go to the Ramot Evening. It is quite different from when I was an inmate, you are now a successful outside person in the inmates eyes. What a big misconception that is, I am more fucked up than most of the inmates, maybe a little less than most of the staff. Kim and some of the group were present, and we spoke about Dwight, his chances of staying clean while living in Ides Valley on the bad side of Stellenbosch were remote. It is not that far from Somerset so we made a plan, I would pick him up if I had petrol money, then we would meet at Thys’ house about half way to Parow, and all leave from there. Hell, if us fucked up alkies and druggies don’t help each other, who will?

Meanwhile Pam was on my case about the amount of time I spent on my computer. I was either capturing data or writing, what the fuck do people want from me? I am not in a bar or drinking and adulterating in some other town. Doing the best I can for right now. I get told Eddie wants to talk to me. He is a man of few words, it does not take long, and I end up feeling like a social misfit and general fuck up. I believed at that time I should be more like “them”. So the thing that makes one really, really acceptable is ..money, having lots of it. I kick start Section Eight again, just a big handicap is running a internet based business from internet cafes. I have not got a memory stick and work from a CD-ROM. I cut one and take it to the Mall, it will not read, back “home” re-cut, back to Mall, this cost in time and petrol, plus money for internet café. I also post manuscripts of The Chronicles of the Mexican Horse Thief, all over the world.

In Ramot we had to draw as part of some therapy and I surprised myself at how well I can sketch. I had my drawing with me so added all sorts of little animals. It was a sketch of the bush, naturally, the main character and elephant. Deidre called me, she had being drinking and wanted to meet the next day, told her this was a bad idea, she was very angry and lapsed, just like that looty at Lohatla, into Cape Flats speak. Said all sorts of horrible things about my mother. My mother has being dead for years. I last got upset in 1983 about someone insulting my mother. I had finished a long forced march in basic training. The reward for the first 20 back was off time and 5lt of ice-cream, I like ice-cream, so I was the 12th man back. Full mortar kit and all. I was lying on my bed in the barracks when eating my ice-cream when a Section Leader corporal, who incidentally rode on a truck back from Lataba, ordered me to fetch his kit on the parade ground. I said, “Fok jou!.” In other words, no. He then got upset and threatened me with all sorts of things. The official side did not work, I was registered as first in so was off duty. He then told me that: my mother was drunk, lying in the gutter, a dog came along and fucked her, and this is where I come from. In Afrikaans. I was pissed off, sensitive subject, my mother being an alcoholic and all. I put my ice-cream and spoon down, stood up in my bed, I am short and he was a big Dutchman, and promptly punched him in the nose. Rather hard, the blood did not come out of his nose, it went back down his throat. Now the bugger was starting to drown. Van Deventer, was his name. Medics took him to the sickbay, and I finished my ice-cream.

Sure enough the MP’s arrived and I was escorted, non too gently to the camps DB. I got beaten up a bit and then thrown in a cell. Next morning the MP’s made me clean the cell with a toothbrush, the toilet was cleaned last, then the told me I had to clean my teeth, with the same toothbrush. I fight ensued, I lost and they cleaned my teeth. I am 19 years old. Later I go on orders in front of the much feared Colonel. A joke of a court martial was carried out. The lawyer stood there shivering in his boots, Colonel Swanepoole was more powerful than God in that place. He said not a word. The Colonel asked why I had assaulted an officer. I told him what his hand picked officer had said, and if he, the Colonel said that about my mother I would fuck him up too. Lucky duchmen worship God, country, rugby and their mothers, not necessarily in that order. He told me to return to my unit. Van Deeventer apparently had being airlifted to 1 Military Hospital in Pretoria, but was in a stable condition. He lost his stripe. I learned from this, with the toothbrush story, I had to learn to fight better and then never worry about someone insulting my mother!  Back to Deirdre, she sort of lost interest in me after that.

