This morning I had my “Truman Burbank moment” as I was brushing my teeth. I looked in the mirror and I realised that it’s just me… I am at the centre of my increasingly small universe. I am alone in my house and despite brief moments during the day where I connect with other people, it’s just me. This is my show. As I looked in the mirror I saw myself as the only physical company that I have. It’s just me in here. I quoted a line from the movie…

‘I hearby claim this place Jaqsmania… of the Hiltermann galaxy.’

In the moment where I acknowledged my shrinking world, I realised that as humans we all think that this is about us as individuals, not as us a collective. I think for people who live alone, this is even more so because there’s no one around us. And, aside from what we see on social media, television, and our limited shopping trips, we really have no fucking clue what’s going on outside our bubbles.

And, because conspiracy theories are trending, because I have an overactive imagination, and because I absolutely adore The Truman Show it got me thinking. What if this is an elaborate plot to trick me into staying at home? What if this is some crazy experiment that some social scientist cooked up? What if I’ve been specially selected as the guinea pig? What if this is a reality show? What if I am Truman Burbank?

And then I started thinking about all the ways that this could be true. Anyone who knows me will know that I only really shop at one specific Woolworths. I only ever go to the Checkers nearby if I need an emergency hangover coke (with my limited booze supply this isn’t fucking likely), cleaning supplies, or random items for a specific recipe. And sure I do grocery shopping elsewhere, but people who know me would know that in a lockdown situation there’s only one place I’d go- plus they’ve “coincidentally” introduced Free Parking as an added bonus. Hence, tracking my movements is pretty simple. On my weekly or bi-weekly shopping days it would be pretty easy to orchestrate a lockdown simulation… And the more I think about it the more I realise how many red traffic lights I sit through. They’re there to stall me. While I’m waiting at the red light, cashiers are putting on masks and the shops are temporarily closing. Hand sanitizer is being spritzed around for added authenticity. People are hiding. It’s the fucking Truman Show.

Social media is easy to infiltrate, as anyone with even the most basic understanding of Cambridge Analytica will tell you. And I’ve just been informed that the SA government is tracking our phones and our cars so basically I’ve been primed to accept that tracking and surveillance is the new normal. I’m not even questioning the ethics of it. I’m just like, “Sure, whatever, in for a penny in for a pound”. So I’m OK with being surveilled and I’m OK with the government snooping up on me… because I’ve been told it’s happening to everyone. “Well OK then, in that case…” Next thing I’ll be giving away my CVV code. It’s 142 by the way.

The bit that concerns me is how did they infiltrate my friends and family? Was this set up as an elaborate April Fools joke? Has any money changed hands? Is this being broadcast as a reality television show? Come to think of it some of my friends are suspiciously quiet… are they conscientious objectors to this charade? And then there are those friends who I haven’t heard from in bloody ages who are suddenly all over me like white on rice. Family members are also really crawling out the proverbial word work… my phone has never been hotter. This is unnerving. I’m beginning to have phone paranoia.

So in response I’m starting to change my behaviour. I am developing ways to be more entertaining and dazzling in case people are actually watching me. I don’t want people to think that I’m fucking boring and uninteresting. To make a start, I’ve upped my “compulsory dance parties” to four times a day and my “grapevine” to Rosemary is a fucking treat. I’m singing a lot. Ron Moss and I make quite the celebrity couple. A lot of my dialogue is now spoken out loud. We talk out loud a lot, and, now that I have an excuse I may abandon silent thoughts forever. I’m thinking of making pizza from scratch because no one has a YouTube video on “spreading almond butter on nice cakes”… Seriously no one wants to watch that shit. I might even start to take part in this fucking baking frenzy that all of you people doing “fake lockdown” are partaking in… You chaps are obviously doing all of these projects to inspire me. After all everyone knows that I’m fucking competitive so if I see a homemade ciabatta you just know I’m going to hop on board. And I won’t use a fucking bread maker either.

Just so you know, I see all of you dangling all of these challenges in my face just hoping I’ll jump on them and become lank interesting to watch… Fun Fact I am not doing the half marathon in my driveway challenge that can go fuck itself. But yes I will try the “Make your own Hunter’s Dry”.

And Cyril… if you’re listening, which you are, please lift the fucking booze ban. Everyone knows that in the Big Brother House shit escalates when you inject some booze. But just know that under no circumstances will I take a shit in the garden… I have my limits.

So I guess there is just one question… “How’s it going to end?”

Congratulations everyone we’re on Day Four, we’re on 1280 confirmed cases, and South Africa has recently been downgraded to Junk. I now know how my parents must have felt when they received my Std 5 report card. But if we’re using my delinquency as a metaphor, ‘just look at me now’. ‘Just Look?!’ Sorry guys there’s no silver lining here, it’s best for you to accept that things are not looking particularly rosy right now and just settle in with a blankie, a horse tranquiliser, and some YouTube videos of puppies.

And if puppies aren’t your thing there are some particularly vibey videos of ordinary South Africans, cooking in real time, doing the rounds. It appears that the era of “Reality Cooking” is upon us. And this isn’t like those “reality” cooking shows we’re used to with the smug over-tanned judges, donning cravats and salivating over (not another fucking) panacotta or a (can nobody bake a proper bloody) chocolate fondant. Oh no, this is a new wave of basic home cooks, blindly clambering around their poorly designed, badly equipped kitchens with absolutely no bloody clue about basic mise en place.   

Now don’t get me wrong, I’m all about pushing envelopes, boundaries, and generic conventions, but I’m not sure I’m onboard with spending half an hour of my time watching some bokkie with sub-par knife skills prepare ingredients for a pasta dish. I nearly had a pulmonary embolism when I saw her chop olives with a fucking steak knife. And sure, she does reassure the boujie amongst us that we “can’t afford to be picky about cheese during the time of Coronavirus”, while she gives us all a lesson in how to pronounce “Halloumi” like a complete asshole. And I understand that every single one of us have dazzling personalities that we can’t wait to unleash on the world, but there’s a reason cooking shows are edited, and “here’s one I made earlier” is a catch phrase.

But my reaction to this video stirred something up inside me. I realised that “live reality cooking” was engaging the same reactions that I get during live sports events. Do you see where I’m going with this? Hold my beer.

It appears that while watching bokkie do battle over a perfectly perfunctory pasta dish, I was activating the part of my brain that involuntary yells, “Fucking Ref that was offsides man are you blind?!” “Come on oke pass the ball man you asshole!” “Get in the hole you piece of shit!” and “Run you asshole! Run!” (Full disclaimer I am a delight to watch sport with. Bring your mum.) Watching this bokkie was almost like watching the… … I can’t bring myself to use that joke I’m sorry.

So, here’s my big lockdown challenge to the fine, financially buggered, folk at Multichoice. In lieu of sport, why not broadcast really terrible home cooks that we can shout at and abuse from the comfort of our own couches? Because nothing brings a nation together quite like shouting at the telly while we eat meaty snacks and drink Oros (no one has enough beer to survive this don’t kid yourselves). I just feel that as a nation we’re getting on each other’s nerves now and we all need to unite behind something. And if you can’t unite behind someone cutting olives with a fucking steak knife then there’s no hope for the Rainbow Nation.