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...

I'm leeeeeeaving, on an Emirates jet plane!

... Don't know if I'll be back again. EVER. I might just never. I'll spend my days lazing on the Naviga (that's the name of the yacht in Turkey), eating fish and drinking imported Champagne (they don't have any on the boat. This is going to be a big problem for me but have arranged for Lovely Boyfriend to sneak some bouteilles over in his small manly suitcase!). Or I might just not make it to Turkey on Saturday having gotten lost in Top Shop on Friday and become one with the rails. Anyway am extremely excited, the only problem is I tend to get unecessarily stressed before going on holiday and end up writing interminable lists with everything I need to do, say, see, touch, breathe, hear, find, lose, think about (you get the idea) before I leave. This could include anything from painting my toenails and sweeping my bedroom, to changing money, charging my camera and making sure I have enough cash for a Starbucks Java Chip Coffee Frappucino in Dubai!

If I manage to put this post up I'll be shocked since the interweb at work has been retardedly temperamental today, meaning I've achieved a total of nothing when I could've been racing around getting things ticked off my list! Anyway my long weekend went something like this. It's a little blurry. Evidently my plan for a healthy-filled break with water, vegetables and exercise didn't go according to plan.

Royal Wedding: took the day off work, dressed up to the nines and sat in a large room filled with prim and proper grannies wearing bold hats and extravagant fascinators. What fascinated Lovely Boyfriend's sister and myself more were the bottomless flutes of bubbly and the large Victorian tea stand of scones piled brilliantly high with fresh cream. We proceeded to sing along to all the hymns, waving our English flags and ogling Prince Harry while the golden oldies looked on distastefully. 

On Saturday I went to the rugby. WOoooooOooOOOOoooo. Go Stormers!!

On Sunday I went to Franschhoek for a little romance, a little veeno tasting, some great food and gorgeous views. Ended up not seeing any views or being able to remember what I had for dinner after a lunch long lunch at Rickety Briudge and an extended afternoon of bubbly tasting at Haute Cabriere. I definitely kept Energade in business yesterday as I bought two of each colour and drank them through the course of the day!

Post-Easter predicament

This is [not] me, on the yacht in Turkey... here's why:

Everyone kept telling me how cold it was in Cape Town this weekend. But I haven't been able to feel the cold, even though the temperatures here have been lower than those in Jo'burg. I am attributing this to the colossal mass of Lindt I consumed on Easter Sunday. My family actually couldn't believe their eyes as they watched their sophisticated young offspring transform into some sort of barbaric Easter mutant, chocolate smeared down my face as I inhaled one egg after another. I now have an unwanted layer of additional Winter padding. Unfortunately, as you know, I somehow need to squeeze my pallid, pasty (and now pudgy) self into a hot skimpy bikini next weekend as I board the luxury Turkish yacht. How am I to impress Lovely Boyfriend (and potentially attractive boat crew) now? Hoping the calorie-conquering task of moving house on Sunday will do the trick. Although this may quickly be cancelled out by the Cheese and Wine Festival in Franschhoek on Sunday afternoon...

I give up.

Better left unremembered!

 Not liking bubbles so much today. This is owing to the fact that I practically inhaled a bottle and a half on Friday night at the house-cooling bash, before finding myself locked outside Power and the Glory, pleading with the bouncer to let me in or I'd report him for causing me to catch pneumonia. Since I was practically wearing a boob tube for a skirt my threats seemed to have no effect on him whatsoever. Once I'd managed to sneak in when he wasn't looking, I continued to lash out on poor innocent souls, cursing the bartender for not having Hunter's Dry but rather some Sparletta-coloured apple juice with not-enough-percent alcohol. From there I blinked and found myself in Fez, attempting to redo my makeup in the bathroom mirror. After carefully applying eye liner everywhere but my actual eyes we hit the dance floor for a solid two hours of what can only be described as bopping. If only I had a video since I can barely walk in my new heels let alone dance in them and am sure, if my memory serves me correctly, people were actually moving aside to allow space for my violently swinging limbs. And then suddenly I was in a karaoke room, holding a mike and a Hunter's Dry and shouting Britney Spear's 'I Love Rock 'n' Rock' while I tried to immitate her seductive hip movements, but I was struggling to keep my balance and kept having to steady myself on a chair. It was at this point that I looked at my phone only to realise it was 4:15am. Somewhere amidst the singing, blur and tray of shooters I found some sense and promptly departed (leaving Lovely Boyfriend and friends) to stuff my face with the leftover nachos at home and navigate my bed. Family lunch on Saturday was torture.

Evidence of Friday night can be found on Facebook.

So still in recovery mode, I'm trying to figure out when I'm going to find the time to pack up my house. I hate moving. I really really hate moving. I know I've been banging on relentlessly about my new pimpim' bachelor pad but I wish I could wave my magic mover's wand and BAM, I'm moved in. Everything unpacked and the last house dealt with and a big deposit back in my bank account. I have easily kept Vodacom in business this month having had to call electricians, plumbers, carpet cleaners, DSTV... And the fact that I have a trip to Jo'burg (unfortunately) then I'm off to London and Turkey kind of leaves me with three days to pack, move, unpack and settle before I'm off! I don't want to be a grown up. I want to grow back down again.

