maverick

A few weeks ago, I got a very disjointed call from my father.

Who flies an aeroplane. The purchase, I believe, was a by-product of a mid-life crisis.

The passion for flying itself is a by-product of Dad's obvious interest in all things extreme, like flying tin cans over the rugged cliffs of the Drakensberg.

Dad had an accident in his plane a few weeks ago. He emailed me first, with an explanation as to what went wrong, and that he'd long short, clipped a fence when taking off in the Drakensberg. Altitude seemed to be the issue.

At that moment, I cared not what the fuck the issue was. I just cared that he was alright and then went into a complete state of despair that soon I'd be living abroad and if anything bad happened to him, I'd probably need someone to shoot me with a tranquiliser gun.

It's not like Dad is Top Gun or anything. The man's been flying for 25 years, and despite the fact that he's a bit crazy, he's not a dick in the air. He's generally super responsible.

Now that the guys up at Panic-Stations-R-Us have stopped irking my mind with horrible images, I am left with a sadness for Dad. And that he has to spend a fortune to fix it - yes, that's right, apparently it still has the potential to be a flying craft.

That aside, Dad's coming up to Joburg tonight. In true Dad fashion, he's got himself a flight that arrives at Lanseria Airport at 1:00am tomorrow morning.

'It won't interrupt your schedule, Peas. I specifically booked this because it was cheap...and there's no way you'll be running to a meeting at that time.'

'Yeah....let me see if I'm available....just opening my calendar....let's see....right so, it looks like I do in fact have a meeting Dad. A meeting with my mattress. As in, I'm scheduled in for a one-on-one with an item marked 'Sleep'.. But what the hay, I'll cancel.'

Albeit, am excited he's coming up. Especially before I get my fuck on in England.

No doubt the next few days are going to be interesting.