To keep you busy over the festive season...

My Top Posts of 2011... ENJOY!

• Festive Fun 
• More Cheese Please
• Santa's Workshop
• Family Jolly Olly Holiday
• The Early Bird Catches Nothing
• Stairway to Heaven
• Chick's Pick
• Awkward Moment
• Thoughts and Things
• A Good Run
• Screams, Sweets and Sequins
• Friendship isn't a big thing. It's a million little things.
• In The Summertime

T'is the season to be jolly [olive]...

5 more days till Christmas!

So I realised this weekend where I get the persistently stubborn side of my personality...

Mother was due to fly to Cape Town with Step Daddy and Brother on Friday morning for my Big Sister's Wedding on Saturday. The three of them arrive at the airport with minimal time to spare. Yet, much to Step Daddy's annoyance, Mother disappears to find the 'Bag Wrap' man.

Regardless of whether my Dear Mother is flying to New York or Nelspruit, she will ALWAYS wrap her bags if she is flying into or out of South Africa... She is inexplicably British and believes any Saffa system is naturally corrupt and that we (and our belongings) will never be safe.

Step Daddy: Beanie, we really don't have time to wrap our bags.
Mother: This is South Africa. Everything will be stolen!
Step Daddy: We're only going to Cape Town.
Mother: And I have Christmas presents and my wedding outfit in there.
Step Daddy: You won't be going to the wedding if we don't check in in the next 20 minutes!

Step Daddy and Brother know not to bother arguing and tell Mother they'll meet her on the plane. Mother joins the end of what is an unfathomably long queue spiralling the width of the airport to get cling wrapped, all the while texting me about how she has to wear her wedding hat on the plane so it doesn't get squashed. A kilometre forward, at the front of the queue, stands one man very leisurely wrapping each bag, cutting holes in the cling wrap then sorting out the customers money. Estimating about 10 minutes per person.

Half an hour later Step Daddy and Brother board plane and arrive at their seats expecting to find Mother happily nestled in seat 7A (or 7 alpha as the air hostess referred to it), bags wrapped, crossword out... But her seat remains vacant. Step Daddy whips out his phone:

Step Daddy: Where are you?
Mother: In the queue...
Step Daddy: For the plane?
Mother: For the bag wrap...
Step Daddy: But we're taking off!?!?!??!?!?!?! 
Mother: Oops.

Step Daddy, furious, hangs up phone, rings ME and says: 'Get your mother on a plane. I can't deal with her.' 

Needless to say, Mother missed the flight. And was still in the cling-wrap queue 20 minutes later. After that she said she didn't want to come because Step Daddy had shouted at her. After much begging and pleading, I managed to get her on a plane by lunch time, but she was referred to, by all of us, as 7 Alpha for the remainder of the weekend. When we were tidying up after lunch on Sunday we asked if she had any cling wrap left to cover the food.

I mean, honestly...

Am off to Joburg for Christmas on Wednesday. Not sure if I'll get around to posting while I'm on my Jolly Olly Holiday, which is a whopping 3 weeks and consists of Joees, Hermanus, then Brede River. I'll be gone until Monday 9th January. So if you don't here from me, I leave you with piccies of my simply whacky family at Carols by Candlelight last night. From not wanting to go and accusing me of 'dragging' them there, they ended up being the most spirited in the entire garden, belting out carols at octaves only dogs can here, and managing to set fire to the bobble on my Santa hat. I was not impressed. Needless to say we ended up with our own 100m radius as people quickly moved their blankets to a safer spot to sing their carols in peace.

Merry Christmas to all. And to all a good night...

Festive fun

You see that right there? THAT is my absolutely out-of-this-world, drool-over, lick-up-and-down, rub-all-over-your-face, amazing, mouth-watering, succulent Christmas gammon. Yes, it's no family-sized feast. But have you tried to buy one lately? It was a choice between a whole gammon or two tanks of petrol.

This gammon was so delectably palatable there are actually pigs lining up to become one of my gammons. Randoms knocked on the front door because their noses had led them thus. We all fell asleep after Christmas lunch in a gammon coma... floating away on a gammon boat, in a sea of gammon basting...

Mother rings after lunch. Me, ensconced on sofa, bubbly seeping out eye balls, watching Vivi&Lola do the actions to 'The 12 Days of Christmas' ---->

...while friend Bree attempts to pick stray bits of tinsel out my hair...

