Bounced

So it was just after Christmas when we left Jo'burg at sparrow's for Hermanus for the big Family Holiday. Hungover from excessive amounts of Boxing Day plonk, and so fat from Christmas I would need to be shoehorned into my airplane seat, I popped down to the O R Tambo Mug&Bean to grab a freezocino, intending to meet my family in the BA Lounge. (Step Daddy is some form of Gold or Platinum Executive Club member... red carpets, upgrades etc.) I head up to the lounge, while ice cold freezo works its caffeine magic on my head, and arrive at the doors only to be turned away. 'Sorry, but your father already has two other people with him. We cannot allow anyone else in on his behalf.' Er, what? Unfortunately it was a woman, so no amount of leg or cleaveage was going to get me through. Irritable, I ring Mother.

Me: I'm stuck outside.
Mother: Yes, they won't let anyone else in. Sorry Darling.
Me: Well what should we do?
Mother: Well, we're just helping ourselves to the free buffet... Oooo, chocolate croissants, delish!... Um, so we'll meet you at the gate?.... Ooo fresh orange juice... Bye Darling!

I couldn't believe it! Family was in the lounge, making a large dent in the free buffet, reading the free paper, helping themselves to the free bar, and enjoying the cricket on a free flatscreen, while I paid for my own freezo, my own muffin, my own magazine and sat at the gate humming Christmas songs to myself for 45 minutes.

Needless to say I boarded alone and they arrived late, still laughing about something hilarious that had happened in the lounge, and covered in croissant crumbs.

Me: Where's mine?
Mother: Your what?
Me: My takeaway breakfast!?
Mother: Oh, did you want something, Darling? The food was so incredible. We ate so much.

Me: I hope you all get fat and implode.

They didn't even hear me.

I didn't say another word the whole flight, feeling angry and excluded. And on arrival I said I wanted to drive to Hermanus on my own in my car and they could all go in the hired car. My family felt so bad they took me out for lunch at Bientang when we arrived and ordered a bottle of bubbly. I have to admit – the gorgeous view, mindblowing food and serenity of the setting was enough to calm me down and help me relax in to holiday mode.

Just as I was feeling so great and had forgiven my family... I got back to my car after lunch only to find I'd left the lights on and the battery was flat.

Awesome.

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...

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 ;)

"I feel it in my fingers, I feel it in my toes..."

Christmas!!!!

"I don't want a lot for Christmas... There is just one thing I need... I don't care about the presents, underneath the Christmas treeeeee..." 

Er, actually I do. What's Christmas sans gifts? And frankly there isn't just one thing I need. There's two. I want a GHD. And a gold bracelet. Is that too much to ask?!?!?!?!?! Because I've been asking for the same two things since 2006 yet my desperate pleas have remained unnoticed. Or rather, just ignored. Ok given they don't come cheap but the amount of clothing I have been given since 2006 could probably buy me (a very crusty, very small, 19th-hand) private jet. So a GHD and a gold bracelet are certainly doable.

(Oh, and yes, I did watch Love Actually on the weekend.) 

I can really feel it! I can really feel Christmas! Not so much as I do in London (especially since the Santa I grew up with is British, not Afrikaans, and he eats cookies, not biltong), but I really feel it in the streets, in the shopping centre, on the radio... Mumsy and I have already planned the date and time of our traditional mince pie-making session once I'm back in Joburg, and Step Daddy and I are already fighting over who's going to make the Brandy Butter this year; and there's already a family debate over who's coming to Carols by Candelight and which church service we're going to attend on Christmas morning. Christmas is the best and biggest day of the year in my family. And right up until Christmas Eve we are frantically running around like elves on E to ensure everything is story-book perfect. Which it always is. Bar the lack of snow in SA and the fact that we can't put a wreath on the front door without it being stolen. 

Was contemplating changing my ringtone to 'Rocking around the Christmas Tree', but decided it's about a month too early. And that I wouldn't mind still having friends by New Year's Eve or I'll be celebrating solo.

  

To keep in the spirit of things, Vivi&Lola and I are going to a 'Festive Cooking' course on Wednesday at the SA Chef's Academy!! Am so bloody ecstatic I asked Mum to send down my Christmas Tree earrings and Santa hat but realised it's perhaps a little too over-enthusiastic since the course will probaly primarily consist of a bunch of newlyweds, gay couples and the odd geriatric who really want to learn. We're just there to get pissed and be merry. Am ready to whip up a gourmet Festive Feast while slogging back free Christmas wines and whistling 'Frosty the Snowman'.

