For monkeys, big and small

On Saturday, GBM and I took ourselves around a little forest adventure. I'd seen the course before, but it didn't look like much - more like team-building activities or kids' parties. But, ever the sucker(s) for a good online deal, we thought we'd have a bash when we saw a three-hour session advertised at 40% discount. It's not like we had anything better to do on a Saturday morning anyway. 

So off we went, signed the indemnity form, listened to the standard do's and dont's and got our special helmuts with the tag on it, indicating that we were English. And as much as I'm interested in learning new words in Dutch, I really want to understand the safety intricacies that will entail me securely attaching myself to a platform several metres up in a tree. We took the special helmuts without shame.


A few short minutes later, I had fully earned my 'special' status. GBM had stepped into his safety harness and was securing the buckles, while I was still trying to figure out which legs went where and why it was all so uncomfortable. I couldn't reach any of the buckles, I couldn't get them tight enough, it was just a silly design. Fortunately GBM saved me from public humiliation by quietly pointing out each leg strap was actually labelled "left" and "right" (clear as mud, in English). Not only that, but the lettering was upside down. So I had it on the wrong way round, AND upside down. Superb. 


Once we had that sorted out, we were ready for our private (English-Only) instruction course. They ran us through the safety procedures of ensuring that at least one of your two safety lines were connected at all times, proper placement of carabines on the safety cables and where and when it was safe to follow behind the person in front of you. Standard stuff. We passed the demonstration quickly enough and then (this is what I love about the lackadaisical H&S attitude in the Netherlands)... we were free to run loose in the trees.


There are 8 adventure courses with various degrees of difficulty. We started on course 3... thought we wouldn't get too cocky straight away. It was fun, just a few metres above ground, wonkly platforms and a bit of balance required.


Course 5 followed shortly, which entailed a bit more muscle-control and core balance. But by now, we had the hang of the safety harness technique and could get a bit more playful. I had a particularly good laugh watching GBM trying to negotiate across an uneven level of individually-strung stepping stones. He started on his left foot and as soon as he lifted his right to step forward, his entire body shot to the left, which meant that had to take an eeeeextra big step (as if moon-walking) to reach the next foot hold on the right. Now it was all he could do to stop from doing the splits (well, technically, the harness at his waist was doing the most to stop that - but at the same time, giving him a superb wedgie effect, all the more entertaining to watch from the back). Left foot up... body weight all on right... beeeeg moon-step to reach the next one on the left. 


Watching his progress in slow-motion brought to mind the stomp-precarious-totter style that toddlers often have as they learn to walk by not falling over. Of course, I then had to follow suit, which was not helped by the fact that I now had the giggles. 

Course 6 was the best - lots of nice long ziplines. Which was awesome, once I figured out how to launch myself without twisting my body in the process. Roaring uncontrollably up to a tree, arse-first, is not as much fun as some might like to think. 

The final course required extra instruction and is for "experienced climbers only". GBM and I were high on the success from our previous courses and decided to give it a shot. One of the obstacles was a tarzan-like swing, from one platform to the next. Being no fool myself, I made GBM go first. He secured his safety harness and launched himself forward, swung and landed on the platform. But, before he could get his balance enough to step forward, the weight of his body and the momentum of the rope pulled him backwards. Frantically he grabbed for anything on the tree to hold himself there, and failed. 

I supported his efforts by doubling over with laughter. When I realised that he was now officially stuck, I did try (genuinely) to help him back to the platform I was on, but it was quite a steep incline and I frankly did not have the strength to pull him back up. Assistance was hailed, much to GBM's embarrassment (and my amusement) as he clung to the rope like an uncertain newborn monkey. 

Once he was rescued, we could move on and complete the course, but after almost three hours of core and upper body strength we were absolutely shattered. We took a very slow cycle home and collapsed on the couch for the rest of the day. I cannot recommend it enough - childish fun in the treetops. 

SWAG

Shit We All Get. 

I went to a Ladies Night at the movies yesterday. The highlight of the evening (for me) is never the movie, but rather the drinks and snacks before hand (champagne and macarons last night) and the free goodies bags.

Yeah! 'Cos who doesn't love free shit?

