Sunday Spectacular

So after a day out in Franschhoek, sporting a scarlet beret, clutching a bottle of Graham Beck Brut Rose in a flourescent orange ice bag, and attractively licking the blue and red icing off Bastille Day cupcakes – all very European chic of me – I woke up feeling a little worse for wear on Sunday morning. Having raced back from the festival at 6pm on Saturday evening (and devouring a wheel of camembert with my friend in an attempt to sober ourselves up) to see The Nutcracker, I awoke with images of Russian dancers, sugar plum fairies and rat kings still dancing through my head. Lost in a world of Tchaikovsky, I put on my ballet shoes and went to brush my teeth on pointe. As you do.

I decided I would not let some lame and actually rather mild hangover ruin my day so I grabbed my Sunday freezocino and hit the Waterfront for some 'me' time... aka 'retail therapy'. I'm coveting all the new collections in Mango, Forever New and Country Road right now. Two hours later I realised I was running late for a brunch out at Tashas in Constantia, so I changed into my new clothes in the Trenery changing rooms (classy, very classy) and hit the road, shopping bags in tow, feeling more than pleased with my Sunday purchases, but worrying how I was going to swing lunch on an empty bank account.

Tashas is still my favourite place at the moment – since I reviewed it, all I think about is going back to demolish that mind-blowing tower of a bacon rosti (best thing on the menu). After I did that – while my guy mates glared in awe at the human hoover before them – we decided it was sunny and beautiful and that it would be a sin to waste it indoors. We headed over to Bistro Sixteen82, bagged a couch by the pond and proceeded to plough through bottles of wine for the rest of the afternoon while admiring the beautiful Steenberg scenery and the sober families enjoying their sunday lunch. As the sun began to go down we headed back to civilisation, bought a few monsterous bags of Sweet and Salty popcorn (thank you Woolies) and decayed on the couch watching Game of Thrones (the best series in the world) untill 'someone' decided they wanted to switch over to Carte Blanche. At this stage I realised how worn out I was and went home to stew in a bath.

Anyway - suffice it to say that was one of the best sundays I have had in a very long time. Spontaneous, happy and fun. For once I didn't worry about anything or anyone.

In trying to remain healthy and get fit for the Constantia trail run, my schedule is teeming with vegetables and gym sessions. Unfortunately it's also overflowing with dinners and reviews and shows. At this rate any trail run is going to be an epic fail run unless I get my act together.

Until next time!

Life's Little Pleasures

There's so much on my calendar right now (get in there fast!), I barely have time to get a freezo, let alone find the time to get a good night's sleep – everything from Bastille Day to The Nutcracker, to Harry Potter, dinners, birthdays, drinks, coffees, walks, reviews, movies... But busy is good – it's my plan over the next couple of months to avoid any contemplative existential moments. Any empty hours are filled up by dancing, baths, hot chocolate and watching Friends. 

Of course, things haven't exactly been going my way luck wise, which doesn't help the situation. Having just got my car back from the panel beaters after some fabulous freak decided to ding it and duck without so much as a note, I arrived at a tap class last week (the scene of the first crime) and started preparing for my class. Spilling out my tales of woe to my lovely teacher whilst tying up my shoes I heard a blasting smash, followed by a piercing alarm, and looked out of the window only to see an evil man standing by my car. He had evidently got the fright of his life by the shrill cacophony my car produces and he legged it across the field within miliseconds and had vanished before I could even stand up. That incorrigible thief thought it would be fun to smash my very very expensive window (which I was soon to find out) and then NOT steal anything! – Look, I'm not complaining. If he had nabbed my D&G glasses or my tog bag with my fave takkies and my new tub of hot chocolate I would've been distraught to say the least. But what a waste! What was the point really? He races off with an adrenalin rush and I'm left to pick up the pieces, file a report, get quotes, claim on insurance... The best part of the incident (there actually was a best part) was when my tap teacher whipped out her arm-length hi-tech taser gun from nowhere and raced outside yelling 'Let me at 'im', whilst I cowered behind the curtain, knees wobbling and teeth chattering in fear for my life!

I went to Scarborough this last weekend. Everyone asked how it was, if it was a pretty place, if I walked on the beach, what the town was like... The usual questions one would ask. Unfortunately I can't say I could respond to any of these. Being the lazy introvert I've been over the last few weeks, once inside, I stayed inside – under a rather suspect fleece blanket that belonged to the villa (I won't elaborate on the stains but let's just say I could actually crack parts of it). I put on a large pink woollen hat, ridiculous woollen pink slippers (with a pom-pom on the toe), and we drank wine, ate slab after slab of Top Deck, played 30 Seconds, played Kings, cooked elaborate meals (like only a group of 10 females would), ate cheese platters, watched Wimbledon, watched rugby, slept late and read magazines. It was far too cold and energy-sapping to actually get up and leave the house, and far too creepy to venture in to the so-called 'town' - which consists of a number of lurking odd-looking inbreads, a single shop complete with flies and old meats, and a 'pub' called Camel Rock. Some people braved the beach. The furthest I went was the villa's 'game room' (yes, I did get off the couch once), where I shot some pool and enjoyed a few pitiful ralleys of pingpong, while simultaneously feasting on blue cheese, figs and hummus. Feeling exhausted from the over exertion I collapsed back on to the sofa with a Hunters Dry and stayed there for the rest of the trip. Well... I believe (thanks to photographic proof) we got mildly carried away after a dangerous game of Kings and decided to bust some moves in the kitchen to Party Rockers...

Dancing is closed for the holidays right now. I'm miserable. I need my dancing like I need my freezos. So I have had to make a plan and tonight am trying out one of the 'jazz' classes at Virgin Active. I lampoon the latter merely because these classes usually consist of a blonde elderly ex dancer in latex, now in her 50s, buffalo wings and arthritis, trying to relive her glory days back in the studio or on stage. Within 10 minutes she has a pool of sweat by her feet, as do the rest of the rusks in the room, whereas I generally don't feel warm after a few enthusiatic kicks, jazz hands and a pas de bourree to a Bump 5 CD. I end up longing for the end as we learn routines fit for a 2-year-old, and then I race off to do half an hour on the treadmill. Anyway, here's hoping that tonight's class is different. I might just ask if I can take over...