Baglett

I’ve just arrived back at Old Man Rivers place after a two hour walk on the beach. He’s currently surfing and when he gets back we’re going for a hike up the mountain. When I signed up for this ‘dating an older man’ deal, I was hoping for someone a little less energetic. With a zimoframe perhaps. So I could score a disabled parking if nothing else. At the rate I’m going, I’ll be dead before he is. Which brings me to another point. I still haven’t worked out his secret to looking young. After an extensive search of his medicine cabinet, I am none the wiser. I’m now in search of his diary to confirm my botox appointment suspicions.

This weekend kicked off the wedding season with two nuptials. Weddings are always fun, weddings that involve The Neighbour, The Single Sidekick, the Ex Pat, the Princess and various other characters are ball breakingly fun. I can rely on The Neighbour to ask ‘Is this top too revealing?’ and then pull it down to flash the entire wedding party. I can rely on The Single Sidekick to embrace me in a rib shattering hug sobbing into my shoulder ‘I love youuuuuu my friiiiiiiiieeend’ and I can rely on the fact that I’m going to make some ridiculous comment. Prime example would be when I was introduced to Juan and instead of a simple handshake, I poked him and said, ‘You are the Juan I want’ and then fell over.

Sunday saw in my first Jewish wedding and definitely not my last. Apparently I loved it so much that I fell into Old Man River’s bed at 3am this morning and told him I’m converting to Judaism. I have spent the most part of today saying things like ‘I’m schvitzing’, ‘That’s not kosher’ and ‘what a schlep’ and 'You're lacking some chutzpah'. As annoying as it is for people around me, I'm having a great day.

Apologies for yesterday, The Brother arrived from London and I’ve only just got the power of sight back. It’s like looking at an eclipse. He’s off to the beach now. If you see him, don’t look directly at him. Just a warning.

On a separate note, I haven’t been this hungover since the peach schnapps incident of ’96.
Considering it vitally important to see The Queen’s birthday in properly last night, I dedicated Queen’s ‘We are the champions’ to her while drinking champers. Once she had finished sliding down the banister, she ran up to me mortified that I had announced to the club that it was her birthday. The fact that she had asked the car guard, the bouncer, the barmen and the cleaning lady to sing happy birthday to her was besides the point.

There was one particular low point last night with one particular asshole. I can only assume his family shares a brain and it was his night to lend it to his cousin. Who is also his wife. Nothing I could say or do could get rid of this guy and the only thing that was entertaining was the crowd that was gathering listening to our conversation.

Village Idiot: Can I explain something to you?
Me: I hope it’s an explanation as to why you’re wearing that shirt.
VI: I’ve been married for five years and they’ve been the happiest years of my life.
Me: So why is your wife crying?
VI: That’s not my wife.
Me: Sorry, she must be the last person you spoke to.
VI: So, like, can I buy you a drink?
Me: Only if you promise to leave.
VI: I own a gun shop.

Firstly, this statement had no relation to the conversation and secondly, telling someone like me that that you own a gun shop is tantamount to telling me that you run a dog fighting syndicate.

Me: Do you shoot blanks?
VI: My guns can shoot anything.
Me: Would you be able to shoot me because I can’t see another way out of talking to you.

The Village Idiot was finally collected by his cousin/wife who threw a couple of daggers in my direction. She was clearly under the misapprehension that I was enjoying the conversation with her husband/cousin and I had in some way encouraged it. When they walked away he turned to his cousin/wife and said ‘That chick was into me.’

Delusional is the new black.

I’ve been on holiday for over a week now and I’m beginning to wonder how I ever managed to work. Today was breakfast with Old Man River which is always an early one because old people tend to be early risers. The Queen blames it on his arthritis. Lunch was with The Father and The Gran for her birthday and I’m about to leave to meet The Queen for drinks followed by a dinner with Old Man River. Having sussed out that the guy is a trustafarian, he fits in nicely with my early retirement plan.