Of course, as with all marketing ploys, you have to plough through a plethora of pamphlets and printed adverts. Blah blah blah blah, chuck that shit in the bin. Thanks for trying to get my attention, but you have been disqualified for laziness and lack of imagination.

Moving swiftly onto the actual marketing awards in this week's bag of SWAG. First, the winners, the one's who have a budget (or the savvy to realise that marketing actually requires expense).

A new product launch (hand cream sample) from Body Shop. Score!
John Frieda Frizz Ease hair shampoo sample. Score!
Bike bell from a shop that I hadn't heard about, but now want to see what other hip trendy stuff they can add to my bike. Well done, Chopperdome, give yourselves a gold star.
And two points for the movie house, who handed out packets of sweet and salty Jimmy's popcorn and diet Coco-Cola (not pictured, due to previous consumption). Well played, m'lords.

And, now, the ones who have tried. And failed.

Ice Watch. What is it? I don't know. I'm assuming some sort of attempt at trendy time keepers. There's a website included on the "we wanna start a social revolution" bracelet. This company provided a very nice gift bag, complete with ribbon insert and branding - which I presume would usually be supplied to paying customers once they have actually been into their store and bought a watch. So, minus points for marketing laziness. And they put a rubber/plastic band with their branding on. These bracelets only work as a fashion statement when they are making exactly that - a statement. WWJD or Livestrong. Product placement? Who's going to carry your website around on their wrist without gaining anything from it? Binning that shit. Fail.

Hair product. I guess. From Amsterdam with love? Okay, now I'm a bit nervous about the lubricant-looking content. Um, do I put this on my hair? The back has a single line that reads: "softening action with corn flower and aloe flower extract". Softening of what? What are you actually marketing here? Oh wait, in the corner, almost visible, is another line. Hotel V. Okay, so I assume this is some sort of hotel in Amsterdam, one that feels their biggest sell point is their free shampoo. Or some sort of salad dressing. Um... okay. Not so sure about this. Fail.

True, they've succeeded in the base requirement of marketing - I've learnt about their brand. Both groups of brands have spent money on this marketing. But am I enticed to use Ice Watch and Hotel V brands, visit their website or try their products? Not a chance.

If I like the John Frieda Frizz Ease or the Body Shop hand cream... will I tell people about it, choose to buy their products? Probably, yes. Win.

Special kids

I recently caught up with a friend who I hadn't seen for a while. One of her first questions to me was, "how are you and GBM, still going strong?" I gave affirmation to her query. 

Her response amused and bemused me. "Oh thank god! 'Cos let's be honest... it's not like anyone else would have either of you!"

Say what now?

She then went on to point out a few situations which she felt only GBM and I could possibly find entertaining. Like waiting in ambush for each other in our own home, to see who can give the other one a bigger fright late at night. Or me waking GBM up from an afternoon nap by dripping water on to his exposed neck. Okay, I might've found this more amusing than him. But to be fair, just the evening before he had chucked a handful of water in my face as I emerged from a loo break. So childish.

Or sabotaging each other's drinks (alcoholic or not) by spiking the beverage with sugar-coated sweets. How is this not amusing? It activates the carbonate and makes the drink taste horrific to the unsuspecting palate. Double whammy!

I realised she might have a point. 

The other day, GBM made the mistake of leaving home without any form of rain protection. Amateur mistake. So later, when it (not unsurprisingly) started raining, I took great delight in taunting him with all my layers. 

"Oh my, look at that. It's raining. I think I better put on my RAIN coat. Oh, and what's this... I have a hat too! I hate it when my hair gets wet because I am unprepared for Dutch weather."

GBM responded as any mature adult would, by merrily donning a bright red plastic packet on his head. This, he claimed, had the duel function of keeping his perfectly-styled hair dry and protecting his glasses from rain drops.

He looked like Papa Smurf, sans-beard. I was highly entertained. I'm glad we've found each other - this level of humour would be wasted on the unappreciative. 

Proper consumption of Zoo Biscuits

The absolutely wrong way to eat a Zoo Biscuit: 

Friendships have ended over less. 

Everybody who's anybody knows that the first step in Zoo Biscuit consumption is to nibble the edges, like so:

Then (as a personal preference) I like to eat the biscuit off the back, whittling down to sugar only. 

