Witches, maypoles and bunny rabbits

Jeesh! What a week it has been! All I can think about right now is nice cold Savanna, but if I don’t get this blog up, my chances of forcing you lot to drink tequila from bottles stashed in holsters on my hips at SynergyLive go down the drain. And we don’t want that...

In my never-ending quest to seek out different things to do, I agreed to join Rose “Chatterbox” Thorn at her Beltane Festival last Saturday.  Remembering how she waffled my ears off on a trip to Hermanus I threatened her with duct tape. Thankfully this resulted a fairly quiet journey.

All I knew about this pagan festival was that it involved fertility, a maypole and sex. Naturally I was intrigued. I may have a fertile imagination, but had never danced around a maypole and sex is fast becoming a never-done-that scenario too. And don’t mention the bicycle thing, because the last time I rode one (a bicycle people!) I almost fell off.

We arrived on a farm in Worcester in the midday heat armed with a plethora of ritualistic goodies, including a sword, two potjie pots (sorry, cauldrons) and the maypole. We also had hay bales, gasoline, flaming torches, cushions and boxes of wine. Quite frankly, if we didn’t pitch up, they wouldn’t have had a festival. We were met by a bunch of people in black and the sounds of Rammstein. I started wondering when the rest of the World Goth Day crew was going to show up. Clearly the pagans thought they were coming as well as there was one of those “we take no responsibility” notices up, including a piece about the dangers of dancing around a maypole. There was also mention of a childcare facility which I never found (perhaps they ate them – gasp!).

The rest of the day was spent setting up, drinking beer, unraveling the maypole, drinking beer, buying crystals, drinking beer, getting a henna tattoo, drinking beer, getting a pentagram pendant (got to have all my bases covered), drinking beer… you get the picture. Needless to say the maypole was a right bastard to unravel (I never realised how long the ribbons were) and there was much huffing and puffing. By the pagans – I sat in the van and watched over the proceedings.. drinking beer. That made me tired so I had a nap. By 5pm when the festivities were due to take off I was well rested and ready!

But they didn’t take off at 5pm. Because everyone was too busy drinking beer. In the end the maypole dancing only started at around 7.30pm. Turns out that the expression “dancing around the maypole” is a lie. It gets quite technical and there is no dancing. Essentially you are supposed to run around this phallic symbol with a ribbon in your hand and by going over and under the other ribbons you weave the ribboning back onto the pole.  There were too few of us to have one ribbon each so we all had to take two. The high priest (or whatever he is called) barked instructions whilst drinking wine (I hope) out of a goblet.  Most of the pagans were pissed so it became more like a game of dodgem-pagans with half of them not knowing what “over” or “under” meant and the other half were just too lazy or un-coordinated enough to do it properly. On top of all this, the ground was not the most even and we had to dodge holes and thorn bushes. How anyone made it out without twisting their ankle amazes me. But I will say this, it was fun. And damn good exercise too. Which of course warranted more beer.

The next part was The Ritual, but that was cancelled as it is not cool to do a religious ceremony when the high priest is two sheets to the wind. So I never got to see what the sword was for.  But they did have The Great Hunt which essentially is an interpretation of an old tradition where the king would have to hunt a stag and when he had completed this hunt he could then perform the Great Rite. A person gets chosen to play the stag and the king chooses three other men to help him hunt said stag. I was getting quite amped to see a man running around half naked in a loincloth with a pair of antlers on his head. But this was not to be. Instead they had a lad with bunny ears… and a bunny nose.  Watching three men chase another man with bunny ears (and bunny nose) almost did me in. But I managed to maintain a serious expression throughout – one must respect other people’s religions – and even cheered when they caught the “rabbit”. I did, however, manage to finish an entire beer in the 3 minutes it took to catch the stag, er bunny.

Then it was time for the Great Rite, which is where the sex part comes in. The chosen couple has sex in a tent and this symbolizes the coming together of the God and Goddess. I thought we’d have to walk around the tent and chant with flaming torches or suchlike, but we left them to it and sat around the bonfire watching belly dancers and flame throwers. And drank beer.

And that was it really. I was relieved that no-one stripped down to their birthday suit and that there was no orgy. This was hinted at a few times by the high priest. If this had happened you would still be able to see me running down the N1 highway.

Oh, the Beltane Festival represents spring, abundance and fertility – and we are not talking about babies here. Fertility and abundance in everything you want, like money or a successful career or an endless supply of tequila. But I promise you now, if I fall pregnant the next time I have sex I am going straight to Ms Chatterbox Thorn and suing the coven.

ps. No cats were harmed during this festival.

Disclaimer:
As I am not a pagan or Wiccan, I actually have no idea what I am talking about. So don’t get upset if I have it all wrong. It is my version of events and by no means factual. And whilst I do find some of this stuff amusing and have written it in a manner that will no doubt amuse you, I have respect for all religions. As you should too.

Hauntings and hitchings in the Karoo

So there I was, in the middle of a pub in a haunted hotel agreeing to take photos of a wedding the following day. A priest from Laisburg had been requested, parents had been phoned and friends smsed. You just never really know where your life will take you. It was 11pm and I was on my fourth brandy and coke. Oh and there was tequila. Of course. Served in champagne glasses. Because that’s how they do things in Matjiesfontein.

I was there to investigate the rumours of certain guests that have refused to leave. I am not talking about ones that get defiant when the pub closes. Rather ones that have been known to float down corridors, rattle doors, play cards, appear in windows and stare forlornly from turrets. Never has an assignment held so much intrigue and slight foreboding. There was no way I was going on my own so had to find a suitable person to accompany me – preferably a man who could keep me safe from things that go bump in the night. Monster flat-out refused saying he would “poop in his pants” and others had excuses of “no leave” or having to leave wives and girlfriends behind. But eventually I found a taker. None other than Brainy Friend. He was perfect for the job – loves ghost stories as much as I do, had never been to Matjiesfontein and he’s a manly-man sort of man.  I am still amazed he never chickened out at the last minute, but I think he’s more afraid of me than ghosts.

We arrived on the Friday with the storm in Cape Town chasing us down the N1.  With dark clouds amassing and dusk falling, the scene was set. As we pushed open the heavy wooden doors to the hotel, there it was. That staircase. With the red carpet. Straight out of The Shining. I swear I heard a small gasp from Brainy Friend, but he appeared stoic. The look of relief on both our faces made the receptionist laugh when we found out we were in Room 16 and not the infamous Room 10.  Room 10 is Lucy’s room and she is known to rattle doors and chuck things about in there. Phew!

After signing the massive and ancient guest book, we trundled our way up the stairs, keeping a beady eye out for the two soldiers that are said to lean on the balustrades. I was so busy gawking up the stairs that lead to the turrets and Katie’s Card Room (where sounds of shuffling cards have been heard) that I almost tripped over Theresa, the hotel cat. Theresa, being a good host to many a newbie at the hotel escorted us to our room and almost everywhere we went.  One hiss from that cat and I was prepared to run in the opposite direction! So I liked having her around, a sort of “ghost alert” if you will.  She must’ve picked up on this (cats are intuitive) because she decided to spend the entire night with us. Not hissing, but purring. She took a shine to Brainy Friend and chose to sleep with him.  He reveled in the feline affections, but was told the following day at breakfast that she is notorious for sleeping around. And like a true hussy, she ignored him for the rest of the day. Proving that women and cats will always do as they please.

