Sauvignon Blanc to buy this year!

So peeps from the Blogosphere, I know that this is another boring list-style post, but it is also so much more than that. After a delightful (did I mention free?) lunch at the Hohenhort Cellars in Constantia (courtesty of my chef friend) I am committed to only drinking quality wine. If that means I drink less of it, so be it.

In any case, the Wine Magazine Top 10 Sauvignon Blancs have just been announced. I listed them here for you so you too can invest in the magic. It's a good excuse to go wine tasting too!

THE TOP 10 (in order of Star rating, then ascending price)

★ ★ ★ ★ ★

Anura Unfiltered Reserve 2010
CELLAR PRICE: R80
Alc 13% RS 1.4g/L TA 7.6g/L pH 3.4
Intensely herbaceous on the nose. The palate is focused and pure with flavours of lime and green pepper. Excellent line of acidity. Drink now – 2012.


★ ★ ★ ★ ✩


Sauvignon.com 2010*
APPROXIMATE RETAIL PRICE: R34.99
Alc 14.02% RS 1.8g/L TA 8.1g/L pH 3.35
Herbaceous, slightly sweaty nose. The palate is intensely flavoured, yet lean and very dry. Great line of acidity. Drink now.

First Sighting 2009*
STRANDVELD PRICE: R57
Alc 13.1% RS 1.9g/L TA 6.3g/L pH 3.32
Gravel-road dustiness and herbaceous character on the nose. The palate shows optimally ripe fruit and gentle acidity. Attractive paprika/white pepper note lends interest. Drink now.


Cederberg 2010*
CELLAR PRICE: R85
Alc 13% RS 2.4g/L TA 7g/L pH 3.49
Pungent nose showing plenty of grassy, herbaceous character. The palate shows great fruit expression and fresh acidity. Pronounced lime flavour. Clean and pure with a long finish. Drink now – 2013.


De Grendel Koetshuis 2010*
CELLAR PRICE: R85
Alc 13.5% RS 1.5g/L TA 7.5g/L pH 3.4
Very herbaceous on the nose. The palate is austere and elegant yet displays excellent flavour intensity. Lime and paprika flavour. Drink now – 2013.

Strandveld 2010
CELLAR PRICE: R90
Alc 14.12% RS 1.8g/L TA 6.2g/L pH 3.34
Gravel-road dustiness and herbaceous character on the nose. The palate is clean and pure with juicy fruit and fresh acidity. Lime and green pepper flavour. Drink now – 2013.


Graham Beck
Pheasants’ Run 2009*
CELLAR PRICE: R135
Alc 14.2% RS 1.8g/L TA 7.9g/L pH 3.52
Intensely herbaceous on the nose and palate. Good palate weight, well integrated acidity. A complex wine with flavours of lime and paprika/white pepper. Drink now – 2012.


Graham Beck
Pheasants’ Run 2010*
CELLAR PRICE: R135
Alc 13.56% RS 2.3g/L TA 7g/L pH 3.44
Intensely herbaceous on nose and palate. Clean and pure with juicy fruit and an excellent line of acidity. Long, dry finish. Drink now – 2013.

★ ★ ★ ★

Darling Cellars Bush Vine 2010*
CELLAR PRICE: R35
Alc 12.62% RS 2.9g/L TA 6.9g/L pH 3.28
Hint of green melon on an otherwise shy nose. Light-bodied, elegant and austere on the palate. Lemon-lime flavour, great line of acidity. Drink now.

Groote Post Reserve 2009
CELLAR PRICE: R95
Alc 13.85% RS 3.9g/L TA 7.6g/L pH 3.45
Very grassy, herbaceous on the nose. The palate is big but balanced with ripe, juicy fruit and tangy acidity. Lots of paprika/ white pepper flavour and good texture. Drink now – 2012.

Weekends in the Sun

Cape Town makes me happy. Cape Town makes me glad. Cape Town makes my heart all full and is seldom ever bad!

