Zululand Letter (To London)

Bloated strikers and soccer dementia

Dear Mildred and Timothy

Herewith find my last missive to you from the jungles of Zululand. It was just as well that James and I decided to extend our African safari post-World Cup. Following the Empire’s dreadful performance in the soccer extravaganza, James fell seriously ill. We feared malaria - you know, that beastly feverish malady caused by what they call ‘mozzies’ in these parts. The local doctor, after extensive tests, brought us peace of mind though, ruling out any horrific pestilence. Apparently James’ night-sweats, wild thrashings, flailing of arms and babbling gibberish was simply a demented reaction to Her Majesty’s football squad playing like pansies. Here I miss the rationale. I thought all soccer players were pansies anyway, given their wont to roll about on the turf crying like babies at inopportune times. I digress. James’ dementia was, of course, aggravated by the fact that he pickled his liver by challenging the Mtunzini Country Club’s seasoned beverage imbibers (refer previous missive) to ‘boat races’ every night to prove that Englishmen could still fight valiantly. They whipped his posterior every time. But I must confess that I admire the fact he never went down without a vomit. Although he started developing a bloated appearance from the over-indulgence of the fruits of the vine, he is much better and we are now ready to travel home.

Strikes
Speaking of matters that bloat... As we prepare to bid farewell to the Heart of Darkness and with James’ buttocks well healed following the photo-shoot incident with the giant rhino (the removal of the 50 stitches was a trifle traumatic. More wild thrashings and flailing of arms), we are currently witness to some serious strike action by the local civil servants. There is considerable dancing in the streets because teachers and nurses complain bitterly about hovering on the bread line. Be that as it may, I could not help observe that the majority of the hungry servants on the streets and on telly were massively obese. You won’t believe this Mildred, but they make Fat Molly look distinctly anorexic. I find the concept of hunger and obesity going together difficult to fathom. James - ever the diplomat - suggested I not judge harshly since hunger often manifests itself by bloated appearances. This I can accept. But bloated thunder thighs and multiple chins are surely peculiar phenomena in relation to starvation? But only in Africa, I suppose. I assume there is merit in the accusations that these are the types of exclusive African issues we Eurocentric privileged will never understand. Take care and we’ll see you soon enough to share all the magical tales of our marathon safari. Give little Fifi poodlekins a kiss and hug from us. PS: On speaking to the locals at the Post Office, I got the distinct impression that I could perhaps arrive home safely well before this script - whether I travelled by plane or boat. Anyhow, I will post this anyway, and perhaps we can open it together at our monthly WI tea?
The Symington-Smythes