Spud - The Madness Continues...
John van de Ruit
ISBN: 9780143025207

1991 TOWN HILL (THE BEGINNING ...) Tuesday 15th January
13:3 Dad sat back in the driver’s seat, surveyed the road in front of him, and then screamed so loudly that the keys fell out of the ignition. Once the screaming had died down a long and disturbing silence descended on the infamous lime green Milton station wagon.

Dad had been playing his Carpenters tape at full blast and hadn’t felt the terrible shuddering as our un-trusty old Renault chugged up Town Hill towards school. Suddenly, halfway through the second chorus of I’m On Top of the World, an earthquake struck the green machine. The back right tyre was so flat that the rim was sticking through the rubber. Dad did his usual whistle, nodded at the shredded tyre, and announced that we had a puncture. He then grinned at me and said he’d been changing tyres since he was ‘knee high to a grasshopper’.

With a skip and a whistle he popped open the boot with an unhealthy creak and lifted up the carpet cover. His eyes glazed over and his lips moved without making a sound. Sensing a nasty turn of events, I moved in to get a closer look. Instead of a spare tyre there was a crate of Castle Lager. On top of the beer crate was a faded handwritten note that read:
Pete you old crab stick, hope you don’t mind but I needed the tyre. Here’s some jungle juice to keep the old engine purring. Frank.

And then it said: PS Will return it by Monday Underneath the date was written: 24/7/1988

Dad cracked a Castle and reread the note. He didn’t seem at all concerned that Frank had borrowed the spare tyre for a weekend and hadn’t returned it for two and a half years. In fact he seemed to be far more im­pressed that the Castle Lager still tasted good after spending nearly three years in the station wagon. My father held out the beer can like it was the Cullinan Diamond and said, ‘The taste that stood the test of time.’ He then grabbed two six packs, returned to the driver’s seat, and switched on the Carpenters again.

13:45 Dad drained his beer and crushed the empty can on his forehead (a skill he has perfected since New Year’s Eve, when the same stunt ended up with Mom rushing him to Addington Hospital for stitches). My father burped loudly, shouted, ‘Gesundheid!’ and immediately cracked open another beer. In a voice that could have grilled a steak, Mom instructed Dad to put his beer down and find help. Dad clearly wasn’t picking up Mom’s mood because he spread his arms out and said, ‘We must trust and believe that help will find us.’ Mom then said that the only thing that would find Dad were divorce papers.

Dad shook his head and grumbled to himself. He then grabbed a six pack and started striding up the emergency lane of the freeway. Mom jumped out the car and ordered my father to leave the beers behind because she said they made him look like a Cape coloured. (This wasn’t helped by the fact that Dad had been using Instant Tan over Christmas instead of sun block.)

Mom strode out into the truck lane of the freeway, waving her arms above her head, and soon managed to flag down a PPC cement truck. After some lengthy discussions she drove off in the truck with a sweaty man in a white string vest called Larry. Dad looked at me, shook his head and muttered, ‘Women.’ He drained his Castle and began singing sadly along to We’ve Only Just Begun.
I opened my new shiny red diary.
Year . .. . .. . .. . .. . .. . .. . .. 1991
Name . . .. . .. . .. . .. . .. . .. . Spud
Comments . . .. . .. . .. . .. . The Madness Continues . . .

HOLIDAY REPORT
HOME
MERMAID & SPUD IN THE WILDERNESS

The Wilderness is a splendid seaside holiday place near George on the Cape Garden Route. Unfortunately, Mermaid’s folks fought solidly for three days before her dad finally packed up and left. Mermaid got all depressed again, although we still managed to go to the beach every day and take a few romantic walks. We found the Groot Krokodil’s (former State President PW Botha) house called Die Anker. It has a huge wall, electric fence and a white security guard outside with a gun on his hip. We snooped around to check if we could get in but the Krokodil has a watertight lair. There must be lots of people who want to get him. Mermaid was wickedly brave and told the security guard we wanted to see the former state president. The security guy stubbed out his cigarette on the gate post and said it was a restricted area and that the Krokodil was sleeping (no doubt with one eye open). Mermaid giggled nervously and asked him if guarding the Krokodil’s house was dangerous. The security guard lit up another cigarette and said the hadedas were a problem.

