LOST CARS

I thoroughly enjoyed the Porters' letter (North Coast Courier) about misplacing their chariot in the car park. Having done this too often, even when younger, I sympathise with their lost and bewildered wanderings. Visions of forlornly roaming the rows of somebody else's cars after dark still haunt me.

This is why I bought a bright yellow Atoz when the skedonk died. It stands taller than most cars and positively glows. Unfortunately, a couple of unscrupulous locals have bought  identical cars so my troubles are not quite over.

Years ago I read of a woman who solved this dilemma by attaching a yellow duster to one of those drain cleaning thinggys with a big sucker and handle. She plonked this on top of her car and always found it with ease. Of course these days someone may steal the flag!

Direction is just not my forte. As a young mother, new to Durban,  I had to drop the husband at Louis Botha airport. Frighteningly alone with just my toddlers for company in terrifying traffic on unfamiliar roads, I thought we'd never get home again. Every time I reached Durban I somehow ended up driving back towards the airport. By the third time around the kids and I were all crying loudly, to the amazement of a very puzzled newspaper vendor whom we passed regularly every twenty minutes.

When I had to fetch the man I first visited my sister in Durban on the strength of her promise to lead me to the correct airport road. At night!! Still shaky from the previous nightmare trip I fearfully followed her tail lights not daring to blink in case I lost her. I carefully followed her tail lights to the highway - and then carefully followed them all the way back to her house. Getting lost is my best talent.

Incidentally, this is one of the main reasons I married my man. Clutching a mandolin under one arm and a set of bagpipes under the other; and with his long pony tail and impressive moustache, even I couldn't possibly lose him in a crowd.