Wot a lot I got

A little while ago we had some friends around.

As I’m the worst hostess ever, and have managed to get comfortably into middle age without ever actually cooking a meal, any fare served is either a take away or a smorgasbord of snacks.

In my defence, I make a great snack platter. And a decent sandwich.

As we generally have well bred friends…. Except for that one, now that I think about it…. They bought a little gift.

(It’s possible our friends bring something to sustain them in case there is nothing on offer).

But! These friends bought a bag of popcorn and a big box of smarties. What a delight of a gift.

It gets better…

Because… they said. ‘Put them together in a bowl and then every now and again there’s a smartie in the mix as you snack’.

How did I not know this? It’s as good as frozen strawberries in your wine instead of ice.

Life is a treasure for sure. It’s become a favourite.

It all counts

We have four little fur babies that share our lives. We also feed the birds in the neighborhood. All of them I suspect. Who are ravenous. And two little mice, who come and go and at present are gone, possibly deceased.

The two cats, interestingly enough, are far less fussy eaters than the two little dogs. When it comes to little dogs, it is important to note that if you spoil them with all kinds of delicacies when they are pups, you are screwed forever and have no hope of changing the diet back to anything easy or reasonably priced.

I am in charge of the morning cuppa in our household and this involves feeding the ravenous cats. Lie ins are not permitted ever, they barely make it through the night from dinner to 5am feed. We have a very vocal Ginger, who screams in my face by 05h10. No need for an alarm.

My lovely man feeds the pups a bit later, who do enjoy a lie in, as long as there is a wee snack given to them as we enjoy a cuppa and a choccie bic. (This is not their snack, panic not).

My lovely man reports back as to how the breakfast he serves the pups is received. He is delighted if it is scoffed down and distressed if not. A discussion as to how we can tempt these fat, ungrateful and completely indulged creatures ensues.

I suspect, I suggested, the ratio of pellets to the other goodies, is too high.

How many pellets must I give them then, he asked unexpectedly. Twelve each I randomly suggested, in a panic.

Then, we were thrown a curved ball as the vet suggested we soften the pellets to help with aging teeth.

So, one of my 5am duties is soaking the pellets in advance of the feed in hot water.

Immediately, I received feedback… And criticism.

You are obviously not counting the pellets, I was advised, there were 13 and 15 in the bowl respectively this morning. And there was disdain and dissent at breakfast as a result. Will you count them please? We decided on twelve.

As it turns out, one cannot make and then break the rules here.

Is that the complaints department?

My lovely man is prone to nightmares. I know, it’s awful, the poor bugger. Everyone in his dreams seems determined to beat him up.

It’s quite traumatic and involves a great deal of soothing and cuddles after a session of screaming and thrashing around. And that’s just for the pups on the bed.

We’ve got some help, so it’s much improved, but the occasional burst of terror sometimes means he throws himself off the bed.

So, to keep him safe, I ordered, (Takealot of course, is there anything you can’t get from them? I think not), a bed rail.

So, now he’s caged in on one side and is limited to throwing himself on top of me.

(Not sure I’ve properly thought this through).

He’s got quite adept at raising and lowering the rail, but before he does that, he follows his little ritual of sitting on the side of the bed and faffing with whatever we faff with before we turn in.

Darling, he says out of the blue, you need to get hold of these people about a potential design flaw of this contraption of mine.

Oh, I said, what’s that?

I’m in severe peril of clamping my ballsack everyday if I’m not careful, he shared.

Marco….. Polo

About a year ago we splurged and upgraded my lovely man’s hearing aid.

The first set he had was not cheap, this one eye watering.

But… Necessary for his well being and my sanity really.

A few months later, we came back from walking the pups and he announced that one was missing.

The angels were watching over us, because we retraced our steps and found it lying in the road.

Darling… He announced earlier today… My left hearing aid is not in my ear.

Someone else take the wheel for a bit I thought to myself.

We started to look for it.

Do you think the app on my phone can track it he asked.

I looked at him… Astounded at the brilliance.

I actually had to sit down and take a wee sip of wine.

Where’s your phone?

I don’t know.

(Another sip).

Phone found…. The hearing aid is in the house!

And there we start…. Very Far…. Far.. Near.. The clever app guided us.

It’s in the kitchen!

15 minutes of searching the floor and counters. Realizing we have the worst tiles ever that could camouflage a lost rhinoceros if it fell on the floor.

Very near… It’s in the bin.

Of course.

Perhaps it’s time to give them a good clean my lovely man murmured.

Perhaps it’s time for wine.

