Happy feet

I had a lot of free time over the weekend, which was spent applying Caribbean Tan (with remarkable expertise I might add, bar my unmistakeable 'carrot fingers') and painting my toenails a blinding shade of pink to match the pretty summer weather. Monday morning – arrived at office in brand new Luella sandals, my feet of vision of bronze and pink. Hard work paid off when feet were offered a well-paid modelling job on Good Housekeeping mag, so will now be spending this evening getting free pedicure and prepping feet for shoot. Always wanted to model... Let's just call this my 'foot in the door'. Or at least a 'step up'... Am really going to put my best foot forward tomorrow.

Unattractive Geyser Man arrives this morning, 20 minutes late, making me irritable and late for work.
Ugly Geyser Man: 'What seems to be the problem?'
Olive: 'Apparently my geyser is leaking somewhere. I think it's a load of bollocks really. I haven't noticed any water anywhere.'
UGM: 'Let's take a look see.'

He climbs up ladder into enormous hole in my ceiling, which I never before noticed. I hear a scream.

Olive: 'WHAT IS IT?! RAT? A DEAD BODY?! WHAT?'
UGM: 'Christ!!! Your geyser has burst. It's flooding up here! How did you not notice?'
Olive: 'Unfortunately I don't spend much time in the ceiling.'
UGM: 'We need to fix this immediately.'
Olive: 'I need to go to work.'
UGM: 'You need to replace these pipes or you're going to be swimming to bed tonight.'
Olive: 'At least that's one of the forms of exercises I'm allowed to do with my bad knees!'


UGM didn't find my jokes very funny and eventually convinced me that this HAD to be dealt with today and that I'd have to come back in my lunch break or my building would be under water by the end of the day.

UGM: 'Put that in your pipe and smoke it!' (The pun being on 'pipe')
Olive: 'Touche.'

We parted on good terms after I realised he had a sense of humour.

Knees are in a lot of pain after God-awful injections yesterday. Lovely friend (who lived in Bangkok for a year) came for support and proceeded to squeeze my hand and educate me on the different versions of Thai salads as they drew blood then re-injected it into my patella tendon. There was so much going on I don't think anyone took any interest whatsoever as to how much pain I was in...

Olive: 'IT HURTS!'
Friend: 'And then there's the salad with paw-paw...'
Surgeon: 'Just a little to the left...'
Olive: 'YOU SADIST!'
Friend: 'Or you can use sesame seed oil...'
Surgeon: 'Right there! In it goes.'
Olive: 'OOOWWWWWW!!!!'
Friend: 'Or you can sprinkle peanuts on top.'
Physio: 'I've had that before...'
Friend: 'It's great isn't it?'
Olive: 'OH MY GOD!'
Physio: 'And with paw-paw!'
Friend: 'Yes, paw-paw.'
Olive: Well I'm f***ing SORE-SORE... Can we quit talking about Thai food and focus on me! I'm in pain, I'm dying... ... I'm...'
Surgeon: 'All done.'
Olive: 'Oh.'
Surgeon winks at me: 'Not so bad, was it?'
Olive (in her head): How would you like me to stick a bloody great needle into your knobbly knees and move it around until I found the most painful spot, you old fart!!!
Surgeon: 'So, who's up for some Thai food?'

We did end up going for Thai last night (er, not with my surgeon). A lovely big bowl of Phad Thai later the colour finally came back into my face. Still in a lot of pain today so feeling tres sorry for myself. Special Vivi & Lola even went and got me a freezo to cheer me up...

Have a great weekend all! I'm pretty sure you know what mine will entail by now. If my knees will permit it...

'Friendship isn't a big thing - it's a million little things'

Sorry about the quote. Am feeling very appreciative of all my irreplaceable friends today. Heart you all.

Arrived at the Hussar Grill last night early. "Another rib craving?"  says condescending waiter, who holds a remarkable resemblance to Napoleon Dynamite. Oh God. I wanted to melt through a gap in their pooh-coloured tiles. It became obvious right then and there, as I shrivelled with embarrassment beneath his judgmental gaze, that I frequent that Rondebosch haunt far too often. Given, I have been there once a week for the last month and a half. But who cannot agree that they have THE best ribs in Cape Town? Why not treat myself to a little ribilicious night out every so often (with friends of course. It's not like I go alone. That would just be sad).