As you may have gathered, I spent the weekend in Cape Town. Idyllic, perfect and absolutely magnificent, Cape Town. That comment I made a few weeks ago about now being able to withstand peer pressure until all my friends started getting engaged? Well, it happened again. Hoofseun proposed to his pretty girlfriend! I felt it was time we partook in the food and vine again, so headed off to the big city.
Back in the day, I used to be a little Cape Town girl. Now, however, it’s a case of Plaasmuis vir Stadsmuis kom kuier. I am a little-town country hick of a bumpkin (I cannot drive in the CBD). I ventured into the colourful (in terms of both culture and quite literal colour) area of BoKaap. Two bottles of wine down, we had pretty much caught up to where we left off.
Friday was another perfect morning. We woke up in Camps Bay and headed along one of the most beautiful coastal routes in the country. Luckily we had our passports on us, as we had to enter into the Republic of Hout Bay. Dutifully rewarded, we went down to the harbour for what Hout Bay is known – fresh fish. My snoek tasted as though they had caught him seconds before putting him in the batter. Honestly, I almost felt bad about how fresh it was. Almost. Then I smashed that whole fish in my face with sheer bliss. To wash down the carcinogenic dare which was our breakfast, the boy and I decided that a long-overdue visit to the Constantia vineyards warranted our attention.
We were not wrong.
I was desperate to show him the port that Napolean drank, that is mentioned in Sense and Sensibility and that was hoarded by the nobility of Europe. I seem to remember that it was at Groot Constantia. It wasn’t. So we tried High Constantia. It still wasn’t. Eventually we headed to Klein Constantia, where it was. We were rewarded with not only the port I had been seeking, but a charmingly sweet young woman who poured us beautiful French Bordeaux, Methode Cap Classique with yeasty oat flavours and a well-rounded Cab to finish us off.


Friday night yielded the pizza party which was silly, fun and a good send off for a dear friend. This song seems to sum it up for me: Start wearing purple After a late night visit to Dizzy’s, our CT experience was complete. Thanks for the wine, the song and thank goodness the season is not gone, but has only begun!

The sky might be falling on our heads!

But, logically speaking, it probably isn’t.

Over the past year or so I have been starting to feel a little despondent. Not an easily-locatable (apparently Microsoft agrees that that is in fact a word), deep sense of depression. Rather a kind of settling sense of dejection that I was not, in fact, the proverbial Big Cheese. For someone with my sense of self-importance, this is an alarming realisation.

However, the latest set of news is good. My ship may actually be coming in, albeit one wooden board, one nail and one sail at a time. I have just been offered a short internship at a major law firm. While I thought I had actually made up my mind to pursue the life of an academic, I cannot ignore the lure of a corporate environment, nor deny my desperate itch to want to wear Jenny Button. This unfortunately will involve losing the weight equivalent to a Backstreet Boy, since ol’ JB doesn’t make clothes for anyone over a size 2.

In other good news, I found a way to motivate myself to write. A little ‘Dear Editor’ letter later, and a nice wooden box turned up at my door. Ever a fan of wooden boxes, I was extremely excited. Until I thought a little further and actually opened the box. What greeted me was a Jeroboam (3l bottle, for those of you unfamiliar with the term) of Pinotage. Oh joy! That is far better than anyone’s praise!

Thus this week begins on an unusually upbeat note. All of a sudden I have goals and ambition and such things that are good for motivation.

Who knows, I may even write some…

Book caption: Avoiding Death

Writing is hard

When I was younger, I could bang out a 5-hundred word paragraph without thinking twice about it. I used to win competitions for cheesy poetry I wrote in 5 minutes (brag brag brag). Now, when I have to write something, I overthink it to the nth degree and I find myself getting stuck and despondent about it. The pen (computer keys) stick against my fingers and my mind clogs when I try to find ideas. I can hear the works jamming as if a spanner has been thrown in. The thought of being creative or funny is something of an impossibility. I read other bloggers and think to myself "How do they do it?" They seem so effortlessly talented, so naturally hilarious, so brilliantly poignant.



But if I consider my reactions now, versus what they used to be, to so many other things, it seems to have become something of a shocking trend. When I was 10, despite having a soul-chilling fear of heights (and, more significantly, depths) I would happily leap off a 5-metre diving board to prove to all and sundry that I wasn’t chicken (even though I've always found that an inappropriate slur. Chickens are not, by nature, at all timid)Big Bang Theory . Now, I make sure that I go to swimming pools without the temptation of proving myself (i.e. no diving boards). What if I break my neck? What if I jump and hit the water at a funny angle and sprain my ankle or tear a ligament? I used to walk all over the fairly rickety and unsafe roof over my grandmother’s house and play balancing games. Now, I wouldn’t dream of taking chances like that.


I was playing in the park the other day on one of those dare-devil merry-go-rounds. We used to swing those around until the world was a blur, climb off and laugh at how unable we were to walk in a straight line. Now, I was hesitant to have it go faster than a light haziness. (Interestingly enough, we don’t mind the dizziness from unnatural additives like wine and coffee, but heaven forbid a natural high likely to result in a small sprain).