Pam told me I am stupid and think I am above the law, shit should tell this woman nothing, because I go to the Mall not the local Internet Café with no car licence. I pointed out ADSL & fact that have account at Mall. I went to Stellenbosch to see some people and mellow out, I did not drink but as these were already friends I was okay. The AA was also a source of escape and I met and hung around with people from there a lot. Business was bad and I could not seem to find a product to market. I tried to get interviews for jobs but no luck. I started hanging out every day with a chap called Dave. He actually lived in a place called Malgas, on the Breede River. He was in Somerset staying with his brother. The most interesting thing we did together was getting an employee of his on a TV show. I had met the man when we went to Malgas a couple of times. He is a bushman, first thing we had in common is we both don’t go to doctors for snakebite. George is illiterate and needless to say, cannot read or write music either. He has a homemade oiltin guitar and music is in his veins.

Dave had a connection that knows Dozi, a popular Afrikaans singer. Dozi was making a TV show about unusual musicians in South Africa.  George was pretty unique, an unusual instrument and his own style.  We drove through to Malgas to pick him up and then to a beautiful wine farm in the Stellenbosch area, where the show was to be made. Tables groaned with food and drink, a wine cellar was being transformed into a coffee shop set and we watched those people work their own brand of magic. George is worse than I around people, but Dave set him at ease.  I personally at this time had never heard of Dozi. Dave mentioned his fame and a song I had heard before about and old ryperd in Afrikaans. I was standing in a doorway when I glimpsed a huge figure just behind me. This was Dozi, he was very friendly and thanked all of us for coming. Another South African celebrity came up, this one I had met in my travels, Valiant Swart. The show was going to be shot while all the celebs sat around on set having supper. I do not watch much TV so Dave pointed out a few “famous” people. Dozi and George were practising and then this Dozi showed what type of man he was. As George had not written any music down, can’t, it was all in his head. Dozi called his lawyer and discussed protecting Georges, intellectual property. Good man.

My day in court arrives, I have letters and all ready. I get my turn, the cop is not there, no surprise, they have lost the blood sample, also not really surprised. They just give themselves more time to look for it and postpone the case. I must wait some more. A month later I go back to court. I take a book and some writing material with to keep me busy while I wait. I have to pass through a metal detector to get into the building. I pull out my keys, my Zippo and my Swiss Army knife. The guard mumbles something about the knife, I ignore him and walk in. I sat on the bench outside the court where I had to appear. I decided to sneak a smoke in the toilets, there I found 5 guys also smoking. Just they were not smoking tobacco, they were smoking Tik. They also were completely unperturbed that I was there, so I just lit up a smoke and minded my own business.

I sat on the bench the whole day but failed to hear my name called. At 4pm, when the courts closed I went to find the Clarke of the Court. I told her my case was not called. She looked up the case and showed me a file; it had indeed been called but a no show, from myself, the policemen and also the blood was still missing. It had a big red stamp on it that said the case was dismissed. I asked what this meant. She informed me that it was closed, finished, over. I could have kissed her. So much for the South African justice system, once again.

Apart from that and one or two interesting things with some AA girls, I just maintained. Then one fateful evening, Dave and I were walking along the Gordon’s Bay waterfront and I heard someone call, “Hey Mexican Horse Thief!” Those days not many people knew about this Mexican so I knew it was someone that came from the Angola days. It was, but not a soldier, a chap from Froggo’s.  His name was Eugene and he is extremely tall. We joined him at the table, coffee for me and Dave and Spinners for him. I was not very good mates with Eugene, he was more of Mikes Connection than mine. He then proceeded to tell Dave how we had met. I must admit I only vaguely remember this incident, was absolutely tRalphhed, constantly in those days. I was on leave from Executive Outcomes and was hanging out in Froggo’s. I was alone and seems had some trouble with “wannabe’s”. I mentioned that this happens. Eugene is telling Dave, he knew who I was through Mike but I am not the approachable type so had not joined me. 5 chaps had being giving me lip about my jacket or or something, I told them to piss off or they will get hurt. They found this amusing. I walked up to Eugene and asked him would he watch my back? He agreed and I told the idiots we can go outside. Eugene says he was a bit slow and by the time he got out into the parking lot all 5 guys were already down and bleeding. OK. Like I say don’t really remember that so well. I was a fucking crazy son of a bitch then and people do not expect the incredible ferociousness they encounter, so often it over before they think it has started. It is a hell of a thing and I am sorry about it. I am much better now!