But then again – what is less attractive than a chick, face smeared with rib sauce, bits of rib stuck under her fingernails, sticky hands, basting in hair (yes, that happened)... A real dude magnet!

"The usual then?" he continues.
"I'm waiting for friends," I quickly respond.
"Friends?" he looks around, as if my only friends in the world can only be the rack of ribs I consume on a weekly basis.
"Yes, I have friends."
"Whatever you say, Missy. Passion fruit and water?" 

Sanctimonious shithead.

Crapballs, he evens knows what I drink. This is beginning to mirror my visits to the freezo shop. I don't even need to place an order at Caturra anymore, they start making my freezo before I've even paralelled parked.

Missy? I don't like this guy anymore, or his misshapen goatee, and am glad when my friends file through the entrance and we slot into a cosy table for 5.

Next time I'm getting takeaways...

Vivi&Lola and I are planning a monsterous Saturday night out, starting with a very professional, very formal company Loeries afterparty at The Reserve in town. That's just for the free drinks and food, naturally... Then we shall trail Cape Town with our other tag-alongs for the best d-floor on offer and old, seedy men to buy us Champagne. That's normal, right?

 "We need old friends to help us grow old and new friends to help us stay young"

'Freezo girl'

I seem to have a knack for getting other people obsessed with freezos. I have officially become known as 'freezo girl' and people appear to associate them with me. Friends (and strangers!) actually text me:

'Having a freezo, made me think of you.'
'Having a Starbucks coffee frappucino on the King's Road, wish you were here.'
'Popped to Caturra for hangover freezo. You're right – best hangover cure ever!'
'I love freezos and I love you!'

(I made that last one up...)

It's all quite endearing really. I feel somewhat proud to have passed on the Caturra legacy. I only realised the true extent of it the other night when I rang my friend, who was at her 5-star apartment, hanging out with her Friend (who I've only met about 3 times):

Me: 'Can I come over and watch The Bachelor? I'm downstairs at Hudsons.'
5-Star: 'Ya definitely come up, am just chilling here with Friend.'
Friend (in background): 'Is that The Jolly Olive?'
5-Star: 'Yes, she is coming over to watch The Bachelor.'
Friend: 'Does she have freezos?'
5-Star: 'It's 8.30 on a Friday night.'
Friend: 'Can she please organise that we get freezos?'
Me: 'The freezo place is closed!'
Friend: 'Use your key.'
Me: 'I don't have a key!'
Friend: 'But you're freezo girl?'
Me: I'm on the Champagne tonight – I can bring some of that?'
Friend 2: 'It'll do. But this can't happen again. You got to live up to your name freezo girl.'

All this freezo talk is making me salivate. Guess where I'm going for lunch today...

Thoughts and things

Yikes. You would think being excessively emotional would come with a keen hand and a mind teeming with creative ideas. But it's the complete opposite. Coming up with a suitable topic for a blogpost has proved particularly difficult since I decided to start writing again. 

Why not just take a break from it all, I say? Am currently coming up with cunning courses of action to escape for a short time and have shortlisted the following options. Some of them rational, well-thought-out realistic plans, some of them... well, not quite so much:

• Depart for the romantic city of Florence and take it upon myself to complete a TEFL course. Then teach English to little bambinis and big tasty passionate desirable Italiano businessmen in Rome, and while away my evenings visiting the sites, trawling the cobbled streets eating tubs of Italian ice cream, and inhaling pasta. I have a friend who wants to join me – this is great news as it means someone to share my pizzas with. At least we can get fat together.