While I thought I was the only person in Cape Town living the dream, yesterday was proof that I am not alone. It was one of the Smug Married’s birthdays and a few weeks back she sent an email out saying that it was her birthday on the Monday and she was having a lunch at her favourite seaside restaurant. Brave I thought, since firstly everyone works and if you can make it, by the time you've left the office in town and hit the beach, it’s 4 o clock. Feeling sorry for her and picturing her sitting on her lurkersome, I made the trip. I arrived an hour late to find 13 of my closest friends including The Neighbour, The single Sidekick, The Queen, a couple of the Stepfords and a shit load of the Smug Marrieds boozing themselves silly.

Me: My God. Are we all unemployed?
The Single Sidekick: We’re retired Baglett, there’s a massive difference
Me: The Queen, what the hell are you doing here, you have a business to run
The Queen: I’m practising. And you know I suffer from FOMO
Smug Married: Don’t look at me, there’s a recession on. Who else is going to support these restaurants?

With all the retirement boozy lunches I’ve been attending it’s taking a toll on my petrol account and I have had to make alternative arrangements. AKA my father.

Me: Daaaaaaaaaaaaad, can I borrow your car today?
Dad: Why? What’s the difference between mine and yours?
Me: Yours has petrol
Dad: Baglett, the last time you borrowed my car, you went away for a night and returned it with an empty tank
Me: It’s not my fault Old Man River lives in the land of Far, Far Away. And I may have siphoned some petrol out of your car. Which reminds me, my car doesn’t take Diesel.

While there are things I can get away with in Dad Land, Mom Land is not as forgiving and my Dad knows that if he needs to make a point with me, he needs to do it in front of my mother otherwise it doesn’t count.

Dad: Baglett, please stop taking my car and using all the petrol.
Me: Mom! Dad! You won’t believe it! That wasn’t me!
Mom: What are you talking about Baglett?
Me: Well Dad, your car must have been stolen. I got into it last night and there was a receipt from McDonalds for a double cheeseburger and chips!
Mom: WHAT?!
Me: Mom, don’t be cross with Dad, crime is out of control. There are obviously vigilantes out there on some sort of greasy take away crime spree.
Dad: That is shocking. Love, pass me the yummy salad over there. Baglett, here are my keys.

Sorry for last week. Well sorry for you rather than sorry for me. I was/am on holiday and was spending a few days here. I highly recommend Franschhoek. Just to get away from it all.

The horrendous view from the deck

The awful walk to my room

One particular lunch with The Neighbour last week stands out. Which explains the need for me to escape to the haven of theWinelands. Having not heard from Old Man River for an entire day I was ready to discuss the subject at length with the long suffering Neighbour. Also realising of course that the lunch was going to be a boozy one, I deleted his number from my phone to save myself the embarrassment of drunk dialling. Just as soon as I got off the phone from Mrs Greek with her advice to give it another day because ‘he’s so old he may have forgotten who you are’, my phone rang. Not recognising the number but partial to anything of the 082 variety, I answered.

Me: Hello Baglett speaking
Old Man River: I don’t phone you for one day and you delete my number?
Me: I didn’t delete it, I saved it under ‘Asshole’.
OMR: So why did you answer it then?
Me: Because when I guy pulled out in front of me this morning, I declared it National Asshole day and so it makes perfect sense that you called.
OMR: You’re a hard lady Baglett.
Me: You’re an old man, River.
OMR: Dinner at my place tomorrow?
Me: Fine

While The Neighbour and I went through the conversation at length, I thought it was only fair to update Mrs Greek with a quick sms.

‘He phoned! YAY! Going for dinner tomorrow night’.

What followed next followed in slow motion. My laughter faded, The Neighbour’s smile waned and we both watched while my phone declared ‘Delivered to Old Man River’.

There is no coming back from that. He tortured me with silence until I arrived at his house the next day, opened the door, jumped up and down while clapping his hands and shouted ‘YAY! She arrived!’

As I mentioned The Father has been left alone for two weeks while The Mother does her international thing and visits The Brother. I check in on him most days and pop past just to make sure he's still breathing (See Dad Unsupervised). I put in a call to him last Sunday.