At this stage I was doing some marketing for a Guest House in Gordon’s Bay and when Eugene heard this he told me: His mom was going to Australia for a year and he was moving into her house in… Gordon’s Bay. Done deal, I would pull in. The next day I told Pam and Eddie that I had a new place. I think relief was felt all round.

Packed my dwindling amount of kit and off I went. It is not very far from Somerset West to Gordon’s Bay. I stopped at the bottle store and got a litre of vodka, I opened it and had a slug before I even paid for it. Well, there goes all the counselling at Ramot for a ball of shit. Hell, I really do like fucking alcohol, and when I am sober I bore myself nearly to death. The Mexican was back on his donkey, new mission, new place, new friends. Even though I knew this could come to no good, at least I felt alive!

Found the new spot, a neat little house in a quiet neighbourhood. That would change. We were about 1km from the beach, and the Guest House I was working at was about 3km away, on the side of the mountain. It was mid morning when I arrived, Eugene had very loud music blaring from a Death Metal DVD and was also drinking already. Party!

Some of his mates arrived and we went to a bar further along the coast, some of these Death Metal girls are very sexy, if you can get past the pieced pieces…. I can, I want to, so I will.  Eugene is much better than I at picking up women and the first is a woman that lives in the flat next door. Her name is Chantal, she has two kids, one of which lives with her. A little over weight, long brown hair and yes, those big brown eyes I seem to like so much. I in the meantime have met the owner of the Guest House, Hein’s niece. 19 blond, blue eyes and straight from Germany. Again, this is just trouble, but I do not care. I am doing well in the marketing and cash is available. We go out every night to the local bars and clubs, one is called Amsterdam. Here I am surprised to find a musician I last saw years back in Sheila’s, up in Gauteng. The time when I was hanging out with the Spaniard, Maria. She would always ask him to play “Rough Boy” by ZZ Top. I liked his version of “War Pigs.” The German girl could not speak much English so made no musical requests.

Of course things had to get a bit wonky, this is life. Add hard alcohol, wild partying and young women the whole thing just escalates at an alarming rate. Hein was getting seriously pissed off about his niece, and told me to leave her alone. Eugene is more of a talker than a doer and Chantal was a handful. He started to tell me about what she liked to do and get done to her. The whole Death Metal image this boy had was a farce! All the piecing and tattoos looked good, his huge physic was impressive. At heart he was just a mommies boy. Could not believe this shit. Think I am exaggerating? One of the first complaints he told me was he was woken up by Chantal giving him a BJ. That’s right a complaint, gentleman readers. He maintained that he had had sex with her the night before, only once by the sound of it, and sleeping time was sleeping time. Eish! Later he told me of much kinkier stuff but nothing too hectic in my, not so humble opinion. Eventually he told her to duck. He liked the porno on the net more than real life and spent a lot of time there. Hey, every man to his own. On my side, the little German was sent to Stellenbosch and I would go through now and then to visit. I remained on speaking terms with the rather intriguing neighbour as well.

Eugene and I started going out again, without any women with us. Hunting? One night I saw that years ago in Froggo’s I had chosen my backup very badly. We were in a bar in Strand, it is right up against the sea and when the tide is in the water is below the side windows! Big sign, “No Jumping out of the windows.” A predominantly Afrikaans crowd was in attendance on this particular evening, but hell, some of these Afrikaans meisies are cute. Eugene seemed to like the one in particular and was staring at her, she had 3 okes with her, one obviously the boyfriend. He took exception to this. One thing lead to another and Eugene just left me to it. The term ‘dumb Dutchman” is not very polite, and I know a lot of Afrikaners, my friends are anything but dumb.  These were, two went swimming, the sign did not mention throwing out the window, and the way they charged left no option but to let them continue, I could have being hurt otherwise! The third lost interest and worried about breathing for a bit. Ironically I found Eugene in the parking lot.