Having got through our first night unscathed, apart from clanging pipes and creaking wooden floorboards (that hotel talks to you even if the ghosts don’t) we got taken on a private hotel tour by Johnnie, the resident entertainer. You can’t help but love Johnnie. The minute he catches your eye he shouts “It’s show time!” followed by “I love it when you talk foreign.” Just writing this is making me laugh. He took us around the various rooms of the Lord Milner, showed off his brilliant rendition of Nelson Mandela, pointed out the 100 year old piano, the 300 year old mirror and the cup that South Africa won in the very first cricket match played against the Poms in Matjiesfontein. He also showed us a photo of a ghost.

The story goes that he had the picture taken with the two little girls and the one said “Who’s the tannie?” Of course no-one else could see this “tannie”, but there she was when the photo was developed and posted to Johnnie by the family.

The hotel reckons the ghost is that of Olive Schreiner, who lived in Matjiesfontein (she wrote The Story of An African Farm here) and her house is right near the pub. It may or may not be a fake, but I tend to go with the latter. This town barely uses email let alone Photoshop.  Besides, there is no way you can get a small child to make an expression like that for no good reason. But you decide -  real or not, it’s chilling stuff!

After that it was time to go see some different ghosts. The fields near the hotel were once the campsite for British soldiers during the Boer War (the hotel was originally a hospital).  The soldiers, horses and tents may be gone, but there are still remains in the form of holey tin cans and rusting pieces of metal. We picked our way through the debris, startling a few hares and making sure we didn’t stand on baby tortoises (we saw three!) while searching for treasure. We felt like Pirates of the Karoo and we had so much fun that we were out there for hours. Brainy Friend became my new hero when he found the one thing that I wanted – a button! Oh the glee! Turns out that it is the real thing (Brainy Friend is the sort that researches these things) and possibly belonged to a General or Commander. We sat on the kopjie, which was probably the look out point, and took in the view. I closed my eyes and imagined how things must’ve been for young soldiers in their late teens and early twenties being plucked from England and sent to the middle of the blistering hot (and sometimes freezing) desert. I swear I heard the ghosts of tents flapping in the Karoo wind.

The afternoon was spent scoffing bangers n’ mash in the pub, taking a brief nap and visiting the township tavern to catch the rugby.  We also took a tour of the town (the shortest tour in South Africa) on the red bus, called Futtom Fluffy. It took ten minutes and we turned left or right because we couldn’t turn right or left. When the tour was over, Johnnie brightly informed us that the tour may be over, but the pub was still open. I was beginning to fall in love with this town. Not only did it have history, quaint buildings, ghosts and antique gas pumps, it had character and was filled with characters. It also served divine meals in a dining room where you had to dress for dinner, breakfasts with as much bacon as you could fit on your plate and the pub was always open. A desert oasis indeed!

But we still hadn’t seen any ghosts.  We checked our photos as soon as we took them, glanced furtively up the stairs and scanned the windows regularly. But nothing. Not even the sound of shuffling cards. I was secretly disappointed. Until I went to the loo upstairs in the pub that evening.

Above the Lairds Arms is a billiard room with a beautiful billiard table that I spent some time admiring – it had a thick wood cover that you had to slide out to open the table. I don’t think I had ever seen one like it until that day. After this minor distraction, I located the bathroom and switched on the light. As I stepped into the bathroom, “click”, off went the light. I went back and switched it on again. But no, the minute I stepped away from the switch it went off. I put it down to faulty electrics the first few times, but eventually I lost my temper. I said in my big girl brave voice “Now stop it! I need the loo and I don’t want to go in the dark!”  The light stayed on. And I sat on the loo praying it didn’t go off mid-wee. Which it didn’t, thankfully.

Now herein lies the interesting part. I scuttled downstairs hastily and asked Abie, the barman, about faulty lights. He just laughed and said “There’s no faulty light switches. Someone’s being playing tricks on you. Perhaps it was Olive. She likes it up there.” I immediately turned to Brainy Friend who had been threatening to scare the bejesus out of me the whole weekend, but he denied all. Besides, there would’ve been nowhere up there for him to hide.  I brushed it off, went outside and started chatting to the Groom To Be about the wedding. The conversation shifted to the hotel’s ghost stories and he told me that he had seen quite a few shadows in the hotel and something strange on the stairs in the pub. I went on to tell him about the ghost photo, which he hadn’t seen. I showed him the photo I had taken of the photo on my camera. He went quiet for a second, looked at me and said with a deadpan expression, “That’s who was on the stairs”.  I never went upstairs again and Brainy Friend took the long way round to the loo for the rest of our stay.

When I went up to our room after staying for an extra round in the pub (my nerves needed it), Brainy Friend was still wide awake reading a book. “There was no way I was switching off the light until you got here.” Strangely enough our feline “ghost alert” had disappeared as well.

The following days were spent eating enough food to feed a British army, taking walks through graveyards and singing along with Johnnie on the piano in the pub. And photographing a wedding of course. As you do. We also changed rooms to try out one with a balcony and sat on said balcony into the wee hours chatting, while Brainy Friend sipped on a whiskey and I quaffed a Savanna and scoffed melba toast  (with mountains of butter) that I kept from dinner. It was bliss and I was definitely getting into the simple routine of life in this Victorian-era town. So much so that I didn’t want to leave and stalled things on the day we had to return to Cape Town by insisting on a walk through the gardens. Poor Brainy Friend by this stage just kept on saying “Yes, dear” to everything as I was probably being bossy the whole weekend. Well, I like to call it “making suggestions of cool stuff to do”, others may call it bossy. Either way, it was definitely the yes-dear’s that made us seem like an old couple and people kept asking if we were together. They suggested we too get married in the chapel. It was the first time I saw him look genuinely terrified.

I have to say the weekend in Matjiesfontein was probably one of my best weekends so far this year. I loved it so much that I am planning to get a group together for a weekend there. Quaint town, grand old hotel, fabulous meals, a charming pub, lovely people and a beautiful swimming pool make for a good summer weekend away. Is the hotel haunted? Maybe, maybe not. But I think there is something there, faulty light switches and could-be-fake photographs aside. Definitely enough to make you look up at the windows constantly and not want to go to your room alone.

But I never really felt afraid and neither one of us had sleepless nights. In fact I am more worried that the General who’s button I have is going to come and reclaim it and Brainy Friend is probably having sleepless nights that I am going to drag him down the aisle in the Travellers' Chapel.  Scary stuff indeed!

The Tart does The Daisies (again)...

 

So this time last week, instead of gasping for a Savanna, I was actually drinking a gigantic one (love the new 500ml bottles) whilst attempting to pack for Rocking The Daisies (or RtD as it is affectionately known by hipsters and those of us too lazy to type out the whole thing). Needless to say there was more drinking than packing, so despite having the WHOLE day to get organised, I was late. Whilst Madcap Menno and Barmy Bernie are laid back folk, this had repercussions later…

RtD was epic. Really. It was. I know you are all sick to death of hearing about it, but I don’t care. You are only sick of hearing about it because you weren’t there.  Those of us who went have no problem talking about it still. And we will probably carry on raving about it until Synergy Live in November. Which also promises to be a legendary weekend. Awesome local bands already lined up and if the rumours of The Prodigy are true, all hell is going to break loose. I already have my ticket and I suggest you get yours too. So we can all rave about it and there’s no whining.