Perhaps it’s now that we know consequences, and things about physics ("forces" and such-like). We know the result of a broken collarbone, the expense of a torn ligament or the black dizziness that sets in when something is seriously busted.


To a large extent that is how I feel about writing these days. No more do I leap blindly into text, allowing my imagination to take over and let the story write itself. Now I consider plot, and character and punctuation. I think about what the reader will be feeling when they read the story. I consider public reaction. I think too much, rather than feeling, and it has lead me to not be writing like I should be.


My next challenge? I’m writing a South African sci-fi short story. I shall valiantly attempt to write it like I would when I was a child. I shall endeavour to write for the sheer joy of the written word, rather than for any other motive. (I will make the greatest effort to not have my story sound like a valedictory speech).


Wish me luck!

Growing Up #2

Right, I think I am sufficiently recovered to re-call the events of Saturday. As part of Growing Up (see previous posts) I am also engaging in making Responsible Choices. Now when I say that word in my head it has a similar ring to Visiting the Dentist, Cutting Grandma’s Corns and Studying for Exams. You know you have to do it, and once you have you feel really proud of yourself, but in general it’s an annoying part of growing up and something you have to do in order to prove you are finally ready to join the Real World.


First of my Responsible Choices is to try and behave more like a lady. Or to be more accurate, try not to act like a giggling idiot whenever out in society. Important here is to give the impression that I have in fact am smart as hell, have got a fairly prestigious degree and will soon be suing the pants off people, rather than that I recently broke out of beauty school and am having a Girl’s Day Out.
Since the Stellenbosch Wine Fest this year appeared to be a) expensive b) unlikely to have us falling over our feet and c) badly attended by our friends, the mature decision was to sit this one out and not go. But then, as luck would have it (or temptation, whichever way you like to look at it) I won free tickets. Which apparently, according to how many competitions I enter, is less luck and more statistics.
I took the best friend along, which is the obvious, but definitely not responsible choice. Needless to say, there were no ladies in our quarter. We did however have a ‘whale’ of a time (ironic expression to use considering my feelings on whales) and made sure that the festival was indeed worth our while. So although I am a fan of this whole growing up and entering the real world, a realisation I also made is that you make more friends and have more fun when you’re not making Responsible Choices, so every now and then I will still be letting my hair down!

Explanations and Tips

The weekend passed saw three awesome events – dinner on the beach with the boy, Wacky Wine Fest and my birthday. How lucky am I? The boy took me out for steak and calamari on Friday night, to a beautiful restaurant overlooking the ocean. Before that, we got cocktails (ok, a Peroni draught) and sat on the dock of the bay, watching the tide roll in.

Wacky Wine was as epic as I had imagined. I’m glad we didn’t overstay our welcome though, as it seems that more than one day of driving around and tasting wine is MORE than sufficient. We started off at Rooiberg, which was quiet enough and served gross greasy bacon rolls (the best for lining the stomach). We then made the epic mistake of attempting Graham Beck.

Tip # 1: If people from Gauteng have heard of the wine farm, don’t go there.

I had to fight my way through crowds of people to even get near the wine tasting counter, and even then I was surrounded by ladies of inferior birth tasting wine with ICE in their GLASSES (!). It was 10am. In Heyer’s words, “they smelt of the shop”.

Luckily the boy, like my older brother, curls his lip in disgust at other people, so we dodged a bullet and left quickly.

The next stop was Clairvaux, where we were offered brandy cocktails (no was the answer, it was 10.30), hanepoot and loads of olives. It was, well, nice. And exactly what was to be expected of Robertson.

I, however, am a snob, so we moseyed along to Springfield.

Tip # 2: The more expensive the wine, the more beautiful the wine farm. As a rough guide…

Springfield was fantastic. The views were unsurpassed, and on each table was a large bowl of olives (not for very long, we did some serious damage to our bowl as soon as possible). But truth be told, there are few wines are delicate and interesting as the Springfield Whole Berry. I made sure that all my 5 allowed tastings per hour (as per guide instructions to safe drinking) were spent on Whole berry.
We made the severe mistake of thinking Bon Courage would be a good next choice. If Graham Beck was an abortion, then this was a bad-door, wire-hanger one. I must have been taking barbiturates the first time I had the Bon Courage Blush and thought I liked it, because it tastes like soda-streamed Four Cousins Rose. And they were selling the foul potion by the barrel-full. I went up to the tasting girl and asked her something about the red wine I was tasting, like barrel maturation and blend percentages (not exactly higher grade stuff) and she looked at me with a wide-eyed blank expression. When I asked whether no-one else had asked this, she just meekly said “No man. Everyone just drink!”.