The next bit is where opinion's differ. Some people choose to lick the animal icing off the top at this stage. They are wrong. What you should do, is nibble around the white icing, gnawing the appropriate animal-shaped cut-out. Then you consume the white icing and sugar layer at your leisure. 

Your Zoo Biscuit treat is now complete. And my job here, is done. 

NB: The squirrel/flat tortoise/amorphous blob was saved from incorrect consumption -

*No Zoo Animals were harmed in the making of this blog*

Potential Pets, in no particular order

Snakes - I love handling non-venomous snakes. I'm not stupid about this option, I don't have a death wish, but the little constrictors are cool. They're much softer and silkier than most people (who haven't touched one) would think. Feeling them wrap around your appendages when they use you as a climb frame is actually quite exhilarating. And not in a life-or-death drama kinda way, but in a "woah, that thing is just one massive muscle" kinda way. 

Pros - they are clean, once you've got the terrarium sorted; they don't need much maintenance and shed about once a month. They eat once a week, they poop (about) once a week. They don't need socialising. 

Cons - they can live for up to 20 years, it's a massive commitment. Predominantly live curled up, in a box. Not particularly interactive. Most partners/housemates are not happy to share freezer space with pre-killed snake prey.

Chameleons - I just threw this option in 'cos I think these dudes are cool. They're just so... chillaxed, you know? They check you out sideways whether they dig you or not and they will not be rushed. Unless they're lining up to eat some tasty tidbit. But they're not big on being handled and when I did get to hold one in school, it chose to climb onto my head, using my earhole as a foot rest. I don't think I ever recovered from that. So I guess these are just on the list 'cos I wouldn't mind sharing a living space with one, nothing more than that.

Pigs - I've always loved the idea of having a pet pig. Just saying it makes me feel happy... Pet Pig. I firmly believe that when they're not living in a sty layered with their own faeces, pigs are probably very good pets. 

Pros - They're highly intelligent, apparently easy to train (do you need more evidence than Babe? I think not). Tea Cup pigs are possibly the most adorable things I have EVER seen. Maternal hormones peak every time I see one. That's not weird, is it?

Cons - Apparently they are very big on pecking orders and will try to "subordinate" house guests by charging, barging and possibly biting. This could be awkward, especially if you want those guests to ever come back. Also, there's a small chance that you could unwittingly purchase what you think is a tea cup pig, which turns out to be a potbelly... Not cool.

Rats - I'd love a rat. I think they're fabulous. Again, similar to pigs, they probably make very rewarding pets when they're not scurrying through raw sewage. I don't understand the aversion to domestic rats. Why are hamsters so much more acceptable? They're less smart and less interactive - rats are more social in nature and bond easier with their owners, whereas hamsters are just... there. Running frantically in a wheel. Going nowhere. 

Pros - it's not a long-term commitment, they live for about 3 years. While they might use you as a climbing frame (see Snakes and Chameleon), they're affectionate with owners. Apparently. 

Cons - females go into heat about once a flipping week. No wonder you're 'never more than six feet away' from a city rat. 

Cats - I'm not cat-person per se, but I like cats. I don't have anything against them. I love their haughty attitude and they make great pets, as long as you don't expect any gratitude in return. They amuse me when they try to pounce on reflected lights or lose shoelaces. As someone who can blow and catch bubbles for hours at a time, I can relate to this kind of frivolous fixation. 

Pros - they clean themselves. They only poop in the litter tray (supposedly). They are relatively low-maintenance and can be left alone all day or even overnight. 

Cons - the associated reputation. Just typing "cats as pets" into Google quickly brings up, "do cats have souls" followed closely by "80 ways to share cat pictures". Getting a cat might result in other feline owners thinking we have something in common. I can't be having with this. 

Dogs - what's not to like? Dogs are social, affectionate, intelligent and inquisitive. They greet their owners, and generally guests, with enthusiasm. They almost always seem happy, or at least pleasantly surprised, to see you. Dogs respond to the mood of their owners and can be trained to play or calm down on cue. 

