Category: Daily Life

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I too am geographically challenged

If you live and work in Mozambique or Zimbabwe, you will, undoubtedly, hate your internet service provider.

So, it was with great excitement we heard that good old Elon Musk was offering Starlink satellite connections. Speed unknown to us in these parts at a reasonable price.

I immediately investigated and my research showed that it was best to order directly through the app. I have ordered one in each country. Starlink, it seems, are still trying to find Zimbabwe, so they have taken my $9.99 deposit and will advise further.

We can only imagine that they are having to negotiate through Dubai just who will benefit from any transaction before it’s actually allowed.

But! The app advised me that they can deliver the kit to Mozambique, and I must pay NOW. So, I gave them all my credit card details.

You know, as you do, on any old playstore app.

The very next day a delightful lady from the bank fraud department phoned to verify it was me and that I was sure.

They phone of course, without any warning. (I like a message two days in advance requesting permission that anyone phone me, so that I can mentally prepare). And then they ask you to pass security checks when your brain is just not in the game.

I amazingly convinced her that it was me. She was very pleasant and patient.

And then she says…. do you want us to allow this payment you wish to make to Mexico.

Mexico? I am trying to pay Elon Musk for a satellite kit I explained, is he in Mexico? Has he bought Mexico?

Oh, she says, Mozambique. Not Mexico.

Who knows really.

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Home remedies

I had my tonsils out as a child.

I went to a doctor in my 40’s for something minor and told her this. Oh, she said, you have tonsils. Sometimes they grow back.

What the actual…

In recent weeks, I have had a sore throat. It’s my bloody reborn tonsils I thought. Was there a warranty on that op when I was six I pondered.

Not being bright enough to consult an actual medically trained professional, I turned to Google. Which informed me that gargling with diluted apple cider vinegar kills throat bacteria.

Anyway, I’m delighted to report my throat is no longer sore. Hopefully it dissolved my unwanted tonsils completely.

However, it also seems to have removed the enamel on my teeth. Sigh… Does enamel grow back?

Don’t try this at home.

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Cooking with gas

We’ve been invited to go on a houseboat for a few days.

Lucky hey?

Not so lucky is my recent gas problem.

I may find myself being thrown to the crocs.

I blame the detox I attempted. Downing 500ml of neat tabasco can play havoc with the guts.

Not recommended.

My lovely man has, so far, made no comment. Bless him. Isn’t he a treasure? He is hard of hearing thank goodness. Hopefully he also has a severe cold.

He has mentioned a few times how pleasant the (sunny) spare room looks at this time of the year. In this fridge of a house.

I’m not sure if there is a connection or if I’m invited.

I wouldn’t invite me. Lethal.

I am starting to suspect that I’ve actually died and my brain is just taking a while to catch up.

Because, you know, there are emails to answer.

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I like your package

Is it just me, or do you also loathe packaging?

Apart from the obvious that it’s mostly all plastic, it’s largely impenetrable isn’t it? And often seems unnecessary and an overkill.

I’m a bit of a shopper. it’s my one talent really. Random spending. But, inevitably, anything new comes in packaging that you have to wrestle off. Take Take A Lot for instance. Those people, bless them, give extra thought to packaging because, presumably, the goods have to survive transportation. So, there is re-packaging in a lot of cases. Not that this always helps. Possibly because my order is then put on a donkey cart or something similar and driven over less than attractive roads to me.

A face wash I ordered recently arrived burst. (Yes, there is face wash here before you ask, we are not a nation of dirty faces). But, I was tempted in this case because it was a charcoal face wash, and I just can’t resist a charcoal anything really. Charcoal is so versatile don’t you find. Like bicarb and coconut oil. There must be 100 uses for these products. Must Google it. I take great comfort knowing that if I ever suspect I have been poisoned, I can just chug down my face wash and I am likely to survive the ordeal.

Back to the packaging. It’s that hard plastic shell that kills me the most. I really have to gird my loins when stuff arrives in that. I ponder on that movie Tom Hanks starred in where he was washed up on a deserted island and his only companion was the American football Wilson (or was it a rugby ball, is there a difference?). Anyway, what if Wilson had arrived in a hard plastic shell? And also washed up with him was a scissor in a hard plastic shell. The movie would not have done as well I’m sure. We would have all been gnashing our teeth in frustration.