Me: Hey Daddyo, what's happening?
Dad: Um, hi Baglett, I have a leeeetle problem here.
Me: Oh God. What have you done?
Dad: Can't talk now Baglett, the firemen have just arrived.

I raced to the Homestead to find a red fire engine parked in the driveway and large emissions of smoke filtering out the front door.

Dad: Hey Baglett! What's up?
Me: Um, why is the house on fire?
Dad: Don't tell your mother.
Me: She may work it out for herself when she comes back to no kitchen Dad.
Dad: Do you think she'll be cross?
Me: I would have thrown myself into the flames, it would have been less painful.

Turns out that while my Dad was preparing to make his Sunday curry, he left the extractor fan on and went downstairs to play in his garage. The extractor fan decided to be a naughty extractor fan and catch alight. It then said howzit to the pots of oil on the stove and had a fireworks party in the kitchen. When they had finished with the kitchen they took a little walk down the passage to spread their joy into the bedrooms. My Dad managed to find the fire extinguisher and stop the party while the firemen went into the roof and put an end to the after party that had started.

My Mother arrives home on Sunday and I popped in today to see how Operation Clean Up was going. There is no ceiling in the kitchen. The walls are completely brown and all the curtains are singed.

Dad: Do you think she'll notice?

We both looked down as the dog walked past us with a singed tail and coughed.

Me: Naaaaaaaaaah. You're fine.

This is a quick one. I'm in the process of moving house which is about as fun as having acupuncture performed on my eyes. By someone who isn't trained in acupuncture. My house looks like boxes have been breeding. I have no idea where anything is. I have a slight suspicion that I packed my car keys in one of them. And while looking for a wine glass last night, I opened the box that said GLASSES and inside was my collection of running medals. Either the packers were playing some sort of sick packing joke or for every glass you find you get a medal.

The temptation to shout 'Back in your box' to the movers tomorrow will be too much. Wish me luck.

The introduction of Old Man River went fairly well and I have to commend the friends on being relatively well behaved. I owe it to my stern briefing (see Old Man River) and the threat of revealing all their secrets. Not that I haven't revealed all of them already but that's the bonus of having friends who drink heavily, they can never remember what they've told you in the first place.

Apart from one mortifying incident when Old Man River walked down the stairs and I immediately rushed to the girls to ask them what they thought. The person who was walking down the stairs was in fact, NOT Old Man River but the BFFs dad. Old Man River was casually leaning against the pillar behind me. Praying that the only senses he had left were touch and smell, I turned to him while he smiled back and said, 'Yes, please do tell'.

Not ideal. I acted completely normal and said that if he found it necessary to listen to my every word, could he turn his hearing aid down while I'm talking about him.

One thing has been bothering me though. Since I was hammered when I met him, I can't remember if I asked him what he did for a living. And since my old years resolution is to stop repeating stories and asking the same questions within the period of five days, I've had to rely on my Inspector Morse type abilities to work out what he does to earn money.

Me: Soooooo how was your day? (Always start with general questions to gain perspective)
OMR: Cool, I had a good surf.
Me: Anything else? (Probing. I'm probing here)
OMR: Took the dog for a walk.
Me: And tomorrow? (Relentless)
OMR: I'm going to Durban.

From my serious detective work, I have deduced that he travels around the country as a pro surfer and moonlights as a dog walker.

I went on a date with Old Man River. He is 45. But looks 35. I haven't worked out his secret yet but have made a mental note to conduct an intensive search of his facial products range. I did have a good look behind his ears and there were no surgery scars so I can only chalk it up to really good moisturiser or a botox addiction.

I've never been opposed to dating older men but 45 years was slightly out of my age range. But knowing him as I do now, he is a very young 45 year old and combined with my insane level of maturity, our conversation flows pretty smoothly. I make a conscious attempt to avoid words such as 'kiff', 'lank' and the second world war because I think he may fought in it.

Obviously this new development is very entertaining to the family and friends and dinner on Friday with The Father, The Greeks and The Queen was very entertaining.