It's hard to draw up a quick list of pros and cons. Depending on the type of dog you want, or the space/facilities you can offer, a dog can be high maintenance or can just fit in with its owner's schedule. Probably the biggest con for me, would be associated with people who think they are dog owners, when they actually treat them as animated accessories. 

If you want a pet that size, get a guinea pig. Stop trying to pretend it's descended from domesticated wolves.

What's not to love? 

Monte-Carlo... almost as over-rated as Cape Town

"Koekie, have you met Roger Moore?" I was casually asked. As in, Sir-Roger-Moore? Um... no, I do not get much opportunity in my daily, mundane routine to meet Sir Roger Moore.

"Oh well, let me introduce you now! Kate, this is Sir Moore and his wife, Kiki."

That's how my week ended last week. I met James Bond.

I'm not gonna lie, it was pretty damn cool. But the week wasn't all A-list cavorting and hob-nobbing. In fact, it started out pretty shite.

My plan was as such - I was catching a taxi from my (new) flat in Amsterdam to Schiphol at 8am. I was flying out at 9.25am. I was landing at 11.30ish and would then hop in a pre-booked car from Nice to my hotel in Monte-Carlo, where I would check-in, freshen up and meet our TV stars arriving from the US.

8am came, and went. With no taxi. I phoned the taxi company, had a general argument with the operator who couldn't understand why I was upset that when I phoned to ask where my (pre-booked) taxi was, he replied with, "oh, I'll send him now."

You're only sending him NOW? I'm supposed to be halfway to the airport NOW.

Taxi arrived at 8.30. I arrived at the airport at 8.45. Of course, despite already checking in online, I still had to stand in the same queue as everyone else to get my baggage checked in. And, of course, being a first world country, everything is "Self-service!" (supposed to be read in a tone of mocking merriment - because big corporations would have us believe that doing away with real live people who can actually help is in the best interests of the general population. Which it is, of course, not. It is however in the best interests of their Accounts Payable budget. So who gives a snot about service with a smile, right?)

Anywho, so... of course... I get stuck in the queue behind the purple-rinsed granny flying to Florida - apparently for the first time - who has never seen a keyboard, never mind a touch screen. And as I watched in growing agitation over her shoulder, I was trying not to scream as she typed her destination into the self-check in machine, oh so bone-achingly, slowly... index finger extended... hovering... circling... *F*... pausing... concentrating... selecting... *L*... look down at paper... squint back at screen... extend index finger... hovering... searching... *O*... MY... GOD.

I had to remind myself that society does not take lightly to irrational, verbal attacks on pensioners. It's not her fault. Eventually I lost patience, grabbed the closest unfortunate lady walking past in a blue uniform and hissed, "she needs assistance, for the love of all sanity please get her off that machine!" I followed this successful diversion by shoving my way to the front of the queue next to me. I made my plane on the final boarding call.

Arriving in Nice, I learnt that drivers across the continent had no interest in transporting me. It was not specific to the Netherlands. Because I was there for a work event, I had been informed that a car had been arranged. There was nothing. No signage, no sign, no welcome. I eventually managed to get hold of a representative for the event and was greeted with the assuring tones of someone who knew absolutely nothing about my presence... "Koekie? From where? XYZ Studios International? I don't have that on my list of cars today. Sorry."

Awesomeness. So I forked out 100-euros for a taxi, which WILL be expensed back.
But it wasn't over yet.

Finally at my hotel, I went to the reception desk to check in.
They asked for credit card details as a deposit. Now... I don't own a credit card. I do not need a credit card in my personal life and I do not think that I should have to explain to a snotty Frenchman who is effectively nothing more than a bloody concierge on the doorstep of society, why I do not have my own credit card. But I digress. I know from past experience that hotels will always accept a cash deposit, which I asked to do instead...

Fine. That will be 2000-euros in cash. In case you thought that I had a seizure when hitting the zero digit, I'll put that into words: two thousand euros, in cash.

Right. Now that is a problem. Can I put it through as a bank transfer?
"Nooooh," said the keeper of the key, while sneering down his freakishly elongated nasal passages (perfect design for a Frenchman in customer service), "because zhen we will only get zhee deposit when... eef... zhee bank clears it tomorroh".

