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Do you diarise things? I like to diarise things.
A few years ago, a friend said to me with some exasperation ‘Stop reminding me every year that this is the day I got divorced, you really need to move on’.
No appreciation really.
I only diarise important things mind, I don’t want you to think I’m fanatical.
For example, on this day two years ago, we bought our vacuum cleaner.
The other night we had friends around for dinner.
I know this doesn’t sound particularly exciting, other people do it all the time don’t they? Weirdos. But for us, this is epic!
First of all, we don’t do the evenings. Ever really. The other day a friend asked me how my car’s headlights were at night and I said ‘I have no idea, and I’m never likely to find out’. I am tucked up where I should be at night, as is my car.
The other thing is hosting (and cooking), that comes so very easily to some, is alien and stressful to me.
So, the best you gonna get is take aways.
It was Thai last night. Graciously and gratefully received. They are good friends. My good friends have low expectations of me luckily.
If I had attempted to feed them something I had actually cooked, they may not have been as gracious.
My lovely man, as always, such a big help. He is a delight. Doesn’t judge, just collects the take aways, heats up the take aways and gets drinks out. Bless him! Love him the most.
Part of the drinks process is filling up the ice bucket with ice for the drinks tray.
Well! Who would have thought how much excitement this would engender?
Is that an Oude Meester ice bucket my friend cried out suddenly. An original one? If it’s an original one your ice will still be OK in there for three days. The new ones are crap, but this looks like a winner!
We discussed this at some length. Oohing and aaahing.
This is what happens when you get past your 50’s people. Just wait.
It has been six months since we took in Tommy the tortoise.
He is not grateful.
Amazingly, he has not died in my care and has made it through winter. There was not a lot of hibernating allowed as I forced love and food on him daily.
I wish I could say we are soul mates and tripping through the tulips happily, but this is far from the case.
We are still finding our feet with our relationship and he is not as adoring as I might like, truth be told. I am convinced he prefers Mandova over me. Hurtful really.
But, I like to think we are progressing as I purchase delicacies to nourish him on and try and figure out his likes and dislikes. Loves green lettuce, not purple lettuce, loves watermelon, not as fond of tomatoes and strawberries.
I have had to point out to my lovely man that giving him my wine soaked strawberries may not be clever. But, what do I know really? He might prefer them like that.
He leaves his little house to wander the garden quite a bit. Speedier than you would think and very well camouflaged. So, I call for him of course. To no avail sadly. Doesn’t come when I call or answer me.
We will get there.
Apparently tortoises make a racket when they are copulating. We are unlikely to copulate, but if he can make a sound, perhaps he can answer my calls.
I’m not sure how bright tortoises are, but Tommy may be special needs. Wedges himself regularly into places he has to be saved from. So, there is a fair amount of saving of his life. Up until recently, he rewarded me by piddling on me. This may be his kink of course.
He no longer piddles on me when I pick him up. Does he no longer find me attractive, or is he no longer scared of me?
So many questions.
I have convinced myself he gives me a little smile when I scratch his shell.
I have been advised that he is most likely a Bell’s Hinge Back tortoise. They are apparently more inclined to keep to themselves than, for example Leopard Tortoises. But it was Tommy we saved and Tommy I love!
What I have learnt about Tommy is that he is very consistent. Resting face pissed off really. What he has learnt about me is that I am needy and clingy and like it if you come when I call.
A sanctuary has offered to take him in. Does he need friends / a mate?
I suspect I am not enough for Tommy.
Mozambique recently enjoyed Municipal elections.
The run up to this day is quite festive. A reason to play loud music and drive around waving flags really.
The party that leads in our province has a chicken as their emblem. The other parties seem to have more ‘call to arms’ emblems, but we have a quite noble looking chook.
The guy who started the party must have had a particularly memorable KFC dinner maybe. An historian, I ain’t.
If you are planning to resurrect as a chicken, my advice would be not to do it in Mozambique. Not a fun place for chickens. Most of their time is spent hanging upside down and being offered for sale. And then slowly roasted over a long suffering truck driver’s fire while he spends the better part of a week trying to cross some border or the other. Not really sure who should get the most sympathy really. Not an easy life for either I suspect.
We foreigners, of course, do not get a vote. So our vote, on the imposed holiday, goes to a boozy lunch. It’s a win for sure, and worth waving a flag for.
Of course there is unhappiness with the vote outcome in some provinces. I’m not quite sure why they bother with elections in Africa. Aaah yes, it’s a democracy.
But, I can report there is positive change… I slipped a guy a ‘spot fine’ for the speeding he insisted I was doing and he said it was too much and gave me change.
The other morning my lovely man approached my side of the bed as I was drinking my morning cuppa and writing in my journal.
What does he want I thought, looking up adoringly… Surely not sex? I haven’t even finished my choccie biccie, and neither of us had taken our morning vitamins.
But no, he produced the tweezers and asked me to pluck an extraordinarily long hair growing from the top of his ear.
And this is quite normal actually. We ask this of each other regularly it seems.
I suspect this is what a middle aged relationship looks like. This is why they warn you to not grow old alone.
We need each other to pluck, prune and preen.
Should we be setting up support groups to offer this to our single friends?
Can you believe we are in October? Where has this year gone?
Christmas is almost upon us. And soon it will be time to force my lovely man to watch Elf. Again. Because I like to hear him mutter ‘What’s this sh*t?’
Also coming up, of course, is get togethers where one is encouraged to bring a non-binary gift.
Yip, it’s Secret Santa season.
