It really is funny how children only ever seem to get ill on a Friday evening, cars only ever break down in the middle lane, and all things electrical seem to wait until it is the dead of night to fail and falter.

Our ever necessary electric gate developed a life of its own at exactly midnight last night, and opened of its own accord.  It then closed half way across the driveway, and stopped, dead in its tracks.  For some reason (rather lucky in this instance) I woke up to the sound of the gate, and realized there was something rotten in the suburb of Kensington “B”.  Deciding to take matters into my own hands, I headed out into what felt like the Arctic, clothed in what must have looked extremely interesting – sheep skin slippers that are too big for me; purple leggings, and my favourite grey New York Yankees t-shirt (is my fashion victim sleeping attire the real reason I am single???).  My now long hair looked like a block of two minute noodles, post the two minutes.  And there it was, a gate half open, and a property asking to be entered.  Understanding that it would be unlikely I was able to fix this in the dead of night (or ever), I put the gate on its manual setting, closed it safely, padlocked it, and returned to my warm as melting butter bed.

This morning (rather early) I called my most favourite Mr. Fixit, Lenny, who speaks perfect gate motor language.  He is as reliable as one would wish ones boyfriend to be.  He says he will be at your home at a certain time, and hey presto, he ACTUALLY ARRIVES AT THAT TIME, and all this before 8a.m.!  I hadn’t seen him since my return from Frontier Country, so decided to take a few minutes out of my day and find out what was happening in his life. 

Our catch up chat turned into one of the most fascinating lessons on life, love and not much else that I think I have ever had.  Of course, he wanted to know what had happened in my life, which I skirted around, but said that I was happy to be back in Johannesburg, and was enjoying my family and my friends, and all things social.  Naturally, the conversation progressed onto the subject which at the moment is like the elephant in the room for me… marriage.  Lenny proudly proclaimed, “You know, I have been married in my life for twenty two years!”  My reply - “wow Lenny, but that is good!”, and his reply “yes, four marriages, four divorces – totaling twenty two years!” I could not contain myself.  I laughed to the pit of my stomach, but Lenny was most perplexed – why on earth was I laughing?  I apologised, and told him that I am clearly challenged in the matter of all things grey that sit between the ears, and Lenny seemed to unwind a bit.  The conversation went on to cover how very happy he is now with his live-in girlfriend, and how “all married men” (apparently) want to leave home at least once a week, but then they realise that the grass is not really greener in the other pasture, and if they leave they would have no one to cook for them, and what about the children, and who will put the beers in the fridge?  I explained that this was only outlining to me why I am, in fact, not married. 

Thinking that would be the end of it, Lenny then stated, quite unashamedly, that he would definitely have dated me, but he thinks that I would not want to date a gate repair man.  He looked at me expectantly, clearly waiting for me to say “no Lenny, of course, I would love to date you, even though you are living with your girlfriend”.  I stared at him blankly, begging the word angels to send me a line.  After a pregnant pause suitable for triplets, I replied “well Lenny, I don’t date men who are involved, sorry”.   Lenny looked at me and responded with something not even Nostradamus could have predicted – “Philippa, it’s a spider”.  I was now completely confused.  “It’s a spider luvvy, that’s what messed up your gate”.  I walked over to Lenny and the gate motherboard, and there, on the same said board, was a small spider, fried, and stuck to one of the fuses.  Clearly, in the middle of the night, the spider was looking for somewhere warm to sleep, and accidently stumbled across the fuse box and electrocuted itself.  In so doing, he (or she) also electrocuted our gate.

Trying to change the subject, I said to Lenny that I am quite sure that the spider had a very quick and painless death.  Again, that perplexed look.  Oh dear.

The lesson:  In life, there is good news, and there is not such good news.  In the case of our gate, Lenny, and the spider – the spider had a bad night, Lenny was turned down by a middle aged pseudo spinster (me, in case you are wondering), and I have so far had a great very early morning – not only did I get the gate fixed in record time, but I also learnt that should I ever get truly depressed and think that no one cares if I were to live or die, somewhere, there is a gate man who thinks I am not too terrible!