Mother: Hi Darling!
Olive (singing): The holly and theee ivvyyyyy...
Mother: What is that?!
Olive: I'm singing carols!
Mother: I thought it was a cat. How was your Christmas lunch?
Olive: Excellent. Can I top you up?
Mother: I'm not there?
Olive: I knew that.
Mother: Are you drunk?
Olive: Just in full Christmas spirit!
Mother: You just sound like you've drunk too many spirits.
Olive: Nonsense. Port isn't a spirit.
Mother: Have you had port?
Olive: After the brandy... Or was that before?
Mother: Brandy?
Olive: I bought it for the Brandy Butter. I just forgot the butter.
Mother: Darling. I think it's time you went to sleep.
Olive: Why, is Santa coming?
Mother: And go get some water!
Olive: But he drinks milk?
Mother: Go to bed! Ring me in the morning?
Olive (singing): Hark the Herald Angels siiiiinnngggg....
Mother: I give up.

Have a Jolly Olly Christmas...

Tomorrow eve shall be decorating Vivi&Lola's Christmas Tree. Finally can release my Christmas spirit, which has been bursting to come out for over a month now. Unfortunately, mother has instilled in me since childhood a perfectionist paranoia about Christmas-tree decorating. From a young age I would sit cross-legged on the floor, with a cup of apple juice, pigtails in hair, and watch in awe as she would asssemble our breath-takingly beautiful tree. She is a Virgo, of course, and picks a perfectly manicured tree and decorates to meticulous perfection. Each year she picks a colour theme. Usually silvers and golds. She puts some cotton stuff over the lights, which makes them look misty and mysterious, sprays the tree with snow and has gorgeous glittery stars and silver baubles...

I was not allowed to touch the tree. And as the years wore on and my apple juice turned to glasses of sherry, my pigtails to flat-ironed locks, she would let me help with the lights. Then the next year one or two baubles. Naturally, she would reposition or move whatever it was I so carefully placed where I believed it looked suitable. As a result I lost confidence in my ability to decorate a tree as beautifully as my mother. At the same time, I long to have my own house, my own tree – my own perfect tree that my own husband and kids dogs and friends will look up at in amazement... inspired. And, just like her, no one will be allowed to touch anything. My very own Christmas masterpiece.

Anyway, I may not have as gorgeous decorations as hers, which she buys more of from London each year, but I am looking forward to trying my creative right hand tomorrow night. Or whichever hand is free from holding the mulled wine.

Unfortunately, there will be boys present tomorrow. Males have about as much sense of decoration as a tea towel so I'm thinking of handing them a beer and a bowl of nuts and putting them in charge of sweeping up excess pine needles.

Beanie (my new landlord) is coming over tonight. He told me to make a list of 'the few things' I might need for the house. Thinking of sporting hotpants and heels and asking for a flatscreen. And maybe a push-up bra for DSTV? Also have loads of bubbly in the flat leftover from my birthday, so will pour him a flute just as I suggest blackout curtains, a tumbledryer and a fresh coat of paint.

Perhaps I should buy Beanie a Cap or Head Scarf for summer?

I leave you with photos from last year's Christmas at the Jolly Olive humble abode...

Birthday bum

It was my biiiiiiiiiirthday yesterday!!! I turned the wrong side of 25... It's all downhill from here. Thirty is around the corner and I don't think there's any fending it off. Woke up to discover a very small but very real wrinkle in the centre of my chest, made all the more visible by the early-morning light... Went into cardiac arrest, then promptly raced to chemist, purchased a bottle of Bio Oil and proceeded to pour its entire contents on to my chest for rapid ageing relief. I now keep it in my handbag as a threat to any emerging signs of impending 30s.

Had a great present opening session in the morning... Seems someone enjoyed it even more than I did:

Once we managed to untangle Lyla from all the pretty ribbon, I got up and dressed in all my new Zara attire... At which point memories from the previous night's antics came flooding back in bits and bobs:

• Squeezing 6 people into one car...

• Pulling party poppers at Kitima and causing a bomb scare.

• Almost setting friend's hair on fire due to overexcitement with a sparkler.

• Drinking both of these:

• Being serenaded 'Happy Birthday' by friend at midnight to her iPad guitar.

Head hurt but was off to breakfast with a special someone so showered away the bubbly and hit the road. Scone with jam and cream = perfect remedy, and ideal start to my happy birthday. Can eat more in summer since tummy no longer asphyxiated by skinny jeans, but can now breathe freely beneath flowing floral dress.

