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.

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!

Forkin' great

I went to Fork on Long Street last night for dinner. I'm still dreaming about the tiny golden fried balls of goat's cheese euphoria that were served to me on little sundried tomato crackers with an onion marmalade. Orgasmic to say the least. Before I realised it, I was hugging the waiter and thanking him for changing my life. They're not so attractive to eat however, since biting into the delicacy means melted goat's cheese oozes out the sides of your mouth. But it's okay - lovely boyfriend is sick and has stuff oozing out of his nose. So he was unable to pass judgement.

So I got my nautical-themed dress at the ready, have undergone the various necessary waxing procedures/torture, and am ready to bubbly and bikini it up for a cruisin' afternoon in the jacuzzi, the wind flowing through my mouse-coloured tresses. If I don't have a cold by tomorrow I'll be gobsmacked since I've spent all week in close proximity to sickly boyfriend (although I insisted he remain at arm's lenght), plus I spotted one or two eskimos tottering around my office earlier this week. Despite the searing heat outside, arctic temperatures in here mean I'm frost-bound to my keyboard and drinking tea for Africa. But I seem to be the only one who can feel it...?

So afraid of getting sick that I actually ran away from my flatmate this morning when she sneezed. She wasn't impressed.