Custard pie

True story.

I’m standing in a coffee shop at sparrow, in some remote dorpie in Mpumalanga, tacking my way towards Gauteng for some conferences and deep-dive writing. An older bloke notices the van outside and strikes up conversation.

I tell him I'm traveling around the country, reporting on the climate crisis. His demeanour flips to the icier side of chilly.

‘Rubbish, all nonsense,’ he says.

After 20 years in the game, there's seldom an original angle from these blokes. They're usually blokes.

‘We don't have to believe in gravity,' I smile, 'gravity still has a hold on us.’

‘But we can SEE gravity!’

He throws two bags of custard powder onto the counter a little too vigorously.

He’s obviously working with the coffee shop owner because this appears to be a supplies delivery.

‘We can see the evidence of climate change,’ I reply.

‘I'm a trained geologist. I know about evidence!’

It’s SO tempting to say the following…

‘Well, you might find that the evidence has advanced somewhat since you took a look at it back in the 1850s. I've been keeping abreast with developments, though, which might explain why I’m writing for National Geographic magazine, and you're delivering custard powder to…’ swirls hand above head theatrically... ‘to a hole-in-the-wall here in... wherever this is.’

I don't.

Instead I dress the tone with weapons-grade saccharine, and pick up my coffee.

‘Ok then, I'll just carry on wasting my time, travelling around the country peddling snake oil! To-da-loo!’