God told me to issue MC with a restraining order.

God told me to issue MC with a restraining order.

I popped into the office before meeting Flying Pete on the runway. A brown package was waiting for me at reception from MC. Inside I found a lavender stalk, a letter describing how God had spoken to him on the mountain, as he hugged a tree, and told him that we were destined to be together, and that he should be patient while I realized this to be true. I came to the very unsettling conclusion that I had a certifiable stalker.

The problem with God is that he has an abysmal record when it comes to speaking into the ears of the unbalanced. When we consider some of the things that have been attributed to God, it is very surprising that more of these nut jobs don’t credit Satan with their ideas. Consider the following. God told John Hinckley Jr. to assassinate Ronald Reagan to impress Jodie Foster. Gold told Mark David Chapman to shoot John Lennon because people would rather listen to the Beatles than go to Church. God told Mary that she was going to get pregnant without Joseph’s help and he told Joseph fuck all about this which must have really tested his trust for Mary when her belly started protruding with the Holy Spirit’s love child. He also told Osama bin Laden to organise September 11^th, although this time he called himself Allah. God has a habit of being the source of instructions when fruitcakes start appearing on centre stage.

MC is either schizophrenic or suffering from erotomania and I need to deal with him before he shoots Julius Malema to impress me. Actually, that would help South Africa, but if he did something horrendous, I would be upset and seriously embarrassed.

He included a piece of bark; I suppose to prove he was up the mountain in the first place. If there is anything I respect in a stalker, it is a respect for evidence. The last time I felt this creeped out was in New York when I was sharing an apartment with a psychiatrist from South Africa who had come to the City to save the ‘yout’. He came home in a fury one day clutching his deflated plastic globe that one of his patients had destroyed while he was trying to make the ‘yout’ believe that there were other countries in the world besides America.

But now up, up and away. Time to join the mile high club. Come to think of it, a mile up is about 1600 meters above sea level and Table Mountain is about 1086 meters above sea level. I’m not steaming up the cockpit with only just over 500 meters to play with. The winelands’ mountains are even higher. Flying Pete needs to give me a few minutes of stick and then return to full alertness before we start scattering hikers – all in a two-seater without autopilot. No, no, no, a mile up simply won’t do. I am going to insist we join the four-mile high club.