Marshmallows & Merlot

I took the plunge into fully-fledged self-employment. I had been 'unemployable' for quite a while, but on 31 March last year I decided to quit being a 'jane of all trades' and put all of my energy into becoming a master of one. Ever since leaving full-time employment at the foxhole in March 2008 I had dreaded the question; "So, what do you do?" You see, I didn't have a neat, one-sentence answer... I made my living in dribs and drabs, some smaller dribs, some bigger drabs as an 'art consultant/ diamond dealer/ painter and (sometimes) freelance copywriter'.  Somewhere between designing engagement rings, throwing paint around in my studio and suggesting art for housewives with waaaaay too much free time on their hands, I found myself being given more and opportunities to write, something I'd always had a knack for but never, ever thought I'd make a living from... well, wrap me up and call me Christmas, I was wrong...

Browsing the magazine racks at Woolies en route to pay for a week's worth of food picked with the best intentions (the spinach that'll probably never be salad-ified, the green teabags that'll end up gathering dust behind the never-to-be-cooked wheat-free pasta)... I realise that I have a problem: I am a glossy mag junkie. It's almost impossible for me to leave a grocery store without a last minute impulse buy. My drug of choice? Magazines! It's very rare for me to bring home groceries without some new 'reading material' in hand. You see, I don't have just one mag I buy monthly... oh no... mid-week it's Elle and/or Marie Claire ;  post-gym it's Shape or Runner's World , pre- or mid-roadtrip it's Fair Lady (LOVE the crossword) and at the end of the month, when the card's close to melting it's (guilty pleasure) Heat or if the pickings are really slim, You magazine for the 'what were they thinking?!?' pics at the back. 

steaming hot, delightfully frothy  Woolies  Red latte with two white sugars right now *oh-woe-is-me sigh*. You see, somewhere between my last blog post (and yes, I know I've been shirking my duties as of late) and today I have managed to get myself on a meat-free, dairy-free, wheat-free, (practically) carb-free and (gasp!) wine-free eating plan. I know, can you spell 'i-n-s-a-n-i-t-y'?!? grape-free expectations The wine was always on the cards. It had to go. I had to give up something I would really miss for lent... and anyone who knows me, knows that I love (yes, I use that term thoughtfully) LOVE a chilled glass of Sauvignon Blanc every now and then. When my mom asked what I was giving up for lent and I answered 'wine', she responded by bursting out into laughter (true story). This reaction was partly because I'm not sure she knew I was being serious and partly because lent (the 40-day run up to Easter) falls over my birthday – a day that I like to use as an

I spend a lot of time scouring cyberspace for beautiful design, which means that I spend a lot of time sitting – at my desk, at a coffee shop, at home on our L-shaped faux suede (pet fur covered) sofa – and so, as a side effect of what I do for a living, I have become a bit of an expert on seating, based on both comfort and aesthetic merit. Basically, I don’t care how good the ‘must-have’ fair trade coffee is at the newest mid-morning hotspot, if the seating is just plain ugly then I’m not going to be sitting there long enough to order, let alone snack on a low-GI muffin. This fussy-ness served as the inspiration for The Furnishing Touch's latest blog post . Check it out – would love to hear your comments!

which is why all I have to offer you (my very patient readers) are these links.. .  Not just for students... my take on the  sleeper couch  for The Furnishing Touch An ode to the colour purple , courtesy of  guest blogger  Cathy Nolan  It's time to go 'greige' ... no, that's not a typo, it's a hot new colour combo (apparently) Art that you can eat off? That's delicious! And so is this  beautiful new blog And if you want cold, hard, online evidence of what's keeping me away from my (once upon a time) daily therapy sessions (oh, those were the days my friends)... here are links to recent wordmith-ery for Socrati  and Ocean Basket . Warning: It's work stuff, so if my blog's neon pink, then it's more dusky in hue. 

Since last Friday I have had a neon pink post it on my MacBook that reads 'hubby's PA. I [heart] her. New blog post.' Which in case you're wondering translates as 'must do blog post on my husband's PA'. Why dedicate an entire blog post to a woman who works for Hubby? Well, she's literally a legend in her own lunchbreak and beyond, a source of calm in the storm that is hubby's workspace, and a much needed dose of organisational expertise in the organised chaos that is hubby's attempt at admin. Hubby has many strengths, many talents and many gifts, but admin is simply not one of them...  This is where superwoman a.k.a Simone, comes to the rescue. Not only does she conquer her mammoth 'to do' list with grace and the kinda efficiency that makes Kim Kardashian's make up artist look ineffectual, but inbetween doing her job she fields calls and emails from her boss's wife.  Yes, I am one of 'those' wives, the kind that occa

As I type this I look like a cross between a scarecrow and a spaceman. There is steel circular thing (it kinda resembles a UFO) orbiting around my head which looks ready to be popped in an oven and baked at 180 degrees. There's more tin foil on my head than hair. In case you're staring at the screen with a confused look, thinking "Sherinne has finally lost it, better put in an order for a designer straightjacket," let me just clarify: I am at the hairdresser. Every three months I bite the bullet, pick the least battered looking credit card and book myself into Carlton Hair at Nelson Mandela Square for a little lock maintenance. I have been coming to the same hair salon and chatting about Britney's/Miley's/(and most recently) Charlie's tabloid adventures, with the same hairdresser, since late 2005.  Rudi is my go-to guy, the hairdresser who earned my trust one great blow-dry at a time, as I shed the trauma of a string of really bad haircuts courtesy of