Going to the drive-in back then was like going for a jol into the country. Jislaaik, but it was lank kiff, those trips out of the city. We even used to go early, when the sun was still brooding orange before deciding to set, us hanging out at the entrance to the drive-in, watching the windgatte do wheelies in their souped-up Ford Cortinas.
My one mate used to swop vinyl records, the other just stroked the knob of his gear lever, and the other one kept on combing the Brylcreem smeared ducktail at the back of his head. But, mostly, it was about checking out and charfing the chicks. It was moerse lekker to watch all of them sitting on the car bonnets with their short minis, swinging their legs and giggling with their teased hairdos. ‘Hot bonnets’, the one dude called them.
This story is from the October 2019 edition of SA Country Life.
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This story is from the October 2019 edition of SA Country Life.
Start your 7-day Magzter GOLD free trial to access thousands of curated premium stories, and 8,500+ magazines and newspapers.
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