Be still my beating heart

I have taken a new lover.

Yes, it's true. Diemersfontein Pinotage, and it's everything I've ever looked for in a wine. Dark and lovely, it has overtones of (get this) coffee and CHOCOLATE! And it's not like those poncy wine descriptions... you really can taste a hint of chocolate. And in a beautiful red wine, that is very special thing.

It's by no means a new wine and in fact, I suspect I'm one of the last few people on the planet to discover it. Which is especially surpising considering how deeply in love I am in with red wine and chocolate. But better late than never. I was introduced to it at the Nose Bar on Wednesday night. Strange name for a great little restaurant slash wine bar in Cape Town's trendy Cape Quarter. I've been there before, on a blind date, but going back with one of my favourite gal pals was much more fun. And we certainly made the most of the extensive wine menu on offer. A glass of this and a glass of that before scoffing down a delicious cheese platter. OH MY GOD. Yum. And then for dessert, some of the above-metioned chocolatey-wine loveliness. (Yes, I like to drink my dessert.) To be fair, I woke up the next morning with a head stuffed with cotton-wool but it was worth all that delicious wine.

Unfortunately, Diemersfontein Wine Estate is in Wellington, which is a little far from where I live. Pity, but perhaps that's a good thing. It improves my chances of general sobriety and ability to be a relatively 'high'-functioning individual. It retails at about R70 a bottle from the wine farm itself (and is about the same price from Makro), which is a fair bit pricier than the regular plonk I feast on at braais and other social get-togethers. (And keep in mind, that R70 is the wine farm price. Restaurants have the ridiculous habit of adding a ginormous mark-up. Very uncool.) Regardless, the Diemersfontein Pinotage is wonderfully quaffable and worth every cent it sells for, though I'll definitely be saving it for more 'civilised' occasions!

So spread the news. Belinda Carlisle was right. Heaven really is a place on Earth. And it's called Diemersfontein Wine Estate. (Can you also hear the angels singing?)

Well, look who's back!

Me, that's who.

Yup, five hours in to my first day back at the office and let me tell you, I'm taking strain. No more morning visits to the beach followed by a late breakfast, no more long leisurely wine-flavoured lunches, no more Dr Phil and Oprah, no more lazing in my garden with a book. Oh, how sad.

It wasn't particularly easy to haul my butt out of bed this morning. Coincidentally, or perhaps not so much, my butt is showing the after-effects of all that festive munching and drinking and so today not only marks my first day back in the (gag) office but also my first day back at gym. At least, that's the intention.

To be honest though, I'm actually feeling quite optimistic about the new year and all the goals I want to achieve by next December. Some certainly seem more doable than others but I'm feeling psyched, so watch this space! So in spite of feeling the effect of those 'back in the office blues' I'm sure they will pass. And starting back on a Tuesday means a shorter week. Woohoo.

I had a pretty cool holiday too. 'Went to an awesome 'Dusk Till Dawn' New Years Eve party. Other than that, spent time with friends and family. Even went horse riding on Noordhoek beach on Friday. That was great but it left me walking like a cowboy for the next couple of days. Anyway, more on the holiday stuff later. For now, Happy New Year everyone. I hope it's a goodie for both you and me! :)

Dear Santa

Dear Santa

I know, it's been a while. So how have you been keeping? I hope those reindeer of yours are behaving themselves.

Anyway, it's 'that' time of year and so I thought you might be curious to know what I'm hoping to find in my stocking next Thursday morning. I'm really just trying to make your job a little easier. I've narrowed it down to a little list. Here goes, big guy.

1. Okay, first up I'd like a new car, though if that's a little awkward to pack on the sleigh, I understand. A Nintendo Wii will do.

2. I wouldn't mind some help with my credit card and overdraft, and by 'help' I mean clear. I'm sure a guy like you has some very good contacts and so if you can schnaggle it so that it's all paid up and sorted, I'd be a really, really happy camper.

3. Santa, I really need a GHD. My cheap-ass Clicks hair-straightener is ruining my hair and I have it on good authority that the only solution is to use a GHD, because that doesn't dry out hair. Please Santa, I've been a good girl (for the most part), oh please can I have a GHD?