Where was I? Yes, last Friday. We arrived to a massive queue of cars on the only road leading into the festival grounds. They need to change that soon – 15 000 people trying to get in and then trying to leave on one dirt road is just silly. In fact they should install robots as well. Then we can all play “shots on green”, “run around car on red” and “hoot at orange”. Now that would be fun!  Anyhoo, I digress as usual …

To cut a long story short, we eventually parked and trekked all our stuff to the campsite. By “our” stuff I mean “my” stuff. I am not much good at festival packing so had a trillion bags and all my bedding in separate pieces. BB pointed out that all my bedding could go into my sleeping bag so I ended up looking like a dwarf version of Father Christmas with a sack full of duvets that was twice my height. We niftily found a spot right near the entrance and hastily set about getting our tents up. Then to fetch the remaining bits of my stuff , which resulted in us being late for one of BB’s favourite bands, The Sleepers. Not only had I arrived late causing us a delay in leaving Cape Town, I had caused even more of delay by having too much katoondu that required two trips to the car. Not cool! I have promised to buy a big bag and whatever doesn’t fit, doesn’t go. Thankfully they gave me their tent bag so at least I will have a tent at the next festival.

It was a quick gather of bags and money and then we were off to the main stage. The Sleepers were shocking as usual. Monster is not going to talk to me for a week, but really, this is the second time I have seen them at a festival and I still fail to be impressed.  I don’t know anything about music (“Clearly!” I can hear him muttering) but that lead singer acted like a complete twit. Be drunk, it’s a very rockstar thing to do, but don’t stand there flicking your hair and flapping your wrist. He looked like a gay head-banger in slow motion. I am obviously missing something. Like tequila. Which incidentally run out. Yes folks, no tequila anywhere (Bubblegum Tequila doesn’t count).  This was a more shocking situation than The Sleepers. I was assured by a pimply young lad that they would be getting “supplies” out of the truck that evening. Well I am not sure if he was talking about the tequila supplies or other supplies, but there was no tequila to be found, whilst the MDMA tent (“the one with flowers”) had no problem with supplies – apparently. Not that this is a bad thing, just saying that running out of tequila on a Friday night at a festival is just not cool. So we drank Jagermeister instead - I found 10 empty Jagermeister-emblazoned shot glasses in my tent on Sunday when packing up to leave.

Friday night was fairly uneventful. And cold. Freezing in fact. I spent most of the night on a couch under a blanket in the BAT tent watching the bands from a lofty perch. I had a first-class view and wasn’t going to leave my spot for anything. Not even Grandmaster Whoever that got my crew running off to the Red Bull Electro Tent faster than you can say “turntable”. Turns out Mr Itchy and Scratchy (as I liked to call him) sounded like Tin Roof on a Friday night. Check how hip and happening Clarement is eh?! I in the meanwhile perved over the lead singer from The Kongos and kept warm. Things changed when Beast came on though. Wow! The “chucky” side of Inge came out to play and she rocked the crap out of that stage. So much so that I was forced to remove the blanket and my arse off the couch and get involved. By far the best band of the day (if not the entire festival) and have made a note to go to more of their gigs. Ahem, they are playing at Synergy Live… that makes it worth going all on its own.

Saturday morning started with papsak vodka and orange – breakfast of festival champions.  And the discovery that MM had got so hammered that he pee’d in the tent – on their clothes and his shoes. Best part – him wondering why his shoes were wet and being reminded why! The whole day was spent by the main stage watching the likes of Arno Carstens, Rudimentals, The Mystics and various others that I can't remember. While drinking papsak vodka and orange, Savanna, Red Bull and Jagermeister. And scoffing a giant hotdog with butternut and bacon called “The Big Oink” (I realized on Sunday that it was the only thing I ate all day). That and few other things along the way would explain how things got more interesting when nightfall arrived.

Suffice to say that I thought a yellow clown afro (won at the Savanna tent) and white sunglasses made perfect festival attire and I spent the night barely being able to see a thing, but happy in the knowledge that everyone could see me. I was determined to see Bloc Party though and managed the incredible feat of getting right to the front from the back. Stumbling your way through 12 000 odd people (the other 3 000 may or may not have been there) and losing a piece of your front tooth to see a band you hardly know makes for a good story to tell your grandchildren. I may even tell those grandchildren that I ended up in the Electro Tent and stayed there, dancing in the mud, until 6am when we were kicked out.  And then proceeded to dance in the empty field opposite the food stalls with about 5 other “like-minded” people, before skipping  (literally) off to my tent. Thankfully the chance of me having any grandchildren is practically nil.

We went home on Sunday. BB and MM left their tent behind (thus my scoring the tent bag) as MM had ripped it open when he failed to manage unzipping it. I had a cloud obsession and had had no sleep. I also terrorized the girls in the Daisy Den and fell into the shower. It was definitely time to go.

It took me two days to recover. My “Lenny Kravitz” leggings will need to be washed three times to get the mud out of them. The chipped tooth cost me R250 to repair.  Party Partner is still not speaking to me for apparently "spiking his drink" and causing him to have a most unpleasant Sunday and Monday and Tuesday (in fact he took the week off). And there are photos of me with people I don’t even know. 

The best part … only seven weeks until Synergy Live. That was only the warm-up and this time there WILL be tequila. See YOU there!

Overheard at RtD:

“I promise not to puke or wee. I just want to sleep in there.”

“What’s her number?”
“I can’t remember.”

“She’s your girlfriend dude!”

“It’s 082…. Oh let’s just go get a beer.”

“You don’t understand. I just want to be friends.”
“OK, I can do that.”

“Great!”
“Is that friends with benefits?”
“No.”

“Good morning!”

“Good morning.”

“How are you?”

“Fucked.”

“Why are my takkies wet?`”

“Because you pee’d on them.”

“Oh good, Comparel. Just what I need. Now I need a vodka to wash them down.”

“I was planning a copper bombing. But realized it was useless as I wouldn’t be able to see the fear in their tiny little eyes.” - how liquid shrooms turn you into a festival terrorist.

Awesome people I know: Daily Dinner Delivery

Being a bachelorette has many advantages and few disadvantages. But the biggest disadvantage for me is when comes to meals. Not being one for fast food take-outs, I often battle to come up with meals-for-one ideas. This invariably ends up with me cooking up a whole pot of food and living on it for days or popping down the road to The Weekend Wizard to get a free meal there. And more often than not I am simply too busy planning my social life or quaffing large amounts of tequila to be bothered with cooking. Thus "our daily bread" is more like my daily toast.

So imagine my delight when I stumbled upon Daily DinnerDelivery. These guys make dinners for you and bring them right to your house! Or your work, if that is easier for you. They send you a weekly menu (Monday to Friday) and you can either choose which meals you want for the week or sign up for dinner for a whole week. The best part – only R50 a meal! It all sounded too good to be true so I signed up for a week to see if perhaps I had found something that would change my life (and give the toaster a break).

For four days (one of the days was a public holiday and they don’t do dinner deliveries on a public holiday) I had containers of food delivered to work. All I had to do was go to reception and collect them, take them home and heat them up. It was heaven! No wondering what to have for dinner and no dishes! I hate washing dishes so this was also a huge plus. I also had leftovers for lunch every day as the portions are quite substantial (and I can eat quite a lot). It was perfect! I was the envy of my single friends who were eating two-minute noodles or toast for the umpteenth time.

Whilst some may argue that R50 a meal is expensive, work out how much you spend on groceries per week. Add on petrol. Add on parking fee. Add on time wasted in queues. Add on electricity used to cook your meals. I can promise you now, unless you are on pasta or beans on toast, these guys are not expensive. And who can come up with such cool meals on a daily basis after work, dealing with homework, or with a hangover? Check out next week’s menu...

Monday 28 May 
Chicken kiev served with herbed mash and caramelised carrots.

Tuesday 29 May 
Cajun spiced blackened linefish or chicken breast fillet topped with salsa served with new potatoes and gem squash filled with sweetcorn and herbed feta.

Wednesday 30 May 
Juicy garlic and rosemary roast beef with medley of vegetables, potatoes and red wine gravy.

