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.