Tip # 3: If the wine is made for people who want to just suip, avoid the farm.

Excelsior was both fun and very entertaining. Picture the scene: Robertson Valley, small wine farm with horses and goats everywhere, cellar floor strewn with hay, Supersterre singing karaoke, ‘tannies’ selling vetkoek, boerewors rolls and pannekoeke and an Asian sushi chef. What, wha- whaaat? Pick the one that doesn’t fit. I love how small-town Afrikaans people have suddenly ‘discovered’ sushi and it now symbolises the height of schmancy. For us, it’s getting a little cheesy, but I tell you in Robertson fashion obviously takes a little longer.

Tip # 4: The smaller the farm, the better time you will have. We made our own wine, tasted with the wine maker and sat on a stunning deck wolfing down pancakes. No queues.

With a now-wiser view on the festival, we quickly gave Van Loveren the skip. I didn’t think the boy’s heart could have taken it. De Wetshof was the next location, a beautiful classy farm with plenty of olive tasting. By this time I was a little over the olives, but they did have lots of bread to taste with olive oil and cabernet sauvignon vinegar. After my 30th tasting of the vinegar, the girl behind the counter gave me a somewhat tiresome sigh as if to say “Are you really still pretending to taste?” I quickly left, tummy full.

Tip # 5: Tasters mean just that. But in Robertson, people are too polite so you can usually push your luck. Yum!

Finally, the lure of something far greater pulled the boy further down the road. Jip, you guessed it.

Tip # 6: If there is rugby on, you will have to taste wine by yourself while your companion watches the Boks.

I spent the remaining two tasting hours of the day sitting outside in the sun with what I discovered to be a group of the local wine-makers, sharing their wine and speaking my best attempt at Afrikaans (my tongue was well-oiled by this point so I think it went well!)

We headed back into Ashton in a good mood (the Boks were victorious, I had a bottle of wine…win-win situation) and to a friend’s fish braai. I won’t even get into how awkward that was, that’s a post on its own.

Tip # 7: Sober up before going to have dinner with a friend, his parents and his granny. Find out BEFORE the time that these are the dinner guests.

However, it was a fantastic experience and one well-worth repeating. Oh look at that, there is the Slow Wine Festival in August. See you there….

Birthday Wish List

1. World Peace (duh).


2. A baby bushbaby (nagapie) because they are so freaking cute.

3. My friend to have a better time than she is having.

4. A huge cash bonus. Reserved only for spa treatments. For me.

5. A moleskin wine tasting reference book. So I can look official when I go tasting, and not like a little bar fly.

6. A case of expensive wine. So that I can impress my friends.

7. I Love France! World Cup underwear.

8. To sit with my grandparents and have tea.

9. A night of being wined and dined by my boyfriend. And a bag of shiny shit from my best friend.

10. A surprise party. Hint hint.

Reasons to love Cape Town

Like most people who were part of the great reverse-trek (born in Joburg and moved to Cape Town), I have long since shed my ‘vaalie’ exoskeleton and quickly adopted the Capetonian cloth. I easily converse with other ex-vaalies about how ‘when we were there it was much better. Safer, really. But it’s changed now. Joburg is just so different’ and quickly change topics to how much better it is to live in the Cape.

After the torrential downpour of the last two days, the winter Cape Town emerged clean and shiny from the cloudy cocoon and presented us with one of these perfect winter days. It just reminded me HOW lucky I am that the folks decided to venture off in search of a better life.

#1: Table Mountain

Ja ja, so I’m clichéd. I admit it. But there is some kinda crazy magic about that mountain that just makes it so unique. It’s no surprise the view from Blouberg beach has been voted third best in the world. (Incidentally, I live in Blouberg so I love having something like that to boast about).

But it’s not only the view of the mountain that counts. Almost every capetonian likes to use the mountain as a reference guide for directions. “You need to like, turn right, but just like, make sure that the mountain stays like north-east of you. No wait, like, make sure it’s on your right hand side and you can’t go wrong.” And it works, too.

Climbing up the mountain (and trust me, it’s do-able. There are routes spanning from man-I-want-to-feel-the-burn to more of a stroll through the hills. I’ve even pushed a pram up) and then rewarding yourself with a wine picnic is definitely way better manner to spend a Sunday that a trip to Leeukop prison.

Bru, its laaaaank cool.