Up next, lunch at Manna Epicure. Proceeded to order lovely bottle of pink bubbles to match new coral dress and new pretty pink-gold Micheal Kors watch – which by the way was without a doubt the best present I got overall... and I bought it for myself!! Naturally...

Moving on... Now an egg on legs, decided to try work off at least one crouton from my XXXL Caesar salad, so went for stroll on the promenade, then dashed home to get ready for event number 3, and dragged my lethargic now-double-hungover self to Wakame for drinks with friends.

Exquisite evening, except when new dress blew up and exposed lacy knickers to a humoured audience on the Wafu deck. At least they matched the new wedges. 

Ended the evening with a dinner at Sotano with 19 girls. More pressies, more bubbly, more cake and more laughter meant a VERY Jolly Olive indeed last night as I passed out amidst a mass of wrapping paper, ribbons and flowers. Woke up with face stuck to birthday card... still smiling. Fabulous day. Thanks to all who made it so special. You know who you are.

Take me home...

That fine-looking pad is my Home Sweet Home. Flying back to good ol' Joees tomorrow night for a weekend of family time.

It's my birthday next week. I turn the wrong side of 25 – not particularly something I want to celebrate. Or advertise. Mother has enthusiastically labelled this my 'Birthday Weekend', told all her friends, and mine, and has assembled a birthday schedule for me, including large drinks party on Saturday evening, following a day of various hair (highlights at last!) and beauty (ouch) appointments, birthday shopping (Zara!!) and family meals.

Mother rings on Tuesday night:

Mother: Oh we are just so excited to have you home, Darling. Aren't you excited?
Olive: Reeling.
Mother: It's going to be such fun!
Olive: Mum, I'm rushing out to dinner, can't really talk..
Mother: Have you packed?
Olive: It's Tuesday.
Mother: What do you want to do on Saturday?
Olive:  Sleep in, tan, watch TV.
Mother: Oh. And Sunday?
Olive: Sleep in, tan, watch TV.
Mother: How about we go to the market.
Olive: There's a market in Cape Town.
Mother: Let's go on a walk?
Olive: My legs will be on leave.
Mother: Well we need to go buy drinks and food for your big drinks party.
Olive: Champagne should be fine.
Mother: What about food?
Olive: I don't understand.

Basically mother soon realised that I won't be lifting a finger at home, as usual, and that I intend to sleep, tan, eat and socialise from my deck chair from Saturday through Sunday. And I can't wait!

I shall return refreshed and ready for a week of birthday festivities.

More cheese, please

So I often do restaurant reviews. Food and writing are my passion… as are the free meals. I try organise them at the end of the month – when money's tight and the only thing in my fridge is a bag of frozen peas. Last night I took my friend to a new wine and tapas bar. It was a lovely little spot indeed. So, generally, reviews are free – a complimentary 3-course dinner during which I am treated like royalty, offered every dish on the menu by the Chef himself, and 9 bottles of wine. So naturally I assumed this last night.

Friend and I listen to and ogle handsome young waiter as he recommends wines and brings us various tasters. Thinking they were being so kind offering us so many free glasses we truly seize the moment and knock back a good four or five. Come the time to order food and handsome young waiter recommends various cheese boards, charcuterie boards, breads and spreads. We order them all. As one would do at a review... when you don't need to pay and you want to really get an idea of the food. Three boards of cheeses and meats, bowls of olives and nuts and all the wine later...

Olive: Wow that last dessert wine...
Friend: Amazing! Did you see the price tag on that baby.
Olive: I couldn't look directly at it.
Friend: Ok, so how does this work?
Olive: Well, I usually just say, 'Thank you for a fantastic evening, we're going to head off.' And then we get up and leave.
Friend: Excellent.

Waiter: Did you enjoy your meal?
Olive: We loved it... Thank you so much for everything, the food was delicious and it was such a wonderful evening. We're going to head off...

Friend and I start to gather our things.

Waiter: Ah, it's our pleasure. Was lovely to have you. Let me just grab you the bill.
Olive: BILL?
Waiter: What?
Olive: Er, I said if you will... That would be great.

Waiter leaves.

Shit.

Olive: Should we make a run for it?
Friend: Don't be silly.
Olive: Silly? We ate everything on the menu! I can barely afford the bowl of nuts.