• Get a job on the US's Disney Cruise Ship as a Disney character lookalike. I wouldn't quite make the cut for Rapunzel for a number of reasons: I don't like small spaces so a tower definitely wouldn't do; my blonde hair stubbornly refuses to grow any further than mid breast, at which point it begins to fray so wouldn't be near strong enough for my prince to cling on to anyway; it is about an 11th of the thickness of Rapunzel's and not quite as golden. So am thinking: me as Sleeping Beauty (except with a tan), strolling around deck gracefully in a blue gown and dazzling princess crown, flushed cheeks, red lips, singing to bluebirds and talking to owls etc etc

• Go waste away on a remote island in the Mediterranean, work behind a bar in hot pants and a bikini top and a striking tan, whipping up creamy pina coladas and eating olives, until a young, brave and dashing Australian/Irishman/Kiwi/Canadian sweeps me off my feet and takes me home with them to live in the lap of luxury.

• Go live at home (in Joburg). Actually... I'd rather stay here... (There are no good images of Joburg that don't contains guns, knives and robbers.)

• Teach dancing in London, live off Heinz tomato soup and Starbucks frappucinos, and couch surf for a few months until I've exhausted my options, or have lost all my friends... 

• Sell my car and depart for India. And do... I don't quite know what. Eat samoosas, do yoga, wear saris and a bindi and learn to bob my head.

• Take a French course in Montepellier and ride to class every morning on a red bicycle adorned with strings of garlic, a basket of fresh baguets, myself in a beret and floral dress chanting 'Au Clair de la Lune' and drink wines with rude Frenchmen in the evenings in the vineyards. And waitressing at un petit cafe serving cafe au lait in order to afford all of this, of course... until I get bored and long for Vida muffins and Caturra freezocinos and Hunters Dry and Table Mountain.

Er, I think that's about it. But on the other hand I heart my job, I heart my friends, my dancing and Cape Town's scenic, magical, unparalleled beauty and all it has to offer... like freezocinos. And Hunters Dry. And the promenade. And weather like today! So if something's going to pull me away from it all, it's got to be good!!

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...

Everybody's shuffling...

I'm sorry I've been out of action. Am slowly pulling up my woolly winter socks and attempting to integrate back into society. So much so that I even braved the infamous, and positively ghastly 1st-year-haunt Tiger Tiger on Friday night. I drowned my self-pitying sorrows and 10 minutes in you could find me atop a large speaker in leopard-print stilettos performing a series of pouts as I 'shuffled' to 'Party Rockers' aside a gorgeous, slim coloured girl (whose smooth rhythmic moves made mine look like an allergic reaction) who kept telling me to 'go lower'! Any lower and I would've been sitting! I was practically in a squat position, which caused the bouncer to politely tap me on the shoulder and point out the bathroom. As I attempted to gesture a 'No, I'm ok, thanks' I managed to somehow lose grip on my Hunter's Dry, which flung forcefully into his brick-wall chest and shatter to the carpet (seriously). At that point I thought it best to leap off the speaker and scramble away into the hoard of inebriated fellow clubbers. 

As proof of 'how low I could go' on that damn speaker, I woke up to searing quad pain on Saturday morning. At least it took the focus away from my headache.

As I proceeded to voice my woes that morning and decide that I would not get out of bed today, or any day, ever again, I was dragged to The Biscuit Mill by a friend, apparently our new dude-spotting local. Dude spotting?! I was already seeing spots. So I pushed past the dudes and got me a fat pizza and a glass of Champagne to ease me into the afternoon.

The weekend carried on in a similar pattern. When you're going through a tough time, I've found Champagne is the best solution (and a freezocino as the non-alcoholic option. But who would opt for that?). As is (and I have never believed this before) hot chocolate, 'Friends' (the series), carbohydrates, hot chocolate, carbohydrates…

 And dancing off course... So here is my quote for the day. There are so many amazing studios around Cape Town. Just ask me! Find one you love and take some classes. It's the hidden language of the soul. (Yes, even if you're just doing it on a Tiger Tiger speaker!)

"There are short-cuts to happiness... Dancing is one of them" – Vicki Baum

Run down and out

Just know this before I start – I spent the first half of my morning writing this blog post. As I pressed 'send' the whole retarded page disappeared and I was left with a blank page and a bad mood. 

Round 2:

Ok first things first. I'm the new advanced tapper on the blog (get it? On the block/on the blog), what with my three whopping distinctions for my tap exams!

