Diafani diary 1. Technology at its lowest – and it failed. Carrying fins, mask and snorkel I saw the strap had broken on one of my flip-flops which I need to cross stony beaches. My feet, cossetted by a decade of wearing trainers, are now as soft as a baby’s bottom. No solution in Diafani: the general store sells bottles of Scotch, postcards and detergent.Outside a bar six healthy young people were loading up two rental cars, suggesting they would shortly be off to some location with wider retail potential. At my wife’s suggestion I offered a proposition. If anyone was prepared to sell me flip-flops I would hand over sufficient cash to pay for the most luxurious replacement pair.
This generated much good humour. Broken straps on flip-flop are universal. One young women was wearing an odd pair, one – in pink, decorated with a plastic flower. Not my style but, as my grannie used to say, needs must when the devil drives. I was asked if I was in the habit of clothing myself this way. I said I depended heavily on the kindness of strangers and the allusion was picked up.
Finally Ronel Spies, key account manager with Mix Telematics Mobile Information Exchange of Stellenbosch, SA, (I have her card) kicked off her flips and handed them over. My cash was refused. The only payment was that I photograph the footwear in situ and post the result. Which I do (the new acquisition is on the left) grateful for her generosity and for ten minutes of lively, laughing conversation.
Note 1: The face apparently covered in cotton wool is mine. There is no way this post would be enhanced by the reality the bogus mask conceals.
Note 2. The monk seal (see August 31) did not materialise.
