Some days are diamonds

Some days are sent to try us.

(I just want to tell my parents that there is going to be a lot of swearing in this blog.)

There’s a saying, a book and a t-shirt that all proclaim, “I try to take one day at a time, but sometimes several days attack me at once.” This is bullshit of course. Every day is a montage of things left undone from yesterday and the prospects and duties that lie ahead. “Plan for tomorrow,” they say, so if you do, when the hell are you supposed to do it? Today? Anyway. That was really an aside.

And here is another one. Unless you are a fucking vegetarian, do NOT give me the rolling eyes when I say I am going hunting with my family. And when you buy your chops from Woolies, do NOT delude yourself that you are standing on the moral high ground when it comes the consumption of meat. Fuck off instead, because you are a dim-witted and uninformed hypocrite. Or even, quite possibly, a smoker.

So as I said, some days are sent to try us.

I have written before about my intimate relationship with the Automobile Association’s happy tow-truck operators and Walter, my mechanic. But today, as both failed me, it dawned on me that the positive energy that is generated when one is quite possibly in love and flush with making out in restaurants like a teenager, can never quite negate the misery one feels when one’s wheels are increasingly unreliable and quite possibly due for a complete overhaul.

Darling, I think, tried to help. Maybe. After some Googling he Skyped me: Armature & Starters Clinic CC, address – 52 Buxton St Doornfontein. He included phone, fax and cell numbers. Category: armature winders, keywords: reconditioned, description specialising in all types of dc motors, exchange & armatures, rewinding, recons.

Oh yay. He suggested that I get a push start and then, if I take Joe Slovo, I could be in Doornfontein in minutes.

I wrote back saying that in spite of my appreciation of his efforts on my behalf, I did not feel socially equipped (in spite of my apparent fortitude and independence) to go and buy a starter motor in Doornfontein at 5pm on a Tuesday afternoon, and really, all he had to say was, “How about a glass of wine?”

He thought that was funny. And that the guys in Doornfontein would probably have been happy to help me. I opened a bottle of Chardonnay.

I don’t mind sending the VW off to Wynberg and mucking about with public transport for a bit, as long as I know it will be coming back in working order. But even Walter seems stumped when faced with a car that starts promptly when I manage to get it over to Euromech, but refuses to budge when I am on my way to the gym. The uncertainly of it all is what really gets to me. “Ve haf to vork togezer,” Walter gently explained this afternoon. “Do ze lights dim ven you turn ze key?”

Oh for fuck’s sake’s Walter, am I supposed to pay attention to that shit? “It is ohlso a kvestion ohf mahny. I can take out ze motor, recondition it, and put it back, but wuld I know why I am doing it? And zen mebbe ve did not fix ze problem?” With relentless reason, Walter squeezed himself out of baby-sitting my car and fiddling with it while I am away for three days. I was devastated, but managed not to cry on the phone.

I went downstairs and the golf started. First time. I called the AA and cancelled the tow truck. Darling will be here in a bit. We will see what tomorrow brings. If it is not so good again, I can always go out and shoot something.

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