Mr Fernando stories…

Mr Fernando is the caretaker (I guess), of the building my little office is in.  Very pleasant fellow, carries my bag in for me, helps me open up etc.  Up until yesterday when my office door was fixed by a carpenter, it was quite an effort to open it.  A solid bashing with my hip if I was in company, and a even more solid rear ending if I was alone.  More effective, much less delicate.  Anyway, those days are behind me and the door now swings open effortlessly.   Mr Fernando does not speak any English and I,  we are well aware, am useless.  This does not stop Mr Fernando bonding with me.  My interjections of ‘Nao falo Portugues’ literally fall on deaf ears.  The man has a lot of shit to get off his chest I suspect. I have decided it is just polite to smile and nod.  It did occur to me this morning after our monologue that I am be agreeing to things I am oblivious to.  A very satisfied smile was bestowed on me before Mr Fernando wandered off to attend to his duties.  I suspect we are either 1) betrothed, 2) he is now in my employment or 3) I have agreed to include him in my will.

All frothed up

‘Darling’ , my lovely man advised, ‘I’m not getting much of a froth on your cappacino of late, do you think there is something wrong with the milk?’

I had noticed this deterioration in quality, but I’m not one to complain as you well know.

Maybe, the frother is not being rinsed out properly I suggested. Perhaps there are remnants of sunlight liquid left, which are affecting the milk.

Unlikely he advised, I don’t use sunlight liquid, I just give it a little twirl under the cold tap, it’s only milk. Sometimes I use that little sponge, but it’s become a bit mingy.

Dear God, clearly I’ve got the constitution of a shire horse that I’ve not yet perished.

Anyway, if we invite you around for cappacino, perhaps bring your own.

A little misunderstanding

We had cause, recently, to spend some time in a hospital emergency area. (All is well).

They were very busy.. We had quite a wait.. I may, or may not have got a bit sassy in my negotiations for assistance.

A nurse popped in and said ‘I’m so sorry that your dad is having to wait so long, we are doing the best we can’

My lovely man didn’t hear her, we left the house in a hurry and his ears were not attached. Not a priority at the time.

I didn’t correct her, yaaay for me and my youthful glow and my lovely man was in pain and not looking his best.

Time passed.. I went looking for help.. Again.

When I came back my lovely man said…. ‘A lady just came in and apologized that she thought you were my doctor, why would she think you were my doctor, must be because you are bossing everyone around’

Love him the most.

I’m as surprised as you are

Apparently there’s some summit happening in Johannesburg in the not too distant future.

With an all you can eat buffet I understand.

So, the SA President decided he’d better mosey along to see if the city of gold is prepared.

He was surprised to find the place is a shambles.

Anybody else could have told him this… Coz you know.. Everyone knows.

So, there were some stern words to get their shit together we read.

As with anything that gets tended to in Africa, it will only be nice and shiny where any of the summit delegates may venture. But hey, shiny is shiny.

Not 5 minutes after reading that the big boss is surprised and disappointed an email lands in my inbox.

The City of Johannesburg writes to little old me, that I owe them R125 for a traffic violation in 2012.

I was surprised. I’ve been in the dark on this matter.

I left the city in 2013 and I think by then, none of the traffic cameras were working in Johannesburg.

This was, most likely, this camera’s last gasp.

But hey…. That R125 is going to make all the difference.

So… There is evidence that they are indeed getting their shit together.

I’m a little sorry they had to start with me.

Sounds reasonable

I belong to all kinds of groups across various platforms.

They often provide enormously useful information, but mostly I’m there for the humor.

A few of the groups are immigration and foreign residency related. So, they provide input on people trying to move to, live or work in different countries.

Dah…

This is a complex business as you can imagine. The Don, of course, makes it a lot easier. It’s just a NO from him.

I digress…

As I said… It’s good humor.

My favorite query to date.

I’ll just leave it here.

“Hy if I’m legally married to my ex husband  .can I get a life patner visa for  my boyfriend”

What’s your pleasure?

I went for a massage recently. It was such a great massage that I forgot how to put on my bra, how to make payment and how to drive.

After I had successfully executed a 32 point turn to get out of the parking, and gathered my faculties somewhat, I decided I needed to change my life to maintain this happy state of fugue.

Dismissing a cocaine habit for economic reasons, I’ve decided to change the spare room into what I shall call ‘The Pleasure Parlour’

Which I will equip accordingly.

We do, in fact, already have a Thumper machine. If you do not have one and are therefore  deprived of a daily thump, shame for you.

Look it up, it’s a Canadian massage machine. There is no other like it. I don’t know much about Canadians, but this they do well.

I used to have a vibrating machine. A big one. For some reason, when I tried to describe it to others, hilarity ensued. It guaranteed weight loss and toning, but really it just loosened your fillings a bit. Not in a good way.

So, I have started to plot out my Pleasure Parlour. I became a bit worried that the name may raise some expectations, so I thought I’d throw some exercise equipment in too.

So, now I will call it the ‘Pain and Pleasure Parlour’

Because that’s much better and not fifty shades of anything.