The next jol we went on we were in The Pub With No Name in Somerset West. Here we met a woman I had seen around and spoken to when hanging out with Dave and Sarah. Melony. Attractive and a body to die for, but from day I met her she gave me an itchy feeling and not the one you are thinking about. My instinct is good and I live by it, most of the time. She was with 3, that bloody number, young guys, drunk and in trouble. She had offered the goods and now remembered she was a a young mother and had a responsible job, well that was my immediate assessment on the situation. She saw us and immediately told the young guys we were her body guards. What crap was this, I am not interested, Eugene promptly sits down with them. Melony is then all over him, hands crawling, God I hate this type of woman. I get a drink and sit at the far end of the table. Things are getting hectic, the young bloods are pissed off, spent all their money getting the woman drunk and now this. Eugene is playing knight in shining armour, he will take the lady home, as she cannot now drive and I will follow in her car. Melony is now flirting up a storm with all of them. I get Eugene one side and tell him in no uncertain terms that he is on his own here. He cannot believe this, maintains that if the guys give us shit, I can just handle it. Two things, I do not want to, “handle it.” Secondly, more importantly, I can’t. All three are young and large, but the one… I know, I know, that I cannot take him. Worse I watched the situation and the people for about an hour, I believe he will do me bad damage.  So fuck that! Eugene gets the message and says we will leave, he is talking to the guys, I walk out but Melony follows me.Her and I have harsh words, I tell her exactly what I think about women that get it off making men fight over them. She cries and talks shit, she starts putting her hand all over me! I slap them away, the other guys see this through the large windows, I do not know what they think. She does not give up, she pushes her attractive body against me and her hands roam, I swear at her and tell her to leave me alone. Eugene comes out and we leave. I swear at Eugene all the way home too.  He is very sorry about it.

I stop drinking for a while, I have not being working much and money is now tight. I get a call from Ashley one day. She says she has the money that she owes me for bailing her out of jail a few years back. She was caught buying dagga.  As banking fees are so high she will post it to me in a book, from England. I never expected that money back, but I sure could use it now.  Meantime Eugene gives me R400 for my binoculars, I buy food and smokes. He is now dating Melony and she comes around a few times. I take to visiting Chantal next door, turns out she is a writer as well. She shows me some of her stuff and some poetry she has written. This is a far cry from the wild stories Eugene told me. Sensitive, well written stuff. Melony comes by one night and her and Eugene are drinking and listening to music. Eugene is doing spadework big time, slow romantic music, the Death Metal that has caused the neighbours to call the cops a few times is gone. Melony comes into my room asking for some shorts to wear, as jeans are uncomfortable and it very hot. I have one pair of very old, torn PT shorts, I lend her these, they are a bit tight, but will do, she has beautiful legs, and well I won’t go there.

She lies next to me on the bed, then snuggles closer and asks me if I think she can trust Eugene or is he just out to sleep with her. Her soft breast is on my arm, her leg finds its way across my lap, while she is whispering this in my ear. I do not like this woman. I tell her she has to decide that for her self. Oh, but such physical beauty so close is bad for one’s hormones, the brain stops working! I disengage and tell her I am off to supper with Chantal. I do this. Melony sleeps with Eugene.  After supper Chantal, all coy and shy?? Gives me something she has written to read later. I still have it. I read it that night, it is a fantasy of hers and could be in a Penthouse magazine, it includes the Mexican Horse Thief, a reasonable amount of spanking and some other stuff.

