Category: My Lovely Man

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Why did you give up that job?

My lovely man has had an interesting work career. I think he has started many more businesses than he has actually been employed by companies. A real entrepreneur. And he is knowledgeable in many things as a result.

of course the various stories are not only fascinating, but often amusing. Even when they don’t mean to be.

Like the ice business he had at one stage. Which, by all accounts, did very well. But, he closed it in a huff because the government wanted him to pay tax.

It’s just water he argued, frozen water! You can’t tax water, it’s a basic human right. (As should be the ice cubes in your Scotch).

So, in outrage, he closed the business down and did something else. That showed them.

We wish water was free, and that income couldn’t be taxed.

Ask Shakira about adopting that attitude.

Of course, we could all be evangelists. They are tax exempt. Marvelous.

I digress.

By far my lovely man’s favourite job and one he longs to return to, was driving yellow machines and front loaders. At one stage he helped out with loading sand into trucks. Best job ever! I’m not saying he is the one in the picture, but who knows. It didn’t last.

Quite often if we drive past a construction site or men driving TLB’s, forklifts and the like he will whisper…. what I would do for a backhoe.

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Get a move on already

My lovely man doesn’t do queues well. Nicest guy in the world, can get feisty about some things. Traffic and queues really.

My parents are British. I suspect this means I am genetically more pre-disposed to managing queues.

My lovely man’s father was Afrikaans and his mother French Mauritian. Someone’s going to get blixemed with this combination.

I try and determine (on a good day to be honest), if and what control I can take over the situation (throwing money at the problem works in Africa), to improve/speed things up, if the task is absolutely necessary (can I delegate this shit or live without it)….. if nothing can be done and it HAS to get done, best to just relax into it.

A recent example, of course, was the hours/days long queues to pay respect to the Queen. I might not have had the same fortitude, but I was very admiring of those that persevered. And with true Brit Grit, did it with patience and good humour.

There was a bit of unhappiness when it was perceived people were jumping the queue. This, of course, is simply NOT ON. There was that lovely couple that present on ITV (they are very funny). Holly Willoughby and Phillip Schofield I believe. They have been accused of jumping the queue to pay respect to the Queen, and now a whole lot of people are trying to cancel them. You just can’t really get comfortable about how popular you may be, there will always be a crowd wanting to cancel you for some infraction or the other.

We all need to WOKE up people!

The problem in Africa, and why even the most calm amongst us gets riled, is there is no ORDER. There is chaos both in the traffic and in any queue. We are without rules or respect. We live in a constant state of Black Friday madness in Africa. And there doesn’t even have to be anything on sale, it is just a bun fight, ALL THE TIME.

Honestly, we have to up our cannabis intake or something. The continent would be better off stoned.

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Oops, I didn’t hear you

My lovely man can’t hear when I let off a quietish fart.

This has been a fairly liberating revalation.

There are few advantages to having a hard of hearing lovely man. This has to be the biggest.

I’m not a fan of farting. You know, us ladies just don’t. Or we don’t admit to it. And I really don’t appreciate it when others fart near me.

But the truth is we all break wind. Apparently 10 to 20 times a day.

And then… You know, he feeds me lentils regularly. It’s not easy people.

So, I’ve become a bit too casual about the whole thing.

As it turns out, my sister-in-law is not hard of hearing.

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Yes, my suitcase is ready

My brother and sister in law are visiting from the States for a bit. Aren’t I the luckiest?

So we are away for a few days.

Does your lovely man hover around you as soon as you start packing, requesting if he can close up the suitcase yet?

Now that we are here he is watching me eye the lovely towels, gowns and pillows. Hotels always have great pillows don’t they?

Don’t you dare take anything he warned me, we know these people. They’ll come and find their stuff at our house and then I’ll never be invited to play golf with them again.

What a killjoy.

Also, my little panties I am washing in the shower (as we do, tell me I’m not alone here), are disappearing. Any suggestions on how to broach this at reception?

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What’s that on your face?

I am at the age of greying hair. I am uncertain as to how grey I am, as I regularly colour my hair.

A number of friends have taken the bold step of allowing the grey, and they all look fantastic. I am not yet this courageous. It’s a bit of a process I believe. My hair grows like a weed and I have a lot of it, so I have to colour regularly. Box colour, full disclosure, I am not glam.

The problem with colour is it gets on your face. You have to be quite diligent about wiping it off carefully when you first apply the colour. Or it stains, of course, in places you don’t want to colour.

Today I failed.

It’s easier to get colour off your skin (it’s not built to colour your skin I guess), but I have a fluffy face. I am grateful, as I age, that unlike my lovely man, my ear and nose hair are not aggressively increasing (what’s with that anyway? Why?). But, my already fluffy face is coming out in force.

I’m like a little Alpaca. A chubby one.

Hair, is what hair colour is meant to colour as it turns out.

So, now I have red sideburns. Mutton chops really.

Best displayed in the sunshine.

The bathroom is sunny. My lovely man walked in and said ‘How’s your hair looking….. oh…. can you shave those?’

I’m quite certain that shaving my face will quickly become a slippery slope.

We have coffee in a bit with friends. In a garden setting. It’s a gorgeous sunny day.

My lovely man never has to worry about me betraying him, nobody else would want me.

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Problem, what problem?

Some years ago, a customer of mine put me on an AA WhatsApp group. And since then, I have been getting these daily messages of encouragement to stay sober.

I wasn’t quite sure what to read into this of course. I don’t believe I am a big drinker, but I guess that’s what they (we) all say.

I am Zimbabwean born, so the odds really are against me NOT being a big drinker.

