I would like to announce that, as of August, Sedgefield's roads may be declared officially 97.5% safer, as our daughter, AKA Fear Factor, (because she is still learning to drive) is heading off for a five month soirée to the United Kingdom.

Fortunately for the rest of Africa she is going by plane, not driving.

We have notified the Disaster Management division of Scotland Yard, plus the Metropolitan Police, but, just in case, we would be grateful if those of you with family or friends living in London, Manchester or Northern Grimsby could warn them to stay off the roads wherever possible.

Of course since the decision to embark on this epic trip was made earlier this year, the poor lass has been doing as much as possible to raise funds to pay for the air ticket, spending money, and of course the most important, her farewell parties.

Yes I do realise that she is only going for less than half a year, but I must tell you that Fear Factor and her friends specialise in 'Farewell Parties' or 'Farewell Gatherings' or 'Farewell Braais' … they hold them practically every week.

I think the fault is ours – of course it is. I think we once told her that she shouldn't just party for the sake of it – there should always be a reason…. So that's what she and her friends do – they have farewells.

“Mom? I'm just going to So-and-so's for the farewell braai – she's going to Varsity next month….”

“Dad, can you give me a lift to Thingy's house? - We're having a farewell dinner for him because he's going to PE for a camp for a whole week….”

“Dear Mom n Dad, hope work was ok. You'll see I haven't tidied my room yet. Sorry but there was an emergency - I had to rush round to the Whoojamaflip's for the going away party because they are leaving with their parents on Friday for a weekend in Oudtshoorn.”

“Hi Dad – sorry to call you at work – but can I use the car to Go For Coffee with the girls? They are having a shopping day in George with their aunt so I wanted to catch them before they go to say goodbye…”

“Mom, Pls can I take this money from the envelope marked 'Electricity' on top of the fridge? I have to buy a goodbye gift for Whatsisname – he's got a bad cold and we are all going round there for a farewell bowl of chicken soup, just in case he might have to go to hospital sometime soon….”

What? Me exaggerate? No, never!

So…..Fear Factor's impending trip to Mud Island will no doubt necessitate countless gigs of the 'cheery-bye' kind, even if she is only going for ALMOST five months.
“You never know, Dad,” she keeps reminding me, “I may meet a handsome guy over there with millions of pounds, and decide to stay!” I doubt this will happen, but just in case she does meet such a man I have ordered her 17 t-shirts with my bank account details emblazoned on the front.

There are other things that need sorting as well, like her 'travelling gear'. When she first announced her travelling plans I was very excited for the simple reason that 'Ol Betsy' would be put to use again. Indeed I could hardly quell my enthusiasm as I rushed to the cupboard-behind-the-cupboard (that's where I store all the valuable things that Mrs Ed throws out) to fetch the old girl.

Perhaps I should explain, lest you start spreading rumours that I have an aging aunt kept in captivity. 'Ol Betsy is, in fact, my wonderful travelling back-pack, which I used when Mrs Ed and I did our DINKY* 'World Travels' of 1990 (*Double Income No Kids Yet).

Ol Betsy is BEAUTIFUL, in an old dame-ish kind of way, and I always knew that one day one of my children would have the honour of using her....

Admittedly she isn't small, and her somewhat rusted metal frame certainly isn't made from that new-fangled, carbon-based lightweight material that the world- wandering-wimps of today have been spoiled with.

Likewise her military green canvas has faded to a sort of bread-mould hue, and there is a patch or three, and a section where I foolishly pushed a dozen or so fish-hooks through – thinking I would be able to retrieve them when I finally got to the Yangtze Kiang. But I didn't for one moment think that any of this would interfere with the joy my daughter would have in being able to take with her part of my own personal history, nay, a piece of my very soul.

It was all I could do to hold back the tears as I ceremoniously presented her with 'Ol Betsy'.
“Look after her,” I sniffed, “She still smells of that bus trip through Chang Mai.”
“But…. That….. ?” whimpered Fear Factor (I somehow knew she was going to break into floods of emotional tears,)
“Mom! Please don't make me take that old thing! It's horrible and heavy and huge and … and…. Look there's a mouse still living in it! AND , OH GROSS, A DIRTY PAIR OF....... DAD!!”

Mrs Ed was totally unsympathetic to my cause. In fact before I could even remind her that 'that old thing' had been on MY back carrying HER sleeping mat, her HER wellington boots, HER handpainted 2metre (when closed) Thai-crafted fan with the painting of an old villager smoking an opium pipe on it AND HER autographed Village People sweatshirt, through Thailand AND right down the East coast of Australia, she turned on me, quite viciously I thought. I don't know whatever happened to the notion of parents providing a united front.

“I threw that out fourteen years ago!” she boomed, spittle flying into her 11 o’clock stubble.
"Yes," I retorted (which was odd, because I can't remember ever torting in the first place),"But you also chucked out my old dart board with the wire missing, my original 'Welcome to Harare' roadsign AND my Best Baywatch Characters Duvet set, and I've still got all of them in the back of the cupboard behind the......."

Fortunately in the ensuing sprint I got the better of her with a particularly well-aimed ankle tap as she was halfway up the stairs, so was able to position myself with my back flat against the cupboard door and fend off any marauding attacks....

Now it’s 11pm, and she's sitting on the bed facing me, determined to gain access to my treasure trove, but I'm sure she will eventually fall asleep so I can nip out and fetch a padlock.... Quite important considering she doesn't even know about the two metre high Brandy Brewing Apparatus (inherited from my dad) that I smuggled through when we moved down...