Waiter: Here we are. We look forward to your review! (Walks away)
Friend: Jesus, were they chicken nuggets or gold nuggets?
Olive: The price of the bloody wine is the same as the year it was made in!

We hesitantly hand over our 'savings' cards and strip them of their worth. I felt sick. I'm pretty sure with the amount we paid they could go ahead and extend the balcony, and hire a horse and cart to tranport customers to and from their cars. I don't feel like writing about them anymore. Won't be eating till payday. Well, except for those peas.

Family Jolly Holiday

Mother decides it's time we did a big family holiday over Christmas (we haven't done one since 2009 when we rented a palatial villa in Turkey) with myself, my two brothers, my two sisters and Step Daddy. Since we are based all over the world, we receive a communal email and the replies slowly flood in over the course of 3 days:

Mother: 'Bonjour La Famille. I am going to organise a family holiday, from Christmas till just after New Year. Any ideas?'

Brother 1 (SA born and bred): 'PLETT!'

Brother 2 (from the UK, so any coastal town will do): 'Isn't there somewhere called Hermanus?!'

Sister 1 (loves the mountain): 'As long as it's not far from Cape Town.'

Sister 2 (getting married so doesn't care): No response.

Me (over enthusiastic): 'Mozambique!!! Or how about Mauritius? NEW YORK?'

Step Daddy: 'Who's paying?'


Mother gets back to us a week later.


Mother: 'General consensus seems to be staying in the country. Let's do Hermanus?'

Brother 1 (SA born and bred): 'Are you even allowed in without a Zimmer Frame and a colostomy bag?'

Brother 2 (from the UK, so any coastal town will do): 'Sounds good to me.'

Sister 1 (loves the mountain): 'I don't think I can get leave.'

Sister 2 (getting married so doesn't care): No response.

Me: 'It's social suicide! Can I bring a friend?'

Step Daddy: 'Who's paying?'


Another week later.


Mother: 'I've booked a house in Hermanus'

Brother 1 (SA born and bred): 'An old-age home?'

Brother 2 (from the UK, so any coastal town will do): 'Sounds good to me.'

Sister 1 (loves the mountain): 'I'll try drive through for a day.'

Sister 2 (getting married so doesn't care): No response.

Me: 'It's ok, everyone breathe, I know someone who's going...'


Step Daddy: 'Who's paying?'


All of us (to Step Daddy): 'YOU ARE!'

...

Step Daddy: 'Bring your own meals.'


My family is very difficult to please. But I guess, like all families, we're all absolutely mental and could holiday in a wendy house in Uzbekistan and we'd still have a good laugh as a family. So after Xmas am off to Hermanus. If by any God-given miracle you're going too, pop round for a braai! We're surefire entertainment. Just remember to bring your own meat...

Santa's Workshop

Er, ya. That's me. But contrary to what you are thinking (where can you buy a Lurpak apron too?), I actually did learn something on my 'Festive Cooking' course. I learnt that you shouldn't BBM while watching the cooking demonstration. I also learnt that Woolies now sells Mulled Wine. And that it's very difficult to de-skin a chicken (turkey) after 4 D-cup sized glasses of it.

But Oh My Santa's Sack I was just SO EXCITED to have Mulled Wine again (haven't had it since I left London over two years ago) – it's such a British Christmassy thing. All I needed was a brown bag of roasted chestnuts and some carol singers and my Carnaby Street Christmas Eve would've been complete. After my third refill the guy decided it best to just put the whole jug in front of me.

Four hours later, Vivi&Lola and myself arrive at the dining table (late  – we had a very temperamental chicken (turkey) who refused to let go of its skin... he was obviously pretty uptight when he died), maroon-stained lips, gravy-splashed tops, with a fabulous-looking Christmas main course:

Safe to say it was delicious. We didn't catch salmonella. And we are still awaiting calls requesting our culinary expertise in Christmas Party catering. Maybe we gave out the wrong number....?

Unfortunately we were focusing so hard on finding 'Paul the wine guy' while cooking, we can't for the life of us remember how we made the stuffing. Or what went under the chicken (turkey) skin. And what was that on the cauliflower again?

Dins was followed by scrumptious Christmas puddings of Mince Pies and Christmas Trifle...

Definitely do this course next year if you live in CT! And don't worry, I left a note in the suggestion box (which I made myself out of an old Disprin box) recommending they play Christmas music and hand out compulsory Santa hats on arrival.

A cracker of an evening ;)