Spud (41 page)

Spent the afternoon with the Mermaid flitting around the shopping mall. Had another attack of guilt when she dragged me into Natal Wholesale Jewellers to try on a wedding ring. She was only joking (I hope).

18:00   Mom asked me to take some empty plastic bottles out to Innocence’s khaya. I knocked on the door. I could hear loud African music coming from inside. Nobody answered. I pushed the door open and found Innocence and another lady sitting around a pot in the middle of the floor. She was stirring the liquid with a spoon. She smiled at me and offered me a taste of her brew. It was awful. I sat a while and listened to her jabbering away to her friend in Zulu. I know they were talking about me because at one point they looked at me and then burst into fits of laughter. I didn’t mind. The room was small and hot but the smells made it
comforting. I often used to visit Innocence when I was small, but then Mom said it wasn’t a good idea so I stopped. On the way out I had a look at her toilet – a hole in the ground. Dad says she’s happier with the hole than a real toilet. She must be crackers as well.

It’s official. Charles Dickens is a boring old fart and I have every intention of alerting The Guv to this fact before he tries to foist another snoring old masterpiece on me.

Had a call from Amanda. Spent the entire conversation in shocked silence. I then thought of something to say but she’d obviously had enough of my bumbling idiocy and abruptly said goodbye and hung up. She didn’t even tell me why she called in the first place. Once again my mind is in turmoil – girls occupy just about every waking hour of my life and they never seem to make me happy. The worst part about it is that I’m still a spud. What will happen when my balls drop? Will these girls still like me? Is it wrong to love two girls differently? Am I in love? And with which one? I need to speak to Gecko but I feel ashamed. I guess it’s back to Dickens then.

The house was woken up in the early hours by some furious barking and snarling in the back garden. Blacky had trapped an intruder and was determined to keep the criminal covered until somebody arrived. Dad stalked out into the yard with his knobkerrie and his torch, which kept fizzling out on him. Mom and I watched from the dining room window as he crept out towards the pool with the knobkerrie poised to strike a savage blow.

Suddenly there was shouting and whining and then Dad was chasing Blacky around the pool. Dad swore
bitterly at the puppy who thought that Dad was playing a rather splendid game and yapped delightedly as they galloped around and around. The source of the trouble was the Kreepy Krauly (pool cleaning device) that had automatically switched itself on at 02:00. Blacky’s convinced that the Kreepy is some nasty electronic intruder hell-bent on escaping the pool and creating widespread devastation on the house.

Sometime later Blacky got involved in another rowdy confrontation with the Kreepy Krauly. I heard Dad shouting from his window and then swearing before storming out into the garden. He must have thrown something at the dog because there was a crash and a squeal. Dad switched off the Kreepy and returned to bed muttering on about drowning poor Blacky.

It now appears that Blacky’s completely obsessed with the Kreepy Krauly. Aware that a bark or growl could be fatal, he follows the machine around the edge of the pool as the Kreepy goes about its job of sucking up leaves. The poor animal whimpers and salivates, hardly able to contain itself. Dad reckons he needs to be neutered.

Visited Wombat at the Stillwaters Home. The place is wickedly creepy – everywhere you look there are old wrinklies sitting and talking to their families or some other old wrinkly. We found Wombat watching the Zulu news with her African maid (Doreen) in her room. Mom gasped and stifled a sob. Dad gasped and stifled a guffaw. I have to admit, the sight of Wombat in her eye patch watching the news in Zulu was pretty trippy After the news, she stood up and introduced herself to us. She then introduced Doreen as her mother, excused herself and began watching the weather.

It took some time for Mom to convince Wombat that
we are family and that she in fact knows us. Wombat became agitated and clung onto her bag, suspecting that we could be a gang of con men. The tension was only broken when an old gent sidled into the room and introduced himself as Lord Batty. He then told Wombat a lame joke that had her roaring with laughter. The old fossil bowed, straightened his cravat, opened the door and strode into the closet. After some grunting and thrashing about he was able to free himself from Wombat’s raincoats and make it out the door. Dad and I were hysterical and flopped about on the floor in stitches. Suddenly Wombat became confused and agitated so Mom decided to cut her losses and we left.

The Mermaid and I spent the morning in the Japanese gardens. We walked and talked and held hands and kissed. She was wearing a bikini top and I couldn’t help staring at her breasts, which are enormous. I touched them by mistake while I was trying to put my arm around her and immediately felt all fuzzy inside. My willy felt weird, as if I was about to wet myself. Luckily I didn’t and the moment passed. I wonder if this is a sign of my body changing. Up until last night there were still no ball hairs although my voice felt a bit deeper when I sang a few hymns in the bath!

Tomorrow it’s back to school. No Oliver to look forward to this time and no more girls at school. At least it’s cricket season again – I plan to mesmerise everyone with my crafty spinners and make sure we remain unbeaten. I often find myself wondering what the rest of the Crazy Eight have been up to. All shall be revealed tomorrow.