Well, fuck you very much. My colleague attending the event was on a plane at that stage. The only other people I could contact were all in the US, where it was the middle of the night.

And so, that is how I came to wander the streets of one of the most expensive, high-brow cities in the world, looking - and feeling - like a worthless bum who'd stolen a laptop.

But it did get better. While being pretentious and snooty, it is a spectacular city. And to be honest, I think the locals that I met were humble and just all about having fun (except for that front desk receptionist at my hotel; he was a big fat meanie). It's actually the tourists and the celebrities, tottering about in their haute couture, who make the city so over-rated.

But then again, I did meet some fantastically professional TV stars. On several occasions the Prince breezed past me (I didn't get to say hi, I was too busy being pressed up against a wall by his body guards. Sounds dodgy, but I promise I was only intimate with their elbows). I met James Bond, as well as some rappers of yester-year.

But the character that topped my list of heroes wasn't an on-camera personality. He's a local in Monaco. He's just your average family guy who makes a habit of escorting and playing tour guide to the stars. And he was the security/personal assitant assigned to Holly, Kendra and Bridget when they came to Monaco a few years ago. He was the person Kendra called when she got arrested outside the Prince's Palace at one o'clock in the morning. Which I found delightful. I met someone who worked with The Girls Next Door... that makes him a rock star, certainly in my books.

The red carpet: with the cool kids from NCIS and Dexter.

MAYHEM

Sigh.

Stepping away from politics. It's hard to do... I have so much more shout about, but unfortunately I can't type any louder than the gazillion idiots who are merrily declaring that South Africa is the most unstable country. Ever. Apparently, we are the only country to EVER suffer from political tension, and crime, and high-profile people doing stupid things and possibly being targeted for the trouble they cause. And because we are the first - and only - country to ever be inflicted by wounds of the past and subsequent differing points of view, the whole nation is clearly going to implode in the next few weeks (oddly enough, this hasn't happened yet, despite this doom being declared with certainty on a monthly basis). On the bright side, such implosion would spare SA from enduring the apocalyptic crisis that the world is going to experience in two years time.

Anyway. While ET was inadvertently making the wrong kind of headlines this weekend, I was in the UK moors with Mills and his siblings. I feel I need to educate you all on what it means to spend Easter with the Mill-family.

Step 1:
Argue about where you are going to spend Easter. This has to be somewhere where you haven't been before. It does not matter if it is in the house next door to the house from last year, you cannot revisit a location.

Step 2:
Once suitable accommodation is found, Easter Eggs must be purchased. This is not a simple case of one egg, one mouth. There are various categories of egg entry to be considered. The first is the Most Impressive. This is normally a collaboration of one ostentatiously large egg, with a selection of fine chocolates in a basket the size of a shoe box. Bonus points are awarded if the giant eggs are individually labeled, with the recipient's name hand-painted in icing. The second category is Quantity Over Quality. This entails sourcing the smallest - but most numerous - eggs commercially available (these will then be hidden individually). Shopping completed, the eggs must be transported with care to their final destination. Breaking eggs en route is considered sacrilege and will be result in a loss of status at the family gathering.

Step 3:
Set aside at least one full evening before Easter Sunday to coordinate the rules and allocate hiding areas for the Mills' Annual Yolk Hunting Easter Madness (MAYHEM). The first and most prominent rule of MAYHEM is to take MAYHEM seriously. Jokers and non-Mill family members who do not demonstrate the expected reverence for the occasion are not welcome or appreciated.

Step 4:
Once each couple has been allocated their hiding location (i.e. one pair will have the kitchen and garden, the next will have lounge and driveway etc), the pairs divvy up their collection of eggs and hide them for the various seekers. There are no rules as to where eggs can be hidden. Removing light bulbs from ceiling fittings and replacing them with appropriate sized eggs is accepted - and applauded. Curtain linings, dustbins, vacuum bags and full baby bottles are also on the list of approved (and used) locations.

Note: Attempting to peek at another couple's location prior to hunting is NOT appreciated, and will result in severe reprimands.

