Dear beloved ruminants and groupies
Today, my brother turns 60. Last Friday, we celebrated at Cape Point Vineyards Estate, overlooking Noordhoek, a place of such breathtaking beauty that even people from Johannesburg are briefly rendered humble.
The guest list included many of his Cape Town friends, a group widely known for their refinement, aesthetic restraint, and quiet but unmistakable conviction that Johannesburg is a developmental phase one eventually grows out of.
I was therefore mindful, when delivering my speech, to be culturally sensitive and appropriately sophisticated.
Dearly beloved readers, I invite you to assess how successfully I achieved this objective.
Here it is:
I’ve been asked to say a few words about Geoff.
So, make yourselves comfortable and settle in for a very quick 30-minute tribute, because this is going to be a tremendous speech. Possibly the best speech. People are already saying it.
Geoff had a tough start to life. At 18 months, he was diagnosed with cancer and cheated death by a millimetre. In 1968, chemotherapy was experimental, and Geoff survived the experiment.
And here we are, 58 years later, welcoming him into the 60-plus club.
Welcome to old age, my brother.
You nearly didn’t make it.
Geoff was brought up in meat-eating Gauteng, where he received a proper upbringing far away from the more refined, woke provinces populated by the liberal elites.
I am five years older than Geoff and significantly bigger. I have been reliably informed that I ruled my younger siblings with an iron fist.
Discipline.
Order.
Respect.
And most importantly – Fear.
Which brings me to a story I told at his 50th and will absolutely tell again at his 70th.
To those of you concerned about repetition, relax. At this stage of life, repetition is not a flaw. It is how it works, and it is going to get much worse.
We grew up on two acres in Bryanston, Johannesburg. One afternoon we were playing cricket on the lawn. I was both bowler and a completely impartial umpire.
I bowled a perfect yorker.
Geoff was out.
He disagreed.
He appealed to the umpire. The umpire reviewed the decision carefully.
Still out.
He responded in a mature and measured fashion by hurling a wicket at my head. Fortunately, his aim was appalling, and it sailed past my left ear.
He immediately realised he had made a catastrophic strategic error and made a run for it.
Just before he reached the front door, a cricket bat narrowly missed his head. The margins were fine that day.
He made it to the bathroom and locked himself in.
With Mom out for two hours, Geoff entered solitary confinement to reflect deeply on hierarchy, consequences, and natural law.
Justice was delayed.
But justice was inevitable.
And it is this early understanding of dominance hierarchies that shaped his future. This is why he became an accountant.
Compliance.
Precision.
Clerical detail.
Rules.
Even the stupid ones.
Without my influence, his life could have gone very differently. He might have joined the circus and become a lion tamer.
As adulthood approached, my influence unfortunately began to wane. This led to several grave errors.
The most serious was his decision to leave the boerewors curtain of Gauteng, go to Cape Town University and then to spend 15 years in London and finally to relocate permanently behind the woke lentil curtain of Noordhoek.
In Gauteng, we are focused on making South Africa great again.
Meanwhile, here in Noordhoek, lentil-eating, bearded vegetarians in Birkenstocks roam freely. The enemy is not at the gates. The enemy is within.
I visit Noordhoek regularly. It takes a stable genius like me to recognise the threat hiding in plain sight.
Just last night, I pointed out an unkempt bearded vegetarian walking past us. Geoff insisted I was mistaken that the scruffy old man was actually an incognito billionaire.
At lunch today, and I am not making this up, there was a vegetarian hot dog with lentils on the menu.
A hot dog.
With lentils.
What the fuck!
And yes, several more scruffy bearded “incognito billionaires” drifted past during the meal.
At this point, I am slightly concerned. Because when one begins to develop strongly held false beliefs that contradict observable reality, psychiatry does have a term for that.
Fortunately, psychosis can be treated very effectively with modern anti-psychotic medication. John, I hope you have brought your medical kit.
I am merely suggesting that adding a small amount to the Noordhoek water supply may be preventative.
Public health measure.
Nothing drastic.
I have therefore taken it upon myself to work with Geoff as my deputy to make Noordhoek Great Again.
It won’t be easy.
There will be resistance.
There will be lentils.
But I will persevere.
Geoff married Penny, unquestionably his finest life decision, and in that single act demonstrated better judgment than at any previous point in his life. Penny brought intelligence, warmth and a calm steadiness that has anchored him ever since. Together they have built something solid and real, a home filled with laughter, loyalty and just enough chaos to keep it interesting. They are raising a son and a daughter who are thoughtful, grounded and impressively well-adjusted. And that doesn’t happen by accident. It happens because of patience, partnership and showing up, day after day, year after year. Of all Geoff’s achievements, this is the one that matters most.
And now, to complete my weave, and it is a strong weave, I would like to briefly mention Arnold Palmer’s enormous penis.
Not because it’s relevant.
Not because it’s appropriate.
But because at 60, Geoff has earned the right to sit through a speech that contains at least one completely inexplicable reference.
On a serious note. Geoff and Penny enrich our lives more than they know. Their generosity, humour, loyalty, and quiet steadiness make all of us better.
We shall grow old, as those who are left must grow old;
Age shall not spare us, nor the years show mercy.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning,
We shall stand beside you…
…but we won’t eat lentils.
Happy 60th, my brother.
Ruminant Pink Friday 