Parting Shot

Back then, the big jol was always at the drive-in, writes OBIE OBERHOLZER. Where you could check out the chicks in minis and the souped-up Cortinas. And ponder, maybe just a bit, on kragdadigheid

- Obie Oberholzer

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.