Mrs Greek: Sooooo did your daughter tell you she went on a date the other night?
Me: Dad you might know him - he's 45! Don't you old people all know each other?
The Father: No Baglett, I don't know him. What worries me is that you do.
Me: I can't help it I'm so mature that I have to date older men.
The Father: You and The Queen have a dress up box Baglett.
Me: So we wear hats when we drink at her house. That's not immature, that's the law.
Mr Greek: What school did he go to?
Me: I'm not sure, I was born the year he matriculated, so the school probably doesn't even exist anymore.
The Queen: What do you guys talk about?
Mrs Greek: Incontinence and dentures
Me: We talk about normal things. He's very intelligent and cultured. He loves the theatre and museums.
The Queen: Is he one of the exhibits?

They will be meeting Old Man River this evening and have been briefed accordingly. There will be no curtsying, no one is to shout when speaking to him, no slang must be used followed by an explanation and no one is allowed to ask him if he was on Titanic.

For those with no interest in sailing or no eyes, you wouldn't have known that the Volvo Ocean Race was in Cape Town for two weeks. I personally don't have any interest in sailing but I do have an interest in boys who sail and for two weeks the Waterfront was swarming with men in uniform. It goes without saying that my car clocked up a good few hours sitting in the Waterfront parking lot while I became a main feature at the race village.

One thing my mother always taught me was to be hospitable. So I considered it not only my patriotic duty but my hospitable one to entertain these sailor boys. But when I fell through The Sailors' ceiling and woke up the next morning saying 'Ahoy there', I knew I was in trouble.

Me: Ahoy there
The Sailor: You're going talk like that all week aren't you?
Me: I consider it my duty. You did after all, take the wind out of my sails.
Me: I also cannot help myself. It's a disease which I'm having checked out.
TS: Your phone is ringing.
Me: Must be my first mate.

Mrs Greek: So did you wake up portside or starboard side?
Me: Portside.
MG: Did he raise his mast?
Me: Shore thing

I learnt a lot about sailing in those two weeks. I also learnt that 'hook, line and sinker' is in fact a fishing term rather than a sailing term and that asking questions like 'Are you going to do some grinding?' never stops being funny.

Unfortunately but probably fortunately for him and anyone else who had spoken to me for those two weeks, The Sailor hit the high seas to continue the race and myself and the BFF said a tearful goodbye to the team on Saturday. While I was very sad to say goodbye, I was running out of funny sailing terms.

BFF: I can't believe they're gone.
Me: I know, I'm the mooring.

I knew I had one left...

My mother has gone overseas again for two weeks. This is not good for my Dad. He tends to lose the plot completely. I'm not sure if it is out of absolute excitement that he is free for two weeks or absolute panic when he realises he is incapable of doing anything without my mother. I check on him daily to make sure he hasn't been arrested, abducted or burnt down the house. The last time my mother went overseas he fell asleep with his helmet on, couldn't breathe and thought he was having a heart attack until he looked in the mirror.

I walked into the kitchen yesterday to find him holding the dogs paws and dancing to Frank Sinatra.

Me: Hi Dad. What you doing?
Dad: Baglett! It's all party, party, party here!
Me: I can see that. Did the washing machine explode?
Dad: No. I just leave items of clothing lying around. Cause I can.
Me: And I see the dogs are back inside the house.
Dad: Yes. I saw Your Dog with a screwdriver trying to change the locks so your mother can't get back in. (My Dad's new dog's name is 'Your Dog' since my mother spends her life telling my father 'Look what your dog did' and 'Get your dog out'. Now it's the only name the dog answers to.)
Me: Didn't you have a doctor's appointment today?
Dad: Yes I did. He said I'm a fat sh*t and I need to lose weight. Pass me the oil there Baglett.
Me: Dad, you can't eat steak if you're on diet.
Dad: I can when I eat it with this Weigh Less mushroom sauce I bought.
Me: That's a nice t shirt you're wearing. New?
Dad: Are you referring to my favourite t shirt? Bought in 1980 and still fits?
Me: It sits on your belly button Dad and only has one sleeve.
Dad: Yes but your mother won't let me wear it so I plan to wear it everyday until it disintegrates.
Me: Fair enough. I'm going to do some shopping and then I'm off.
Dad: Ok Baglett, check the bottom shelf, your mother stocked up on some new salad dressings - some goodies there for you. Pass me the paper towels. Apparently if you dab chips after frying them, you basically lose weight while you eat them!