Now that I've got the gloating out the way I'll tell you about my weekend. I must apologise for the lack of post last week. But I looked a little something like this, bar the violet-coloured face:

I had tap syllabus coming out my ears, and was editing the sh*t out of the magazine to meet deadline. Rehearsing 3 hours a night after a full day's work is one way to run you down. And yes, I'm now sick, in case you were asking. But I think I can attribute that to this past weekend's ungovernable antics.

The weekend was off to a bad start. I skipped with elation out my tap exams only to find that some complete moronic airhead had rammed into my car then buggered off without a note. This left me reeling ferociously to say the least and I gulped down my bubbly rather aggressively at dinner. One glass lead to a bottle at the revolting Decodance, where I realised the following 3 things: I hate 80s music, I hate the club and I hate the person who hit my car. Whatever remains of good mood I had vanished with the last sip of Champagne and I promptly departed with my ex-flatmate.

Saturday morning: pounding headache. Bad headache had to accompany me to Kirstenhof Police Station to get a case number for my car. Aggravated by the excursion, bad headache escalated into severe migraine. Only after 2 Energades, 2 myprodol and an hour's nap did it decide to take leave and allow me to make the necessary preparations (Operation 'Erase any signs of hangover') for the wedding I had to attend that afternoon.

Arrived at wedding not wearing the appropriate attire to fend of Cape Town's glacial winds and slowly turned a brilliant shade of royal blue as I sat through the ceremony. Finally got feeling back in toes and feet on arrival at the Mount Nelson for the reception, thanks to a shot glass of warm sweet sherry and I proceeded to stuff my face with tempura prawns. Think waiter thought he was being stalked since I trailed him and his tray of delicacies around the room for a good hour until Lovely Boyfriend said I was scaring the guests.

Bubbly kept me going through speeches and a good deal of twists and turns to my good ol' faves: Nat King Cole, Frankie S and Glen Miller. I returned to the table to find that no one had eaten their desserts. Three creme brulees later I told Lovely Boyfriend that I had to get home immediately or I was going to curl up in the bride's train (which looked remarkably like my duck-down duvet) and klap a snooze. 

So now I'm sick. I think it was the attempt at a gym session then running home in the rain that was the final straw for my poor body. So I'm taking a week off from any social activities. This excludes freezocino outings.

Car Wash

Yesterday I did the impossible. I took my car into be cleaned. 

Stop traffic.

Put it this way: I've owned my little vehicle for about 2 years. In this time I have cleaned it once. Suffice it to say that there was year-and-a-half-old bird faeces ingrained in the paint. In fact one of the droppings of turd was so enormous (its splatterings covering a good 25cm of my roof) I'm convinced a large albatross dropped his runny load on my baby. A thick layer of grime suffocated my mirrors. And don't get me started on the inside. Old freezocino takeaway cups squashed under the seats, rusk crumbs, socks (THAT'S where they all went!!), and only God knows what else. As the guy at Hannibal's handed back my keys I shrunk beneath his resentful grimace for putting his personal health as serious risk thanks to the unsanitary dump that was my car.

Now am driving the cleanest, sterile, shiniest, gleaming, newest-looking little Yaris in Cape Town. And for the first time in months I can actually use my wing mirrors! I think this calls for celebration. Champagne anyone?

Keeping it wheel...

After a delicious steak dinner at the V&A's Den Anker last night, we went on Cape Town's Wheel of Excellence! I was having a fab, laid-back time giggling at Lovely Boyfriend (who out of nowhere admitted to mild vertigo – even though this has never come into play on the ski lifts – and he began to produce a small but very prominant SULA (Sweat upper Lip Alert)), when the big, ugly manager man in the box (cool job... not) signalled for me to take my feet off the chair. Well that ruined it for me. I was no longer comfortable and felt like I was under surveillance. I noticed there was a VIP gondola dangling in front of us. For R1000! What the hell is in that thing? Bottomless Champagne, jacuzzi, buffet and butler? There better be, because anyone who is willing to fork out that much (as opposed to the standard R80 per adult for 4 rounds) should be given at least 3 days on that thing with only the best treatment. Anyway, it was fun. A bit romantic. Glad I can say I've done it.