I get my post from England, an Alcoholics Anonymous magazine called The Grapevine. Every other page has Pound notes stuck between them! Just under 2000 Pounds. I go exchange a few, I buy, you guessed it, vodka. I have a good lunch and wait for Chantal to come home from work. I get a bit waylaid and end up watching music on the beachfront until about 10pm. I arrive at Chantal’s place, she is drinking whiskey and dancing by herself. I have some whiskey too. Very pretty girl this, face like an angel, I kiss her and we dance a bit. She asks me to hit her. I say I don’t want to. She bites almost through my bottom lip, blood splatters all over my white T-shirt. I slap the side of her head, she spins and falls on the bed. I drink some more whiskey, burns a bit. Chantal in the mean time has removed ever stitch of   clothing. How the hell do woman do that so fast? I remove my bloodstained shirt, drink some more whiskey, fall on the bed. She tries to bite me again, I tell her I shall slap her ass if she does, well she did. I did and so the night went ..out of the blue and into the black. Bang, bang. She is a rather noisy girl and has some surprises for me too. The next morning I have a few more bite marks and my right hand is sore, I see the palm of my hand is actually blue. Chantal is careful when she sits but smiles that angelic smile when she looks at me. I struggle to put this girl and the one from last night together as one person. I get confirmation from Eugene and Melony when they say the goings on could be heard by them next door. Jesus, what the hell have I gotten into this time. Fortunately we drank mainly whiskey last night so I have a bit of vodka left, I drink that for breakfast. We plan to have a braai that afternoon and “the girls” go and get the food supply, Eugene and I get the booze.  Some of Eugene’s Death Metal buddies will be pulling in, should be an interesting afternoon. We set up the braai and the salad stuff, drinking copiously all the while. Chantal is as Eugene said, and we sneak off to her place for a bit, nothing too kinky though. When we get back some other people have arrived and the music is pumping. The fire needs to get going so I do that, as is my usual practice with new people I keep quiet and observe, being busy with the fire is a good way to do this. Chantal is with her son and I take time out to check the situation. I get offered coolers and drink some of those too. The discussion is mainly about Slayer a band they all follow. All these people claim not to be Satanists but all facts point to that they are. The Slayer lead singer always stands in a pentagram when singing and sings songs like, “God hates us all.” I am not really concerned if they are or are not, I don’t join groups and I survived the Christians so a couple of Satanist can KMA. I compare the two groups and if they worked out how similar they are after the bullshit, both groups would be horrified. What is that advise, look for your similarities not your differences? Well, what can I say. Think about it. Both seem fixated on the blood thing, one literally and they others are always drinking it figuratively, which is worse? None, as I say the bloody same. By about 8pm I am getting pretty wasted, lack of sleep and lots of alcohol, Chantal sleeps over at this house, there are people cRalphhing all over the show. We use my room, and she is a very active girl. I eventually get some sleep.

Eugene is already tired of Melony, and they are beginning to fight a lot. Then one day Eugene wakes up very ill, and has some very large balls! Melony brings him some medicine, seems to know too much about this. I take him to the doctor in Strand, end result he has a STD with complications. Oh shit. The evidence points to Melony but we slept with Chantal within days of each other. I ask Chantal if she is ok. She assures me it is not her, I still worry a bit and am happy with each day that passes and I am well. This situation causes the final breakup with Eugene and Melony. Just she won’t go! She comes around at all hours of the morning but Eugene locks her out, the cops get called one night as she caused such a scene. Meantime Eugene is picking up women, no girls from a thing called Mixit, this scene is getting weirder and weirder, even for me! One night a very young woman suggests a threesome with me and Eugene, Chantal and I are seeing less of each other at this time. No way am I having a threesome that consists of two guys and a girl! Eugene and I start fighting about that and the fact that the Death Metal is blaring constantly, the cops have being out a few times now, between loud music and the crazy Melony, that still just won’t go away. I am eating 20 Grandpa’s a day, plus my litre of vodka. I take to hanging out in a pub on the beach, my Pounds are running low and although believe it or not I was still doing the marketing for the Guest House, money burns. Things are getting hazy again, I remember meeting Mempie in town one day, Charmaine called a few times, but it was getting dark man.

I had a final blowout with Eugene, over what? I do not know. End result I chucked my kit into my car and headed towards Stellenbosch. The plan was to hook up with my old neighbour, the perpetual student. He had a new place in Stellenbosch. Campus Square. Sounded good to me. The flat itself was tiny but we had two computers in what was bedroom, and a small area outside in which to braai. It was a similar setup to the other place I had lived in Stellenbosch, Prins Park. Gerard was in a lot of trouble at the Varsity, month and months late for assignments, I found out that he had taken about 4 extra years to get the degree he had! He did not like to wash dishes and they were piled high on the sink, the counter tops, in the lounge, everywhere. Took two days for me to clean just the kitchen. He would crack a beer at about 10am and then play computer games till lunch, then a major mission to go get food, more beer and DVD’s. He had accounts everywhere on his mom’s name, she paid for the flat as well. I found out he was adopted and his adopted father was a, now dead, abusive alcoholic. Gerard was 30 something at this time. His mom would call just about every day, and he would tell her he was working hard. After a few weeks I saw he was not working at all. So we sat around, played computer games, watched DVDs and went out to Stones to pick up women. Nice job if you can get it. I was using the internet café and selling data again. Let me introduce the neighbour. I do not know why but this shit always happens, no nice normal neighbour for me. He was a pretty infamous chap. Ian du Toit. The farmer from Cradock that beat a man to death with a pickaxe handle in his farmhouse kitchen, and got away with it. He maintained the three workers had attacked him and it was self defence. The court case and proceedings took so long because he did not just kill the one guy, he made fish paste of him. One of those incredibly  strong Afrikaners, and true to stereotype after a few brandies, moerjuice, horribly aggressive.  I went out with him and Gerard a couple of times and then declined, I can get into trouble all by myself, thank you very much.