And it's only day three...

The BFF was clever enough to nab herself a sailor as he sailed into the port of Cape Town a few years back. She wooed him, she married him and now she follows him around the world as he sails big boats (I'm aware they are called yachts, but I'm a sucker for alliteration.) Obviously the travelling really gets in the way of any career building opportunities, so she happily took the title of a sailing WAG. Or slag as I prefer to call her. She is currently in CT and then flies to India, then Singapore, then I lost interest. She made a big hoohaa about giving up her blossoming career, but for the love of her husband, she made the sacrifice and gave it all up to follow her hubby around the world. How decent of her.

Me: What are you doing today oh Queen of the Unemployed?
BFF: I've got so much to do! I'm actually panicking.
Me: Well you've got out of bed, so you can tick that box. What else is there?
BFF: I've got to start my scrapbook and put together my wedding photos and...
Me: Stop right there. Did you say scrapbook?
BFF: Yes.
Me: Sweet lord.
BFF: I've also started a memory box.
Me: Does it have memories of what it was like to have a job and not panic about things like scrapbooking?
BFF: Shut up.
Me: So what are you going to do with your time when your First Mate finishes this race?
BFF: He will just race another one.
Me: What if he decides not to?
BFF: Don't even say it. If I have to go back to work, I'll f*cking kill myself.

Brilliant!

I received a phone call from The Local owner yesterday asking me out for dinner. When I replied I was fairly chockers for the next ten years, he fired back with 'So what's your favourite restaurant?'. Not to be outdone I hit him with 'Le Pont De Le Tour' in London. He came back with 'I'll see what I can do but let's go with Wafu for now.' I'm a sucker for persistence. Ask The Ex. He saw the full brunt of that theory. Jesus.

Anyhoo, I repeated the 'chockers for the next ten years' answer and he said he would phone me later when I had cleared out my diary.

The phone rang and it was The Queen.

The Queen: Did you give The Local owner my number?
Me: Nooooo, he asked you what your lucky number was and you answered with your phone number.
TQ: Oooh clever. Anyway, he phoned me today.
Me: That's usually the way it works. Next step is marriage, watch.
TQ: He wanted to take me out for dinner and asked me what my favourite restaurant was.

Jeepers, but the boy was busy yesterday! Note to guys, if you're going to cover all your options and invite all the girls you know on a date, until one of them says yes, make sure they're not friends.

On a side note: I kinda like him now. Oh God stoppit.

BFF: Look at these shoes I bought in Spain.
Me: Oh my God I LOVE THEM
BFF: Well they're too small for me, if you can get your feet into them, you can have them.
Me: Hand em over.
BFF: Baglett, I was joking. They're a size 6 and you're a yeti size 8.
Me: Look! They fit!
BFF: No they don't.
Me: Yes they do. The Spanish have bigger sizes than we do.
BFF: No they don't.
Me: How would you know?
BFF: I live there.
Me: Pffft. That proves nothing.
BFF: Why is your face going red?
Me: Because I'm so happy with my new shoes
BFF: Why are your toes bleeding?
Me: They always do that when they're happy.

If I listen really carefully I can actually hear my feet screaming.

I was having lunch with a friend over the weekend. A single friend. Hard to find those single friends I tell you, so I was particularly looking forward to our lunch.

Me: What are you ordering?
Single Friend: A guy! I met a guy last night!
Me: That's not on the lunch menu. It may be on the drinks menu though...
SF: No I really met a guy. I haven't had a connection like that in ages. We just talked and talked and talked. He was even calling me his wife!
Me: Careful, the last time someone called you that, you went through a messy divorce.
SF: You're so cynical.
Me: I'm a realist.
SF: Oh my God, he's calling me now.

I sat in shock while I was subjected to her conversation. While I'm guilty of proposing to many a guy over the years, I'm usually completely intoxicated and any guy with two eyes, two legs and the ability to speak English seems insanely hot to me. Having this kind of conversation while sober, is not something I recommend.