#2: Kirstenbosch

No walk up Table Mountain is complete without finishing it off with a picnic in the botanical gardens. Kirstenbosch summer concerts are the single best way to spend a lazy sunday afternoon. The biggest names come and play and you can enjoy anything from the Philharmonic to the Parlotones (if you’re into that sort of thing) with your choice of Sauvignon Blanc (I recommend Uva Mira) and a selection of cheese and figs. The dramatic backdrop of the sun creeping away behind the back face of the mountain, the hot sweet heady smell of proteas and the general happy vibe of the people contribute so much more to any concert. Warning: get there early because everyone else feels the same way I do! Also, just expect everyone to be a little pretentious. We’re capetonians. It’s what we like to pretend we are.

#3: Wine
Ok sure, you can get wine anywhere, so on it’s own it isn’t really a unique characteristic. But we have the wine farms too. The most amazing part of the wine industry around here is how unbelievably diverse the various areas are. It really depends on what your mood is. If you enjoy lazy, slow wine tastings without too much hustle and bustle, talking to the farmer and taking things easy, then the Robertson valley is where you want to go (take an Afrikaans friend along though!). If you want tourists by the dozen and students intermingled, plus a healthy dose of families, babies and just about everyone, then Stellenbosch is more your area (I may have made it sound horrible, but actually its amazing). If you want a short route with loads of farms, after which you can go and tan on the beach, Durbanville is where you are headed. And if you want to experience the snooty English pretension of Cape Town (well worth a visit), the Constantia valley is where you should go.

Because I’m a Stellenbosch girl, I am biased towards the area. I am also stuck on the wines of the Hidden Valley, Rust en Vrede and Uva Mira. If you haven’t been, then you haven’t seen wine farms.

# 4: Wine Festivals

As if the above couldn’t get any better (wine on my doorstep), the farms now come together and have festivals where you can see, taste and experience all the wines. It’s actually hard to keep track of how many there are! The favourites still remain the Stellenbsch Wine Festival which is something around 100 farms, 2 tents and all the wine you could possibly taste! (Not to be taken lightly and you should ensure that there is someone to carry/drive you home). Next is the Bien Donne Cheese Festival in Franschoek, which has a similar idea to the previous festival, but adds in a million different cheese tents and olive tents. And lastly, the Wacky Wine Fest in Robertson, which is a weekend away with a wine passport in one of the oldest wine areas in the Cape. Mountains everywhere, camp sites full to the brim, people from all over the country come and spend the weekend just wallowing in the wine of it all.

# 5: Friendly people


The old idea of the stuck-up capetonian has fallen largely to the wayside. While there may still be some stalwarts in the Republic of Hout Bay, and Constantia mums who never leave Cavendish, in general people around Cape Town are pretty friendly. There is a lack of that suspicious mistrust that seems to permeate Joburg air and so people are more inclined towards each other. Wander through Long Street on a Friday night and you’ll se what I mean!

# 6: Nothing is far away

I mean it. Nothing is far away. In Joburg, everyone drives everywhere and nothing is really close. I used to drive 45 minutes to school every day. When you move to Cape Town, you quickly start changing your tune. Claremont (10km from Cape Town) starts looking ‘too far’ to drive just to go party. If you drive more than 30km to work, you live in the wrong place. Living in Stellenbosch has made it even worse since all my friends/work/study/play/party place/shopping etc is within a 4km radius. If I have to drive much more than that, I make sure I can stay over.

# 7: It just never really gets that cold

What? It doesn’t. Winter temperatures of 12 and 16 are not shocking. Even when it goes down to 7 degrees, it’s not like its freezing or anything. Temperate and Mediterranean, I’m quite happy with that.

# 8: 8 ‘o clock summer sunsets

I remember the car trip when we moved to Cape Town. We left Joburg at some ungodly hour in the morning and went through stop-go-traffic due to road works in the Karoo. 4 hungry tired children, sick of eggy-mayo sarmies and warm golden delicious apples are not the most fun passengers in any car. But as we drove over Hospital Bend for the first time and saw the sun twinkling over the harbour (at 19h45!) a hush descended over everyone in the car. There have been countless days since then of running up Lion’s Head at half past seven, watching my brothers kite board until just before 8 and having sundowners in camps bay and not leaving until it gets dark at 9pm. Us capetonians get extra hours in our day so that even if we work shitty office jobs in the city, we can walk along Sea Point’s board walk, or have drinks at the Radisson after, and somehow it just takes the edge off it all.

