The weather in Plett has been absolutely gorgeous, and if you follow us on Instagram, no doubt you’ve been diverted by the pictures of brilliant blue skies, the ocean’s sapphire surf and the majestic mountains all around us. Today, however, the temperatures dropped dramatically and we were forced to stay inside. Marshall had to go into town to get some bank transfer stuff sorted out (a process that he has logged 56 hours trying to complete) and was gone for the majority of the morning. At around 2 pm, he came back looking both triumphant and dejected.
“I got the bank account set up today,” he said sullenly.
I didn’t raise my eyes from my phone screen when I replied. “Great! Congratulations!”
“I also got into a fender bender today.”
Now my attention was solely fixed on my husband’s stiff, marbled countenance.
“Yeah. I was at a stop in town waiting for some car to turn and this dude came flying down the street and hit me.”
“Did you call the police?”
“Did you exchange insurance information?”
“He didn’t have insurance.”
“Well, did you get pictures of his face, car and license plate???”
“No! I was just too pissed off to do any of that but yell that he’d be paying for the damages! I don’t know how this kind of stuff works here in South Africa! …All I got was his card with his cell phone number on it.”
Marshall was curt and his tone sharp. We’ve had this car for less than a month, and within 2 weeks of Marshall’s re-entry into the country, THIS happens. I looked at the business card Marshall had been given and groaned inwardly.
Producer| Guitarist| Teacher
The guy who hit him was some white surfer kid who played the guitar for a living. Without even meeting this guy, I knew that he was probably the embodiment of every beach town cliché I’d seen on Disney channel or the CW.