Thursday 31 June 
Creamy chicken mushroom and leek pie served with a side house salad.

Friday 1 June 
Comforting Tuscan bean and beef stew served with turmeric rice and a side house salad.

Drooling? You should be. I am putting my name down for the roast beef and the chicken pie right now.

Visit www.dailydinnerdelivery.com for all the details you need. You can also sign up to receive an email with the menu (sent out on a Friday so you can plan for the following week). Payment can be made when your dinner is delivered, or you can do a bank transfer.

Delivery is FREE (when last did you see that word) in the southern suburbs with more areas being added soon. They also cater for vegetarians and kids. And people who don’t eat pork.

Now that winter is on our doorstep they are also making soups and soon they will be delivering roast lunch on Sundays too. They also have a lunch menu and can make up party platters for your next shindig. That's almost the entire meal-eating part of your life covered - before long they will probably be delivering bacon and egg breakfasts on Saturdays (and hopefully hangover-cure shakes).

Quite frankly there is no need for cooking or dishes anymore. Thus freeing up your time to make party plans and freeing up your fridge for more beer and wine. Your toaster will thank you too.

Beers, burgers and queers

I have to thank the wonderful Revolting Cocks for that little gem of a heading. I just said head(ing) and cocks in the same sentence. Ooops! Well that should get this blog read by a few more people if they do appropriate searches on Google. Will be checking the stats …

Anyway, now that you are shocked into a stunned silence (much like some of my male friends this weekend when I mentioned that Vuvuzela and I were going to watch some porn in our room) I shall regale you with tales of our adventures in the Gay Quarter this weekend…

I was actually there in the name of “work” so you can all read the “nice” and detailed version there. But suffice to say we had a ridiculously awesome time as girls tend to do in the company of men who actually prefer the company of men. We also ate a lot of burgers.

The highlights were these…

• Being complete girls and relishing in beautiful things we cannot afford in equally beautiful shops. If I had a Rand for every time we said “When I have money I am coming back here”, I would probably have enough money to afford the stuff I am going back for.
• Finding a waterfall at the back of a boutique. Only in the Cape Quarter and only in shop with wallpaper that made you feel like you were in the Amazon.
• Delighting in being doted upon by the owners of La Petite Tarte who lavished us with attention, delicious food and wine.
• The Lindt Chocolate Studio. Really. Can there be any place more heavenly. Especially when they are having a sale and you get three slabs of chocolate for R10 each. And a free ice-cream tasting and a chocolate ball to shove in your pocket on the way out.
• The wonder that is The Spar. The Spar in the Cape Quarter is no ordinary shop in a chain of grocery stores. There’s a deli, a bakery, sushi bar, a chemist and a food bar where you can design your own sandwiches. There’s also crocodile and wildebeest pâté . Have you ever? In a Spar?!
• Spotting a pair of hot red heels as we entered our purpe guesthouse. Belonging to one of the owners who is a drag artist. He has since appeared on Top Billing wearing them.
• Giggling like naughty schoolgirls upon discovering an interesting dvd collection on the bookshelf in our room. Interspersed with mainstream dvds. It pays to look closer at what people keep on their bookshelves.
• Enjoying a glass of wine thanks to our gracious hosts, whilst overlooking the city from their rooftop garden at dusk. We truly live in a beautiful place.
• The barmen at Beefcakes. This could be a whole blog in itself (well it will be when I write about Beefcakes) but let’s just say that they are as yummy as the burgers that are served.
• Realising that all the gay people in our party where sitting on one side of the table whilst the straight ones were sitting on the other. Perhaps because the straight ones (being all girls) wanted to ogle at the waiters in the mirror without making it obvious. Even though the whole point is to ogle at the meat serving your meat.
• The look on Gorgeous Gay Friend’s face when he asked if I would like salt with my tequila and my immediate response was “Only if I can lick it off the left nipple of the barman.” Gay men get shocked when you talk about other men like that. Like the thought had never crossed their minds.
• Grabbing the ample pectoral muscle of said barman on the way out and telling him how hot he was. He smiled and told me to come back anytime. Sigh, bet he says that to all the girls. And boys.
• Going into a darkly lit bar on the way home that clearly used to be a garage and speaking to the barman who was in a speedo. I managed to maintain eye contact (but only just).
• Watching said barman running down the street a few minutes later, still clad only in his speedo.
• Enjoying a nightcap at Madame’s. With its ornate balustrade you feel like you are in New Orleans.
• Indulging in fluffy white robes and divine bath stuffs at the guesthouse. It’s those little touches. Vuvuzela will agree that the chez lounge was a nice touch too.
• Watching one of the said dvds and witnessing a man trying to give himself a blowjob. The lengths he went to was quite impressive. And he swallowed. You're gagging now aren’t you…. Sorry, wrong word to use… You're puking now aren't you…
• Waking up to the sound of oranges in the juicer and the smell of croissants. Raspberries in the yoghurt were a real treat too.
• Having a gander around the Village Market with its many interesting stalls. More food! From Istanbul to Cyprus, sausages that have been cured for 3 months to award winning marmalade, from samoosas to seafood. There was other stuff too, but the food definitely held our attention the most. Even after breakfast.
• Watching Vuvuzela get tipsy after one Long Island Iced Tea at Café Manhattan. She’d never had one before so I recommended she try one. Not my fault she’s such a lightweight.
• Going back to Café Manhattan for Vuvuzela’s rings that she had left in the bathroom. Luckily they were still there. Why people take off their rings to wash their hands beats me. Especially when they are half trashed after one iced tea.

Who would’ve thought work could be so much fun. On a weekend too! Next one is District Six …. Who’s game to join me?

But first, another long weekend. I could get used to these short weeks. In fact last week I felt positively cheated when it was a five-day week. How dare they!

Enjoy it folks. Go to Beefcakes for some meat and a tequila. Remember to pack your speedo and your heels. Just don’t take your rings off in the bathroom after a Long Island Iced Tea.

Too many parties and not enough weekend.But there is hope…

Blog pressure is another form of peer pressure. I did a blog last week detailing all the stuff I was going to get up to and now I am constantly being asked about how it was, what did I do and when am I going to write about it. Seemingly once you start something you need to keep it up. Insert wisecrack about bishops and actresses here… I know you already have.

To be honest I can barely remember exactly what I did. Thankfully not much photographic evidence. I hope. I do know that I possibly outdid myself. Especially as people I don’t remember seeing have asked how the rest of my weekend was…

Friday started with the usual after-work-drinks. The dop system is alive and well here. Being in a supremely cheerful state of mind and possibly looking for trouble, I got started early. Before I knew it I was no longer going home before the gig. Monster and The Young One were despatched to fetch me for a “before party” at Rose Thorn’s. Like I needed a before-party. Mine had started at 4.30pm! So in my work clothes and armed with about 4 bags I arrived on Rose Thorn’s doorstep, giving her neighbour (who I have never met in my life) a great big kiss goodbye as he was leaving for another party with RT’s other half. A few more drinks and some supper and then we were walking down the road to Mercury. Good thing I don’t live there, Mercury would’ve made a killing out of me by now. Met up with the Porksta and The Rock Star at the bar and discovered Sailor Jerry was on special. Uh oh…

What ensued was a rocking night with one of the greatest bands to ever come out of South Africa. Ok, I stole that from a magazine. I hardly knew Fetish, apart from a few songs. I was living in the UK while they were reigning on the South African alternative stage. But I sure know them now. I also know their feet really well. For some absurd reason I have a lot of photographs of their feet. Have I developed a foot Fetish? Personally I blame it on the fact that I can barely see over the stage when my face is pressed up against it. But their music was damn good and I had a great time. Too great a time. The Viking and TenMil arrived in the wee hours and the party continued until we were kicked out.