4. Now here's one I'm sure you've heard before. Please can you drop off a cute little puppy. I'm sure the cat won't mind. She'll get used to it. While you're at it, I may need a bigger garden. And maybe a dog nanny to entertain the pooch while I'm at work (and pick up the dog poop. Gross).

5. Now Santa, I know you of all people understand the importance of travel and so I'm sure you can guess my next wish list pressie. I'd really love a trip to Ireland. Or New York. I can't decide which spot I'd like to visit first, so feel free to surprise me. Either way, it would be much appreciated.

6. This next one is more of a necessity than a 'luxury'. Please Santa, I need a domestic worker / char / maid / whatever the pc term is. Please send me somebody who will wash my dishes, do the laundry, make the beds, wash windows (and floors) and above all, CLEAN THE TOILET (bleuch!). Please Santa. I'm begging you.

7. If domestic help is too tall an order, I'll make do with a tall, dark and handsome, millionnaire volunteer firefighter with a proclivity for washing dishes, doing the laundry, making (our [hee hee]) bed, washing windows (and floors) and cleaning toilets. But I'm not too fussy. If he doesn't speak any English, that's okay with me.

8. I'd also like a new job. Preferably one close to home, with a huge salary and 'negotiable' working hours (ie. 3 hours a day). Can you swing that?

Okay big guy, I think you have enought to work with. Can't wait to see what you drop off. And don't worry, I won't forget to leave out some cookies for you. No milk though. You know I don't drink that stuff. But I'll leave the box wine next to the biscuits. Feel free to help yourself but please don't polish it all off. We wouldn't want you nabbed for drinking and driving...

Best regards and thanks a bunch,

Fluffy Pink Thing

x o x o x o

Watching out for the green flash...

'Headed off to Clifton 2nd Beach after work yesterday for sundowners with friends. Magic...

Today's little pearl of wisdom

I learnt something quite valuable this morning. I learnt that no matter how rushed you are to get to work, you should keep an eye on the red flashy light thing that tells you when you are low on fuel. Because when you least expect it, you may find yourself stranded on the side of the highway.

Jeez. 'Not a good way to start the day...

Da Ya Think I'm Sexy?

The older I get, the harder its becoming to live la vida loca on a school night, and still be a relatively well functioning person the next day. I miss those days when I could party all night long and still make it to work the next morning without looking like I'd been dragged through a dumpster. Regardless, there are times when there is no choice but to put on the big girl panties, bite the bullet and carpe the diem. Whoa, cliche overload. Anyhoo, last night I toddled off to see old-school rocker/crooner Rod Stewart, who was playing at Newlands' Sahara Park. Sure, he's a tad long in the tooth and more my parents' kind of taste, but nonetheless it was a great show.

We sat in the cheap seats. (Read: all the way in the very back.) But that was actually okay. Of course, he played all the old stuff, which was fab. There was lots of singing, dancing, arm-waving and concerty-kinda stuff going on, and by the time the Rodster packed up his stuff and left, we were pretty worn out. We also found ourselves with an insanely large bunch of Irishmen (who are in Cape Town for some or other house-building charity thing). Seriously, there were hundreds of them! And in true Irish style, they were all incredibly festive. And by festive, I mean loud. We had loads of laughs with them (very friendly bunch) and when Rod wasn't singing, the Irish were. I kid you not: it was like being at a football match! 'Danny Boy'... 'It's a long way to Tipperary'... all being belted out at top volume. Luckily, having folks who are both Glaswegians meant I knew the words to some of the songs and so I merrily joined in for a sing-song. Ah, good fun!

Then it was off to Kelvin Grove for a nightcap or two while we waited for the post-concert traffic to clear. Hence, it was a rather late night - not helped by the fact that they closed the gate on the other side of a school field we had to cross to get to the car. I tried to scale the fence but only got half way over. It was quite a drop and so changed my mind and went back the way I came. Needless to say, my 'dismount' was less than ladylike and today I have a couple of whopper bruises as a reminder. Live and learn.