It is my birthday first. Maybe I should be focusing a little more on those celebrations!

Decided on weekend to finally clear up erupting skin mass breakout once and for all, so took out a loan and booked a Dermalogica facial – so pricey I was half expecting to be carried to the room on a red cushion and placed in a rose-petal bath while topless bronzed men worked on my face simultaneously performing hand and foot massages and feeding me Champagne through a 19-carot gold straw. This was not so... Five minutes in and my overly sensitive skin (raw from excessive use of prescription zit-eradicating gels) felt like it was had been scraped off by sandpaper then plunged into a pool of citric acid. I lay squealing in pain while flustered facialist tried desperately to clean off whatever she had put on. Everything hurt. Eventually she gave up and I emerged from said treatment room resembling a burn victim – swollen, red, blotchy and puffy, too sore to even smile. My tears stung. Everything stung. And I spent the day lying on a couch behind closed doors spraying my face with a 'soothing spray' at regular intervals, sipping bubbly through a straw. So much for that idea... 

Have finally accepted Dermo's request to put me on antibiotics. Maybe I'll go back to school for a few weeks too. At least I'll fit in. 

The boat that rocked

Am back on dry land. And a dry diet. No more G and 'Tea' time at 4pm. Rose with every meal. Rose without every meal... 

Since I returned home the ground has been rocking rhythmically back and forth and I am feeling  inordinately seasick, even though I managed to avoid this occurrence for the whole week on the actual yacht itself. And am suffering from a mild case of post-holiday depression, but my new wardrobe from London and my now glowing bronze hue from the Turkish rays are helping to keep me upbeat and satisfyingly enthusiastic!

This is just a quick note to let you know I'm back... A longer post should follow this week. First I need to sleep off the 21 hours of travel and get over the constant cravings for a Turkish banquet every 4 hours. Safe to say I gobble-gobbled up more food in a week that I'd usually eat in a year, and if anything have left the country resembling the Christmas bird itself. With stuffing.

I have missed my bubbly so much (you need to take out a small loan to purchase a bottle in the land of Turks and, even then, it's rather vile) that I have decided to los a good night's sleep and grab a good bottle with friends (and don my new threads in style while showing off my tan). Enjoy the public holiday. I'll vote if I wake up before sunset...

'Joyeuse Pacques'

Got my mac, wellies, scarves, gloves, hot-water bottle, fleece, beanie and ear muffs at the ready for Jo'burg. Also have my pepper spray, panic button and baton safely stowed in my handbag. I leave Friday morning – finding a lift to the airport proved more difficult than I thought. After asking seven friends who all gave me the same 'I'm going to be too hungover' response, I almost gave up hope.  Then I realised it's best to ask friends who are running the 2 Oceans since they've all been tee total for an unrealistically long time by now – (don't know how they do it). Jo'burg is kicking off to a fab start – with rain and an empty bank account. So until payday am stuck in the confines of my Houghton home listening to the mother rattle on about what an untidy, unkempt, unreliable, irresponsible human being I've morphed into because I've left my bed unmade, my towel on the floor and a coffee mug next to my bed. But when you go home those things are totally meant to be done for you, right? Why else do we go home?!

Am looking forward to Easter. CHOCOLATE!! Easter is like Christmas in my house. CHOCOLATE!! Everyone gets excitedly childish (CHOCOLATE!!), we all go to church and the table is laid with eggs for Africa (I specified in advance that I will eat Lindt bunnies, and only Lindt bunnies). CHOCOLATE!! How EGGciting! However, Mum has decided my brother and I are too old for an Easter Egg hunt this year. Whatever –  'Chocolate is the poor man's Champagne' (Daniel Worona) so I will be hunting inside my step dad's booze cupboard instead. I know he has a stash of French Champagne for special occasions. Just having me home should be special enough, Easter or no Easter!

So one more day of work! Then I only have four days of work till I depart on the longest flight I've ever booked (unfortunately my savings would only cover a flight that made a few stops) to lovely happy London, then on to a distant Turkish Delightful land with Lovely Boyfriend and tanning oil in tow. If I don't get on here before the Easter weekend, Happy Easter to all, and to all an EGGcellent break!

"For I remember it is Easter morn,
And life and love and peace are all new born"  ~Alice Freeman Palmer