The Swift arrived bright and breezy at about 11am on Saturday and I could barely get it together after 5 hours sleep. At about noon we set off for the Lumberjack Festival. We spent the day ogling at men with chainsaws and axes. And checked shirts. And facial hair. You could literally smell the raw testosterone mingling with the sweet smell of sawdust. Beers, axe throwing, burgers, chainsawing, tree climbing, tree planting and music were the order of the day. Some damn fine eye candy too. The Swift even managed to sit on a lumberjack’s face. Ha! I can see your raised eyebrows from here. Ask her about it sometime. Am so going back next year. With a lasso and without a hangover.

After a much-needed nap it was time for the symphony of doom. I have to admit my heart wasn’t really in it when I arrived, but I had agreed to help out Monster by taking a video so put my big girl panties on and dealt with it. Half the faces from the night before were there (and they certainly remembered me from the night before) and I knew everyone on the stage so it wasn’t so bad. The music wasn’t so bad either. In fact the only depressing thing was not the doom metal, but the serious lack of leathers. Gasp! What a disappointment! But by 11pm I was ordering my first round of tequila’s (compliments of the band members) completely having forgotten how rotten I felt 12 hours before. I got to bed an hour earlier than Friday night. Seemingly I never learn.

Needless to say a quiet week has ensued. But got a nice surprise on Wednesday when Monster took me as his plus one to the Shannon Hope gig at the Fugard Theatre. Gig is actually not quite the right word. More like an intense performance in a hauntingly beautiful venue. Monster has spent the past year warbling on about Ms Hope’s talent and I have turned a deaf ear. But I have to admit, the man is onto something. Something incredible. So it’s my turn to warble. I don’t know all the fancy music lingo (base/bass guitar remember) so let me just say that I quite simply blown away. And not just by her fabulous red heels. Her music and her lyrics took me back to places that I thought I had tucked neatly away behind a well-built wall. The pain, the anguish and the reality of love, heartbreak and life. By the end of the evening I felt like I had been on a journey to my inner core and all my old wounds felt raw and exposed. I was exhausted and had a headache. Quite fitting that it was held in an old church, it was almost a religious experience. She was so good that a girl from Joburg who had never heard of Shannon Hope before that night was impressed enough to go and buy both her cd’s straight after the show. I am definitely going to do the same and am going to drag every one of my friends to her next show. Which shouldn’t be far off as she’s moved to Cape Town indefinitely.

So what’s next? Well this weekend is seemingly one of gay abandon in the streets of the De Waterkant. All in the name of work. 24 hours in gay bars, gay restaurants and overnight in a gay guesthouse with my trusty sidekick and “assistant”, Vuvuzella. Am considering trading my Gay Street sign for a couple of tequilas whilst I am there. By the way, have you seen the bodies of those men in Beefcakes? Poor bastards have no idea what they are in for…

Fetishes, lumberjacks and leathers...

Ha! Nothing like a good headline to get people to click on the link... I know this. Which is why I spend more time trying to figure out catchy headlines than I actually do writing anything. Monster has grasped the same concept, except his is in pictures. Men are simple like that. And there goes my free tequila tonight...

So we are having "Cheesy Tunes Friday" in the office today. Right now it's Total Eclipse of the Heart. Scary part it that I know ALL the words. Even scarier is that I had this wild idea to share the eclipse with my Facebook fans (sorry, friends) and couldn't find a music video for it on YouBoobs. Yup, it's that old, which makes me feel old.

Anyhoo, distractions distractions... which is partly why I haven't been blogging. Too many distractions and things to do. Hang on, been summoned for a ciggie break ...

Do you know how hot it is out there! Damn ... the heatwave before winter really sets in. I hope winter doesn't set in tomorrow, I have plans!

So, what have I been busy doing for the last two months you ask? Here are some highlights:

Up The Creek
I go every year. Like some sort of alcoholic and band pilgrimage. This year I went with Barmy Bernie and Madcap Menno. They were awesome and we had an absolute jol. The sun shone, bands played, I met Jesus at the bar, tried my hand (er, waist) at hula hoops with Party Partner and shared my liquor with pirates.

Partying with The Rudimentals
A friend celebrated his 30th birthday in style at The River Club and had non other than the Rudimentals play at his party. Now how cool is that! There were also free drinks at the bar. Which made conversations with Tehobo Maidza (who is also Zimbabwean) very interesting at the end of the evening. I have photos.

A rockstar wedding
When my Rockstar Friend said he was looking for a photographer for his wedding I said I would take the photos as a present. WHAT was I thinking?? I still haven't managed to get through them all (thankfully they are patient). But it was a fabulous day involving a roadtrip with the Mad Greek where we got lost trying to find the venue, the groom in tears (of joy), Party Partner passing out in the bushes and an impromptu jam session after we got kicked out. I love being friends with bands.

Cruising along
Every year I am asked to take photos of a certain function involving engineers and a boat cruise. It is quite a lucrative annual jaunt where I get to go on a cruise from the Waterfront out to Clifton, scoff loads of snacks and drink free beer. I also have to take photographs on the side. This year was particularly fun as Vuvuzella came along (she also does work for them) and the two of us managed to get a chap from Chile absolutely hammered. I mean seriouuusly hammered. I have a photo of him posing by Table Mountain, followed by one of him and us two with shots of tequila. The last we saw of him we were carrying him to a taxi promising to follow for "some good times fun". We shut the door and went to Ferryman's for a nightcap.

Row, row, row yer boat
Being the "year of doing stuff I wouldn't normally do" (did I just say that? That means trouble) I signed up with my Lesbian Friends to go river rafting on the Breede River. I took my trusty Dancing Partner along as she needed a break from the city and she's such fun (and I didn't want to row a canoe dingy thingy by myself). What a jol!! Met some cool lads who were so friendly we thought they were from Joburg (take note Capetonian men), drank lots of tequila, got crapped on by other campers for making too much noise ("We didn't all come here to get pissed") and managed not fall out of our canoe dingy thingies. We did however crash into banks, hug trees and have a mini dodgem-canoe dingy thingy session. Plus a swig of tequila or two on the river. Best fun ever. The Orange River awaits...

Another wedding
Two weddings in the space of a month. What is wrong with people? Marriage is SO 1950's. But whose complaining when everyone comes together to celebrate a day of love. Not me. I never complain about fabulous food, beautifully decorated venues, free love and free booze. Reckless Freckles is finally married to The Tonester, her "lover" as she likes to call him. I have news for her about sex after marriage (if all my married friends are to be believed). The Usual Crew was all there looking all spiffy (men really do clean up nicely for a wedding I have to say) and the clouds cleared to celebrate a happy union. I did speak to RF's mum and when I said "Ah well, at least you don't have to organise another wedding" her response was "Thank goodness. And thank goodness I only have one Reckless Freckles."

Uh oh.... That makes 2 weddings .. which means a funeral must be on its way... Does a goldfish count?