# 9: Cape Coloureds is mos kief, my bra!

It has to be said. I used to take an Atlantis bus home from work (! I know). My Afrikaans was never really good, but boy did I learn some interesting phrases from those trips home! (Not expressions I could ever repeat in polite company, of course, but there have been a few situations in my life where I’ve used the cursing in my head). Coloureds in Cape Town speak their own special blend of Afrikaans, English and slang. They are the heart and soul of the cape and their unique language shapes so many of the cape expressions. To be fair, no real cape street scene would be complete without the shrill cries of one bergie swearing at another informing him “jou ma se soup tastes nice”; or two brasse greeting each other with “aweh, my laanie!” and the inevitable skimp “gee vir my ‘n entjie”!

(For more of these colourful terms, check out http://kakduidelik.co.za/2008/10/22/cape-town-slang/)

# 10: There is always something to do

And I mean ALWAYS. Even when you’re broke and sad and desperately waiting for this month’s pay check, there is still entertainment. It’s still safe enough around here to go walking in the mountains. There are beautiful botanical gardens (the ones in Stellenbosch are still free) to wander through and chill on a blanket and read a book. Cape Town central is a tightly-packed activity ground. If you have just a little bit of cash, then you can wander through art galleries, the Planetarium, museums and the Turkish baths of Long Street. With a little more in the pocket, there are lunches on wine farms, vertical tastings, beer tasting in Hermanus, apple picking in Elgin, cherry picking in Ceres. As winter settles in, there are roaring fires and amazing food (always complimented with the finest wine SA can offer). There are conventions and festivals and trance parties and rocks fests and cycle races and road races and tourists and *out of breath exhausted sigh*. The best part about Cape Town is that you will never get bored. Never.

Girl stuff

The girls came over for wine last night, and as usual the boy asked before “What are you going to talk about?” Firstly, does he think I plan the topics of conversation and then we pick little tags out of a hat to decide? But secondly, I have noticed that boys are always intensely curious to know what girls talk about to each other. As if when we are alone we morph into different people and have strange conversations about crazy things.

I asked a male colleague this morning what he thought and he gave me that shuffled-feet, shifty-eye look and mumbled something about “girl stuff”. What, pray tell, is the exact definition of ‘girl stuff’? From what I am led to understand from asking some of the boys I know it seems to span over a wide scope of everything from cookie recipes to giving birth.

(Now don’t get me wrong, I am only too happy that boys shy away from the topic of conversation and are easy to dismiss anything provided it lies under the veil of ‘girl stuff’. Need to leave work early and don’t feel like explaining why? Tell your male boss you need to go for ‘lady problems’. Unless you have an enquiring gay boss like I did, it’s foolproof. Need to go shopping for no apparent reason? Tell your boyfriend that you need to pick up ‘girl products’ and you have as many hours of guilt-free shopping as you need. No man REALLY wants to enquire what you mean, just in case he becomes privy to a graphic image in his mind he may never be able to wipe clean. Something his MOTHER may have.)

On the other hand, it’s a little insulting that we have this apparent whole section of our lives to which only other girls have access. Because, honestly, periods aren’t actually that scary or that bad. Yes, they are annoying. Yes, we wish we didn’t have them. But we do not turn into contagious lepers and if you touch us while we have it you will not have to rush out of the room tearing at your clothes yelling “unclean, unclean!”

Bladder infections? Yes, they’re gross and no, we can’t help it. Girls get them, guys don’t usually. Be happy about that. Men are, however, more prone to kidney stones. Men’s nether regions are constructed in a far simpler manner and work on a user-friendly interface. In contrast, women have a delicate ecosystem in which homeostasis must be maintained. If that balance is upset or interfered with, there are consequences. It’s an awful topic, but trust me, we don’t want to talk about it any more than you do. (Except maybe this girl)

So seriously, when I invite my girlfriends over to drink some wine and chat, we do NOT spend the entire time chatting about Aunt Irma and her imminent visit. We don’t sit around swapping recipes. We don’t debate the advantages and disadvantages of top loader v front loader. We don’t boil a cauldron and hold séances. We don’t get down to our underwear and pillow fight. (These are all REAL suggestions boys have proffered for a girls night in)


To dispel the myth, we are in fact the same people we are when we are with you.

Sorry, guys.

Friends

Getting to know you...getting to know all about you. That first part of the song I can totally dig. Getting to like you…getting to hope you like me. Now that is the tricky bit. I know too many people, and I like too few. I may be getting off topic though.

What are the best ways to get to know someone? The skinny one asked me the other day why she was still single and why she never picked up guys in bars, and it led me to thinking, “neither have I”. Tracing back the path of my life, I realised that I have never had any lasting, meaningful relationship (on any level) with someone I met in a bar. Every person in my life with whom I am especially acquainted or actually give a sh*t about, I met a) sober and b) in a relaxed social setting.

