Good manners bade me call on the wife of a client recently. The woman is someone whom I have been known to go to the greatest lengths to avoid. There was one incident during a function at The Johannesburg Country Club, when I fled into the Gentlemen’s toilet; which resulted in a quite nice engagement party and my current happy marriage. As usual, I digress; there was a new baby and a courtesy call was unavoidable.
Said Wife-Of-Client is that breed of despicable woman: The Organiser. Without being told (alas, you will be – at length) you just know that she was the girl with the clipboard and whistle at school fetes. Not only will she be a voluntary tuck-shop mom when the time comes, she will offer to be the convener and the treasurer. I believe she will develop a secret crush on the Headmistress.
A great fan of Dame Barbara Cartland, WOC has a poncey, affected way of speaking and – through the biggest teeth I’ve ever seen – imparts little gems of advice to me, pertaining to mixing with people who are ‘not our sort’.
WOC’s parents once encountered Mr. Richard Burton at a rehabilitation centre (which posed as a ski resort) and the family have since had a fixation with all things Welsh. WOC has given her three unfortunate looking sons throat-clearing Gaelic names. The first born is Ahern, a boy so dreadful that Original Bunn refused to accompany me on my visit. Precisely two years after Ahern, the devil incarnate made his appearance and was christened Caradogh. This newest, putty-faced arrival has been gifted with the lovely moniker; Llywarch. I can’t mention their surname here, but I know that these children are going to be very cross with their mother when they start school.
I stayed on a bit in the hope that the drinks trolley would make an appearance, but when they put on their Mal Pope records, I ran like the wind and stopped off for a visit at Kev-The-Mick’s house. Altogether a nicer experience; ‘our sort’ or not.
Related post on funny names for children: