JOHANNESBURG CALLING

He called me on the landline.
‘Hello,’ he said, ‘my computer let me call you at last. You got the number now?’
I read out my mobile number and gave him the information he asked for punctuating my words with coughing.
‘You better get a doctor to look at that,’ he said.
‘Thanks.’
‘Just before you go,’ he said, as we approached the end of our conversation, ‘you know where I’m calling from?’
‘No,’ I said, ‘but I guess it’s not the UK, right?’
‘You know South Africa?’
‘I’ve heard of it.’
‘Well, I’m in Johannesburg,’ he said, ‘so if you start saving now we might see you here in two thousand and ten for the World Cup.’
‘Actually,’ I said, ‘a friend of mine’s brother lives there so we’ve talked about the possibility...’
‘Well, let’s hope the exchange rate with the rand is in your favour by then,’ he said.
‘Thanks.’
‘Ok, Sir, I hope you get well soon and I’ll wish you goodnight.’
‘Thank you very much for your help,’ I said. ‘Bye now.’