CHRISTMAS
Wombat took us to lunch at the yacht club and soon caused chaos when she accused a four-year-old girl of steal­ing her Christmas cracker. Things were beginning to get a bit nasty so the waiter brought out two crackers for Wombat as a peace offering. My grandmother refused to accept them, thumped her fish fork into the table, and called the little girl a thug. Eventually, our table was moved outside onto the balcony, Wombat’s meal was on the house and we scored a free bottle of champagne.

NEW YEAR’S
Dad’s best friend Frank elected himself the DJ, got really drunk and jumped in the pool wearing a pair of underpants that said NUTCASE on the front. Unfortunately, as DJ, Frank was meant to be responsible for the countdown and we only realized at about 1am that his watch wasn’t waterproof. We all sang Auld Lang Syne at 1.03am and that’s when Dad tried to squash the beer can on his forehead. The guests left, Mom took Dad to the hospital, and I was ordered to clean up and search for Wombat. I discovered Wombat in the lounge reading to a very confused Innocence from a book called The Fundamentals of Contract Bridge (Advanced).

Mermaid and I are in love and as soon as we leave school she wants us to get married. I hope my balls drop by then – still no sign of anything and I’m fifteen in three months! Worried people are going to think I’m a freak.
Guess it’s another year of being a spud.

BACK TO THE BEGINNING ...
17:10 The security guard saluted as the station wagon pulled up to the school gate. Dad, who by now was well into his second six pack, gave a dodgy Nazi salute out the window and shouted ‘Viva!’ The guard looked at him like he was a maniac and slowly closed the huge iron gates behind us.

I lugged my bags over my shoulders and staggered through the archway into the main quad. Pissing Pete looked a little sorry for himself as he dribbled water out of his sword and down his leg. Suddenly there was a loud shout of ‘FORE!’ followed by the sound of metal scraping against concrete. A huge army trunk roared through the house doors, raced across the cloisters and came to rest in the gutter. I could hear the muffled sound of sobbing from inside the trunk. I approached cautiously and opened up the lid to discover a tiny boy with freckled skin and eyes red from crying. He looked utterly terrified. Then a gruesome face leered through the house door sniggering and guffawing. It was Pike. ‘Ahhhh, Spud,’ he said. ‘Check – I’ve found you another Gecko to play with!’ Pike sniggered again before forcing the new boy back into the trunk and resting his left foot on the lid. He didn’t seem at all concerned that the small boy was freaking out and banging desperately against the sides of the trunk. Pike looked me up and down and said, ‘Welcome back, faggot boy. Think you’re a bit of a rock dog now you’re in second year? Just remember I’m in matric and most probably a prefect.’ He spat a greeny on my cricket bag and strolled off back into the house.

I trudged up the stairs, turned the corner, and stopped for a minute outside the second years’ dormitory. I paused and took a deep breath. Then I threw open the door and there they all were – the Crazy Eight. (Minus one, of course.)

Fatty sat on his locker eating a large packet of salt and vinegar chips. Simon was perched on his footlocker knocking in his cricket bat with a mallet. Rambo was lying on his bed and obviously in the middle of telling Boggo a war story from the holidays. Boggo was listening to Rambo’s story while popping a zit in the mirror. Mad Dog was halfway through engraving his name on the newly varnished windowpane with his hunting and filleting knife and had already made a spelling mistake. And finally, there was Vern, sitting on his bed having an in-depth conversation with Roger the cat. When Vern saw me, he began jumping up and down and pointing at the other bed in his cubicle. He then introduced me to his teddy bear called Potato. I shook Potato’s paw and started unpacking. It seems that for the second year in a row I’m sharing a cubicle with Rain Man. A bed in the far corner of Fatty’s cubicle stood empty. It doesn’t feel quite right without Gecko – I’m not sure it ever will.

The 2005, 2006 and 2007 bestseller Spud won the Booksellers’ Choice Award in 2006. It’s South Africa, 1990. The country still squirms under the iron fist of Apartheid. Two major events are about to happen: The release of Nelson Mandela, and more importantly, it’s Spud Milton’s first year at an elite boys only private boarding school. Cursed with parents from well beyond the lunatic fringe, a senile granny, and a dormitory full of strange characters, Spud has to forge a new life for himself in this foreign and sometimes hostile environment. Surrounded by names such as Gecko, Rambo, Rain Man and Mad Dog, Spud takes his first tentative steps along the path towards manhood. (The path, it seems, could be a rather long road.) Armed with only his wits and his diary, Spud takes us from illegal night swimming to the cricket field, from ghostbusting to teacher baiting. He also invites us into the mind of a boy struggling to come to terms with a strange new world; a boy whose eyes are being opened to love, friendship and complete insanity.