My best friend I met in my dorm, the others all through class or school. Boyfriends have ranged from church, to work, to class, to my best friend’s brother. The common interests we share, the natural inclination towards each other were established during moments of lucidity and without crazy loud music and smoke clogging up your eyes. Often, several meetings took place before any sort of affinity was confirmed. (At the risk of sounding pretentious, please bear in mind that I am working my way through Georgette Heyer books and thus am forced to term my thoughts in 18th century English. Many apologies.)

That said, I have never really gotten to KNOW someone until I have gotten drunk with them. Every first kiss with every staid boyfriend happened after some serious lubrication of the liver. Every best friendship was cemented through being a drunk whore together/crying ‘dronk verdriet’ tears/arguing senselessly about no point in particular. And because women call each many other things first before they call each other sister, these long nights of red wine and chatting are what made us trust each other so much.


The advice I can give is look for your friends and lovers in social settings where you want to find yourself, but get to know your friends somewhere outside your mutual comfort zone. You meet someone sober, but you get to KNOW them drunk, and only then do you really get to like them (or not).

Soup night

As winter has now fully taken hold of cape town (I know it’s true because I have worn coats and boots THREE times this week!), I decided that it was definitely time for a soup party. Soup parties, like most of our other parties, involve a lot of soup, but also a lot of wine. How much wine, you may ask? Well, the entrance is a bottle. Work it out…

The colleague was horrified when she saw the butternut pot boiling on the stove, because the process of making butternut soup does not look particularly appetizing. A boiling pot with butternut, apple, half an orange, carrots and stock is a pretty gruesome sight. However, after thorough cooking and a whirry-whirry with the hand blender, smooth creamy butternut soup appeared. She was amazed! I also boiled a pot of my mother’s famous tomato soup, with a spicy tobacco ‘n chilli twist. Greatest soup party EVER! I was also lucky that the weather played along, and was not merely cold, but overcast and stormy. It really was very fortunate.

The doctor then regaled us with stories from the hospital, funny ones though, not the grisly sort. Stories about old people and bollocks and that sort of thing that makes 5 girls with a bit of wine in them giggle like hyenas. The best friend also contributed with her share of the latest Darwin awards. We ate, we drank, we shared, and it was awesome.

The boy showed up halfway to pick up my removable hard drive, and look none-too-pleased to see the awesome food party on the go, but what can I say? Meh. Deal with it. Girls just a-wanna have fun….ohoh girls just a-wanna have fun! The hostess’ beau then showed up, looking like he had had a fun boy’s party a bit beforehand. Somehow, the conversation turned to threesomes. Shame, he tried valiantly to defend them and to show us that they were nothing to be condemned, but he to contend with moral-highground-me and the i'm-so-hot-that-i-dont-need-to-do-anything-else colleague and basically, his argument flailed and drowned like a legless pirate (yes, I do like that expression because I made it up myself and I’m trying to get it to stick). Ten points for effort though, and he really was facing all the odds. But like the old story goes, “there we were, 10 000 against 10. Boy, did we sure F%$^ up those 10!”.

In any case, soup party was a huge success and is going to be a definite repeat on the next awful, stormy night. If you want recipes, I’ll be happy to oblige! And, like, soup parties are SO the new book clubs!

Nights alone

Nights on your own are less fun than you’d think. Sure, every magazine advises that us girls take some time out, chill out with ourselves and re-charge our batteries. The boy is away in Pretoria, the housemate out until further notice. I had my weekly dinner with the best friend last night, and then went for drinks with the drinking buddy. So far, have exhausted all my hang out passes for the week. The other awesome choices have all removed themselves from the social scene to visit their boyfriends/study for exams/live in hermanus. So, since I have just been paid and never have a night alone, I decided to splurge. On myself.

Inventory = One bottle odd bins Shiraz 2006 (looked promising), small slab (I don’t get paid THAT much) 70% cocoa Lindt chocolate, one Cleo magazine (I can’t even defend that one...embarrassing I know) and one trashy feminist art novel. I snuggled down on the couch, the weather so very kindly playing along and giving me stunning winter rain and wind against my window. I let the wine breathe (obviously – it’s just correct) for a sumtotal of 10 seconds and had a glass. A mouthful of chocolate and a chapter into the book later, life was good. The only thing that caused me to break was the 6.30 call of 7de Laan. After that, however, the excitement level dropped distinctly.

I then sms’d pretty much everyone I know to detail the scene above and brag.

That was fine, but I only got one response. It sucks when people aren’t jealous.

