Next time you watch Home & Away, keep a look out for me.
On the weekend I was at Palm Beach Lifesaving Club - apparently that's the spot they film the series.
Now all I have to do is get to Bonnie Doon. (From The Castle).
Dear Miss O’Toast
You do not need to buy an entire door for R5 000 for your car. Nor do you need to order parts for your electric windows off the Internet from some Ichbal character that runs a questionably corrupt operation in the United Kingdom, which will cost you R2 100 without labour.
If I understand correctly, the only mechanism broken in each window are the cables. They are frayed, no? Well a genuine VW cable will cost you R450 per window.
Hope this email gets to you in time,
Frikkie van de Veldskoen
Of course it didn’t get to me in time. That would be uncharacteristically lucky.
On the bright side, Ichbal’s parts arrived after five days of ordering. They were unused, genuine, and as Volkswagen as The Third Reich.
This still would’ve been cheaper. I don’t get how VW thinks it’s ethically right to try and sell me an entire door - and insist that’s the only way my windows can get fixed - when they could’ve easily given me the parts I needed (2 x cables) instead.
But let’s not be unreasonable now. That just would’ve been too moral.
I had a strange dream last night. I know why I dreamt it, but explaining that involves bringing Freud into the situation. I dreamt I went to Delhi for a day to see my mate Doc.
I had Smoking Legs' cell phone with me, (which is true, as he left it at my house last night) but I therefore couldn't contact Smoking Legs to tell him I was in India. Then I remembered I had to attend a work bash of his, but I was in Delhi with Doc. In the meantime, I did some sightseeing, took pictures from Doc's apartment in downtown Delhi, then flew back home in time for Smoking Legs' workbash.
You’ll be pleased to know I spoke to my dad about your wart. You know, the big fat fuck-off thing on your knee? (Is he talking about Yves Saint Lewart?-Ed) Well good news: he is a doctor, so is willing to burn it off for you. It’ll be quick and (fairly) painless. How about before the holidays, like, next week? Or maybe like tomorrow? Or even if you have time during your lunch break today?
OK. Hold the phone. I like my wart bucko. Your discussing Yves Saint Lewart and his obliteration thereof with your old man makes me quite put out.
Maybe I want him there forever? Maybe I happen to have grown attached to it? Maybe I like having a barnacle on my knee?
Maybe he’s jealous and he just wants one.
Talk about jumping the gun on Yves.
PS: I’ll think about it.
PPS: And that's very sweet of you to try and organise.