Step 5:
Eggs hidden. Now everyone must gather to listen - and pay close attention - to what they must each look for. Serious participants will have pen and paper ready to take notes. "Koekie - you are looking for nine thumbnail-sized eggs, three have white wrapping, three are red and three are black. You are also looking for two bunnies - one with gold foil, one with green. You must also find seven Milka eggs, about the size of your pinky nail. Mills- you are looking for nine thumbnail eggs (two white, five red and two black). Your two bunnies are in gold foil and red foil. You have five Milka chocolates and one marshmellow egg...." Each couple will do the same respectively for their recipients.

Finally...

The hunting can begin. Shoving, tripping and snatching are allowed but considered unsporting if done to small children.

I generally just grab whatever I see and stash it all away like a rabid squirrel, whether I'm supposed to find it or not. That's how we did it in my family and old habits die hard. I also find it comes in handy at the end, because I have tons of leverage to barter with. This is considered good game strategy by non-Mill family members, but is not appreciated by MAYHEM founders.

Every event will end with a MAYHEM audit to check that each participant has in fact collected the correct number - and colour - of eggs. This audit is also used to tally how many eggs are still outstanding.

Eating eggs before the final audit is completed is frowned upon, as consumption of Easter Eggs is not the MAYHEM objective. If all Easter Eggs are found and accounted for, the MAYHEM event is deemed a monumental failure by true participants.

The ultimate goal of MAYHEM is to hide the eggs so well that the only chance of them being uncovered will be during a future spring clean, or archeological dig.

MAYHEM. The True Easter Spirit.

Classic Humour

Aaah... there's nothing like a good hearty chuckle, especially at someone else's expense (but often my own, too). A few of my favourite sources for such entertainment:

1) Situational. Like the recent evening that we spent with another young couple - where she and I 'accidentally' saw the answer on the back of the card, just as her boyfriend was about to act out "catwalk model" in charades. Yes, we should've told him, but he is about as macho as you can like to get and he had already started his runway impression.

So we let him go...and go... and go... feigning complete non-comprehension (although his runway walk was unnervingly good)... until he gave up on being a flamboyantly effeminate model and actually got down on hands and knees and pretended to be a cat. That was the closest I've come to wetting my pants in my adult life. You had to be there, I'm sorry you missed out.

2) Funny-because-it's-true news stories. Like the recent screening of porn on a children's network channel in the US. A spokesman called it a "technical glitch". With an uninterrupted duration of two hours. My understanding of a glitch is a "brief or sudden interruption" but sure.... I guess a glitch can also be a complete fek-up that continues for several hours. Eskom had a few of those in 2008. "Whoops, glitch... we'll be back up and running in the next few days!"

Seconds or maybe minutes - glitch. Hours = technical ERROR. Anyway, the real humour here is that this happened in North Carolina, one of the notoriously conservative Bible Belt states.

"The error occurred on the Kids On Demand and Kids Preschool On Demand channels where clips from Playboy TV appeared in the top right hand corner. A menu of available children's programmes was listed on the left of the screen, but nude women engaged in explicit conversations appeared where previews of children's shows normally appear."

You gotta love it when a plan comes together.

3) A well-written column. Dave Moseley, Chris Roper and Carol Lazaar have always been entertaining. Recently, Ben Trovato was brought to my attention (thank you, Mozzie). I love a good tale, especially one that ends up in the emergency room with an unsympathetic wife:

"...Brenda said girls against boys. "The way of the world," said Ted, racking the balls all wrong. I nudged him out of the way and he fell over the pool dog, who I have trained to retrieve balls that often ricochet off the table and disappear into places where no human would wish to go. Ted approaches pool in much the same way that he approaches his job - in a crablike fashion through the side entrance when no one is watching. I, on the other hand, approach the game like I approach an open bar - fast and recklessly.
Brenda and Mary play like all women play - they talk, giggle, drink, lie and cheat from start to finish. It's one of the reasons I married her. The only difference is that back then we would play for sexual favours and these days we play for the electricity bill. But let us not go down that filthy mugger's alley again.
Like all good pool tournaments that go on until 5am, the margin of error was inordinately high. Three windows were broken from balls cannoning off the table and the dog retired to bed in disgust..."

Pure poetry. You can read the full column here - it's worth it. Really.
I may be going back for more.

