Marshmallows & Merlot

Desperate times call for desperate measures , this Christian girl just used a Yiddish expression in the title of the her blog post – and what's worse, this Springbok-supporting South African referenced an Aussie war cry, too.  Why this sudden outburst of kangaroo-scented anxiety? Well, I'm trying to get the ball rolling on a planned trip to Oz at the end of the year. Don't misunderstand me, I am über excited about the actual trip – it's a much needed reunion of 'the three musketeers' who very rarely get to be on the same continent at the same time these days. The anxiety comes from being a South African passport holder and knowing that the road to Visa approval isn't the easiest journey.  I speak from experience – when I travelled to Italy a few years ago I had to change my flight twice  due to delays in getting that 'access granted' little stamp. Even though I had every box on the checklist checked, every requirement met and heaps of the necessary p

"Honey, I'm back in the game!" I yelled, dragging my sweaty, red-faced, make-up free self inside and shutting the front door behind me. 'Huh?' came the confused, sleepy voice of hubby as my endorphin high woke him up from a (man-flu induced) nap. "I had a good run," I said. "No, scratch that. I had a great run. First time in weeks that my legs didn't reject me from the second kilometer onwards. Even my chest behaved. Didn't have the urge to cough up a lung after only ten minutes of the new Black Eyed Peas album." "That's nice, dear," he said *yawn* "Dya think you could pour me a glass of Oros. I'm sooooo *cough, cough, splutter* thirsty..."   Yip, my endorphin high was short-lived. From super proud of herself roadrunner to nurse/wife/nanny in less than two minutes. That's why I've turned into a tweeter  ... you post a statement about running 10kms at sparrow fart and some stranger in Ontario, Can

Househunting is not for the faint hearted ... The road to domestic bliss is paved with obstacles and hiccups and I'm not just talking about estate agents that use 'cosy' to describe 'smelly, dark hole', I'm talking about all the stuff that makes renting seem appealing – bonds and 'how much?!?' deposits and paperwork and the heartbreak that goes with not really being able to afford what you want. Over the past month I have run the househunting gauntlet. Why? Well, in the spirit of 100% honesty – Ellie (my 4-month old puppy) needs grass.  Yip, I am eating, sleeping and dreaming about square meterage and North-East elevation because my four-legged 'child' needs to feel the tickle of green stuff on her toosh when she has her morning pee. (Okay, you can stop laughing now. Seriously, you keep gigging like that you're bound to snort) While my reasoning may seem absurd it really is about time that hubby and I bit the bullet and climbed aboard the p

without sounding like a brat. There is no way to sugar coat it, no way to phrase it so that it doesn't make you green with envy... so I will just spit it out – "I was there." Yip, I was at the opening match of the 2010 FIFA World Cup. I had the hottest seats in the world on Friday afternoon as I watched South Africa take on Mexico at Soweto's Soccer City stadium. Not bad for my first live soccer experience. Ever. Not bad at all. (Thank goodness I'm typing this within the safety of cyberspace so you can't throw anything at me...) I'd like to be able to say that the experience was overrated. I'd like to be able to say that it would have been better to have watched it in a pub on a big screen or, better yet, from the comfort of your couch at home. But if there's anything 'The Lie Belt' taught me growin' up it's that honesty's the best policy and I must always tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but... you get the picture.

and I'm so grateful that she does. Yesterday at about 10h00 I received a phonecall from my mom... "Where are you?" she screamed (I could barely hear her excited squeaking over the roar of cheers and the blasts of vuvuzelas in the background) "I'm at home," I said. "On a deadline." The disbelief in her response was palpable – "But it's the 2010 kick-off parade in Sandton today. We're outside the RMB building on the grass under the tree opposite the big Nedbank banner. The vibe is unbelievable. You have to get here!" I did have a deadline. If I didn't work through the day then I'd be working through the night. So I sat on the couch in my PJs for a few more minutes weighing up the options and like any sane, rational Sandton girl took a leaf out of Richard Branson's second book and adopted the 'Screw it! Let's do it" approach. I pulled on my jeans and threw on my brand new Bafana Bafana jersey (that I'd ha

As I type this all thoughts of mundane day-to-day life and whining about working stupid hours is being drowned out by Vuvuzelas and foreign anthems. It would seem that there is one perk to working in an office just above Nelson Mandela Square – I couldn't have a better seat to check out the World Cup build-up. The square is buzzing with foreign accents, alive with soccer jerseys from every continent and oozing with patriotism.  Dotted throughout the crowds of soccer mad fans are television cameras and reporters chatting excitedly into microphones. There are news crews from every major broadcaster worldwide zooming in on the excitement, capturing every cheer, every supporter with a soccer ball shaved into their heads and every frequent outbreak of 'Shosholoza!' It is impossible to not feel proudly South African right now. The Italians are here, the Spaniards are here and the Meh-hee-koh supporters are out in force. Every now and then the crowds rush to a corner of the square

Today I trotted into Pick n Pay , trolley in hand, with a different objective than usual. Today, I had to approach the aisles like a man. I had to banish all thoughts of economy, all subconscious low-fat/low-GI leanings, and walk straight past anything that required effort to take it from packaging to plate. I was shopping for week's worth of dinners for hubby and I had to think like him, not like me. I am the cook in the house. I work from home so have time (or so hubby thinks) to talk something out of the freezer in the morning and pop a roast in the oven to slow cook for a few hours. I also have the metabolism of a slug so approach carbs with caution and begrudgingly opt for a steamed chicken breast over a fatty (a.k.a delicious) lamb shank. When I do the monthly shop I compare prices, I buy lean mince and brown rice and wholewheat pasta. I buy the ingredients for sauces not the 'just add water' stuff. I buy whole vegetables that require chopping and meat that still res

no, I didn't title this post incorrectly , I am working 17h00 to 21h00 every evening from now 'til the end of the World Cup *yawn*  Barring a few nights off on account of some longstanding social commitments (a wine tasting, a birthday dinner, christening classes and Match 52 at Soccer City) I am chained to a desk in Sandton 7 days a week for 6 weeks... this being the case I am reaching out to my nearest and dearest, my fabulous friends and ever-so loving family, and asking – well, begging – for visits. Lots and lots of visits. Even if you can't stay to keep me company and have a chinwag please bring food or beverages... in fact wine would be best – I feel a situation like this may see me requiring a little liquid personality boost. The silver lining of my imprisonment is that I will get four whole hours every evening to work solidly, catch up on admin and even tend to this blog a bit more often than in recent times. That is unless the flood of tourists that SA tourism pred