Anyway, I crawled into bed at about 1.30 this morning and when the alarm went off after what felt like very little sleep, I wanted to cry. The powers-that-be at work knew that I was off to a concert, and so calling in sick would've been a little too obvious. Awoooo... I'm really looking forward to home time. I think I may eat dinner in bed. Hey, don't judge me. It's not very nice.

Hope it tasted good. Real good.

As far as Mondays go, this one's been not too shabby. Weather-wise, it's a beautiful Cape Town day. Plus, there's hardly anyone in the office, which is just how I like it. Oh, and I'm having a fairly decent hair day for a change, so you know, things are looking up. But my Disney morning nearly went pear-shaped when I headed to the office kitchen for my breakfast. (Yes, I eat it here at work because there's never enough time at home, and that's just how I roll.) I was disappointed that my lovely yoghurt which I had left in the fridge had far surpassed its sell-by date. I wasn't brave enough to risk food poisoning so I tossed it away, knowing that I still had a full box of Jungle Oats on top of the fridge.

So you can imagine how pissed off I was when I discovered somebody had helped themself to my Jungle Oats and had finished off the entire box!!!!!!! WTF? Really, people! If you really wanted some of my brekkie, you could've asked and I would gladly have given you some. But to just help yourself, and SCOFF THE WHOLE BOX? And it was a big box too. Seriously, what's wrong with these people? I even wrote my name on the box. It's not higher grade. If that's not your name, then that's not your food. Arg! So irritating.

I'm not going to let a stupid thing like breakfast ruin my day (though really, it's the principle of it all) but to the saddo who polished off my porridge, Karma's a bitch, and I hope it bites you in the ass.

TGIF x infinity and beyond

1. I'm insanely glad it's Friday. In preparation for the lovely sundowner(s) I'm about to enjoy, I'm spending my last few minutes in the office doing absolutely nothing. It's surprisingly easy considering I shut down mentally about six hours ago. (Yep, no one's going to accuse me of being Employee-of-the-Month.)

2. It's been 'one of those weeks' and so I have nothing positive to say. I'll try again next week, but in the meantime, let's all enjoy a good perve over our good friend, Hugh. Apparently he's been named sexiest man 2008, though let's face it - we didn't need some stupid poll to tell us that!

Sweet dreams, kids. Catch you on the flipside...

Hamba Kahle, Mama Afrika

This morning, South Africa woke to the news that Miriam Makeba had died. Apparently she was taking part in a concert in Italy when she fell ill. She passed away a few hours later.

Miriam Makeba made her musical debut in the 1950s, at a time when the oppressive apartheid regime ruled the country with an iron fist. Before long, she moved to England, where she collaborated with artists such as Harry Belafonte, who helped her move to the US. Makeba was extremely unpopular in the eyes of the apartheid regime, and when she tried to return to South Africa to attend her mother’s funeral, she found her passport had been revoked. Three years later, the government also revoked her South African citizenship and her right to ever return to her country of birth. She was officially in exile. Her music was somewhat political in nature, and An Evening with Belafonte/Makeba (which was about the political plight of black South Africans) earned her a Grammy Award. Makeba testified at a special United Nations hearing about the atrocities of the apartheid regime in 1963. Much later, in 1986 she won the Dag Hammarskjöld Peace Prize for her role as a delegate to the United Nations.

30 Odd years after being forced into exile, Nelson Mandela convinced her to come home to South Africa.

Mama Afrika (as she was fondly called) had a unique musical style. Her trademark song was Pata Pata, The Click Song (Qongqothwane in Xhosa) and it epitomises Makeba’s inimitable style. (Check it out on iTunes if you have the chance.)

Hamba Kahle, Mama Afrika. Hamba Kahle.

Three little things I learnt over the weekend...

01. When a man you don't know very well asks you out for dinner, it's not necessarily a date per se. (You may think it is, but it's wise to double-check. Because you may be wrong. Go figure.) It could just be dinner.

02. Waxing any part of your body is just as sore as they say it is, if not more so. (pain x infinity = baby smooth)

03. The house white wine at Peddlars is incredibly bad. (It comes with its own froth.) It should not be drunk by ANYONE. Ever.

Now please, use these little pearls of wisdom wisely...

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