My very very rich godfather (a big thank you to my parents) from the UK is in Cape Town. And wants to take me out for dinner. I realised the true greatness of this when he asked me to pick a 'good' restaurant with a seaview. Of course, I must live up to the exceptional standards that he is used to, so I spent a good two thirds of my morning looking up the best and most expensive restaurants in Cape Town. I have settled on The Roundhouse as have always wanted to go but, with my finances, would probably only be able to afford a palate cleanser. Very much looking forward to it.

Have signed for my new flat and am going for a romantic night away this weekend. And tonight am hanging out with friends with chinese food and movies after a good tap class. Life couldn't be better really. Unless someone maybe delivered a freezocino to my desk...

Thank GOODNESS it's Friday!

I'm more thankful that it's Friday today than I have ever been in my whole entire life. I would've given up my car, my home, my hair, my fingernails... anything since Tuesday for it to have been Friday. I tried to watch Disney movies (and sung along to Ariel's 'Part of that World'), I went for drinks, I went to dancing, I got my hair done. Nothing made Friday come quicker. Nothing made the time go faster. You know those painful, neverending, torturous weeks where everything has gone wrong... Everything. Well times that by 80 thousand million gazillion and you're right on target. 

It's friday... IT'S FRIDAY! Thank the Arch Bishop and the Pope and the Rabbi that it's Friday. I actually want to send God a bottle of wine or a quiche or a barbershop quartet to thank him for bringing Friday at last. 

Now I'm just counting down the hours so I can go home and open up cold Hunters Dry and then join my amazing, amazing friends for some deliciousness of chilli poppers and many more Hunters Dry at Neighbourhood on Long Street. I will be watching England play Sri Lanka tomorrow and the Stormers play Force in the evening but that is the extent of my weekend's activities. After contemplating the 2OceansVibe party I decided against forking out200 bucks to stand around on the beach and still have to pay a fortune for drinks and food. Not much of an odyssey of a weekend then, but I just need a timeout. I also need a freezocino. Catch me at Caturra.

Long weekend!

It's fabulous Friday! After a shaky start this morning (dinner at the amazing, quaint little Italian Il Leone, accompanied by a bottle of bubbly of course), my freezo sorted out any sign of a hangover and I arrived at work ready to take on the day. Until I glanced at the clock on my screen and realised it was only 9:30 – I feel like I've been here for at least three hours already and was starting to look forward to lunch! Not ideal. I'm thanking my lucky stars that after all the pleading, persuasion and drop-lip I pulled last night after dinner, lovely boyfriend still didn't give in to taking me for a 'quick dance and a drink' somewhere. I was almost pathetically desperate to hit the town – must've been a combination of the heels, the veal, the champagne and the 8th of Italian in me. But I wouldn't have felt too sparkly this morning. But I think it was because I'm heading home tonight (Jo'burg) and I know it's going to be a rather family-orientated weekend, whereas lovely boyfriend is going to be back here with all his best school mates (who are down for the long weekend) painting the town all sorts of colours without his handbreak (that would be me) tagging along. Oh well, if all else fails I shall find somewhere cool to go for the rugby tomorrow night (with my father since he is the only one in my family who cares about rugby in my family) so I can have my routine Hunters Dry wand watch the Stormers annihilate the Bulls – this will have to qualify as my fair share of 'fun' for the weekend.

I had good news this week: I am finally allowed to do what I absolutely love and that is writing restaurant reviews for my magazine's blog. (This means free beverages! Oh.. and meals, of course.) I might also do bar and hotel reviews, and some show reviews considering I have pretty much taken up residence at Artscape since I moved to Cape Town. I also do online book reviews (alert the media!). I would love to post the link for you (of my recent restaurant review) but maybe I shouldn't associate my gorgeous glossy women's fashion and beauty mag with a Champagne-downing, rib-scoffing frequently-hungover rugger bugger with a lifelong dream of being on the stage or in front of a camera. The other day I had to look up what a gilet was. And I don't even use an exfoliator.

