The French insist that it is small lunch, while Afrikaners, although having a more formal word, ontbyt, often use the English-ism breakiefas and cute-en it up with the diminutive form! Memorable breakfasts are often from camping trips, whether on the roadside, rubbing sweaty shoulders and legs with the gladiators of the Tour de France, noshing on the beach as the Sun’s rays greet and the grains of sand exfoliate or in the middle of Africa’s bush with not another vehicle in sight, the Sparkling wine and fruit juice flows to the aroma of fried onions, tomatoes, mushrooms, bacon and scrambled eggs with possibly some bubble and squeak thrown in from last night’s braai.
1 Petit dejeuner à côté de Le Tour
Our memorable breakiefas incorporated a coming together of All Black supporters and their British and Irish Lions counterparts to watch their teams battle it out in the deciding third and last Test match of the once every dozen years series, live from Eden Park, Auckland, NZ, at my place of abode, 22 My Street, Linda’s place!
2 Eden Park – half way around the world from Linda’s place.
Some of the usual suspects were out of town, one from each side, so the odds were equally reduced as was this ill prepared host, struggling with near empty gas bottles, tomatoes that seemed to have lost their juices on the chopping board as he peeled and chopped the tear inducing onions. Thank goodness one of the opposing side answered my nth minute call to bring his gas bottle!
3 There can never be enough onions in the breakiefas pan!
One of the AB supporters, looking a little like those revolutionaries or a Leprechaun, with his AB supporter’s beanie set at a jaunty angle, got his Google maps or his left and right confused when he pressed the buzzer at no 21, calling into the intercom when it was answered: “I’m here for the Rugby”! The accommodating lady occupant opened the gate and greeted our man at the top of the fancy pants driveway, with oval tennis court fence and sparkling swimming pool, in her nightie and fluffy slippers and joined by her by now, very suspicious lesser half, in his boxers and dressing gown! “Where’s Dan?” our man asked, not sure whether he had seen either of the two before.
“I think you’d better check your directions they both stammered!”
4 Where would we be without it?
Our rugby tifoso double checked his Google Maps, made his apologies and reversed down the grand driveway, making his way down to no 22, his arrival being announced by our guard dog, Roxy the Toy Pom, whose nickname Rambo, is written in Bryanston, gardener’s and robber’s folklore!
Once we had set up the gas braais, assigned one of the Lion’s supporters to cheese griller and bacon duty, found some decent tomatoes, appointed a late arrival to cut and butter the bread rolls, and as quickly as the near empty gas cylinders would allow we finished the breakfast process all lubricated with a beer or two.
The New Zealand national anthem, which is more like a prayer that any country’s, was followed by the much revered Haka, with the stoney faced Lions showing scant regard to the men in black. The game was an amazing exchange with both sides giving their best, my All Blacks being a little hard done by, by the collusion of the French ref and his compatriot touchline judge when they reversed a penalty decision that might just have changed the stalemate score of 15 all, to a win for the World Rugby Champions!
5 Sir Richie and the boys after their epic 2015 RWC win.
All of us a little disappointed by the draw, and a drawn series, the group hit the stoep and started with the post mortems, mention being made that no one likes a good loser!
Once my gas cylinder supplier, and Lion’s supporter, had packed up his equipment and taken his leave, and one of my side’s, sore losers, had made his apologies and taken his lower lip off to the gym or a long soul enhancing bike ride, the rest of us settled down to further reduce the liquid supplies and leftovers, and chat about anything apart from rugby, as the post mortems had long since taken the form of sore loser. Linda had, in the meantime, returned to lay claim to her place, and to ensure the slobs didn’t leave it in a total gemors!
6 No one’s favourite task, especially Mummy! The boys are often great cooks, but when it comes to cleaning up…!
Conversation drifted from topic to topic, from Shintuism and how the spirit of objects or things can be so meaningful and how the Japanese burn incense around a rock that reminds them of their Grandad to self defence and how Linda had, over the years, had had so many escapes from loaded firearm attacks and AK47 bullets flying dangerously close, from our Leprechaun retelling his fluffy slipper story to tennis stories and how the eyes are telling lies with bad line calls to how the latest relationship was going, or wasn’t!
7 Is that Grandad?
After a rustled up lunch, the afternoon wore on with a more active few playing a round of tennis and eventually the top shelf and vin rouge came out and a thought as to whether Shintuism could have any meaning within a bottle of Chivas!
8 There is certainly spirits inside that bottle!
Toward six pm, with the Sun having long departed over the villa across the road, the rugby / breakfast / Shintuism group decide en masse, it was time to go home to their various Mummys, wives, girlfriends, lovers or simply an empty house and one by one the chariots left as the driveway gate creaked open to let them out.
As Matchbox Twenty sing, (remember Unwell?), it really was a Long Day:
Footnote: Stoep (Afr) The patio. Gemors (Afr) a state of untidiness, in short, a mess!
St Vincent School For The Deaf helping the hard of hearing to listen:
Down Durban way The Fulton School for The Deaf:
Abraham Kriel Childcare group, caring while we work:
The Avril Elizabeth Home for the Mentally Handicapped was opened in 1970, and for the amazing work they do for the less fortunate they deserve great accolades: