We were called upon to audit Witbank branch but when it came to finding accommodation, the closest we could get was a motel outside neighbouring Middelburg. Scotty Smook joined us after a while and he and Bush got on like two eggs in a cake from the word go. They discovered the pub and the snooker room at the Motel and happily spent the evenings together, quaffing their ales and playing snooker.
At breakfast one morning, Bush walked in looking really ill, coughing and spluttering, eyes bloodshot and nose running merrily. “Heavens, you look grim this morning – where did you pick up this cold.” I exclaimed. Seems he and Scotty had rather overdone it the night before and after having been turfed out of the pub at closing time, he had somehow found his way to his motel room. He surmised that after groping in his pocket for a while for the room Yale key, he came up with the car keys and naturally failed to get the room door open. As his car was right there in the carport, he decided that he had lost his room key and would have to sleep it off in the car. Getting to the car, he groped for the car keys but this time found the room keys, which just wouldn’t work on the car. Severely discouraged and feeling pretty wonky, he decided to lie down and rest for a bit on the mat in front of his door and of course, outside in the midst of the severe Highveld Winter, he fell sound asleep.
He woke up some time later, damn nearly hypothermic, shivering violently and sober as a judge. He was then able to find the proper keys and letting himself in, set about thawing himself out. It was too late unfortunately, to stem the march of germs in his respiratory system and for the next week, he had plenty of reminders of his unwise behavior.
FOOTNOTE : At the same motel, I slept with my window open and one night a burglar climbed into my room, stole my pipe tobacco pouch off the bedside table and believe it or not, the wallet from under my pillow. I’ve never slept with an accessible window open since.
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