This lifestyle went on for a while and I had friends in and around the town from when I last lived there. Like the girl that pronounced her name Wayne. The boozing was killing me and a lot of the time in Stellenbosch was spent in blackout mode. I did get mugged one evening walking back from the shop, sort of remember that. I was in trouble and got hold Dave, he was back on track and had moved back to Malgas. He said he would call me when he could pick me up. Meantime Gerard’s mother paid a surprise visit, all the way from Kimberly. Oh, oh. I flew under the radar as best as possible. She left but cancelled the accounts all over town so Gerard, now actually kicked out of the University got a job as a barman at the Stellenbosch backpackers. While waiting on Dave’s call this became my hangout. Met some interesting foreigners, drank more and misbehaved in general. Dave did not call me and did not answer my calls but the time to go had come. Gerard had applied for a job in George and I was tired of Stellenbosch.

Karen was talking to me again at this stage and said I should move to Fishhoek, she had a house sitting job for a few months in Kalk Bay. I packed my kit and left Stellenbosch once more. I had no basic plan, no plan at all, but this gypsy is always happy when moving.

I arrived in Kalk Bay, beautiful little town, full of arty type people and the fishing harbour is exquisite. The house Karen was looking after was half way up the mountain and had a stunning view. The reason she was house sitting was to look after the two Dalmatians, not really the house. Karen had another house to look after for the weekend and usually Ben would do this, but since I was around and really had nothing else to do I took the job. The house was in Cape Town owned by a pair of professors, also half way up a mountain, can’t remember the name of the suburb. I had to meet the profs so stayed sort of sober, the showed me where the dog food was and all that sort of crap and left. Cool. Now this was a posh place, sort one would see in magazines. Soon as they had left I got out my stash of vodka and Grandpa’s went up to the third floor balcony and enjoyed the vista of the whole of Cape Town City and the harbour. I had been told in the AA and such places that one should live in the moment, so I did just that, watching the sun go done and drinking vodka, soft music in the background. I had three days to enjoy this, was getting paid and would worry about next week, well next week, maybe. The next day I did some shopping, bought huge steak and all the trimmings and enough vodka to kill an elephant. That afternoon I spent in the stylish  street cafes drinking cider and vodka. Feeling comfortably numb arrive “home” and fed the dog. I do like animals so don’t be so surprised. I cooked up a wonderful meal and took it upstairs and enjoyed the sunset once more. Then got a bit bored and went to the local pub, chatted to some people got drunker and finally went back to my mansion. Next day much of the same just without any food. I left the house well before the profs were due back because by now I was more than comfortably numb and would not have liked to have had to speak to them. Drove back to Kalk Bay. See why I think I have a guardian angel? Made it back with out incident.

Now I had to address the problem of being homeless once again. I could not stay in the house that Karen was house sitting and because they had such a long sit, they had no place of there own. Pretty dumb to sit for 6/8 months and pay rent for another empty spot, no? Then they have another long sit straight after this, so for more than a year they are getting paid to stay somewhere rather than the opposite. I had a few thousand rand left from my data sales so that was not a problem. I had seen a sign in the main road of Fishhoek for accommodation and Karen and I drove there.  The place was a run down residential hotel called the Beaufort Hotel. Had a look and it was not too bad at all. For just over a grand a month one could get a room in the back building and breakfast and supper thrown in. The room was not en suite and three rooms shared a bathroom, it also had a TV