Some years ago I met someone in the packaging industry. It was quite fascinating to hear her speak about it because it’s actually very complex and very competitive. Lots of math goes into packaging. She was absolutely fabulous. Hysterical really, very entertaining and great company.

But, that’s how psychopaths are aren’t they? Engaging and charming. Because really, this must be one of the criteria required to be in the industry, to be a complete sadist.

I’m sure she’s the exception.

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Yes, I need a coffee ☕

I have been quite disciplined with my eating for some months, and dropped some weight.

But, in recent weeks, have failed somewhat.

So, to kick start myself back to good habits, I decided to do a detox programme I saw advertised.

The lady who promotes this and who kindly delivered my meals for the forseable future is indeed an advert for her product. Fabulously fit and toned. Arrived in skimpy shorts. Get inside I had to say to my lovely man.

Aren’t you cold I asked her, dressed like a polar bear myself. No, I’m just back from the gym she announced.

Of course. Also, I think she’s British. They don’t feel the cold do they?

You might get a slight headache as you are not allowed caffeine she announced.

Oh, I’m not worried, I told her, I’m not a big coffee or wine drinker. It’s quite nice, the fantasy in my head, I make the rules.

So, I diligently downed the first green smoothie thing and my lovely man observed my face and enquired if I was actually paying money to be this miserable.

One of the drinks seemed to be tomatoes and tabasco. I thought it might actually kill me.

How are you feeling my lovely man asked me in the morning. (After day one).

Well, I said, my weight is down, but I think I have a brain tumour and need you to take me to the hospital please.

Aaah, he said, you have a headache, should I bring you a coffee rather?

What I have learnt from this exercise :

I am not brave when in pain.

I would rather never eat again than face that tabasco smoothie.

I can, quite surprisingly, manage without wine, but am, it seems addicted to coffee.

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What’s that smell?

My lovely man is of great support to me and does many (read all), of the household chores.

Don’t you want one? Get your own, this one’s mine.

He often uses my little car to run around in.  It’s a ‘fuel saver’ vs a ‘ gas guzzler’.

The other morning we were having our pre-walk morning cuppa (and choccie biscuit) and he announced.  ‘ I don’t think I took the shopping out of the car yesterday, let me check’.

I’m sure it’s all fine he continued a little later… I’ve put the chicken in the freezer, all good.

Darling, I said, I don’t think that’s clever, shouldn’t we throw that chicken away?

It’s for the dogs he said, I’m sure it will be fine.  (I, of course, would take a bullet for my dogs, so this is NOT fine really).

I don’t get to drive my car, or any car very often.  My lovely man is the designated driver as a rule.  When we first started dating, he was very complimentary of my driving.  Now that the honeymoon is over there are any number of suggestions, instructions, and pleas to Jesus for help when I drive.  

But I had occasion (read boozy girls lunch), to go out by myself and lowered myself into my car and trundled off.

On my return, I asked my lovely man if it was my car that he had used when he went shopping and left the chicken in the car.

Yes, I think so, he said, it’s easier to park, why do you ask?

Because, darling, my car smells like something has died in it.

So now, not only do we have to empty the freezer of any chicken so that no-one in the household dies, I also have to sell or perhaps set alight my car. 

Perhaps you can have him after all.

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Say that again?

My lovely man is a bit hard of hearing.

The entire household seems to be, because certainly no one listens to me, including all the animals.

I am often reminded of a dear fellow that I worked with who informed me ‘ Rosie, your voice is pitched like a dog whistle, none of us have a chance.’

I digress.

On a recent morning walk, we were approached by some fellows who had saved a tortoise that was (slowly we presume), dodging the traffic.  Precious little thing.  Because this is Africa, we had to pay them and I carried the dear little thing triumphantly home.

I have always had a fondness for tortoises, and this little guy has now come into our lives!  That’s how it happens with animals isn’t it? 

I am likely to be lambasted because perhaps he’s exotic and we should not be looking after him.  But I love him already.  We’ll figure out for sure what the right thing to do is.  Better in the garden than the traffic surely?

Let’s call him Tommy I suggested to my lovely man.  How do you know he’s he, he asked.  My sister, I advised him, said that male shells are more rounded, and female shells are flatter.

Oh, he said, how on earth would she know that, should I Google it too?

