Driving With Mr & Mrs & Mr & Mrs Daisy.

I don't get to see CT Hairdresser often. In fact, the last time he clapped eyes on The Daughter was when she was four months old and attached to my breast. So when the opportunity to dine with my precious arose, I was at his house quicker than you could say, "Gay Love".

Well, that's not entirely true. I holidayed with not one, not two, but four over-50's. (This particularly breed of human grew up in Cape Town - but left at the age of 5 - and so obviously know exactly where they are going.)

The trip there left me reeling for a bottle of wine, served in the bottle with a straw.

Although I'd arranged to meet CT Hairdresser at his workplace (I was quite looking forward to a greeting in the vein of: "Hello darling, lovely to see you. What's with the hair? Sit down. Let me sort that out before someone sees me with you"), getting four over-50's and an under-5 out the door on time is kind of like herding cats.

So the deal was I had to get to his house. But his house is not the same house that we've previously been to, and so my actually reaching of desired destination was left in the hands of The Father (who would not be able to navigate his way from the toilet to the basin and who is also sometimes forgetful of the fact that modern vehicles are able to exceed 40 km/h) and The Uncle armed with The SatNav.

The Pant: Okay, he lives in Vagina Decliner Road, Strictly Dickly City. (Thanks Kathy Lette). But you can't find Vagina Decliner Road on the SatNav. So put in Ratanga Junction.

The Uncle: How do you spell Vagina Decliner?

The Pant: No. Don't put it into the SatNav.

The Father: I think it's V A G I-

TP: He said the SatNav won't pick up the street name.

TF: N A new word D E C L-

TP: I promise you, Dad. You won't find it.

The Uncle: Got it! Vagina Decliner Road, Mitchell's Plain.

TP: I don't think CT Hairdresser lives in Mitchell's Plain.

The Uncle: Oh, Mitchell's Plain is very up-and-coming with The Gays. 15.8 kms to go. Let's hit it.

So, we followed the very pompous instruction of the SatNav (sometimes I hate that condescending bitch almost as much as I hate the one on the airport escalators who always tells me to "Push trolley now").

When we had a toothless bergie brandishing a bottle neck at us threatening us with "Jou ma se poes. Ek sal julle (with the 'j' pronounced) dood steek", I had to raise my voice just a touch. I mean, my bum was, at this stage, eating the seat.

The Pant: I told you. I don't think CT Hairdresser lives in Mitchell's Plain.

The Father: Just phone CT Hairdresser. Tell him we're on the corner of Tik Street and Stolen ARV Avenue.

The Pant (on the phone now): Darling. Help me. Help me to live. Where is your house?

CT Hairdresser: Where are you?

TP: Corner of Oh-God-I'm-Shitting-Myself and I'm-Sure-That-The-Red-Eyed-Clora-With-Three-Brown-Teeth-And-The-Shotgun-Wants-To-Kill-Me.

CT Hairdresser: You're in the wrong place, my angel. I told you: type Ratanga Junction into the SatNav.

TP: Where am I?

CT Hairdresser: No idea, my precious.

TP: K. I'm coming darling. Please pour me a double gin and red wine.

CTH: I don't have any tonic.

TP: Who said anything about tonic?

Then I tried to explain to the two testosterone-driven Alpha males that, actually, when I said not to type 'Vagina Decliner' into the SatNav, I was being serious. And that, perhaps, if they wanted to see the following day, that now would be the perfect time to listen to, I don't know, someone who actually lives in Cape Town's directions.

The Father: Well, Pant, he's stuffing us around and now we're going to be late for our dinner.

The Pant: How is he stuffing us around?

TF: He doesn't even know where he lives.

TP: Ummmm... I should imagine he does know where he lives.

TF: Well, why are lost in Mitchell's Plain?

And that's when I realised that arguing would have been fruitless. Driving with Mr and Mrs and Mr and Mrs Daisy can be handled in only one manner: heavy drinking.

Needless to say, when I saw CT Hairdresser I had urges to thrust my tongue down his throat in a moment's confusion between feeling actually amorous and grateful for the fact that The Daughter and I were still drawing breath.