Been the insatiable dancing diva I am, I flung myself, far too overenthusiastically, straight into modern dance on Tuesday (having not done it since last year November) and attemped to push myself into the splits after two hours of intense exam work. I am so stiff, even three days later, that I can barely sit down or stand up elt alone walk, and had to ring my flatmate this morning to ask her to pull me out of bed. And dress me...

 This does not bode well for me since I'm signed up for an advanced contemporary class tomorrow morning. Could be interesting.

Have a great weekend. Joburg awaits me. Oh and - ENGLAND WON THE CRICKET!

Back in the game!

I'm back! Sorry I've been AWOL. On Monday I was still feeling the after-effects of Saturday's highly eventful and out-of-control cruise and hotel night. I think it's safe to say I worked my way through at least five bottles of Champagne (to myself) over the course of the day – from 11am until about midnight. I have a distant memory of lying on a flourescent pink lilo, gripping a flute of rose bubbly, and attempting to sing along to a tune that actually didn't have any words, wearing a sailor's hat and a mismatched bikini.

Even after an entire day embedded in the sofa, I still felt like I was suffering from a life-threatening, incurable third-world virus on Sunday evening and lay motionless and mute next to lovely boyfriend as we tried to keep down some ribs. 

So Monday morning I arrived at work pallid and forlorn, feeling as if I hadn't slept since last year November, and had run a half marathon a few hours before. Tuesday, I got philosophical and decided that I wasn't quite satisfied with life – after effects of the alcohol? I don't know – and wanted more out of it, so I began signing up to agencies so I can have my turn in the limelight, which I have decided is long overdue. Wednesday I started to feel human again but still felt like I had no purpose in life. Saturn return? Again, I don't know.

Today I arrived feeling sprightly. Have worked hard and am ready for a drink this evening. The verdict?: I'm getting old. It officially takes me three days to get over a big night. How did I do it  consecutively back in the day? What did I have then that I don't now?

Looking forward to the watching the Stormers thrash the Highlanders tomorrow, and then a relaxing day on Sunday while all the delusional people in Cape Town wake up at 5am, get on a private-part-torturing bike for a stupid number of kilometres and ride till their legs cramp or just fall off. Me, I'll be by the pool with a freezocino :)

Over and out.

Tuesday, Snooze-day

This is what I started my very slow, sleepy morning off with. Now you want one, don't you? There is no better way to kickstart your Tuesday (or everyday if you're addicted like me!). Get your pert asses to Caturra on Seapoint Main Road to experience and revel in this gorgeously gigantic glass of gratifying, sensationally titillating heaven. They really do make the best freezocino's in the entire world – and you can believe me when I say that because, no matter what country I'm in, I always track down a place that serves them (even in Bali, Thailand, Greece, Spain, Paris, Portugal, Turkey, the States... you name it!). Caturra outdoes them all with its thick, rich, creamy sweet coffee injection... Aaaahhhhhhh (and it's made with powder and water and is fat free! Beat that!).

I certainly needed it to wake me up though. I had a tap lesson till 9pm last night which left me totally wired till about 11pm and then suddenly I just crashed and could barely keep my eyes open! Problem was my dreams the entire night were filled with tap rhythms and beats and time steps and when I wasn't in time I got really annoyed, which just woke me up. But then as soon as I fell asleep again it would start again. I basically spent the whole night concentrating so hard that I woke up even more exhausted than when I'd gone to bed. I need freezocinos on tap today (no pun intended)!

I ran out of face cream yesterday, at both my house and my boyfriend's. It wasn't a great time for such an occurrence since, as a result of my facial sunburn this weekend, my nose and forehead have begun to peel, fairly obviously, in a Chainsaw Massacre kind of way, and with no cream it looks and feels as if I have spent four days naked in a desert with no water and nothing to wash my face with but a facecloth made from sandpaper and gravel. I can't put on make-up when I don't have cream on so am trying inconspicuously to hide my face today. I'm refusing to turn around when addressed or to leave the safety of my computer screen, and am contemplating purchasing a very fashionable, preferably perforated, balaclava during my lunch break.