Easter weekend
Most people eat loads of chocolate over Easter. I also ate loads, but not chocolate. Plenty of curry, samoosas and turkey though! Monster and I had a fun time in the cheerful district of the Bo Kaap where we scoffed samoosas and Mnet sandwiches and went walkies while he secretely hoped that his car would be stolen. It wasn't. Thankfully, because getting home would've been a bitch. Then it was a restaurant review with Mum Friend at a restaurant that her car couldn't get to. Serious hills in the Bo Kaap causing screeching tyres. So we walked up the equivalent of half of Table Mountain to get there. Mighty glad the walk was downhill after lunch. The view was good though. And the curry. The following day was the Annual Easter Lunch at The Machine and Slappy's house. See what I did there? Annual. Now they have to have one every year. These two are not conventional by any means, so we had turkey for lunch. Thanksgiving at Easter. With tequila. It was yummylicious (the food as well) and I was having such a good time that when The Young One and Monster wanted to go home I was just short of throwing a tantrum. But I am supposed to be a grown up. So I did what grown ups do. I poured another drink and lit a cigarette in an effort to stall things. Which it did, but not for long. So with quivering bottom lip I was bundled into the car and made to go home. Not ready to throw in the party towel yet, I then whined and whinged about the lack of alcohol in my house when I was "just getting started" to The Machine on BBM. Resulting in him fetching me. Men hate it when chicks whine. We drank more tequila, hit the Sailor, watched The Lost Boys and sang along to Bryan Ferry whilst Slappy danced in the kitchen. I got home the next day. Now that's more like it!

See. That's how busy I have been. Not to mention all the "work" I have to do for the magazine I write for... like restaurant reviews, blogs, accommodation reviews, weekends away ... It' all too much really.

So why the heading you ask? It wasn't purely to reel you in. Tonight I am off to watch Fetish play a gig for the first time in yonkers. In fact I have never seen them live. Good thing is that if I need a lift home I live in the same road as the bass guitarist. Groupie ...

Tomorrow is the Lumberjack Festival in Stellenbosch. I am so excited about seeing manly men wielding chainsaws that I have borrowed a checked shirt for the occasion. I shall also don a cowboy hat and as Monster put it, "lassoo meself a lumberjack". I think I may just try throwing an axe as well. Preferably not at someone. It is also Vuvuzella's birthday. Perhaps I should lassoo her a lumberjack as a present. I am sure she will share.

THEN, as if that's not enough, on Saturday night I am off to a symphony of doom where Monster, The Movie Maker, TDB and Rose Thorn (amongst others) are going to be treating us to a night of doom classics (like I even know doom classics). There will be guitars, men with tattoos, men in leathers and tequila. It is also in memory of a man from a prominent band who has a rather nice big willy. So I really have to go. I will also be filming it. Which should be interesting as I would have had a day of drinking beer with lumberjacks and my "payment" for this filming job is in booze. I wonder if I will be allowed to drink tequila off their guitars or leathers? I was going to say willy's, but I will be banned before I have even got there...

OMG... the Final Countdown.... Cheeesy deluxe version... I need a drink.

See ya next week folks!! Rock on in your sarong ...or your checked t-shirt. Or your leathers...

Awesome people I know : The Weekend Wizzard

And that's "normal weekend fare"!

Some time ago I thought it might be a cool idea to highlight some of the wonderful friends I have. I could highlight each and every one of them as they all rock in their own way. Without them I would be nothing. I would probably also starve, not have anyone to confide in, not get to laugh as much, and lately, not get to go anywhere. But there are a few who I think I should tell you about. Promote, if you will. Because these guys are either working hard to achieve their dreams, have inspired me to achieve mine, hard workers who never complain, have risen above the odds to do amazing things, or are simply making our society a better place (and we all need more of those!)

First up we have The Weekend Wizzard. Who is actually none other than Mom Friend's other half. Between them they have a small curly-haired cherub of a daughter who is being groomed to be the next master-chef (or a really good wife with great dish washing and skills). Luckily for me, The Weekend Wizzard and family live down the road. Literally a 10 minute walk - which is even more fantastic right now as I am car-less. I am the most blessed person on the planet with this situation as not only can Mom Friend and I sit and yak for hours on end (whilst being interrupted intermittently by offers of tea in fairy-sized teacups by The Cherub), The Weekend Wizzard is a bloody amazing cook.

I have had the honour of scoffing the most delightful meals pretty much once a week for months now. And I am not talking toast and marmite folks, I am talking falafels with tzatziki, the best home-made pizzas (made from scratch, including the base), home-baked breads, not to mention tasty curries and braais where there were wonderfully innovative ideas instead of the usual dop n' chop. Ok, I have yet to try the Lamb fillet flambéed in tequila, but perhaps that's because I may polish off the tequila before he can cook with it. He has also promised to show me how to make pies using a muffin tray which will be most useful for my love of holding parties (and my love of pies).

The Weekend Wizzard isn't a chef by trade, but he should be. His love of cooking and coming up with recipes is evident in everything he does in the kitchen. They say you should cook with love and that's exactly what he does. He doesn't have the time or money to attend fancy cheffing courses or enter Master Chef, so he does the best he can with what he's got. Passion for food and cooking is a great start and I always maintain that anything you do with passion will be a success. Over time I have watched The Weekend Wizard expand his cooking repertoire and even start growing his own vegetables. I have had to listen to him passionately warble on about the different types of tomatoes (small price to pay).

Nowadays you can find him blogging for TASTE magazine. Yes, that fancy much-loved-by-foodies mag from the Woolworths crowd. That is no mean feat and worth a great big applause. And, TASTE are so damn impressed with him, they are now sponsoring ingredients for him to come up with recipes. But wait, there's more. The Weekend Wizzard entered into a competition for Pasella, involving film crews, much rushing around to set up venue for filming and lots of boerewors and dough. He was chosen as a finalist and tonight he will be on TV! Standing bloody ovation please...

The Weekend Wizzard is starting to live the dream and if that isn't bloody inspirational to those of us who are constantly trying to live the dream, then I don't know what is. Cynics be gone... he is proof that if you want something badly enough and follow it up with hard work and passion - it'll be yours for the taking. So here's to you my friend ... onwards and upwards. Tis the year ...

So, watch The Weekend Wizard on Pasella on SABC2 at 7.30pm tonight. He may only be on for 10 minutes, but a whole lot better than the 5 seconds most of us get in life. Watch him make his now-famous and supremely delicious Baked boerie rolls (which I was lucky enough to be treated to this weekend). Then go vote for him. He deserves to win (from sheer determination alone, besides the fact that he is an excellent cook).

I will definitely be watching... from the comfort of their couch scoffing (no doubt yummy) home-made burgers, yakking to Mom Friend and getting tea from The Cherub. Ah yes, I choose my friends well...

ps... It doesn't end there. He's been chatting to Justin Bonello (and Justin doesn't just chat to anyone) and there's a lot of work being done on a recipe book that where proceeds will go to charity. Watch this space!

A brush with Basil

Remember Basil Brush? The fox with the wicked laugh... I do! Which of course shows my age, but am past worrying about that. I can out-party the youngsters out there any day. Ok, admittedly the recovery time is much longer, but staying power is what is important. The only people I have met who can probably out-party me are The Machine (who is older than me, gasp!), The Monster (he is an aging rockstar after all) and the gal who introduced me to the joys of tequila, Seamonster (who is also older than me, wahoo!). Put all four of us in a room with an unlimited supply of cactus juice and it will get wild. Just realised that two of those friends have the word monster in their names. It’s a sign ... monstrous good times!

Talking of fun and good times (two of my favourite things), the highlight of my weekend was having the company of Basil. And he was pretty foxy too. In a green gangstamobile way. Hailing from Mitchell’s Plain, he was kindly lent to me by Barmy Bernie. With a full tank to boot. Rocking friend huh! You better believe it (come to think of it, BB could probably out-party me too). So, cabin fever be banished, I had Ford Escort freedom!

