SUNLIT PERFECTION
I was reminded of what spin doctors earn when the NPA’S spokesperson in defence of his boss I read the statement by
Every once in a while, especially after we’ve just received our annual royalty cheques, my friends Zukiswa Wanner, Niq Mhlongo and I sit down for a drink at a watering hole in Melville.
Because we write award-winning novels no-one reads (except insomniac professors and their impressionable students), our combined earnings can buy just one bottle of whisky.
One of us will finally start the conversation: “Unlike James Patterson [or any author reviled by intellectuals but loved by the public] we write novels that make people think about the human condition. We haven’t sold out.”
We’re always railing against fellow wordsmiths who drink better whisky, drive better cars and live in posher neighbourhoods. Ranging from spin doctors to commercial novelists — we call them glorified typists — they earn loads of money for producing doggerel.
I was reminded of this line of thinking when I read what NPA spokesperson Luvuyo Mfaku had written in defence of acting national director Silas Ramaite, who allegedly appears in a sex tape showing him in an entanglement with a woman security guard at his offices.
Knowing what a spin doctor of his grade earns, I muttered: “And they pay him so much money for this.”
Mfaku’s statement read: “To the extent that the allegations that there’s video material depicting the acting national director in a compromising position is merely an allegation by unnamed sources which infringes his privacy and dignity and is potentially defamatory to him and may result in an action for defamation.”
Had this statement been sent to a curmudgeonly journalist he’d have retorted: “What the f**k does this mean?” But the reporter who received this statement quoted it at length. Why interfere with such sunlit perfection?
I was mulling this point about working with words as I sat down to breakfast at The Bread Basket at Sandton City. I don’t know why, but food columnists hardly ever write about breakfast. They focus on lunch and dinner. Is it so they can show off their knowledge of wines and whiskies?
But writing about breakfast, I now realise, is tough. Now that I’ve eaten breakfast, what do I tell you? That the person sitting across from me was drenching his omelette in Tabasco sauce, which gave him away as someone who’d had a rough night?
Do I tell you that my eggs, sunnyside up, were so tasty I concluded they’d been laid by a happy hen?
What I can say is that, the next time you’re in Sandton for a business meeting in the morning, do pop into this deli. Try its signature breakfast which, at R57 for two eggs, three rashers of bacon, two slices of bread, tomato, two tiny sausages and diced mushrooms, is a reasonable proposition.
I had an Appletiser with my meal. As an experiment, at the end I tried out the “cappuccino in a cone”: an ice cream cone into which they pour a coffee of your choice. The inside of the cone is basted with a layer of chocolate so it doesn’t disintegrate in your hands.
Worth a try, to pamper the child in you.
My breakfast cost me R120. One day I’ll muster the courage to stop writing books no-one reads and become a spin doctor. Or the local James Patterson/ Barbara Cartland/jackie Collins, or one of those people who type stuff that sells. Then I’ll have Moët and sushi for breakfast.
Writing about breakfast is tough. Do I tell you that my eggs, sunny side up, were so tasty I concluded they’d been laid by a happy hen?
The Bread Basket ★★★★
Sandton City, Johannesburg Tel: 011-783-9053
★★★★★ Cyril Ramaphosa
★★★★ Patricia de Lille
★★★ Mmusi Maimane
★★ Malusi Gigaba
★ King Goodwill Zwelithini