Dear Boet

I got your last letter with all the photos – what kind of nonsense are you tuning me? I can’t believe that old Bez caught that shark. He must have bought it from one of the ghillies. Don’t you remember at school we used to call him "Doodlieg Bezuidenhout"? Jeez, you okes looked like you were having fun but the surf at Sodwana looked really rough. It must have been hairy getting the ski boat out.

Ja Boet, well as much as I miss fishing with you bunch of skelms believe it or not we do have fun here in Canada as well – even in the snow! We have made the odd trip to the mountains to go and ski – but talking of odd there’s a lot of odd things that these Canucks get up to as well. (Boet, that’s not vloeking, it’s a word that means Canadian people).

Take last week, the okes at work really smaak me. They think I’m funny so they invite me on all their trips. So they talk me into going ice fishing. Boet, this has to be the most dom thing anyone ever thought of. But you know if you live to fish and you live in Fort McMurray then …. Off we head one morning, six of us in Barry Andrichuk’s hummer – OK, couple of translations needed here Boet. First of all just about every second person here has a name ending in chuk. At first I thought this was from the States, you know like short for Charlie, but they tell me its because they were all chucked out of the Ukraine. I think they are chaffing but you know I am never sure with these okes. And what is a hummer – jong its this blerrie funny flat armoured truck like we used to drive up on the Caprivi strip. Dit ry soos ‘n buffel and it goes anywhere. Just be sure to strap your kidneys in ou pal!

So off we go, out to have fun and me looking just like a Canadian – baseball cap on backwards, check shirt, steel cap boots. I was impressed at how well I fitted it. Everyone’s got their Tim’s cruller and a vrot thermal mug – what could be better. Eventually we get to this frozen lake, jong, in the middle of the veld – but the veld is frozen solid. Nothing to see for miles and the wind is so skraal it could peel the skin off your face. I’m checking these okes out and thinking that they really must be nuts to do this for fun. Off across the ice we go, me slipping and sliding all over the place. There must be a trick in walking on ice.

We get to the middle of the lake and then they drill this hole – about one foot wide – into the ice and down this hole – believe it or not – are fish. No, boet, not fish fingers still frozen but actual fish swimming around. You should feel this water! Then comes the best part – you sit around in this howling wind, drop a line and sink a few dops. Well OK – more than a few. In fact the only way you can tolerate this crazy sport is to drink a vreeslik amount of dops.

Did I catch any fish – Nooit! But I did manage to catch a terrible cold and developed chilblains in my feet. Maybe Kariba is a lot better – at least there you can only catch malaria or bilharzia.

Jong, I was so glad to get home that night. With my ice cold bum being bounced up and down in this blerrie hummer. Darlene had to get out a basin of hot water with epsom salts for my feet and a strong dose of brandewyn to thaw out my derms.

But it really was good fun – but not as much fun as when the okes at work took me curling. But that’s a story for another letter.

Check you soon,

Your Loving Boet.