Category: My Lovely Man

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What do you mean it’s discontinued?

Do you have a favourite product that is now discontinued? Do you also sort of feel insulted that you weren’t consulted considering your years of loyalty?

This past year I settled on a lipstick colour. I’m not sure if it’s an age thing and I am always admiring of people who match their lipstick with their outfits, nails and the like. But me, I finally decided that a particular colour was all that I needed.

Maybelline Stayfast 725 since you insist on knowing.

When I was a teenager and experimenting with make up I once put on some bright red lipstick. ‘You shouldn’t wear red lipstick a friend immediately told me, your mouth is too big, you look like a whore’

So, there you go, what are friends for if not their honesty?

It has, however, taken me this long to settle on a colour.

So, getting some more 725s was on my list of purchases to make in SA. (I am a list girl, there is ALWAYS a list). Ask my lovely man, there is always a list for him too.

Finding some 725s proved more difficult than anticipated. Eventually some sweet girl at Clicks told me that it had been discontinued (devastating), but she would look in the old stock and find what she could for me.

I explained my plight and that THIS was my colour and why I couldn’t wear dark colours. She was amazingly empathetic to my story and reinforced it by saying ‘and an OLD whore now, that wouldn’t be good’

Bless her.

She found me 4 725s. I was so grateful. And then she said…

Do you think these will last you your lifetime?

Honestly, employee of the month.

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Can’t be too careful

In Mozambique, well certainly in Beira, they like to steal parts of your car and sell them back to you.

It’s a very efficient system, you can go to the market, enquire about a recently missing part and buy it back for top dollar.

The solution is to engrave (with some sort of identity number), as much as you can, and pop rivet things here and there.

As with most security, you really just want it to be easier that they steal from someone else.

In a panic, we realised my lovely man’s car was not adequately identified and secured. And, before it could be done, I had to use it to go to the parlour for a wee pedicure.

Unfortunately, at the very pleasant parlour, I have, for some years, been nominated the sadist to attend to my pedicure. Not only is there no sign of rough heels after a session, I am usually limping out on bloody stumps.

As it turns out, she is a very thoughtful sadist. She noticed me peering out the window continually to try and ensure nobody lifted a wing mirror off the car.

She indicated that she was in a better position to watch the car. Then she got everyone else in the salon who wasn’t busy, to watch the car in shifts.

Bless them! I managed to return home with the car intact. Not so much my heels.

My lovely man then had the car attended to. I had to get extra money from the company to pay the guy, he announced, I didn’t have enough. Come and look.

Everything is engraved people. And everything else is pop riveted. I think they only stopped pop riveting because they ran out he advised me.

I suspect the car is 50% heavier and the fuel efficiency halved. But hey, its safe.

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Give it to me now

My lovely man is a nervous passenger. At least he is with me. Which is strange, because I’m an excellent driver.

My lovely man would do all the driving if he could. Unfortunately for him, we do regular long trips. He has two issues (excluding me). He doesn’t sleep before any travel. Like for a week. But especially the night before. Probably because he is worrying about the section that he has to let me drive. The second issue is he has this whole pain in the bum thing going on. Once again, over and above me. So, his right cheek goes into a spasm after driving for a few hours and then he, very reluctantly, has to let me take over.

This is not a restful time for him. Much foot pumping, grimacing, imploring the heavens to save us and quite a bit of criticism.

All of this I blissfully ignore. Because I’m an excellent driver. I’ve never had an accident that was my fault. (I’ve always managed to drive away before anyone realised I was the cause).

Relax darling I instruct, let Jesus take the wheel. Unfortunately, he replied, you are at the wheel.

On a recent trip as we were nearing Harare, I asked if he thought Surrey pies would be open.

Are you allowed… he started.. and then thought better of it.

I haven’t eaten carbs for two months. Must be something to this theory, because I have dropped 7kg’s so far. What is alarming is that I have more than 7kg to lose.

But now, I was having a pie fantasy. Wait until you are over 50, your fantasies dramatically change.

So, we got some pies. I was still in the driving seat. Please can I have my pie I asked.