Cluck off, it's Friday.

This week has been useless. I've wanted to blog, but couldn't find anything to get rage-worthy about, or couldn't concentrate on any one thing so couldn't narrow it down. But now I feel bad because I haven't produced anything. I feel like a bad mother, who has just left her kids to starve because she couldn't think of what to cook. Or something. Hey, there's good reason why I don't have kids. That's one of them.

Okay, so here's some random stuff.... stream of consciousness style.

Earlier this week, I was 'had'. Like "PSYCH!" or punk'd... had. First, lemme tell you that I have an iPhone - I finally won that little (admittedly petty) battle and got an unlocked sim. She's called Kumquat Koekie and has been working fine. To be honest, the whole process seemed a little bit too easy compared to my usual fights. So when I recently sent an sms to a friend (who has a Crackberry) and got an automated response informing me that smses from unlocked iPhones are undeliverable to this particular sender, I flew into a little mini-rage. The audacity of these fekking mobile providers, who the fek do they think they are completely dominating our lives and dictating what we do, who we consort with and how we do it! I instructed Mills to contact the friend (we were going over to visit them shortly) and muttered and stomped much like an angry bag lady on the walk over to their place.

On arrival, the first thing my friend asked was how my iPhone is working out. That's when the light started to come on in my head. Admittedly, it had taken me so long that it wasn't a very loud or instantaneous click. It was more like an energy saving lightbulb that takes several minutes to get up to full brilliance. Aaaaw man. I'd been had. He grinned with nefarious glee, delighting in my realisation. He'd sent the 'automated' response and was over the moon when he got a second similar sms from Mills, knowing that I had been hook-line-and-sinkered with his text. Well played, my man. Well played.

Anyway, other than that - Kumquat Koekie is working as well as any piece of technology within my daily contact can be expected to function. She's only been dropped three times, and I've had her for almost a month. She's holding up well.

Thinking of things accidental, I got off to a sterling start this morning. First I clamped my left ring finger in my uber-hot, ultra-iron-all-hair-dead straightener this morning. Two hundred and thirty degrees of skin pealing heat. Then I clamped my right ring and pinky fingers in the fold-up table on the train, forgetting that when you close those contraptions they generally spring shut with some velocity. So before 9am, I was three fingers down... eight to go. Not bad, even by my standards.

And to the end the week, I leave you with yet another stunning example of love between boyfriend and girlfriend:

4:27 PM Koekie: how're the tikka masala preparations going?

4:30 PM Mills: well.

I have taken the chicken out.

Koekie: good good

4:31 PM approved

Mills: if I leave it long enough it may cook itself

Koekie: here's how you'll know:

first it needs to defrost

then it'll probably start clucking...

4:32 PM **pah-keurrrk**

Mills: cluck you

Koekie: then, then the clucking dies down, you'll know that it's cooked

Mills: ha ha ha thats quality humour

Koekie: I'm presuming that you're laughing at your, rather than my, humour. Although mine is clearly of a far more developed standard.

Mills: yes cluck face

4:33 PM never gets old

Koekie: right back at ya, cock

4:36 PM Ja, in your face

You have nothing

4:38 PM Mills: cluck off

4:43 PM yeah thats right, sit quietly in the corner

4:45 PM Koekie: go chanticleer yourself

yeaaaaaaah - I just went medieval poulty on YOUR ASSMills: I bite my thumb at you sir

4:53 PM Koekie: you bite your thumb at me? I bite my thumb at you...

Thereafter followed a rather broken Shakespeare recital attempt. If this doesn't demonstrate a solid adult relationship, I don't know what does.

Notes from SA

First, I'd like to thank everyone in Joburg for arranging a wonderful week with nothing but sunshine while we were out there. From the sounds of it, it stopped raining the day before we arrived and started again the day after we left. As much as we miss a good highveld thunderstorm, rain is not a novelty or a tourist attraction coming from the Netherlands. So we really appreciated your cooperation in this particular area. My brain is still in SA. No doubt about that. I am in denial about this grey, miserable wet weather pissing about outside my window. And to those of you who are subsequently blaming me for taking the sun from Jozi, I'm sorry to say that I must've dropped it somewhere over the DRC cos it certainly ain't here with me!