Carry on reading for an exclusive extract.

Spud
John van de Ruit
ISBN: 9780143024842

After a whispered countdown we sprinted as one across the rugby field (the most dangerous part of the expedition) and into the bushes near the bog stream (the stream that encircles the grounds). We then climbed through a barbed wire fence and suddenly the dam was directly in front of us, dead calm and beautiful in the moonlight. One by one we slid into the cool water (apart from Gecko who couldn’t wet his plaster cast), feeling the soft mud squelch between our toes. We swam in complete silence until Mad Dog and Rambo tried to dunk each other. This soon turned into a mad dunking fight with everybody trying to dunk the next person. I managed to half-dunk Simon who retaliated by holding me under the water for about three minutes. Suddenly Boggo hissed us to silence. Across the far side of the dam, a torchlight flickered across the path. And then another and another .?.?. We all stood stock-still in the water, a cold fear creeping over us. Silence. There was a clap of thunder and the wind began to gust with an eerie whistling moan. And then the dogs began to bark .?.?. As one we launched ourselves out of the water and bolted for the fence and the rugby field. The guards must have released their dogs because suddenly their barking and growling was all around us. Rambo was shouting and Mad Dog was trying to shoot the dogs with his catapult. It sounded like he hit one because there was a horrific squeal. Despite the cast and sling Gecko leaped over the barbed wire fence like a springbok and scorched through the bushes like a man possessed. We all galloped across the rugby field, through the rose garden, into the crypt, up the stairs, into the chapel, back down the aisle, up more stairs and into the gallery. Finally through the window, along the roof, through the dormitory window and into my bed, muddy feet and all. And then – dead silence, barring the sound of heavy breathing, the odd sniff from Gecko’s bed and the rumble of the thunderstorm. In the distance we could hear the guards whistling for their dogs. After about five minutes of silent panic, there was laughter and excited chatter. We all knew that we were safe, we’d made it, and we hadn’t been bust. Excited personal accounts of the adventure flew around the dormitory, stories of dog chases, each more frightening than the last. By the time it got round to Rambo’s turn the guard dogs made the Hound of the Baskervilles look as threatening as a three-legged poodle with false teeth. Gecko was convinced that a savage German shepherd had bitten him on the arse. After we all inspected his bum with the aid of Vern’s torch, it was decided that he had fallen foul of Mad Dog’s catapult and had not been gored by a rectum-eating dog. Mad Dog denied the charge and Gecko refused to believe it had been a stone. It was only after about half an hour of wild storytelling that we realised that we were short by one member. Fatty was missing. Rambo reckoned he had been caught by the guards, Simon said he was probably hiding somewhere. We tried to remember where we last saw him. I remembered trying to dunk him in the dam but after that .?.?. Mad Dog offered to go and find him, but once again Rambo insisted that we all go. Poor Gecko’s eyes nearly popped out at the thought of having to repeat the process. For the second time we scrambled out of the window and onto the now very slippery tin roof and there we stopped. Our mission was complete .?.?. well, nearly. Vern’s torch lit up a gigantic backside half-covered by shredded blue underpants sticking out of the chapel window. Fatty had got stuck coming back through the window. (Not sure why he was reversing through the window in the first place.) After some hushed cackling and a few cruel comments, we set about trying to free Fatty. After the seven of us pulled his legs (excuse the pun) for some time, Mad Dog decided that the only way to free Fatty was to push him forward back into the chapel (work that one out). Unfortunately, the big guy just wouldn’t budge. With every push and prod Fatty groaned in pain and to make matters worse, it began to pour with rain. An emergency dormitory meeting was held to solve the Fatty problem. Mad Dog offered to rip the entire window out. Simon offered up his hair gel to lubricate Fatty and slide him out. Mad Dog suggested tying a rope to Fatty’s foot and then attaching the other end of the rope to the school bus, which would drive off pulling Fatty out. After exhausting all other options it was decided that we would work in shifts, two people per shift and the rest would sleep. Myself and Vern took the first shift.

05:45 Rambo called another meeting. Things were now getting serious. Rising bell was only half an hour away and we were all in a lot of trouble. Fatty was in agony and he’d lost feeling in both his legs. It was still pouring with rain.