Fizz

I’m going through another patch of exhilarating (for all the wrong reasons) dreams. I woke up this morning after a montage of the toughest challenges to befall people: domestic violence, personal financial ruin, and home renovations.

I had a catch-up with our CEO and we lamented that lockdown can cause people to lose their ‘fizz’. That’s certainly true in my case with the most exciting parts of the job not available at the moment. These include plonking in front of partners and talking tripe, travelling to project sites, and attending external meetings and events.

I reinvigorated my fizz after work by eating some carrot sticks next to this pond on the Cam. Cambridge and surrounds seem to have a lot of duck ponds. The Granta pub across the water looked colourful and inviting as if someone was holding a wedding reception. They weren’t; the hubbub was due to the crowds flocking for their government restaurant reduction.

In the evening I chatted to my friend and ex-colleague Erin, who lives in Cape Town and who I spent last Christmas Day with. Everyone in South Africa is cheering that booze and fags are now being legally sold once more. We thought maybe if I acquire fake South African citizenship documents it could get me back to the region more quickly. I may assume the identity of a Mr JP van der Winkelspruit, born 1983, in the rural community of Pofadder in the Northern Cape. This plan cannot fail to succeed.