Breaking news!

Right, then.

Thanks to the Sunday Tribune’s decision to axe my weekly Durban Poison column – a move right up there with Decca Records’ decision not to sign The Beatles in ’62 – I have spent the last couple of weeks gathering my thought and getting my duck in a row. I have only one thought and one duck, both of which involve finding something to keep me from drifting off the freeway and down the boulevard of broken dreams.

When I posted my farewell column, many of you were outraged and threatened to cancel your subscriptions to the Tribune, destroy Independent Media and make the country ungovernable. I was deeply touched by your messages of support and even offered to read some of them to my landlord in lieu of rent. He said he’d prefer money.

Craig was one of the first to suggest a viable alternative. “Simple solution,” he wrote. “A site all of us who appreciate Ben’s work can subscribe to. He has a huge following and rightly so. I suggest a stipend a month to read his incredible wit. Whatever you think it is worth. Cheaper than the paper and it is the only thing in it worth reading. Will keep him in beer and all of us highly entertained. I hope everyone is in.”

I thought he’d be shouted down by the anarchists and the tightwads, but the idea proved more popular than I expected.

Mark said he’d “happily pay a couple of bob, maybe even a pickled egg as well”. Anthea offered a case of beer a month. Dan said “We’ll pay” and Dave said he’d be happy to “sign up to some funny shit weekly”. Jennifer said she’d pay to get her “weekly chortle/eye roll/guffaw fix” while Penny, Sandy, Pamela and Sherry all said they’d be delighted to subscribe to my online posts. Penny also said she couldn’t live without my column, so we do need to keep her wellbeing in mind.

Matthew said he’d pay to read my stuff and he’s a lawyer. It’s almost unheard of for a lawyer to offer to pay for anything. Rigid (possibly drunk) said, “You’re one of my favourite thinkers. I’d pay to read your columns. Not what they’re worth, of course, but I’d pay. Let me know how.”

So now I’m letting you know how.

You will soon notice that my blog looks different. That’s because it has grown up, left home and become a website. I started my blog in 2011 and began using it as a kind of retirement home for my writing. During that time, it has attracted 50 000 followers. That’s more than even Jesus scored in his first seven years. He has overtaken me since then, obviously.

My 657 posts have been viewed a staggering 943 500 times. I say staggering because that’s the condition I was in after writing most of them.

In the past year, my blog has been visited by people from every country in the world apart from Central African Republic, South Sudan, Western Sahara, Iran, Turkmenistan, Greenland, the Solomon Islands, Papua New Guinea and North Korea.

When I told my friend Ted that I have readers in 186 countries, he projectile snorted beer through his nose with such force that a hadeda in the neighbour’s tree was knocked from its perch. WordPress fortunately provides very detailed statistics and he was forced to withdraw his claim that my relationship with the truth made Donald Trump look honest.

In what appeared to be an attempt to make amends, he said, “You should capitalise on your brand and monetise your content.” I thought he’d had a stroke because none of that made any sense to me so I slapped him hard across the head, which is apparently what you need to do if you suspect someone is having a brain attack.

After calming down, he used simple words and diagrams to explain. I have to admit that it made sense, although I did warn him to never again call me a brand. “I am a man!” I cried, rising to my knees and attempting to strike a noble pose.

Let’s not get sidetracked.

Editors haven’t exactly been beating a path to my inbox since the Tribune released me back into the wild. In some ways, I am relieved that I haven’t been sucked right back into meeting brutal deadlines and complying with the plethora of draconian editorial restrictions that come with writing for a mainstream newspaper.

On the website you’ll find a PayFast button. Or something like that. I appreciate that not everyone will be in a position to contribute and that’s fine. But if you are, that’s even more fine. You will also be able to buy books and posters and other contraband.

You, the people, are now my new employers. Congratulations!

PS. I’m taking you all with me to my new home and you should get redirected to the new site. But if you’re not, please make a note of my new address – https://bentrovato.co.za – and subscribe to the site.

It’s not active just yet but it should be up and running first thing Monday morning. Unless my web guy has a nervous breakdown.

Here it is again – https://bentrovato.co.za

 

Prints of Darkness – Payback Time

 

Prints of Darkness – Payback Time

super-saturday

Psst! Wanna book?

Not many people know that I have written twelve books. I imagine even fewer care. Be that as it may. The fact remains that I have, without even really trying, built up what writers and publishers refer to as a ‘backlist’ and what writers’ wives call ‘those bloody boxes at the back of the garage’.

Some of you might even own one or two of my books. Now you have no excuse not to own all of them.

I am doing this is a public service and not because I have been told to clean out the garage.

Books will not be sent via the Post Office, unless you specifically want them in time for Christmas 2015.

Here, then, are the Dirty Dozen listed in order of their year of release. Point and click.

Thank you.

Ben Trovato

Poltroons, Pizzas and Pangas

Who is Ben Trovato?

Nobody knows for sure – not even him.

“Metaphysically speaking, I have no idea who I am,” says Trovato. “Nor do I wish to know. Asking ‘who am I’ is the kind of crazy talk reserved for stoners and people with Alzheimer’s.”

His 10^th and latest book, The Whipping Boy, is more than “just a book”. It is, says Trovato, a weapon in the war against terror, for which a user’s guide will be mailed upon receipt of the beer equivalent of money.

Along with Trovato’s much-loved and widely hated columns, it contains a bunch of fake news stories, hilarious letters to the rich and famous, and outrageous job applications that resulted in the author not receiving a single offer of employment.

Bianca Coleman spoke to him.