SF: I was JUST talking about you!
Me: Why are you telling him that?
SF: Baglett says you're a really nice, normal guy with no hang ups!
Me: No I didn't. And even if I did, don't tell him that.
SF: I was just saying how I haven't had a connection with a guy in years.
Me: You're not actually telling him that. Tell me you're not actually telling him that.
SF: Would you like to go out for dinner tonight?
Me: Yes, that's good, make him wait.
SF: Wait, here speak to Baglett!
Me: Thank God we're in High School because otherwise this would be really embarrassing.
SF: Baglett's faking a coughing fit. So see you at 7?

She spent the rest of the lunch smsing him. To extricate myself from the situation I asked the guy friend on my right how his girlfriend was. 'She dumped me last night' was his reply.

So the God of Awkward Lunches was having a good giggle that day.

Apologies for the silence, I was put on bed rest. And while I did wake up next to The Sailor one morning and he reiterated this fact, I pointed out that my doctor never specified whose bed I was supposed to rest in.

I went to watch Bed on Bricks on Saturday in Scarborough. There is nothing about that sentence that makes sense to me. Firstly, I'm not a diehard Bed on Bricks fan and secondly, places like Scarborough scare me. I'm constantly afraid that I will be abducted by a tie dyed wearing hippy and forced into some cult where I eat magic mushrooms all day and have twenty kids with twenty different dads. And if there was one thing my mother taught me, it was that having twenty kids with twenty different dads is wrong. Dad was wavering on the eating magic mushrooms thing.

But since it was the Eternal Students birthday, I made the effort and went along. First mistake was wearing an expensive flowing dress. While I'm au fait with places like Kirstenbosch Gardens with actual grass, I was sitting on rocks and twigs. I sat there asking The Queen questions like 'Is this what Woodstock was like?'. Apparently this was funny. As funny as when I asked if U2 was performing. I watched while The Queen and The Eternal Student went mad on the dance floor and were holding kids that weren't their own. It will take force for me to hold my own kids, voluntarily holding a strangers child while dancing, in the daylight, to music that seemed to be a lot of shouting is my idea of hell.

But it was when a dog came and peed next to me that I had no choice but to join them. Two hours later I was still on the dance floor, going mad and screaming. I may as well have jumped on stage and then dived off it. I was screaming 'I love Bed on Sticks!' until the kid I was holding (it seemed to be the accessory of the day) said 'It's Bed on Bricks stupid'. I passed the kid back to her mom and went to the lead singer to ask for him an autograph. The Queen saw it in my eyes but it was too late to stop me. She watched in slow motion while I went to the band and before she could stop me, I said, 'I'll put my bed on your bricks'.

Oh dear.

I couldn't find one roadblock this weekend. I even made my driver go on a roadblock hunt. Not a sausage. Why play with my emotions like that traffic department? Don't throw out words like 'blitz' when the closest I came to a roadblock was a cop on a bicycle cycling in the middle of the lane blocking the traffic behind him. You forced me to stand outside The Local while I blocked Mrs Greek and the BFF with an old stick and arrested them for drunk walking.

While the weekend was fairly quiet, I did go on a date with The Lion King. It was an evening of fine wine, sushi and me making a complete tit of myself. It started off well, I was entertaining him with my witty repertoire which consisted of me telling stories while he said polite things like 'Yes you've mentioned that before', 'Yes you've told me that' and finished my sentences for me. Screw dignity and pride, my memory loss is becoming a big worry to me.

I received an sms from The Neighbour which needed a follow up call and I excused myself to go to the bathroom. I placed my bag on the sink and proceeded to chat to The Neighbour for a good ten minutes. What happened to good old fashion taps that you turn on yourself? While I was babbling to The Neighbour about the importance of call backs, my bag was doing a swimming pool impression and I looked down to find my make up drowning and screaming for help. While I gave my cosmetics the kiss of life and held my bag under the hand dryer for half an hour, I put a call through to the Lion King explaining the situation. He was kind enough to act as if this was a normal thing, he even acted as if I was normal.

