Hello, my name is Fred Van Der Merwe and i am the a descendent of the late, great Wolfgang Van Der Merwe, formerly resident of the beautiful country of Burma but now sadly deceased. I am here to tell his story as he can't do it himself.

Great. great, great, great, great uncle Wolfgang was born in 1643 just outside a mud hut in what today is Burma but was then part of the great Chinese empire. So not much has changed really.

Uncle Wolfgang grew up to be a fine, strapping lad who through a succession of timely deaths amongst his nearest and dearest came to inherit a farm of huge size and importance. The reason for its importance was simple. Uncle Wolfgang had inherited the largest Wild Donut factory in the whole of 17th century Burma.

Now Uncle Wolfgang was a wise and clever man whol had learnt all there was to know about wild donut farming by the age of 3. He was the first great donut prodigy. So when he inherited the farm it went from strength to strength and had soon doubled in size.

Now just to explain to those of you who aren't that good on your 17th century Burmese history, Wild Donuts were the greatest delicacy in the land. Those who had Wild Donut farms were treated like royalty. The most successful lived like Kings.

Now about five years after Wolfgang had been on his farm explorers from all over the world started to arrive in Asia to discover its secrets. And it wasn't long before the secret of the Burmese Wild Donuts was out. Uncle Wolfgang, quick off the mark as ever saw an oppoutunity to make his fortune and retire to a life of wild women and donuts. Quick as a flash, and not sparing on the violence and intimidation, he had cornered the market in Wild Donut exports. For ten years Wolfgang and his donuts were the toast of Europe as the explorers of the age bought back the delicacies for their rulers to sample.

For ten years Uncle Wolfgang had it all.

He had more.

So much more.

And the disaster struck.

As it tends to do.

To those who don't pay respect to fate and her mistresses.

 

The worst Wild Donut harvest in living memory.

Oh uncle Wolfgang said afterwards that he'd been unlucky. That all the elements had conspired against him and he had a point. The freak twelve foot deep floods in the middle of the drought season ceartainly didn't help his cause. But do you know what got him most?

His greed.

Yep, plain and simple. Uncle Wolfgang had forgotten the golden rule of Wild Donut farming, crop rotation, and he wanted it all, now! And the none year there was no more. The soil had no more to give. The gene pool of the wild donut had run dry. The oasis of good luck was just a mirage. He was done for.

And what's more, his competitors knew it. Uncle Wolfgang was into it up to his neck. Day and night he racked his brains to find a way out of it. Night and day he failed to find an answer. And then inspiration struck. Or was that the encylcopedia of Wild Donut farming falling from the top shelf where it had been carelessly put? Either way, be it inspiraion or the weight of the encyclopedia donut, Uncle Wolfgang was carted off to the neares medicine man's hut until he had recovered. Which was about three weeks, cos he was a bit of a tart.

Anyway, once he returned to his now desolate farm he set about his masterplan that would save him. Gone would be he dependence on the fickle winds of fortune. Now he would have wealth all year round.

Uncle Wolfgang created the Synthetic Donut.

Oh but he did so much more.

He created the Synthetic donut and he put jam in the middle of it.

At first the Burmese public were suspicious of this new product. Gone was the slightly grizzled, slightly hairy, wild Donut and in its place was a ball of dough and lard with a smidgen of jam to sweeten the taste. But Uncle Wolfgang was even cleverer than that. He got the greatest advertising agency in 17th century Burma to drum up bussiness and create a catchphrase that would stick in the mind for generations to come. Which the duly did and before long the whole land was humming the tuneful little ditty "a donut a day makes you fat, spotty and dead". With this sort of marketing genius behind him, Uncle Wolfgang's synthetic donut was a hit and within two years he had clawed back most of his fortune.

It was around this time that Uncle Wolfgang's mind turned to the retirement he had so often  dreamed about. He decided he would train his son in all the tricks of the synthetic donut trade.

Once he had worked out which of his 36 sons from 35 different wives (one had twins) was the eldest he set about training up the lad so he could take over the family bussiness. The lad chosen was called Lupta. Now Lupta was a bright lad and before long he had mastered most of the techniques necessary for the production of the worlds greates synthetic donuts.

But Uncle Wolfgang didn't see this, he though Lupta needed more time to learn for him, the master donuteer. But Lupta was ready and straining at the leash. He had his own ideas and wanted to make it big in his own right.

But still Uncle Wolfgang held on. Not quite daring to retire. Days turned to months, months turned to years and in all 16 years passed and still the sign on Lupta's door said Trainee Donuteer. It was a constant insult.

And then something inside him snapped.

He handed his notice in.

He Stepped out into the big wide world.

By himself.

And he proved himself.

Lupta inventend the Apple Donut.

What a genius

What a service to mankindd.

Anyway Uncle Wolfgang was both devestated and angered. Betrated even. Not only did he look upon the Apple donut as the bastard child of his creation, he felt abandoned by his own flesh and blood. How could anyone replace the sacred jam in a donut with apple? And not just any apple, cheap, mashed up, tasteless apple. Oh the shame Uncle Wolfgang felt. He disowned his son and took to visiting his local shopping hut in a false beard and breasts to avoid the taunts of his neighbours. Oh the shame.

Uncle Wolfgang died a few months later of a broken heart. But before he went he was able to witness Lupta's invention of the Custard filled Donut. They say that's what finished him off, the straw that broke the camels back.

Other, perhaps wisers souls, felt that being trod on by a three tonne elephant, performing a three point turn in a residential area, broke more than just his heart and probably finished him off quicker than the shame.

Anyhow, Wolfgang died.

And Lupta lived and made his fortune.

 

 

So next time you eat a donut just think for a moment, who's side are you on?

Wolfgang's sacred jam or Lupta's upstart apple?