Bits and Pieces

By Angus Murray

Life, real everyday life is full to the brim of incidents that, when recorded, many would swear that they were scriptrd and wrestled from someone's imagination. Bits & Pices is a collection of short stories that taken from real events over a period of 40 + years. 16 tales from a DIY disaster to a seven year old orphan who was adopred simply to be used as cheap labour. These tales are sure to bring a smile or a lump to the throat of all readers. A leasure reading book that is suitable for anyone and everyone from 10 to 80.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Angus Murray
• Release date: Nov 17, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215742600

Book preview

My Holiday   1

Once a year our family went on holiday, usually to the coast and, being a democratic clan, the duty of selecting the place and accommodation was given to a different person each year, -providing you were over 13. Dad would always give the price range of the hotel to be chosen and mom would ensure that it was not a camp site in the Drakensberg with a ‘long drop’ [outside toilet].

I will never forget that year when it was my turn. I so much wanted to go to Cape Town and spent months pouring over broachers advertising every hotel from Bloubergstrand to Gordon’s Bay. The price range dad gave me was a real ‘thorn in the flesh’ but I persevered.

Eventually I found the perfect spot.

It was near the sea, fairly central Cape Town and the pictures I saw of the place were awesome!

The rooms were large with the latest gadgets and furniture; the dining room was spacious with smiling waitresses; the pictures of the meals looked so good that I found myself drooling and, best of all, the pool area looked like a shot from ‘Baywatch’. -Gorgeous babes wearing minuscule bikinis either romping around playing with a large beach ball or lying provocatively on deck chairs sipping exotic drinks.

Dad even smiled when he saw the tariff, it was exceptionally reasonable and the very next day he made the booking.

The following six months seemed to drag by like six years as I could not get this perfect holiday, -which I had personally chosen, out of my head.

Eventually the day arrived. My dad gently eased his new car onto the national road to Cape Town. I was so excited I even smiled at my sister whom I usually avoided like the plague.

The trip to Cape Town was long but I passed the time by imagining myself lying on a deckchair next to the pool with two, nay three bikini clad ‘goddesses’ giggling and gently covering my body over and over again with suntan lotion.

It was about 5pm when we hit Cape Town and it was then that everything started going pear-shaped.

It was overcast and rather chilly. The area where the hotel was reputed to be was, to put it bluntly, not very ‘kosher’. It was near the docks and most of the characters we saw had at least one scar, wore ‘hoodies’ and were covered in tattoos. The men were just as bad!

We rode up and down dodgy streets for over half an hour and my seething dad was just about to explode when I spotted the name of the street that was on the broacher in my hand.

‘Hey dad,’ I shouted excitedly, ‘turn left, this is the road!’

Five minutes later we were all staring at an hotel that looked as if it had been specially built for a Roman Polanski horror movie!

The once green gate, hanging precariously on one hinge, creaked ominously as we trooped in.

I glanced up at the two-story building that almost looked as if someone was slowly and not very neatly scraping the paint off.

A disconcerting feeling began forming in the pit of my stomach as we filed into the dark and decidedly musty smelling reception area.

There was no one at the desk. I moved over and, with building frustration, smacked the large bell on the very dusty surface with a flat hand.

It shattered into a zillion pieces! 

Perhaps it was the bell bouncing on the floor that actually aroused the Reception Clerk. He slowly emerged from a dark office. I could have sworn he had just come from auditioning for the leading role in a local production of Dracula.

He smiled! My Dracula theory went out the window because he had less teeth than Vladimir Putin has fan mail.

He carefully blew the dust off the Registration book before asking my dad to sign.

He then, via a wonky staircase that we mounted with trepidation, took us upstairs to our room.

When we trudged in mom nearly had a heart attack!

It was supposed to be two rooms but instead it was a small single chamber with a very wonky room divider between the double bed area and the two single beds. The only gadgetry was a 1955 valve radio set and one small wardrobe that looked as if it had been dragged off the ark.

I had now become the sacrificial lamb, and everyone was blaming me.

No matter how much I protested my innocence it was no good and, as punishment, ordered to go and fetch all the suitcases from the car, -alone!

Muttering obscenities never heard before, [unless you were inside a South African bar when, on that horrendous day, the Springboks lost to Japan, or in a London pub when England got hammered by Hungary 4 - 0], I stormed out of the hotel.

As I exited the front door of the hotel, I stopped abruptly and suddenly craved the earth to swallow me whole!

‘My life’s over!’ I said as I surveyed my dad’s pride and joy, his only-reason-to-live dangerously balancing on four sets of bricks; -all the wheels had been stolen!

It took a great deal of begging, pleading and grovelling to convince my close-to-sobbing father not to go back home that very night.

He managed to contact a local garage and, paid for by the insurance, they came and put on new rims and tyres.

My dad then succeeded to get parking for his car at the back of the hotel in an overgrown, supposedly secure parking lot.

Nobody spoke to me as we sat down for supper in the dining room that was less than a quarter full. But I didn’t care because I was going to enjoy this holiday even if it killed me.

The meal was bland but alright; -their ice cream and chocolate sauce made up for the soup that was basically tap water with a couple of carrots thrown in for good measure, followed by a mutton curry that should have been declared a fire hazard, -I mean really hot!

That first night was, to put it bluntly, -horrific!

It was like sleeping on a badly constructed bed of nails. Noisy and very uncomfortable! To make matters worse my bed was by far the noisiest. Whenever I moved, verbal abuse, pillows and even boots were hurled at me.

By some miracle the dawn eventually came and we had all managed to get at least some sleep.

I was up bright and early, unable to wait any longer to see the pool area I had been dreaming about for months.

What I saw when I reached the pool area, sent my euphoria crashing into deep despair!

The intense blue sparkling pool in the broachers was actually a dark green swamp imitation which I was sure I could walk on and, to add insult to injury, the place was