The evening went pretty much downhill from there. As I regurgitated yet another story he had already heard, I lent across to hug him to further animate my story. Pulling back I noticed I had so kindly left a nice big smudge of foundation on his crisp white shirt. Awesome. We both stared at it while I blamed the waitress. After I had made the smudge worse and drawn blood by scrubbing it with a napkin, we decided to leave. My sandals are not made for walking on slippery surfaces, they're barely made for walking. In slow motion, I turned to him to thank him for the evening and he watched while I slipped and fell harder than the rand against the pound.

He still keeps trying to see me. I can only assume he's on a recruitment drive for the circus.

Happy Halloween

This of course means nothing to me. If kids come to my door tonight in stupid costumes, I won't be there and even if I was, the only confectionery item I would be handing over would be a Slimslab.

Thanks to all the girls who attended Book Club last night. I'm noticing a decline in the interest of books and an incline in the amount of utter crap spoken.

The Neighbour: Guys, can we do the book thing, my driver is coming soon
Animal Lover: What books?
The Accountant: When are we going to stop this bookclub farce and just drink?
BFF: Bags take this book, it's so you
Me: It doesn't have any pictures.
The Fashionista: Can we each bring a new book every month?
Animal Lover: Does it have to be brand new?
Me: I've still got The Faraway Tree somewhere. I'll look for it when I get home.
The Teacher: Guys, why are you dancing in the kitchen, we're going through books here!
Animal Lover: Sorry. Got carried away there. I was auditioning for 'So You Think You Can Dance'.
The Teacher: Well, we're having an audition for 'So You Think You Can Read' over here.
Me: Well that's me out.

Enjoy the weekend peeps, and my sources tell me it's roadblock heaven this weekend in Cape Town. Don't be a hero and cell yourself short. Ha CELL yourself short.

Oh God.

This jubilant Sharks supporter rode past the restaurant I was sitting at on Sunday. A giggle spread throughout the place. He rode past again and hooted and the restaurant clapped. He rode past and hooted even more and everyone stood up and cheered. He rode past again and a synchronised 'Oh f*ck off now' rippled through the tables.

We saw him annoying another restaurant on our way out. I can only imagine he's moved up the coast by now and is now hitting the Garden Route. What a happy little Sharks supporter.

The Father's brother - my uncle to you - made the move to The Long Island many years back and while his family frolic around the Hamptons on weekends and spout out annoying things like 'Macy's was a nightmare today' and 'Patrick Dempsey just moved down the road', I know they're pining for the days when they stood around the braai, sipped a Castle and said things like 'Another crap day in Africa. God it's kiff'. (Not that he ever drank Castle and I never heard him say either of those things but I'm trying to paint a picture)

So it makes sense that this would become their new favourite restaurant in the heart of NYC - that's New York City to you, aptly named Braai. It's so cheesy, it's awesome.






I particularly enjoy the comment on their site http://braainyc.com - 'Our website will be here, now now'. Brilliant.

To the owner of the bar I was visiting on Friday, thank you for putting up with my numerous song requests. I suggest you should remove the repeat button from your iPod, it's just too easy for me. I'm very sorry you found me behind the bar pouring my own drinks. I'm even more apologetic that I started pouring drinks for your other customers and telling them they could pay me in compliments.

I promise I didn't start the trend of everyone dancing on your bar. I merely suggested it, with that mic I found. Thank you very much though for pointing out that a candle had placed itself under my bag. Thankfully you caught it before it did any serious damage to my bag.

When the sun started rising in the distance and I asked you to turn it off, you sighed really loudly. I think you must have been really tired, maybe you shouldn't work so hard? I think that's why I tried to help you by serving everyone. When you asked me if I wanted anything else and I said 'World peace', you just kept staring at me, was that because you agreed with me?

If I could ask you one massive favour though, even though I was loving your CCTV camera that night and singing to it, I would prefer it if you could just erase that particular tape.

Thanks ever so much and good luck with your business. I won't be seeing you for a while as there are many other establishments who rely on my patronage.

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