Let's see... some highlights from the week...

Going to an old varsity mate's wedding.

These are always great as they are a good opportunity for a reunion kick up. They also make for great awkward opportunities - such as me asking a (formerly) good friend whether he was seeing anyone at the moment. "Um, yes... Tarryn. My fiancee. Who I've been with since varsity". Oh. Right. Her. Good. And obviously she didn't leave much of an impression on me. Whoops.

Having a twisting dance-off with one of the waitresses at the venue. Needless to say, she's black and she won. I tried. I just looked stupid.
...but not as stupid as the Fatkid who attempted a mop dance-off with one of the other staff waitresses. Yes. A mop. Dance off. Why? What do you usually accessorize with on the dance floor? Pah. Amateurs.

Going to watch a Bulls game at Loftus.

As much as I try to fight it, Pretoria is strong in my gene-pant heritage. So I coerced a bunch of friends and family and we went marching to Pretoria - where we spent more time commenting on the fans than the players. In our group of ten, we had 1 x Australian and 1 x AA-approved gentleman of darker hue. This is important to note, as the two members happened to sit down next to each other as we were engulfed in the sea of blue on the stands.

Now, we had explained to our interested Aussie that these people are VERY serious about their rugby. Very. Like, you see that large gentleman walking with a very small newborn baby (swaddled in blue, of course)? You see how he is holding the baby out to the Bulls mascot like an reverent Catholic might hold their child up for papal blessing at the Vatican? That child is going to be a God-fearing, Loftus-loving, horn-wearing, bakkie-driving Bulls fan for life. And despite how he may be inclined, he will not be gay and he will marry a lovely poppie from Hatfield. End of story. Being a Bull supporter is more than a "yeah, I watch 'em on the weekend sometimes..." kind of thing.

So when our Aussie decided to cheer as loudly as she could at the announcement of the Brumbies' names (the one lone voice in a stadium of boos), our resident AA-approved gent became a little nervous. I offered to switch seats with him - and before I could finish the thought he was out of his seat and standing over mine, muttering something about feeling like the X on his back had grown exponentially in relation to his proximity with the one Brumbies' supporter. I couldn't argue with that. As the game progressed, and the fans became more and more aggro at the Bulls (who were down in the first half), our Aussie supporter's cheers became just a little bit more muted. Even if the vloeking is in Afrikaans, anger does not need a translation. Ag, but you know, eventually the Bulle came through and it was only an early game in the Super14 after all, so any Bulls fans who did notice the Aussie in our midst seemed to find it more amusing than aggravating. It helped that she is cute and quite naaaice to look at too.

My favourite quote from the game came from X when, after yet another Bull try, I asked him if he would care to join me in celebrating with a clenched fist in the air while shouting, "Amaaaaaandla!". He declined, and with a wry smile explained, "I choose life." Again, I couldn't argue.

Good times. Also, I nearly got taken home by a lekker-ding covered from head-to-toe in blue body art (the traditional war attire for the most ardent of fans). Fortunately Mills was there to frighten him off with his massive bulk. It was good to be home.

The 2010 build up.

It's awesome. It's positive, it's enthusiastic, it's pretty. There are soccer balls everywhere. Even on top of the ferris wheels at Gold Reef City. We saw Soccer City from a distance and the Calabash stadium looks amazing. I've heard that the stadium in Nelspruit has a huge giraffe design around its perimeter. The Gautrain - progressing, ongoing, again positive. Brilliant in theory. Can't wait to see it in practice.

Yes, I can say this from a 'tourist' point of view. And yes, I would probably also be griping about the anticipated throngs of ignorami who will soon be flooding the cities, most likely pointing at ferral dogs and asking inane questions like, "is that a hyeeeeena?" But to the nay-sayers about whether we'll be ready or not for the influx of tourists, bear in the mind that the Greeks were still digging, erecting and constructing frantically just two weeks before they hosted the summer Olympics in 2004. And they had that little Goldmann-Sachs trump card up their sleeve. By the day of the opening ceremony, there was not a trace of construction to be seen. It's a massive project. No country makes it look easy. Not even the most financially lubricated.

Ayoba!