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THE ZAG BRAH GRILL - WHERE WE INTERROGATE THE FAMOUS, THE UNKNOWN, AND THE INFAMOUS.
The first magazine Ben Trovato ever brought was a copy of Zigzag decades ago, when he was learning to surf on a board that was the equivalent of a flattened sunfish. There have been many waves ridden since, but Zag only heard from Ben in person when he wrote in to tell us that weekends at Muzeinberg had become like the ‘fall of Saigon’. Since he’s a published author and regular columnist for a leading weekly newspaper, we couldn’t award Ben the letters prize, despite the fact that he was freezing his ass off every day in “one of those dangerously cheap metallurgic numbers made from defective condoms and recycled dishwashing gloves”. So we did the next best thing, and offered him a column. It was the start of a beautiful, twisted relationship - and as good excuse as any to turn the tables and grill him:
Zag: We know how you got into surfing. What sadomasochistic impulse got you into the writing game?
Ben Trovato: I was conscripted into the Signals Corps and had to learn to type 45 words a minute. Failure meant running around the parade ground with a big dutchman on my shoulders. After two years in the army, all I had learnt to do was shoot and type. Instead of doing the sensible thing and choosing a career that involved shooting people and taking their money, I chose journalism and consequently made no money at all. I switched from journalism to creative writing because you can't drink on the job if you're a journalist. Actually, that's not strictly true. Anyway. What happens in the newsroom stays in the newsroom.
And how has the above been working out for you?
Oh, just dandy, thanks. I love driving a dented '95 Hyundai and having the Salvation Army as my outfitters.
You have a couple of books out too. Did you ever think you could make a living writing complaint letters or offering R10 bribes to dim-witted people in high places?
A couple of books? Please. Try nine. That's right. Nine books. And I'm still halfway to living beneath an upturned boat in Kalk Bay harbour. Of course I thought I could make a living from it. What a naive fool I was back then. Selling crystal meth would have been more lucrative. It has ruined my life, this writing business. You tell a girl you're an author and her eyes glass over like a dead snoek. Tell her you're a drug dealer and she'll be at your trousers in no time at all. Paying R10 bribes cost me dearly in beer money. Manto Tshabalalalalala-Msimang died owing me R30. Nine books. You wouldn't think so if you could see my living conditions. Oh, well. That's the price you pay for writing books in a country where eight people read. I should have spent the time making short-handled stabbing knives.
Tell us a little bit about your better half, darling Brenda, and how you lovebirds hooked up.
That's a bit of a cheeky question, isn't it? Your timing is off, too. This morning in the kitchen I went in for a quick grope while she was still groggy with sleep and she disabled me with a straight-armed jab to the solar plexus. I went down like a sack of dead cats. As for how we hooked up, all I'm prepared to say is that she lured me to Hermanus under false pretences and then had violent, first-date sex with me. I've avoided Hermanus ever since. Sex, too, come to think of it.
When we offered you this column, we promised you we'd also edify you with promises of glorifying your surfing prowess. We lied. So what do you consider the highlights of your surfing career to date?
'Career' might be stretching it a bit, although I probably would have made more money from competitive surfing than from writing. Heat fixing would have been my strategy. Everyone, even Kelly Slater, has his price. I would have offered contestants double the prize money to let me win. Hang on, that doesn't make sense. Highlights? Hmm. Just me and a bunch of dolphins sharing Coffee Bay was memorable. Watching Mike Esposito beating a fisherman with a baseball bat also stands out. And surfing J-Bay before the barbarians turned it into Facebrick City. What the hell kind of question is this? Every wave I have ever caught has been a highlight.
When you're not hitting the keyboard or trimming over cheeky grommets on your longboard, what do you get up to?
Being a misanthropic sociopath with personal identity issues, I spend a lot of time alone with my pets. I'm pretty fluent in dog but my cat needs work. I also play drums in a punk band, although the band broke up years ago and I have never actually owned a drum kit. Forget I mentioned it.
We all need a holiday from time to time. Tell us your idea of a dream trip.
Palm trees. White sand. Warm water. Uncrowded beach break. A beautiful girl. A case of cold Windhoeks and a packet of Jelly Babies injected with acid. That's my dream trip.
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[Catch Ben’s Zag column on page 84 of the latest issue, visit him on www.bentrovato.book.co.za And while you’re about it, pick up his “latest literary travesty”, a recent collection of his finest, funniest and most outrageous little ditties titled Still On the Run].
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