After having tea at BB’s with Rose Thorn, who kindly came all the way from town to fetch me to take me back to town to collect Basil (I can definitely out-party RT by the way) I set off to the de Waterkant to do the first of my shoots (which is actually why I was borrowing the car – to do shoots and earn extra money for tequila). I met the most fabulous gay couple (as you do in the de Waterkant) who own a beautiful purple house and took an amble through this gay little suburb. It was like being in Greece, or Paris or Italy, but in a fabulously camp way. White shutters and hanging flower baskets mingled with shops selling wonderfully outrageous garments fit for a queen (see what I did there?). The smell of coffee drifted lazily through the air and people trotted by on their way to brunch dates or to the market. There was a wonderful ambience and I have made a vow to go back for a “day in the de Waterkant”. I shall attempt to pull out the “magazine I work for” trump card and get some free meals and if I am lucky, a night for free too. Damn I love my job ... and the de Waterkant.

After that it was off to Higgovale for my next shoot, which wasn’t really scheduled, but thought I would take a chance. Well, who would’ve thought ... a modern day hippie commune in the city. The first sign should’ve been in the directions – “turn left into the road that has a tree in the middle of it”. But it doesn’t really feel like the city as it is all wild and foresty up there. I was actually tempted to stay and probably could’ve as no one seemed to care about me wandering around this complex with it’s wild gardens (read, unkempt) and prayer flags (read, Buddhist types). Chimes with peace symbols tinkled in the trees (read, hippies) and there were tables made out of beer crates with board and poofs on tree stumps as chairs (read, definitely hippies). Needless to say I found the address of the house, but couldn’t find the key. He said I would find it under the pot plant. Upon reflection I am realising that I shouldn’t have been looking under the potted plants. Silly me...

After all that work, it was time for a bit of socialising. Popped into the Now Married Flatmate’s house for a beer to celebrate her son’s 4th birthday. Seemingly once you turn four you lose your mini rock n’ roll status as I didn’t recognise Big Tom sans afro. After a quick catch up and some pirate cake I went home for a nap with the remaining six-pack of Hunters Dry under my arm. Damn, my friends are good to me, they look after all my best interests ( I chose them well). The evening was spent at The Genie’s where we shared the spoils of my birthday boy visit. Paying it forward I think it’s called. Times are tight and one must share any good fortune. I got home at 10pm only to head out again an hour later to The Machine and Slappy’s where their braai was still in full swing. Yes, it was late, but have car, will travel to Constantia. The Monster was still there with The Young One and a good time (and chocolate tequila) was had. Basil and I got home in the wee hours. It was the first time I hadn’t been to bed before 11pm on a Saturday for weeks – I almost felt like my old self.

Sunday involved morning walkies in the park (Tino ran like the wind and rolled on the grass in leash-free bliss) some assignment work (free meals from trump cards come at a different sort of price) and cleaning house (maid is high on priority list right now, cleaning floors on hands and knees is not for an ex-colonial gal like me). Then Basil and I zooted off on a mini roadtrip to Simon’s Town for another shoot. I had grand plans to do the shoot and then treat myself to an ice cream and a walk on the beach in the sunshine. Those plans got swept out to sea with the gale force wind. But what amazed me was the sheer resilience of people determined to enjoy a hot summer’s day. There’s a howling gale where sand is being swept over the road and the beaches were full. I guess why spend a fortune in a salon when all you need is sun block and sand for a bit of light exfoliation.

Basil got returned to his rightful owner in one piece and minus a quarter of a tank of fuel that evening. I feel very honoured to have had the pleasure of his company. Here’s to you my green gangstamobile friend, you gave me back my freedom for a weekend. May you have many more years on the road and may your tank never run dry.

(Cue wicked foxy laugh)

I have a fever

"Cabin fever: A type of hysteria brought on by spending too much time indoors." - Urban Dictionary 


Cabin fever has struck. Being car-less and cash-less has left me with little option but to stay at home and behave. And my God, I swear it could kill you. OK, I agree that some time spent at home is a good thing, as with spending time with yourself. Getting stuff done. Being alone, but not lonely and all that. Time out from the world is good for you, blah blah ....Yes, but only for a while. A very short while! I know everything is for a reason, but there is only so much wiring of plugs and reading I can do. When you start asking your dogs if they would like a cup of tea with their biscuit then you know it is time to get out and about. What's even scarier is that I have even started washing the dishes on a regular basis. Eeeeek! Somebody come take me out to the pub, pleaaaaaaaaaaaase!!!

The good side of all this is that I have found my inner interior designer and have been doing all sorts of creative things in my new home. Like putting lights into a bowl creating a pretty bowl full of light. Sticking with the lights theme I have also put lights on the Frangipani tree which took great skill and patience. Skill to climb up on chairs to get to the end of branches and patience to find the faulty bulb which caused a section to be unlit. Naturally it was the last bulb I checked out of about 30. And then ... to top it all, I put up the chilli lights in the kitchen. Cool huh! So now I have enough light effects to hold an epic housewarming party, which must happen soon. I have managed to put everything away in the cupboards and can finally see my dining room table. Great, now I can have epic dinner parties (with 3 chairs). I have been able to take a nap every day, along with reading a chapter of my latest Margie Orford book. I am feeling more well read and rested and my skin looks fabulous. My dogs have been taken on walks every day which has been a wonderful way to get some exercise and discover our new hood. Thanks to being so busy titivating and playing house with not much time found for eating and drinking (nor the money to buy booze and fast food treats) I have lost 4kgs. Over the festive season??! Whooooot!!! So all in all, not bad. Quite blissful I suppose. Sounds idyllic to friends with children! And I shouldn't complain as I love my new home, but dammit, I need to get out!!

But, I shouldn't really be whining so much. Lucky for me, I did manage to get two fab outings over the past few days. I popped out on Sunday to Mom Friend's house where I loafed about drinking Savanna and scoffing home-made pizza. Her hubbie is quite the chef and making a name for himself too. He even blogs for TASTE magazine! Smart stuffs huh? You bet ... read The Weekend Wizard's blogs and get some yummy recipes here. I was also treated to some "tea" (aka splash pool water) in the most delightful little Snow White teacup and saucer by their gorgeous cherub of a daughter. Actually she wasn't being so gorgeous to her parents that day and there was much mention of "thank goodness creche starts tomorrow" and "she is so out of her routine thanks to the holidays". This of course just further proves that having children should not be taken lightly and those who continue to do so after watching the demise of their parent friends are just plain crazy. But singleton here had a wonderful time and got very spoilt as I always do when I go there. Then with a full tummy and pizza takeaways (and teabags, yes, it's THAT bad) I ambled home to have a nap. Which you can't do if you have children...

Last night I went to a braai at Monster's house. A braai on a school night! Wahoo! I love my friends. I managed to get a lift with Rockstar Friend and scraped up the last of my pennies to buy a piece of steak (no braai is complete without a piece of steak). Armed with potatoes (no braai is complete without a potato salad), a piece of cow and a coca cola (sad, I know) I arrived in the gale-force wind at his house in Salt River to find him watering his tomato plants and sweeping the braai area. I was shown the new patch of lawn and I witnessed him SOAK the braai grids. My dear Monster has seemingly gone from rock god to a male version of Martha Stewart (he says it himself). Whilst the guitars and other band apparel (including framed groupie underwear) is still there, I fear it is being overshadowed by trays of herb seedlings, compost and a weed-eater. Any minute now he will start a new blog called A Guide to Homemaking and Gardening for the Modern Man. I can't wait!