On your marks, jet set

Am having writer's block this week. Sorry. I tried to write a post on Tuesday. And made a couple more attempts yesterday again. I now have at least five drafts saved, and they all start with 'Am having writer's block this week'! 

All I can think about at the moment is **London** – being back in my bustling Bristish hometown and trawling the King's Road alongside fellow poms, clutching a Starbucks frappucino (equivalent to freezocino), my arms lined with Top Shop shopping bags (I'm allowed to, it's London) after a morning in Oxford Circus (officially my favourite place in the world) and Covent Garden. Heading to the pub after a full day of walking and shopping for a jug of pimms and some pork scratchings beneath the spring blossoms, then dining on the Fulham Road with Lovely Boyfriend and all my amazing friends and family whom I cannot WAIT to see! Bliss! (And bankruptcy... Blasted ZAR.)

(I think I forgot to mention that on my way to Turkey for amazing free-food-and-bubbly media-elite week on luxury 14-person ketcha with private crew and chefs, we are actually stopping in to London for a day. I literally am reeling, but wish it was longer since we have to be up actually before dawn cracks to get to Gatwick. But who can complain about being whisked away on Monarch Airlines only to arrive in Turkey for 5-star free-of-charge treatment. I certainly can't.)

Anyway, what with the trip in 3 weeks, moving house in 2 (to previously mentioned pimpim' bachelor pad), and flying home for Easter in 1 (we all know how I feel about Joburg), my mind is ticking like a metranome on acid. I haven't even thought about packing yet and am trying to focus on the fact that we are throwing a 'house cooling' chicks-only bash tomorrow night! (As opposed to house warming, in case you didn't quite get it.) I have been instructed to make my famed, gloriously cheesy culinary masterpiece nachos, oozing with salsa, dripping with juicy mince, and dipped in fresh guacamole and ice-cold sour cream. (Did I just make you dribble? You dribbled didn't you.) So am going to be frantically busy tomorrow eve cooking up a nacho storm, while sipping (or gulping) on my flute of Villiera Brut Rose between tasks, and dressed in lumo gear (remind me why we made it a themed evening again?).

Must get to gym after work to work off rather large 19-cheeses Death Quiche I inhaled (literally devoured it in no more than three mouthfuls) over lunch. (I believe that when an anorexic pictures the devil, she visualises this exact quiche.) Am only allowing myself my regular glass of Thursday Night Champagne if I conquer an hour's workout. Say goodbye Death Quiche!

Flying high

I've definitely lost a handful of hair and shed at least 8kgs over the course of the morning. Trying to sort out flights to Turkey (via London) has without doubt been one of the most maddening and stressful experiences of my life, especially while simultaneously trying to do my job. My father decided it was absolutely urgent we booked the flights immediately before they a.) went up in price, and b.) we lost the seats, and he rang incessantly at 10-minute intervals to ask me if I had done it yet. Not like I have a serious job to do, and my morning muesli to eat. But I also still had to confirm flight details with Lovely Boyfriend, and break the news that we were on different flights and spending a day in London! It was all very dramatic and my colleagues have now seen my dark side as I let loose on the phone to my father, consequently knocking over the vase of roses on my desk and spilling two-week-old plant water into my handbag, which merely added to the morning melodrama.

I went to an engagement party at The Bay Hotel on Saturday night. After drinking my weight in Champagne, consuming all the spring rolls, and spending a good hour trying to convince all the parents that I'm awesome (I have a thing about parents liking me, even if I don't know them), I managed to persuade (or bribe, whatever) everyone to go to the gruesome Decodance. Why? I don't know. I don't even like that sleeze pit – it's seedy and smelly and greasy and filled with creepy brides-to-be wearing veils and sipping from penis straws, pole dancing in barely-there clothing and hitting on all the other creeps in the club. I kept my hand sanitizer close by as am convinced one could easily pick up a range of life-threatening viruses from the bar top. But I was on some kind of high (delayed excitement from all the free bubbly) and went so mental on the d-floor I almost popped a hip. At this point, I think it may have been me who also suggested we get the hell out of this place.

Setting sail...

You see that? That's a yacht. Do you know where it is? It's in Turkey. Do you know who is going there? MEEEEEEEE! 

Picture spoilt-brat me sprawled across a Turkish deck chair, the Turkish wind in my hair, 5th Turkish G&T in my hand, the Turkish catch of the day in my tum, a Turkish olive tan (I hope) and the endless unparalleled views of the Turkish coast, and maybe some good-looking Turkish boat crew. Yup – am now a very important journalist being whipped off on a travel story for my wonderful, amazing, fabulous magazine, which consists of a week's sailing down Turkey's coastline with none other than Lovely Boyfriend on a luxury 14-person 'ketcha' (ya, me neither). So I have one month to tone up, find my sea legs (sure I put them somewhere), and wangle some highlights out of my mother (if not, I heard lemon works?). And also to save – despite it being an all-expenses-paid trip, I doubt this will cover my obsession with buying rings, necklaces, watches, bracelets, sarongs (I could go on) in foreign countries. Last time I was in Turkey I'm pretty sure I bought enough jewellery to accessorize my entire extended family. 

Anyway – great news to start the weekend with. I think it'll be a real Turkish Delight (see what I did there?). This calls for some bubbly...!