Tag: Daily Life

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Living his best life

My lovely man and I travel what is known as the Beira Corridor quite regularly.

Beira port functions well, so road transport is alive and well in our neck of the woods.

For a variety of reasons I won’t bore you with, I am the designated driver. I get no thanks for this act of service. I do get an ongoing stream of input. Mostly ignored. Except if we are in imminent danger. I then react… But grudgingly.

Another thing that happens quite grudgingly is the acknowledgement that there are a bucket load of trucks on the roads. Road improvement, road widening and managing this volume at the borders is not an obvious priority.

If you ever feel a bit mizzy about your job, thank your lucky stars you are not a truck driver on the Beira Corridor. Patience in abundance seems required.

So, on a recent road trip, we found ourselves in a grid lock of enormous trucks, trailers and other cars. Patience…. was not in evidence.

After a time when it became apparent nothing was going to move, my lovely man bounced out of the car ‘to see what the hell is happening’.

A further significant period of time passed and it dawned on me he may be lost for ever.

I immediately panicked. But then…. I realized he hadn’t taken the biscuits.

Another epoch passed as I munched happily on the biscuits and beamed up at all truck drivers around me.

I pondered if I should consider rationing the biscuits.

And then! Miraculously, we started to move. I wondered vaguely where my lovely man was in this chaos of trucks, trailers and cars and looked fondly at his phone that was in the car, with me. I hoped that we would find each other somehow, or that he would at least find his way home one day.

But! It was him! My lovely man. Kicking arse and taking names. Full traffic cop mode. Instructing people left and right to stop being knobs and move this way and that way. Saving the day. His only regret was not having a reflective jacket. And maybe a little cap. And a gun. Or at least a baton.

Everybody loving him and grateful.

And in no time we were on our way. What a guy.

What happened to the biscuits he asked me.

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Happy birthday girls

My mother would have been 81 today. We lost her when she was 46. So, today, as I do most days, I mourn the loss of my extraordinary mother.

Today is also the birthday of one of my little fur babies. Bella pup. She is 9. Actually, I am not sure her exact age or birthday, as I had to estimate it. But, I chose it to fall on my mum’s birthday.

My lovely man is very kind to all the little animals I impose on him. It’s difficult to say if he has a favourite, but he certainly has a soft spot for dear little Bella.

Bella has selected to sleep at the top of the bed, between our pillows. Her little head on my lovely man’s pillow. I get the arse end, I’m not sure if you picked that up. She gets a little kiss on the head from him good night. I refrain from kissing the bit next to my face.

The other day she had a dodgy tummy and we listened to it rumbling something terrible. It was still rumbling like crazy when we retired to bed and she settled into her spot.

As I went off to shower, we glanced at each other and the unspoken thought was ‘is she gonna shit the bed?’

I climbed into bed, my lovely man tenderly stroking her little face and he announced…. ‘you might want to sleep facing the other way, she’s farting like a dragon’.

No thought of removing her from the vicinity. Isn’t he the loveliest?

Happy birthday mum and Bella. We count our blessings for our lovely fella.

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On this day….

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.

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No, I don’t believe in Santa anymore

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 😁.

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Be better

We had a handyman come in recently to help with a few things.

Didn’t you find him slow to grasp the problem and provide a solution I commented to my lovely man after he’d left.

No, he said, he was fine, you were impossible. When you are very busy with a million tasks on your mind you are impatient and don’t express yourself clearly. Nobody can read your mind, he continued. (Probably just as well I swear he muttered).

This must be wrong, I am, of course, sweetness and light.

And also, why aren’t people more intuitive for the love of…?

So, I sent an apology to the fellow for being ratty, rude and impatient.

No problem he replied, I didn’t notice you were any different.

Great, this is my resting personality.

Eventually my torrid day ended and I settled down with my lovely man and lovely wine.

Looked at the TV and it had a screen saver displaying. Looked at my lovely man.

Can you help me change the channel he said, I’m not sure what I did.

When did this happen? This morning. Why did you not ask me for help? Not today he replied.

I can do better people. I can be better.

Also, does anyone have cannabis?

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Buzz off already

My lovely man and I are both bee appreciators. He is a big fan of Bee Vectoring actually. Very interesting stuff. Bees and bats. He loves them. And birds. The birds and the bees with the old bat (did you see what I did there?).

Anyway, we got some fellow (The Bee Man, most originally), to make us a hive. Immediately we realised we were out of our depth, because he kept on telling us the extra things we needed and when we received it, it all looked quite complicated.

