Viva la Diva

There has been no internet all morning in my office. This is an epic fail in a publishing house for many a reason, but it certainly does nothing to help a fact checker (such as myself) check facts, let alone play on Facebook and update my tweets. So have been remarkably unproductive over the course of the morning, of course using the ‘free’ time to BBM friends about what’s going down this weekend. Incidentally, I must make sure that absolutely nothing is going down. When I go to Jo’burg I get a mild (okay, severe) case of FOMO and would much prefer if Cape Town somewhat froze in time for the weekend to avoid anything unforgettably bodacious occurring in my absence. Especially since I have become Cape Town’s spontaneously-social, slightly-unhinged, devoted and dashingly daring diva over the past couple of weeks. Anyway, thankfully it doesn’t seem like much is happening – I’m actually taking the party with me and have already organised an agglomeration of drinks, dinners and one night on the Jozi town with my Gauteng crew (yes, as much as I renounce the place, I do have a ‘crew’).

The trail run and the mortifyingly monumental night out last Saturday, plus a highly advanced and straining dance class on Tuesday has left me battered, bruised and exhausted, with a bad knee. Have spent the week wrapped in Transact (I look like a burn victim), which is so not cool when it’s so cold. Essentially I’m sitting in 13 degrees wrapped in ice patches, and I smell like a strip of spearmint chewing gym; am blue, shivering, limping and swollen. Can you say ‘attractive’?

Actually looking forward to being at home. What I love about my big family home nestled amongst the lilac jacarandas in Lower Houghton (and the murderers and thieves lurking on every Joburgian corner), are the heated carpets. I don’t have that luxury here in Cape Town, and probably never will... unless I marry a suit. I spend most of my day embedded in a fleece blanket, since Joburg refuses to budge from below zero, snuggled on the heated floor next to my boxer (best dogs in the world I might add). That and a glass of wine, along with the mindless chit-chat of my wonderful yet categorically crazy family, will do me just fine for a few days.

Managed to snag me a voucher on CityMob for Vaudeville next Friday. And somehow (and I’m still in disbelief considering Capetonians display phenomenal expertise in an inability to commit) I managed to get a whole six people to buy one too. For R130 we are off for a 3-course meal and show at the fiendish Fez. And I can’t wait. Yes I’ve been before but I would go every night of my life if I could. Talk about my dream night – I am obsessed with food. I am addicted to Champagne. I love my friends. I love the stage (hopefully this time I won’t attempt to actually climb onto it clutching a half-empty bottle of Pongracz mid-performance). And dancing is my life (the tappers are excellent). Put it all together and what have you got? Spectacular-spectacular – a shindig, a night of pure revelry, fabulous entertainment, drool-over food, breaking down on the d-floor post-show dressed in masks and adorned in feathers cabaret-style, inspired by the on-stage acrobats! Note to self: must drink less before the show even starts this time so can actually remember said performance. This will be difficult when I’m at a table with http://viviandlola.blogspot.com/. We share a similar passion for (or should I say dangerous infatuation with) rose champagne. Us two together = lethal combination.

Ok that’s all from me. I’m off till next Wednesday so I’ll see you then. Hopefully in one piece. And with some great stories.

A good run

So I did a trail run on Saturday. What they failed to tell us was that the run was in fact a killer 7km as opposed to the proposed 'easy-going' 6km in the email. And at least 1km of that was a very deadly, calf-and-shin-impaling uphill. And I should've taken better notice of the word 'trail'... After all my no-incline treadmill training, I don't think I was quite ready for dodging ditches, rocks and sticks, and nearly running into a wire fence. On a brighter note, it was a beautiful sunny day and running through the Constantia vineyards is probably one of the most serene experiences I've had in a while. Time for 'me'. To lose myself in the exquisite, tranquil surrounds. A much-needed time-out... A time-out primarily because I'm such a snail-pace runner that all my friends shot off ahead of me in the first 100m, when I was already complaining of a stitch and sore glutes! But I made it through and was applauded as I crossed the finish line by the boys, who were convinced they'd have to send out a search party for me, and had the ambulance's number on hand in case. Part of the package was wine tasting. Yes. At 9:30 in the morning. But after that run you feel like you're on top of the world. And that you've been running for hours and that it just must be midday by now. So we sat and sipped on Sauvignon Blanc in the sun as they did the prize giving... Numbers were picked at random and lots of people won hats, socks, T-shirts, watches, sports bands, wine... I won nothing. I left with sore shins and no present. I don't want to do trail runs anymore...

The day carried on in a similar fashion. We headed over to Pastis and watched the Boks get thrashed by those kiwis as we devoured buttery croissants layered with bacon and bree and avocado, and sipped on more alcohol (if you've already started why not carry on, right?). And then we went to Forries. And we left Forries at 8pm. Need I tell you the rest. Picture me, once again, atop a very large speaker at Tiger Tiger, rocking out to Pittbull like there's no tomorrow. And let me tell you. There was no tomorrow. I stayed in bed the entire day and managed to keep down half a piece of toast covered in melted chedder cheese by about 5pm. Never again.

Sorry for my lack of posts last week. Put simply, I had nothing to write about. I had so many restaurant and hotel reviews to write (Oh what a crazy night that was. I'm sorry I never got around to telling you about it but just think loft suite, free food, flowing champagne and friends. And of course a sneaky razzle out on the town) that I had no creativity left. Well, I couldn't be bothered. Anyway, am off to the dreaded Jo'burg this weekend again. It's that time again. Mummy wants me home. Back to hijack hell. For family time. And TLC. She's worried about me. I'm worried about me too. Only a small bag required - to fit in taser, mase spray and panic button. And thermal underwear. And a generator. Have already supplied Mother a list of things I need (face products, hair products, Woolies food, champagne, new clothes, essentiale, electricity...), and a number of appointments to be booked (hair dresser, dentist, optometrist, beauty treatments). May as well get the most out of this time! What are families for?

So apart from the fact that I can't walk today (worst shin splints ever, calf spasms, glute cramps, quad pain... liver pain) and am hobbling around the office like a hobo, I officially had one of the best Saturdays of the year and after 11 hours sleep I feel like a human being again. Bring on the week!!

Oh, and by the way: funniest film I've seen in a while...

My video of the week

I can't even explain how much this dude still makes me laugh just as much every time I watch him. If you need a dose of humour today, watch 'Gap Yah'... and then go to YouTube and watch 'Gap Yah 2'! You might just 'chundaaaaah EV'rywhere! Make a little VOMcano!'

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!

*Happy Harry Potter Day*

To all my fellow magic lovers, who have had their tickets booked for Harry Potter for months:

Here's to a night of danger, darksides, dementors, death eaters, Weasleys, wands, wizards, witches and auras, love, loss and luck, spells, scars and spite, horcruxes, Harry, Hogwarts and Hagrid, and to the end of an era...

I don't think anyone could ever be quite as obsessed as me. Really. Try me – we can have a "Harry off"! Any spell you need...

I thought I'd post the trailor for tonight's big release just to get you that little bit more excited. Although I'm not even sure that's possible.

Wands at the ready then...

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...