[OFFICE OF THE PRESIDENT]
SHIP’S LOG
FRIDAY May 9, 08h00. Set sail from Simonstown under command Captain Horatio Mbeki, Rear Admiral Nelson (that’s me) on board.
18h00. Frustrating day. Still as a painted ship upon a painted ocean. Altercation between Captain Mbeki and First Mate Modise over whether the purchase of boat from cousin in Kiev was inclusive of engine. Oars supplied do not reach water. Albatross perched on the forecastle keeps winking at me. Bears uncanny resemblance to my guru, Paidrag O’Sullivan. Wonder if it is a message from beyond?
Saturday 10h00. Captain does hornpipe in attempt to revive flagging morale. Captain overboard. Lifeboat lowered. Sinks without trace. Captain clambers up anchor chain. Failure to raise anchor identified as major factor behind lack of progress. Set sail to cheers from inebriated press corps on quay. Captain orders First Mate keelhauled.
17h00. Break open grog ration. Captain overboard.
20h00. Assuming command I open sealed orders: “Proceed to heart of darkness and bring about African renaissance.” I immediately issue orders to head for Port Noire-by-the-Sea.
Sunday 09h00. Crow’s nest spots unidentified bobbing object. Divert and discover raft carrying our bedraggled Captain in extremis. Says disappearance overboard ploy to facilitate shuttle diplomacy. Forgot shuttle. Survived by eating albatross. Bodes ill for our voyage. As Paidrag always used to say: “There’s no such thing as a free lunch, except for the editor of The Star.”
12h00. Captain in delirium, screaming: “Save Sacs!” Roll-call confirms nobody called Sacs on board. Captain clapped in irons for own safety. Ship’s doctor prescribes hourly administration of industrial solvent. Hair falls out after first dose. Don’t know about Aids, but will never sell as shampoo.
15h00. Land ahoy! Through eyeglass I see two bands of savages fighting on beach. Ordered poop gun to fire single round over their heads. Cannon ball lands amidships, splintering second lifeboat. General hilarity on beach, resulting in suspension of hostilities. Our first goal achieved, I dispatch Able-Seaman Kasrils ashore bearing bags of beads as earnest of our good intentions.
17h00. Judging from activity around large three-legged pot on beach our Able-Seaman is now Consomm Kasrils. Time to get tough. Semaphore invitation to tea.
Monday 08h30. Two canoes approach. We fire one-gun salute, splintering last remaining lifeboat.
19h15. Two rival chiefs board, wearing diamond-studded bones through their noses. Must be hell to sneeze.
20h15. Chiefs refuse peace pipe on grounds smoking endangers health. I lose my temper and order them taken below to see what an advanced civilisation can do with industrial solvent. They fall on their knees in worship before our gibbering Captain.
21h00. Transpires chiefs are high priests of cargo cult which believes god will manifest himself in the form of a midget frothing at the mouth. Traded Captain for glass beads. They also threw in slightly parboiled, inedible Able-Seaman Kasrils who is labouring under the misapprehension he is someone called Kurtz.
23h00. Mission accomplished. Peace in our time. Set course for home.
24h00. Lost at sea. Surrounded by over-size ice cubes. Anyone finding this paper in a bottle please convey the following message to the President’s Office, Cape Town: ANYBODY THERE? HELP!
Lord Nelson