Seemingly he is not the only one in this bunch of once-debaucherous group of friends (I have heard tales of kettles up arses and seen some interesting photos) who has started growing up. One of the most illustrious members of this group has recently become a dad (to twins at that) and he was all excited about his six-pack of beer shandy that only had 0.9% alcohol. Aah, how times have changed - bet he never thought he would be drinking low-alcohol beer shandy whilst chugging down his tenth pint of Napier beer a few years ago! Madcap Menno and Barmy Bernie were there having returned from a fabulous roadtrip in Mozambique where one has to take photos of your food at night so you can see what you are eating because there is no electricity. Filmaker Friend, who is now embarking on creating a TV series, was there with his chick, The Madonna with the Big Boobies. Rose Thorn told me all about her midlife crisis (at 33) and at some point suggested we become lesbians. And she was sober. Yikes. For the record, no thanks. Gay Street or no Gay Street. TDB and The Swift also arrived and I was relieved to hear that The Swift has also blown a car engine and also never listens to anyone's advice when it comes to cars. And last, but not least, I got to spend some time with Monster's new girlfriend, The Young One. Lovely girl - very willing and helpful, eager to please and good at taking instructions (which of course is why men like them young). She's quite pretty too. She also apparently makes an awesome blue cheese and onion braaibroodtjie. I wouldn't know as they were so popular that I never got one. Probably because I was too busy getting stuck into the wine (I soon ditched the soft drinks in favour of alcohol). After a fabulous evening catching up with everyone, drinking copious amounts wine and scoffing dead animals I got a lift home with TDB and The Swift and fell into my bed feeling half smashed and deliriously happy.

Tonight is a home night and I have an assignment to finish. Must go and check with IT how my loan laptop is coming along. I made "use of modern device history" the other day when I completed an assignment on my Blackberry and emailed it to myself. Savvy yes, but not inclined to do it again! Tomorrow night is also a home night. So is Friday. And Saturday. And Sunday.

O.M.G...

The year that ended in a bunch of tissues, a sink full of crayfish, a bearing knock and half a bottle of rum

So we are six days into the new year and apparently our last year on earth as we know it. How exciting! What's even more exciting is that I have some simple resolutions (which I seldom keep) and one of them is to blog at least once a week. Nowhere near as dedicated as Monster, but a damn-side better than blogging four times a year... so watch this space. Through this I may even manage to wangle some sponsorship of some kind. A year long supply of tequila would be a good start ... after the end of last year I need it!

Moving it and shaking it

I moved house in December. The planets clearly moved alignment at the same time as everything that could go wrong did. My car broke down on the day of the move, I chipped off my front tooth, my cat turned into something out of Pet Cemetary and my previous landlady turned into a bitch and stole all my deposit. It wasn't fun and I had a mini nervous breakdown. But I now live in a fantastic little cottage with a blue door and blue window frames. It's so cute dammit! Everyone has a good snigger when they hear it is in Gay Street. But back when the street was named, "gay" orignally meant "gleeful, jovial, glad, joyous, happy, cheerful, light-hearted, vivacious, frolicsome". So there. Just like my personality (most of the time). Besides, everyone who lives there is "straight".... life is ironic like that.

What I learnt:
Don't move house at all costs - squat if you have to. If you do decide to move house, start packing the day you get or give notice to move out. Don't make friends with your landlord/lady - they are not your friend, you are merely a source of income. Deposits are good for funding renovations. Don't mix pets and carpets - it's a recipe for disaster. Ask for help if you need it. Help often comes from those you least expect.

Breakdowns and meltdowns

Most people know me as the happy-go-lucky gal without a care in the world. Turns out my Happiness Fairy decided to go on holiday in December (probably to the North Pole to seek a job as the Christmas Fairy) and the Ogre of Misery moved in instead. The last few weeks of 2011 were one disaster after the next and I think friends started dreading asking how things were going. On the day of the move the moving crew arrived almost 2 hours early, resulting in my menagerie being chucked into the bathroom (as opposed to being whisked off to the safety and calm of the parlour), my fridge being moved with the food in it and I was still chucking clothes into black bags at 1am in the morning. My car started giving trouble on the day of the move, resulting in a tearful visit to the mechanic which resulted in all attention being paid immediately to my car. My beloved Tino almost got ran over 2 days after the move, resulting in me chasing a terrified dog down the road and chipping my front tooth. No pain, but not so pretty. I will never make jokes about white trash again. Then, on very same day, my computer at work crashed. All my precious photos and memories were about to go down the hard drive drain. This was the final straw and I fell apart, much to the concern of fellow workmates. Dosed up on Rescue Remedy I was sent home and stayed there for 2 days. In my bed...

What I learnt
It does eventually get better. I am stronger than I thought. Breakdowns happen to happy people too. Crying and shaking uncontrollably is your body's way of saying "enough". You cannot overdose on Rescue Remedy. Pets can have Rescue Remedy too. It's OK to cry. Backup your work. Don't store everything on your desktop. Teeth can be fixed, at a price. One should start saving from childhood for dental work (if you don't use it, you can retire on it).

All I want for Christmas ....

... is a new car. Having been assured that my car was fine and good to go (which I guess it was at the time) I decided to drive it to Hermanus to spend Christmas with my pals there. Not only was I going to catch up with old friends who had been somewhat neglected over the year, I was looking forward to having a break and enjoying delightful Christmas fare. Half way there the oil buzzer came on. Rush into a garage to find that there was indeed oil in my car. Thinking that the oil buzzer was simply playing up again I pushed on with a screaming oil buzzer making me feel like I was stuck in a bell tower. I made it to my friends' house, but only just. I was half demented and my engine sounded even more so. Determined to have a good time in spite of this, I pushed the car out of my mind as much as possible and got immersed in the festivities. I ate enough to keep me going for months. The seafood extravaganza on Christmas Day was fit for kings (there were mountains of prawns and calamari, a freshly caught cob and we had an entire crayfish to ourselves!) It was all quite fabulous and the weather played along too. But by Boxing Day I decided it was time to sort out the car. Luckily for me The Machine knew a mechanic in town and the man was kind enough to come check out the car. Verdict: bearing knock in the engine caused by collapsed oil pump. Estimated cost: Anything between R3 000 to R8 000 depending on damage. So the car wasn's shreiking at me for nothing. The oil was there, but not going through to where it should. If only we had've changed the oil pump... R300 is a lot less than what I am about to fork out. Sigh ...

But that aside a far bigger problem was looming. My pets were at home with no-one to feed them as I had the only key. Using social networking I tried to find a lift and people tried to help. Word went out, phone calls were made, some offered to jump the walls to get to my critters and The Genie even offered to come from Cape Town to get me. Thankfully my new landlady was able to go in and halt starvation and some good friends came from Betty's Bay to save me. I got home two days later than anticipated to some very happy animals who don't care if I have a car or not, they just want to be fed and to see me. And being car-less for a while, that they definitely will.

What I learnt
If your car is shouting at you, listen. Make sure someone has spare keys to your house. Disaster can happen at any given moment. Afrikaans people definitely know about food. Seafood on Christmas Day under an African sun is the best way to spend the day. Getting the meat out of a crayfish leg takes skill. True friends will be with you during the bad as well as the good and those are the friends to nurture and keep. Cars have a sell-by date. So do some friends.

And so there you have it. Thank goodness that year is over. It's a new year and I shall press on with renewed faith and optimism. As we tend to do. I have to say it started pretty well... I woke up in the posh suburb of Constantia on New Year's Day with a mild hangover thanks to a fun rum-filled evening with The Machine and Slappy (good name there Monster) and have been getting lifts to work in the finest vehicles known to man. The latest Audi A1 ranks as my favourite so far (the new Mini is ugly with retro overkill as far as I am concerned). I have a new office and a new job. I have a new home.

Now all I need is a new tooth, a new car, a new figure, a new boyfriend and a new attitude. Will let you know how that goes...

Here's to 2012 ... may it be our finest yet!