Slightly daunted, but nevertheless optimistic that we were single handedly going to save the planet and really, how difficult could it be, we persevered. We put it in the bottom of the garden and started going with a little pot to collect our honey every morning. The Bee Man (lying bastard), had told us they would just ‘come’.

They did not. We paid another fellow to relocate a swarm to our hive. They left.

Location, location… we were not it.

We need a Queen my lovely man lamented, do we know if our swarm had a queen? We knew nothing and also, is there really room for another queen in this household?

Then… a couple of things happened. I read that Jodi Picoult book and realised just how ignorant we were on bee-keeping (and transgenders for that matter). And then, there were at least two horrific incidents that I heard of where dogs were attacked by bees.

I looked at my dear little Alfie pup and with a sinking heart acknowledged that he could irritate anything into a killing frenzy.

Give the hive away I ordered my lovely man… we can’t have bees.

We’ll sell it he said. We are not sellers of anything really. We are givers away or hoarders. He is the latter.

So, the hive has sat in the garage, on top of the bat box (we never attracted bats either). Once again, is there really room for another bat in this household?

And then, a year later, the bees arrived and made their home in the hive, in the garage.

I am not sure how we are suddenly the location of choice, but there you go.

So, we have moved the hive to a safe location nearby, out of the reach of my little Alfie and we are tending, in an ignorant way really, to bees.

The bees have chosen us. What a blessing.

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Listen properly now

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…

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Yes, there’s someone in here

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.

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Stick to the script

Generally, I consider myself quite compliant. I’m not much of a rebel or rule breaker.

Occasionally I go off the rails. With some spectacular results.

An example…

Some years ago I decided that I could leave one country on one passport and enter the next on a different passport. Who knew this is not allowed? Actually everyone… Including me.

My actions in this regard may or may not have had something to do with not wanting to pay visa costs.

Perfectly legal of course.

I got away with this three times and then I was hauled into the back office for interrogation.

The fellow was delighted to lecture me at length. Despite my sincere apologies and explanation. I had to, of course, produce my second passport because he asked me if I had been loitering on the bridge between the two countries for some months. I had not.

He felt it necessary to go through every page of each passport and examine each stamp. It became tiresome.

What do we need to do, I asked, to be able to move on from this and get on with life?

This irked him surprisingly.

Are you travelling alone he asked?

No, I said my husband and dogs are in the car wondering where the hell I am.

You, he informed me, are too British, let me talk to your husband.

Darling, I said, I lied and told that man you are my husband, also he said he’ll sort this matter that I’ve now been caught out on, with you, because I’m too British.

What does that mean even he asked? I think it means get this cheeky bitch out of my face.

My lovely man has never really let me forget this and now considers himself the better negotiator.

Whenever we have a situation to negotiate however, we discuss the plan. This is Africa. One has to be prepared.

We go in, I always think, on the same page, with the plan clearly laid out.

Inevitably, he goes off script half way through and says something gobsmacking.

We scramble through somehow. A fair amount of sweat rolling down my face considering the unexpected overshare of information.

And then he looks at me smugly… Just as well I was with you to help, he reminds me, they probably thought you were too British.

Love him.

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Yes, I’m a bit risk averse

What is your risk appetite?

Let’s talk in terms of electric blankets. An international measure no doubt.

In Beira, even in winter, there is not really a high electric blanket demand. I came from Johannesburg to Beira with a 40 foot container of household contents. Where those electric blankets are is anyone’s guess.

In Harare, an electric blanket in winter is nice. My lovely man LOVES his electric blanket. Sleeps with it on all night. For a good few seasons my side of the electric blanket has not worked. This winter, with the help of trusty Take a Lot (and they do from me for sure), I rectified this.

When I depart the lounge for my shower and bed (trailed by several animals of course), I go to each side of the bed to switch the electric blankets on.

Zimbabwe, as an aside, seems to have sorted out their electricity problems. Can you believe it? We mostly have electricity in Zimbabwe at the moment and Mozambique has long been stable. South Africa could learn a thing or two.

Of course, there is a general election in Zimbabwe next month. So, we all expect to be switched off again after that shit show.

Anyway….. My lovely man’s side is always already on when I go to switch it on. I estimate that it takes about 10 minutes for the electric blanket to heat the bed. I also estimate he turns it on about 4pm.

Not taking any chances that lovely man.