Came home to find Mom in a flat spin. Lord Batty (the old codger who walked into the closet last time we visited Wombat) has asked Wombat to marry him. Apparently, Wombat agreed and she now wants a priest
to come round to the old age home to seal the deal. Mom was highly distressed at the news. Having a senile stepfather and a nutty mother could be a disaster. Mom called Wombat to try and discourage her from getting married again but Wombat thought Mom was trying to sell her something so she hung up.

07:30   The Stillwaters Home called to say that they have organised a priest and the wedding will take place tomorrow morning in the rose garden. Never a dull moment with the Miltons!

17:30   The bus back to school was the slowest yet. Whilst creeping up Town Hill into the Midlands it appeared at one stage to be moving backwards. Beside me, a first year from another house was sobbing but trying to make it look as if he was looking for something in his bag. I pretended not to notice and stared at the same page of Dickens until it became too dark to read.

Holiday Scorecard:

07:30   Mom called to say that Wombat’s wedding has been called off. It turns out that Lord Batty forgot that he was married and only realised this morning that his wife has been living with him for fifty-one years. The Stillwaters Home have apologised for the misunderstanding. They were also under the impression that Lord Batty was living with his sister. It also turns out that Lord Batty isn’t a lord after all. He was a journalist and he used the name Lord Batty as a pseudonym. Talk about a con man!

Mom said that Wombat didn’t care much for him anyway and she had been considering breaking off the engagement because he had no chin and close together eyes like a monkey, and was most probably after her money.

14:30   Our first cricket practice turned into a complete dog show. Mad Dog struck Leslie in the head with a bouncer that knocked him out cold. Everybody looked rusty except for Simon who looked like a test cricketer by comparison. My bowling was awful and I regularly got smashed out of the nets and onto the nearby fields. The Guv called us a bunch of %#$#@ and told us he was mortified to be our coach. He reckoned if we weren’t better at tomorrow’s practice, he would get back on the bottle.

Earthworm has lost the plot completely. He’s quit the first cricket team, and a possible spot in the Natal schools team, so that he can focus on his studies. He has his heart set on becoming an actuary. (Not sure what that is – but he assured me that it doesn’t involve dead bodies.) Since his dismal trial results (five A’s and two B’s), he has locked himself in his room and devoted himself to his studies. He survives on Lucozade and tinned tuna fish (brain food), sleeping only at odd
hours. He looks thinner than ever and by the smell of things, doesn’t shower that often either.

Eve called Rambo ‘Baby’ by mistake during our drama lesson on Ancient Greek theatre and the plays of Sophocles. Boggo sniggered and jabbed Rambo in the ribs. Rambo blushed and giggled and then stabbed Boggo in the leg with his fountain pen. One wonders how long it will be until this whole affair blows up into a monumental scandal. The whole school seems to know – Sparerib must be the thickest teacher ever. Then again, maybe he’s just like Gecko and is pretending not to know.

A letter in the post. I knew straight away who the author was.

Just when I thought I had everything under control and
the whole female thing worked out.

I stalked around asking myself questions, most of which don’t make any sense.

Am I in love with Amanda?
What about the Mermaid?
Should I tell Amanda about the Mermaid?
Should I tell the Mermaid about Amanda?
Should I take the easy option?
What
is
the easy option?
Should I hang myself in the chapel?
Should I pretend that I didn’t get the letter?
Should I try to have two girlfriends at once?

Mom caused quite a stir before the start of our match against Blacksmith College. She has become an obsessive cricket fan and thinks she is now an expert on the game. Just before the captains went out to the middle to toss the coin, she herself strode out to the pitch. Everybody stopped warming up to watch this large woman in a bright orange sundress bend over and prod the wicket with her fingers. I heard giggles and snorts and then Leslie shouted:

‘Hey, Spud, tell your mom it’s okay, the pitch has already been rolled!’

A predictable uproar followed. The Guv was beside himself with laughter. I blushed and laughed along, silently praying my mother would complete her pitch inspection and get the hell off the field. I felt ashamed and, as always, hated myself for it.

Our dreadful form in the nets spilled over onto the field. Simon won the toss (once Mom had moved off the pitch) and put them in to bat, hoping to roll them over before the first drinks break. Unfortunately, they were still batting well after lunch and made over two hundred
runs for the loss of three wickets. I bowled four overs and got belted for thirty-three runs.

Our batting began disastrously and our first defeat was on the cards when Simon ran himself out for eight. Thankfully, a giant thunderstorm which had been brewing up over the mountains charged down the valley, causing everyone to run for cover and saving us from a huge thrashing. The Guv (despite consuming heavily at the Milton bar) was in no mood for stirring Shakespearian speeches and tore a strip off us in the changeroom after the game. With the thunder booming outside it felt like we were being terrorised by the weather as well. Never before have we seen The Guv so angry – even I struggled to meet his gaze. He called us a ‘simpering collection of overfed indulgent nancy boys devoid of any sense of honour, tradition and pride’. He then went on to call us a number of other things that were far less savoury.