She’s quite smart I said, but yes, you can Google it.

What should I ask Google he asked me.

Ask Google ‘ How do I sex a tortoise’ I suggested.

There are no results, he advised somberly, for ‘ How do I text a tortoise’ , I think we are doing it wrong.

Don’t you just love him? I’m sure he does it on purpose to entertain me.  He’s the best.

Tommy, it turns out, prefers the pronoun ‘ they ‘ .

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It’s just routine

My lovely man and I have a bit of an exercise routine.  Nothing to get excited about, just a daily walk and a bit of stretching and Pilates. Not very far (the walk) and it’s chair Pilates.

Still, we are better off for doing it and quite smug about the effort.

I say routine, but we are easily jolted out of this routine for a variety of reasons (insert irrelevant excuse here), and then it takes some effort to get back into it.

Anyway, with enormous discipline we once again staggered off on our walk today after some weeks of abstinence.

But!  This time I strapped some extra weight onto my ankles.

A friend I used to walk with has some of these ankle/wrist weights and I was greatly admiring of them, and her.

These are the reason she looks fabulous, and I look like shit I pondered.

So, I ordered some. 

I am a great Take a Lot fan.  I only recently discovered Take a Lot, but since then, am single handedly, I believe, keeping them afloat. 

I use their services when I am in Zimbabwe. Via a runner. Also a recent discovery. I am clearly a late bloomer.

Very sadly, most goods in Zimbabwe are so horrifically overpriced that it is cheaper to shop this way. Illegally I mean. Don’t tell Al Jazeera.

This really, is all the excuse I need to shop. Cheaper.  There should be a 12-step plan for Take a Lot.

Why have you ordered that my lovely man inquires after every delivery of goodies.  Because it’s cheaper, I reply.  But he continues, do we need it?

How irrelevant. Men.

When I ordered my wrist/ankle weights, I contemplated the 2kg pair.  Luckily, I settled on 1kg an ankle really.

Are you ready to go my lovely man asked.  Well, yes, I said, as soon as I find the strength to lift my weighted foot off this chair and put it on the ground again.

I’m not carrying those for you when you get tired, he warned.  He’s not an idiot. He gives me a similar warning every time we go out and it’s a bit nippy.  Take a jacket, I’m not giving you mine. 

And then, of course, he does.  Bless him. Not without some mutters.

Are you OK he asked as I gasped along on the walk.  Sure, I replied, but I’m likely to need a double knee replacement.

I better end up as fabulous as my friend.

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Yes.. I identify as…

We are enjoying a few days at the magnificent Victoria Falls. 

I know, so lucky. 

Our resort offers a shuttle service into town. They don’t encourage you to walk too far around here because of the wild animals. Having said that, the locals walk everywhere. Out of necessity one presumes. 

Anyway, after our boozy lunch (always), we caught the shuttle back.

There was a very attractive lady on the shuttle with us and then we stopped again and picked up Casanova. Himself.

Immediately he started harassing her for her details. Including phone number and room number. 

Amazing. 

So, when we arrived, we hung around a bit to escort her, as necessary, because of this unwanted and somewhat aggressive attention. 

Later, when we were having a sundowner, we saw this young lady again and she thanked us for the help. 

She was with her friends by now. (She made a point of telling us, perhaps she thought we would chase them off too). 

Where are you from they asked us. 

This question is almost as loaded as ‘what is your surname’. I am always confused by both and tend to ramble a bit. 

Luckily my lovely man stepped in and explained that we were local. Zimbabwean. 

Immediately we were regarded with deep suspicion. Which is normal. My lovely man never gets asked by a Zimbabwean if he is Zimbabwean. I braced myself for the inevitable.

She doesn’t sound like a Zimbabwean they stated, as expected, moving away slightly. She sounds like an South African. Also, they continued, it’s her hair. Very Pretoria. The one guy actually waving his hands around his head.

No good deed…

Nice though, he said as an afterthought. 

Yes, I said, I lived in SA for a long time, I guess I picked up an accent. 

Not being able to resist rambling, I further explained that, at one point, I even married into the Afrikaans tribe, but I wasn’t accepted. Voted out. The weakest link stuff.

They all nodded… Knowingly.

My lovely man just sighed and ordered another beer. Don’t start with the surnames please he muttered.