I have an aversion to removing myself off WhatsApp groups I am put on. I feel so privileged to be put on the group. And, you know, you can see when someone leaves. And it’s SO rude. Also, he is a customer… So…. awkward. But I have lots of questions… Like why do you think I need this?

Our daily message (see that, I’m feeling one with this group), starts off with the Serenity Prayer. Then it launches into one of the steps, guidance on the challenges we have to conquer, all KINDS of inspirational stuff.

They are VERY long messages. While I am in awe of these daily compilations, I very rarely read it all. Especially if I have a hangover 🤣

I actually only started drinking any alcohol when I turned 40. Encouraged by my group of friends, the Ex Wives Club. A story for another day perhaps.

Wherever we go, my lovely man produces, from somewhere on his being, some strawberries for my wine. Isn’t he marvelous?

I suspect I am going to have to report this to the group. He’s the enabler.

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Can anyone hear me?

My lovely man, and his BFF, the intrepid Mandova. A source of great entertainment the both of them.

Both of them hard of hearing.

Makes it quite easy for me to keep track of what is going on in the household, because they are inevitably yelling updates at each other.

Quite often I will jabber on to them for a few minutes and then regard their blank faces and realize neither have or wish to hear me.

What is our list for today I hear them ask each other regularly. Also quite regularly I am called to survey something they have done together.

The current challenge is keeping the power going. We are blessed with a solar system, but the solar system needs to be topped up by the municipal electricity intermittently. The municipal electricity has been a bit scarce of late (someone must have stolen it).

I am particularly bleak when the geyser gets cold.

Today I was summoned to check on the state of the solar batteries. Low. We all regarded this solemnly.

No boiling of the kettle or running anything that consumes a lot of power. (Hope my wine stays cold).

I think, my lovely man suggested, if we don’t get electricity today or tonight, we must run the generator to boost the batteries.

What I suggest, Mandova stated (oblivious), is that if we don’t get electricity soon, we should run the generator.

What did he say, my lovely man asked me.

So, I said…. Tell you what, if it doesn’t come right, let’s use the generator.

Glad I thought of it.

So we are going to do that.

Love them both. Peas in a pod in their thinking. Deaf peas of course.

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It’s all falling apart really – My Lovely Man

Good health.  It seems to be the luck of the draw really.  Or can we all expect to fall apart when we get on a bit.

We are on the phone to the dentist again pleading for an appointment because my lovely man flicked off half a tooth with a toothpick. Again.

It’s not fair that he should have any tooth problems, because he’s always looked after his teeth, he tells me. Although when he went with his siblings to the dentist it was always him needing a filling or two and his siblings, he assures me, were not deserving of good teeth.

See, luck of the draw these things.

My lovely man is very uncomplaining about any ailments.  Stoic.  I am not at all stoic if anything goes wrong.  Winger I could be labelled.

It is just as well I am healthy because I am not brave.  I would rather be dead than ill.  If I ever get ill, I am likely to be shot in the eye in frustration by my loved ones. They will certainly advocate a mercy killing, and their justification would be that it would be a mercy on them to be rid of me.

But you read these days that children now can expect to live to exceed 100 years in age. 

We can presume though, that they will be completely re-built.  Replacement knees, spine, hips, teeth, organs.  Because really, that’s what happens already doesn’t it?  By the time you are in your 60’s, all kinds of things start giving you hell.

Almost eight billion of us already, and everyone looks to exceed 100 years in age in the very near future. 

It’s not for sissies.

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Keeping it Tidy – My Lovely Man

I have taken to giving my little pups their weekly bath with me in the shower.

This is easier than doing it over the bath.  Our wonderful house helper usually takes on the back breaking task of washing them with a hand shower in the bath, so she is very grateful at this new turn of events.

I have not yet suggested that perhaps she get in the shower with them, not sure her work contract stretches to that.

My lovely man takes on the drying role and the passing of a new pup for a lathering.

We should video this for your blog he suggested. 

You will be relieved to know that it was a hard no from me.  If he even appears in the bathroom with his phone, I’ll drown him.

On another note….

We have a lady come to the house both in Mozambique and Zimbabwe, to cut our hair.  (Not the same lady).

Very efficient really.

It was haircut day the other day, and we were both closely shorn.

Also, very efficient really.

I have been complimenting my lovely man on how handsome he looks.

He, in turn, has been calling me “mhanza”.  Which I was less than delighted to learn means baldy in Shona.

Compliments, who needs them hey?

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Let’s play Golf, it’ll be fun – My Lovely Man

My lovely man plays a bit of golf with friends quite regularly. 

I’m not yet convinced anyone ENJOYS golf. 

A friend advertised her husband’s clubs for a ridiculously low price after listening to one too many rants as to how he was sick of the game and was going to sell his clubs. He fielded offers for days.

Another friend glanced at her phone once and said ‘Oh no, it’s my husband, he’s been playing Golf, he’s going to go on again’

Then she listed to his whining and whispered soothingly ‘No darling, you are not completely useless…’

Anyway… before my lovely man headed off to his afternoon golf game he made me a little plate of cold meats and salad for lunch (coz he is lovely), and then he staggered off to play 18 holes, and I went back to my desk. 

After their analysis at the 19th hole… no doubt as to how useless everyone was and what do they even play this game for, he comes home.

Are you alright darling he asks, did you have any supper? You didn’t eat a big lunch.  (Love him).

I’m alright thanks darling I assure him, I’m fine, I’m not hungry. I’m having a quick shower. 

OK, he says, but the chips you never ate are falling out your bra again.