Hayestack

On the way home from the shops Nigel spotted a grey chameleon crossing the tar road.I thought he was also going to be run over but managed to scoop him up into a Shoprite bag. Back at home I placed him on the barbecue and introduced him to my Beanie chameleon, Rainbow. He was not impressed, he did some dragon impressions with his jaws opened wide. I wanted to put him on the air raid shelter but he startled me as he tried to clamber out of the bag and I dropped him. He clambered out and onto the Madagascar periwinkle and we haven’t seen him since!

Georgina  7th Feb 2010

You don’t need to go to Africa for 2 years to make you clean you house, but it’s an effective way of achieving it. You’ll then realize, if you don’t already, that 95% of your possessions are superfluous, something I’d suspected for some time. To rid your life of 36 years of accumulated unnecessaries is a cathartic experience. I now feel leaner and fitter (just figuratively speaking, unfortunately). Georgina, casting aside her natural inclination to “collect” (the uncharitable might say “horde”) , joined in heroically, with a heavy emphasis on recycling.

It wasn’t easy to leave family and friends in the UK but grey skies and constant rain helped persuade us. British summer 2008 happened over 3 days sometime in July and before I could find my already packed shorts it had vanished. The grey sky of August was good packing weather. We packed, repacked then packed again. What to leave behind? We had only 25 kgs baggage allowance. The girl on the phone at Air Namibia claimed it was just 20 kgs, so I wished I hadn’t asked.

We didn’t care if a rainstorm drenched our train to Gatwick. We were off to see where the sun lived during the day. It certainly wasn’t in Britain.

We jammed ourselves into the 2 inches of room between seats in the plane’s economy (3^rd class) cabin. The advantage would be that if the plane crashed (Heaven forbid) we were too squashed in to be thrown around. The overnight flight was direct to Windhoek. We could sleep over Africa, which was just as well as there didn’t appear to be an in-flight film. On being woken up at 1.30am for chicken (I think) and roast potatoes the size of croutons (I have acquired the knack of being able to eat at any time of day, or was I born with it?), I vaguely remember Jeremy Clarkson’s voice (Top Gear) recommending I buy a Ferrari. Maybe I was having a nightmare? Africa lay in darkness 36,000 feet beneath us. Algeria?

The African heat blasted us like the exhaust of a jet engine as we left the plane. I now regretted wearing umpteen layers of clothes (to extend the paltry baggage allowance) and wondered if dying of heatstroke was a particularly unpleasant way to go. I was soon find out……..

Don’t be silly. Who do you think is writing this stupid blog (or “diary” as volunteer Alison (more about her later) insists on calling it?

It’s not insignificant or perchance that when I awoke this morning and got my bearings enough to tear off the page of my word-of-the-day calendar, today’s word staring back at me was portmanteau. If flipping the page of my calendar was all I was concerned about today, it would seem random enough, but that today is (most importantly) Sir Nigel D’s birthday makes this word particularly revelatory of divine appointment.

So, what then does portmanteau mean and how does it so nicely mesh with the birthday of my father-in-law, Emily’s father, Nigel? My calendar identifies two definitions of portmanteau: (1) a large suitcase and (2) a word or morpheme whose form and meaning are derived from a blending of two or more distinct forms.

In some ways, Sir Nigel D is similar to a large suitcase. (1) He knows how to keep his mouth shut when a woman’s got a hold of him. (2) He’s capable of carrying large quantities of miscellaneous objects. (3) Wears a suit from time to time. (4) Gets drug around on traveler’s whims. Four ways should suffice for the moment, but more striking are the similarities between the birthday boy and the second definition.

How then is this birthday boy similar to two words smashed together to form a new word? Well, first, Nigel is both Emily’s dad and my father-in-law. That’s two roles smashed into one. Secondly, if one were to plumb the depths of this man’s vocabulary, most assuredly this word would be found lurking in the smog. (Smog. That’s a portmanteau of “smoke” and “fog.”) Thirdly, Sir Nigel D’s palate mesmerizing skills, combine many ingredients into one fantastic meal. Fourthly, his combination of literary knowledge, musical prowess, cinematic expertise, culinary acuteness, and peerless humor bring into close relationship with the word of the day.

Well, on second thought, Nigel’s similarity to the second definition of portmanteau is proving to be less persuasive than the first. Maybe the birthday boy is more like a suitcase after all?

Happy Birthday!

I bet you’ve never seen Sir Nigel D, Momma G, Sal, and Han Han shake their groove-thangs like this before!

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