Excuse Me, Are We Related?

J.M. Coetzee reacts to a live performance of The Silly Walk by John Cleese.

The people here at the salt mine want a TV commercial script for a not-yet-famous name beer, and they want it now. Not tomorrow. Now. And with a dash of speed. I have nine minutes to think up a lovely idea, script it up and send it to the fifth floor.

Fabulous.

Imagine going to a dressmaker and saying "I want a beautiful party frock and I want it this very afternoon. Start sewing." The dressmaker would tell you to insert it firmly where there is no sunlight. Then you'd have to go and buy something from Foschini, or Marion and Lindie, or India Jane, depending on what stage of the month we're talking.

But here in the salt mine, rabbits are being tugged out of hats at a furious pace.

Never mind. It is Friday, and that is what's important.

Tomorrow, Nigella and I will drive out to Stellenbosch where our dad is spending a few days. We're thinking of driving across to Franschhoek, where a literary festival will be in full swing. Yes, a literary festival. One can only imagine the excitement of that event.

Nigella and I are that hoping that Nobel laureate J.M. Coetzee will be there to liven things up a bit. If he is, we simply must introduce him to our dad. Our father has this quaint habit, when he meets someone and learns their surname, of trying to connect them to some other person he knows with the same surname.

DAD: Ah, so you say your name is Flimbutton ?
OTHER PERSON: No, Flembottom.
DAD: Ah ha! Perhaps you're related to the Flembottoms from Strepwiddle, where I grew up - Neville and Anastasia Flembottom?
OTHER PERSON: I'm afraid I do not know them.

That sort of thing.

Well, we're wanting to introduce Dad to J.M. Coetzee, because you see, we have an uncle Llewellyn Coetzee, who lives in Namibia. We want to hear Dad ask J.M. Coetzee if he's related to Uncle Llewellyn of Otjivarongo. It might raise a chuckle on the face of the author. You never know.