Ho hum ho hum....so I finished the book. I then decided to cook for the at-some-point-in-the-future-to-return flatmate. Ok. Done. So I read the magazine. Ok. Half the bottle is now gone, and I am seriously not feeling the alone vibe. So I put on some Rihanna and dance around the room. Fun for about 15 seconds in total.

I then sms’d pretty much EVERYONE in my phone book trying to convince someone to come out on this rainy night and see me in my not-very-flattering I-don’t-ever-expect-company-again sweatpant/pyjamas and drink wine with me. NOT ONE TAKER!

Sufficed to say, I got seriously bored all on my own. Eventually I put on an old Enya cd and went to bed. Please, in the interests of my sanity, next time I sms you and ask you to come over, just do. Next time may be suicide...

Things I like about me

1.       I eat meat. Because it is awesome. Your carbon footprint may be smaller, but so is your brain. Take that, herbivores (in T-rex accent).

2.       I drink wine. Wine makes your heart strong, your brain pretty and your liver want to be a donor. I did studies.

3.       I struggle to exercise. Don’t get me wrong, I do it and I like it once its done. But I struggle to get motivated because I am human and inherently lazy.

4.       I tell racist jokes. Shut up, so do you. Even if you only do once you’ve checked over your shoulder.

5.       I think I’m better than most other people. ‘Nuff said.

6.       I read trashy Mills ‘n Boon novels. Its awesome reading about people who are stupider than you in order to justify No. 5. Plus, steamy stuff is fun to read.

7.       I am happy when my ex-boyfriend’s girlfriend is fatter/dumber/uglier than me. Because I win. At everything.

8.       I am occasionally jealous of my friends. They are fabulous, awesome people (which is why I choose to have them surround me) but sometimes its hard not to want to be what they are.

9.       I lie about my weight. I am not even going to justify the stupidity of that one.

10.   I love my boyfriend and I want to post hundreds of facebook status updates about how amazing and sexy and special he is, and I love that people are jealous of the kind of relationship we have.

And for all of these things, I am truly thankful, for they are what have made me a real person.

Sick

How irritating.


It appears that little viral space ships are taking up residence in my nose and throat (I find it more interesting to imagine little aliens invading my body than just saying “I have flu”. It does make killing them harder to do though. Being the human rights activist I am I have to remind myself that they are, in fact, germs). In short, I have the telltale signs of sickness setting in.

Luckily, I have the world’s greatest remedy for getting better: Echinaeforce, every hour on the hour. Hot bath (as many as necessary). R12 bottle of ascorbic acid tablets to blast the little alien forces with some hardcore Vitamin C. Cuddle up in bed all afternoon with the leftovers of my Easter haul and the newest 4 episodes of Gossip Girl.

I should be right as rain for wine with the girls tonight…

Bp Pies

So, the theory on the BP pie/guy goes as follows:

Every girl, whether she will admit it or not, has one guy that she is hopelessly attracted to, despite how revoltingly bad he is for her. No matter what her friends think, no matter who says what about him, no matter how he treats her, she will always have a sneaky corner of her….well, let’s call it heart for him. (When I say heart, I mean vagina.)

And basically, he can be explained by the BP pie phenomenon.

You get ready and put on your party shoes. You look at yourself in the mirror, thinking “I am tall, confident, skinny and gorgeous”. You go out with the girls and you think to yourself “Whatever happens tonight, I will not drink too much. And if I do drink too much (which I won’t), no matter how much tequila and beer we insist on pouring down our throats, I will NOT eat a BP pie”. And then you go out for cocktails, but cocktails turn into dinner, dinner turns into an orgy of food, and then 74 00 bottles of non-descript white wine and fourteen tequilas later, you are dancing on the bar. Your friends slowly start to gravitate towards whatever looks appealing and you think “Still, I’m not going to give in and I will not eat that pie”. But, by 2am, when you’re starving hungry and that rumbling noise in your stomach yells “give me unnecessarily bad food…NOW!”, you think “Why not? It’s just one. It’s not the worst thing in the world.” And your greedy little tummy takes you straight to that pie. You always choose the worst one, like chicken mayo (don’t even get me STARTED on hot mayo) or a cheeseburger pie. Even as you are eating it and that greasy pie is slipping down your throat you think “I am so going to regret this tomorrow, but right now it feels AWESOME!”. And you love it.

Then you wake up, the next morning, feeling like ass and death combined in a blender, with that dirty BP pie wrapper lying on the floor, and it all comes flooding back…

Now, substitute “pie” for “guy”, “hungry” for “wine-induced horniness” and “stomach” for….well, you get my drift. I leave it up to you as to what the crumpled wrapper in the floor is…