They are really, really hot darling, he tried. And you are driving. Perhaps we should wait until we get home.

GIVE ME THE PIE.

My already nervous back seat driver now had to endure me driving with one hand and nibbling on a molten pie. It was too much.

Before you kill us and this literally be our last meal, he instructed, pull over and let me drive and you eat the pie.

Who’s the hangry one really?

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Somebody save me

We went for a walk on the beach in Beira. You have to plan this around low tide in Beira. The beach is, sadly, not the cleanest, and requires the pulling in of all that rubbish by the backwash. (Yes, Gretha would actually just fall down in a weeping mess if she ever visited here). Secondly, the beach slopes, and unless you have two severely different leg lengths, it’s terribly uncomfortable to walk for any distance.

And then, of course, if low tide occurs during the heat of the day, any idea of going for a stroll should be immediately discarded.

We managed to venture out at the relatively reasonable hour of 8am. (We actually should only have gone at 08h30… but my lovely man likes to be early for everything). Being early for anything in Mozambique is actually not a good idea, because you usually find yourself alone in your punctuality.

I digress…

On a Sunday, there are usually Church services (and soccer games), happening on the beach. In amongst the debris from the Saturday night party of course. Alcohol is not allowed on Mozambique beaches, but this law is not ever evident from the broken bottles to be found at any given time.

I digress…

Oh look, my lovely man announced, they are baptizing someone. And indeed, there was much shouting and singing and what appeared to be the public drowning of some poor woman.

Baptism in the Beira sea shallows is not for sissies. However, it appears that the banishing of any demons is guaranteed. Standing on the beach observing, we too felt cleansed of our sins. The woman being blessed was not, it appeared, given much time to catch a breath of air between her repeated dunks. There was a LOT to be said about the matter it was obvious, and all of it to the rhythm of repeatedly pushing her under, pulling her out, pushing her under.

The crowd sang on encouragingly. She must have been thinking ‘Just as well I’m being baptized, because the end is nigh.’ Like now.

It this what water boarding is like I asked my lovely man.

It looked to be over… but actually.. a close friend was just removing her…. to deeper water…

I think we should leave I suggested, before we are asked to be witnesses to a crime scene.

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Possibly still an attitude – a year on

I recently applied for new medical cover. The problem with any medical cover, is that you need to apply for it when you don’t need it. So, I thought I would get that sorted now.

They advised me that a mandatory examination is necessary for anyone over 50. Honestly, I said, I’m really healthy and I’m busy, can we skip this?

Apparently not.

Your medical examination is today my lovely man reminded me as I was dressing.

Oh yes, I said, do you think they’ll put me on a treadmill, best I wear a sports bra. Also, do we have an oxygen cannister. Hopefully he won’t notice my gasps and mark me down.

Also, I pondered, do you think I’ll have to strip to my undies? Best I wear a matching set.

Nothing too skimpy my lovely man warned. You don’t want to risk a flap malfunction or nipple-gate.

Solid advice.

Take a wet wipe, he continued, in case you have to wee in a cup.

I’ll take my She Wee I said, that’ll impress them, I won’t even need the facilities.

We had to climb stairs to the doctors rooms, which I thought was deserving of a free pass.

Oh, the receptionist said, I forgot to phone you, he can only see you later.

That cheered me up.

How’s your blood pressure the doctor asked. Normally it’s low, I advised, but I suspect it will be spot on now that I’ve been waiting for you for 45 minutes.

Congratulations said the doctor, you’ve passed with flying colours. I’m signing off that there is nothing wrong with you. I am, however, making a note that you have a bit of an attitude.

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Gotta be love

I am languishing in Beiradise currently while my lovely man holds the fort in Harare.

Darling, he enquired… Alfie is licking his knob a lot and it looks dry and sore. Any ideas on what could help?

Oh no! I cried. My poor little boy pup.

I had many suggestions… None of which would have been appreciated.

I settled on..

Try coconut oil. You may have to apply it a few times a day.

Good grief he moaned. How much longer before you are back?

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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?