I think an angel followed me up to Johannesburg.
After meeting those three botoxed crows from the rental companies I was pretty convinced I had fallen into satan’s inner circle. Really, they’re a scary lot, and I was feeling completely out of my depth. I’m not sure how I found the courage to call Fungal Peter last night, but I did. We agreed to meet and this time I swallowed half a bottle of rescue before heading off to the meeting. I’m not sure if you’re aware, but rescue drops are laced with alcohol, so I can’t say if it was the rescue or the alcohol, but I was pretty chilled given I was about to spend an evening out with a guy with a dubious infection.
I went to Hyde Park and made my way to the newly renovated Exclusive Books store. It has long white tables where one can sit, read and drink coffee. It’s a bit like a super sexy public library for people with credit cards and attitude. Personally if I was the owners, I’d be a bit nervous around hot beverages and expensive recipe and photography books, but hell, I’m not the boss.
I arrived early and made my way to the far end of the store, that way I’d be able to spot him from a distance. The craziest thing happened, I found myself standing right next to the alternative medicine shelf. The first book to grab my attention was called ‘The Fungus Link: An Introduction to Fungal Disease, Including the Initial Phase Diet‘, I took this as a sign the Universe is watching over me and that Fungal Peter might not be an axe murderer after all.
I was so immersed in the life cycle of athlete’s foot that Peter bounded up to me unnoticed.
‘Fungus?’ He said and looked down at me with a cocked eyebrow. I swear he stepped back a bit.
Yowzers, he’s breathtakingly handsome and now he’s thinking I have fungus too. Not how I planned to kick off the evening. I blushed deep red and put the book back, mumbling something about my half-finished neuropathy course. The rescue alcohol concoction was still streaming through my veins and I had a bit of trouble walking straight and kept having to hang onto his very muscular arm. I think he’s getting used to me bumping into him because he hardly seemed to notice.
So he bought me a cappuccino and we sat at one of those big white tables and talked. Turns out that Fungal Peter is a bit of a property king. He owns a number of apartments in Johannesburg and is busy developing an office site in Sandton. It seems my shopping trolley collided with a pretty fancy shmansy fella. There’s hope.
By the time I’d finished my coffee I’d learned that he’s divorced, rich, no kids and owns an indecent amount of property in Johannesburg, Sydney, London and Berlin. He has a flat just over the road from Hyde Park Corner Centre available and he offered to show it to me.
It was a dream, high up in a swish building with a balcony and a perfect view of tree tops. The rooms are large and the kitchen brand new. I know what you’re thinking – a good-looking guy, a girl and an empty flat, come on, what really happened. Truth? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. It seems that when Fungal Peter wants to rent out a property then Fungal Peter rents out a property. Full stop. No nookie, no handshake and no goodbye kiss. He was willing to take my cash though and in a blink I’d signed the contract and your’s truly now has a set of keys and home in Joburg. I’ve made a mental note to sterilize all the surfaces before moving in.