Heir-line cracks

I think it’s perhaps time I gave dear ol’ Dad a turn in the spotlight.

Kyknoord Senior has two modes of operation: on and asleep. The man is completely incapable of loafing and the simple pleasure of indulging in a little recreational indolence is totally lost on him.

He takes a keen interest in sport, but he can only enjoy a game on television if he’s keeping himself busy with something else, like gardening. He bridges the divide between these two seemingly incompatible activities by strolling in from outside every so often to check the score (usually leaving a trail of muddy footprints in his wake) and then immediately heading back out to continue raking leaves from one side of the lawn to the other. I once suggested to him that a portable radio might simplify matters (and simultaneously reduce my mother’s blood pressure to acceptable levels), but he insisted that he likes to “watch the match”. Activity is the important thing here. Efficiency and logic don’t really feature in his world.

I have long suspected that I am a bitter disappointment to him, as I positively excel in inactivity and on occasion, have even been known to dabble in logic.

He finds an outlet for his apparently boundless energy by having numerous arse-brained interesting projects on the go at any given time. In one of his schemes, he decided to plant a tomato garden on the garage roof. To his way of thinking, tomatoes need sun and there’s plenty of sun up there – ergo it is the ideal spot for tomatoes. The truth of the matter is that while tomatoes do need sun, they also require shelter from the wind. Since my dad managed to locate his fledgling tomato empire in what is quite possibly the windiest spot on the face of the planet, his success has been somewhat limited. In the two years that this venture has been going, his crop has yielded up a grand total of three shrivelled and poisonously sour specimens.

Nevertheless, despite his obvious lack of agricultural prowess, his enthusiasm remains undimmed. He still continues to have high hopes of becoming the next tomato baron of the Deep South, so every day – come rain or shine – you’ll see him up there, lovingly tending his shredded charges.

Please note: this is one of the people I got to see daily during my formative years, so if my outlook on life is a little bit – shall we say – off-centre, I believe I have an excuse.