Not a fan. For a few reasons.
I have always been involved with lousy gift givers. Seems to be my curse. I’m talking romantically. I don’t bring out the romance in a partner. I’m better at bringing out the irritation.
I can’t really complain because I too am a lousy gift giver. So really, let’s just buy ourselves what we need.
I don’t like the swapping out of gifts that comes with Secret Santa. So me, I keep what I select and oooh and aaah about it, coz otherwise it’s mean isn’t it?
I know that my feelings are hurt when someone rejects my thoughtful soap on a rope that I spent ten minutes of my busy day selecting at the nearest chemist, or service station.
Dagger to the heart stuff.
Every now and again I hit the luck on something brilliant I really like…. And then the inevitable happens…
I see some little kid whispering in their mom’s ear and pointing.. And I just know..
Aunty Rosie, do you mind swapping your gift with little Lucy here… She really likes your gift.
Of course she does. And really, what is little Lucy bringing to the party… Oh, another decorated toilet roll inner. I have a shelf full.
Baah humbug 😁.
My lovely man realised he hadn’t received his Zimbabwe pension for a time, so said that he wanted to look into it.
A Zimbabwe pension is not really worth too much fuss. It and another $2 can buy you a cup of coffee really.
But still, something to sort out.
My lovely man’s way of sorting things out is to get in his car and find someone to speak to.
Ridiculous hey?
We’ll write to them I said, try and find a whatsapp number or an email address.
He came back victorious with an email address and so we compiled an enquiry and sent it off.
The pension fund is called the NSSA.
We received a very prompt reply. Amazing.
We are a little confused, they replied, and wondered if you could supply a little bit more information on your lovely man because we don’t have him in our database. Was he an astronaut, an astro physicist or a systems engineer?
I’m sure if we keep the pressure on by name dropping Buzz Lightyear, Neil Armstrong and perhaps ‘one giant step.. ‘ shit we can persuade NASA to fork out a pension for my lovely man.
He deserves it!
I’ll keep you posted on how it goes.
My lovely man and I recently made arrangements to meet my parents at Tshipise, Forever Resorts for a few days. You know, the hot springs place in SA. Worth a visit.
My father phoned to let us know they had arrived and checked in. We were still on our way, enduring a shit show of a journey. I won’t bore you… Or I may in another blog, but I’m beginning to suspect our GPS lady is a day time drinker.
Rosie, my dad warned me on the phone, this place is full of Mother Fu…. s.
What did your father just say, my lovely man asked.
I was surprised once by a monkey in Umdloti I informed him. This may be what I called it… It’s become a family joke.
(Just as an aside, we’d only been in Tshipise five minutes and the MF’s stole all our padkos as we were unpacking).
Sadly, I am never able to leave my work behind, so I diligently found a little corner to set up my mobile office (and my Starlink, bless that Elon fellow).
A few days into our break I asked my lovely man to please go down to the resort shop and buy me some surgical spirits to clean my mouse.
My father opted to take a stroll with my lovely man.
What does she need my father asked him. She needs to clean her mouth he replied. What’s wrong with her mouth? Is it because she’s got a potty mouth? Probably, I don’t really ask my lovely man replied, but I think she’s got blisters.
(I am not making this up).
They arrived back with a small bottle of savlon. We couldn’t find mouth wash they advised, we thought about soap, but the lady said if you dilute this, it will help.
So, I cleaned my mouse… and my mouth with savlon. Because… if life hands you lemons…
The other day we were at a boozy lunch. Surprising stuff hey?
Anyway, one of the lovely ladies that was there, told us a story I thought worth repeating.
She was at (another), boozy lunch with some girls. These are sometimes called Book Club meetings for the posher amongst us. The sad demise of Lucinda Riley is often mentioned and then there is drinking and giggling.
As she was leaving with a few of the other girls, they noticed someone they all knew sitting in a car in the car park. They went over to say hi. As they approached, they noticed that this other lady was bent down as if looking for something on the car floor (or reading Lucinda Riley perhaps).
They greeted her politely and waited, and after a few moments she wrenched her head up with some force.
What the actual….. they all thought as one.
Oh, the lady explained, I was just trying to get something out of my tooth. With what they enquired? With the rubber on the car window she explained. (The window, at the time, was rolled down of course).
They had not really had enough to drink to make sense of this, so they all said goodbye and staggered off.
But, of course, I realise that this is groundbreaking stuff.
My lovely man and I are flossers. Neither of us are really blessed with gaps in our teeth and you know…. it’s a thing. He is a toothpick man, and I carry some sort of denta mate thingie in my purse along with some toothpicks for him.
Generally we don’t do the teeth picking in public. I read once of grounds for divorce because of tooth flossing and toenail cutting in bed. I agree, neither should be allowed in bed.
But! I realise I have been weighing my handbag down quite unnecessarily all these years. Because there are tooth picks everywhere you look!
I am evolved. Use what is around you people. We can all learn.
I needed to use the restroom at a restaurant the other day.
The only free stall had, of course, a faulty lock.
So, not only did I have to do my business hovering three inches above the seat… Because you know, public toilets… I had to do it with one leg stretched out straight to keep the door shut.
I must mention this acrobatic accomplishment whenever anyone accuses me of being sedentary.
It was at the Spur if you must know, so there was 💯 chance a toddler was going to barge in otherwise and leave the door wide open in their wake.
Unfortunately, but not unexpectedly, my buttock developed a cramp.
I may have wailed loudly. I may also have missed the bowl.
Not my best experience.