 

Where would you most like to live?

Mthatha. I drove through it the other day and was quite taken by its understated charm. However, it appears to be full so my next choice would be a stretch of coastline somewhere in Central America or Indonesia where the water is warm and the cops are asleep.

What is your best-kept Western Cape “secret”?

My identity.

Where do you go to do your shopping and why? Speciality shops or malls?

I could not, in all honesty, answer this question without immediately going out and killing a small animal with my bare hands. Shopping, like marriage, is an oddly emasculating experience.

What are your favourite gourmet treats and where would you get them?

I would enjoy gourmet beef rotis, gourmet mutton bunny chows and gourmet gatsbies but I have no idea where to get them from. At home, getting any kind of meal is a treat, really. It doesn’t even have to be gourmet. Just edible.

What is your favourite restaurant? Where is it, what do you like about it, and what are your favourite things to order and why?

My favourite restaurant is Blikkie Pizzeria in Paternoster. I recently waited over an hour for a pizza and when I complained, the owner came out and screamed at me. They had run out of dough but didn’t tell anyone. He’s like an Afrikaans Basil Fawlty crossed with Stalin. Eating out is so much more enjoyable when there’s a violent confrontation with the management.

What is your biggest/most decadent indulgence and where would you get it?

Magic truffles. They are similar to magic mushrooms but if you have too many they make you invisible. I’m not telling you where they are. And there’s no point in you coming to look for me, either.

What is your favourite outdoor spot anywhere in the Western Cape – to walk, hike, picnic, view – and why?

I’m not much one for walking, hiking, picnicking or doing anything that doesn’t end in applause or payment. In fact, I think the outdoors as a concept is heavily overrated. My only contact with nature is when I go surfing, but this can hardly be considered outdoorsy fun considering that in these parts nature has a nasty habit of biting your legs off.

Where is your favourite local holiday destination, and why?

The Victorian Times tavern in Fish Hoek. I can walk there, stay as long as I like and almost walk back. The locals have fascinating stories to tell about the time they were captured at the fall of Tobruk. There’s also a pool table and tons of women whose faces have fallen off. It makes a fabulous holiday destination if you don’t mind sleeping in the bushes.

What is your favourite long or short distance drive anywhere in South Africa – passes, scenic routes, small town destinations?

My favourite short distance drive is to the bottle store. Long distance would have to be all the way up to St Lucia, with a few days at Jeffreys Bay for some epic waves and a panga fight with the insensitive brutes who are building on the dunes.

Where did you most recently go for a day drive and why?

I drove from Fish Hoek to Muizenberg on Boxing Day. It took me all day because the city council is digging up the coast road and a million Vaalies were occupying Boyes Drive. By the time I got there I couldn’t remember what I was meant to be doing and had to turn around and come back. That took another day.

Where is your favourite or dream international holiday destination, and why?

I am drawn to Thailand. The people there are very spiritual but at the same time they won’t hesitate to chop your head off if they don’t like you. They put a lot of the most dreadful things in their mouths, but not dogs. For this alone, they get my vote.

What are your hobbies/free time activities and where do you like to do them?

I am a collector. I collect mainly small change, speeding fines, parking tickets and bills from my post box in Sea Point. I once collected a butterfly when it flew into my study but I couldn’t bring myself to stick a pin through it and the little bastard escaped through the window before I could call myself a lepidopterist.

What makes Cape Town the most special/beautiful place for you and why?

Everything is so beautiful. The girls, the beaches, the trees, the penguins, the queers, the bergies, the N2, the perlemoen poachers, the 28s, Bontehuewel. I love them all.

What don’t you like about Cape Town, or what would you like to change about it?

Table Mountain. It blocks the view and is infested with muggers and fynbos. I would demolish it and build the world’s biggest theme park using a lot of chrome and face brick. I would also crank up the temperature of that big, frigid wet thing. And maybe build a few beach bars.

If you did not grow up in Cape Town but elsewhere in South Africa, please tell us your earliest childhood memory of that place.

I grew up in Durban. The earliest thing I remember, as I made my way down the birth canal, was the sound of my parents bickering. I tried to pull myself back up but my hand slipped and the next thing I knew, I was being held upside down by a man in a white coat. Instead of doing the decent thing and putting some clothes on me, he smacked me sharply on my naked bottom. I got a leg loose and kicked him in the face. “That’ll teach you, motherfucker,” I thought. I had paid close attention to what was going on around me for the previous nine months and, thanks to my mother, was born with a filthy mouth that has served me well to this day. I remember the doctor passing me to my father, who smacked me. Then he passed me to my mother, who did the same. I was also smacked by several orderlies and a security guard until someone covered up my shamefully small willy before the nurses could see it.

Where is the best place to take your children and why?

The best place to take most kids is straight to an adoption agency, especially if they are capricious, tantrum-throwing brats who aren’t so bright and won’t go to sleep at night. Whatever you do, don’t take them overseas because they will end up sitting in the row behind me kicking my seat all the way from Joburg to London.

What is the quirkiest or most unusual place you know in the Western Cape and why?

I would have to say parliament. For six months of the year it stands empty. The rest of the time it resembles a lurid convention of professional prevaricators, bogus democrats, pusillanimous poltroons, serial philanderers and an assortment of hypocrites, perjurers and profligate wastrels.

What, in your opinion, makes Cape Town unique?

Nowhere else in the country is one’s maternal genitalia so profoundly invoked as it is during the many wonderful al fresco debates that take place around the city.

Describe your perfect Saturday or Sunday.

I wake up.