date winner

As I write this, I must just say I am in a bit of a fit of hysterics. In a good way, mind. Perhaps it’s also because I am quaffing a celebratory glass of vino capino and it has gone straight to my little kopfel in the process, whilst swooning over the magic Pretty our incredible maid has made of our lowly apartment over the day. (She scrubbed my bedroom carpet. Either the woman is Mother Theresa or Clarke Kent, I can’t decide which.)

Third Roommate: Flipping hell, she cleaned your carpets. Of the…vomit stains and everything.
Peas: Vomit no. Tequila yes. Don’t worry mate, she’ll do your room next.
Third Roommate: I don’t have a room.
Peas: I know. I was being facetious.

I won a date competition yesterday. With the monumentally literary-astute and writer genius

Kyknoord

. After my controversial post yesterday, yesterday which, have you know, consisted of feeding the masses cake, taking photographs of nameless important people and cohorting with a group of Delhi visitors at a trade show. (Doc – I got their numbers. If you need some nice food-orientated friends that end of the world, let me know. Although by the sounds of things, you’re doing just fine.)
Right. Then I got back to the office and
1) Read my blog.
2) Read my gmail.
3) Read my work email.
4) Checked Kyknoord’s site.

I must just say: I got three emails from three different people saying pretty much the same thing: “We Rhodes people are nice, promise. Please don’t compare us with your ex-boyfriends. Some of us never go to the Colony. We like you.” [There’s nothing wrong with the Knee on the very odd occasion. I like you too. I think. – Ed.]

Bless. They didn’t even berate me. So I wrote pretty much the same thing back to each of them: “Some of my best friends went to Rhodes. I’m sure not every Rhodes boy is a prick, and admittedly, you guys at least know how to have fun. Wenises aside, and despite my bitching yesterday, I did in fact have a jolly good time at that party Friday.”

So bless that. Perhaps I’m bitter because they get all the best journalism jobs on graduating. Hell, I guess you deserve it.

But. Now. So I have a date with

The Kyknoord

. Thank you to anybody that voted for my +50 worder explaining why I’d be a suitable candidate for the man. But here’s the pressing little problem, which I gaily didn’t think of much when I entered: he lives 2 000 km away from me.
Pants.
I haven’t made plans to go to Cape Town anytime soon, although this could change of course. If I do manage to go soon, I need to ask a much-favoured favour. I’m going to need to organise some type of sponsorship deal with One Time/Kulula/The Lovely SAA (Who has lost my luggage on several occasions, but I am not bitching. As such.) I’m willing to do the appropriate blog-banner advertising of one of the companies above, however, lest to say I don’t know many people who has direct association with the head-honcho aeroplane dudes at the top. So: if you do think you can pull some strings in that department, it would be wholly appreciated by yours truly, and soon thereafter Kyknoord’s truly. On managing to glean sponsorship, I’ll advertise your services too. (In any form, as you like, of course.) And I don’t mind flying coach.

In the unlikely event of being able to sort out the above [viz], I feel it is my dateable duty to pass my Kyknoord crown onto Entry A, if permitted by King Kyk, naturally. She got my vote. On the condition, (there’s always one, isn’t there?) that when next I find myself in the Mother City, I get to claim my date with The Kyknoord. (Note to Kyk: We can go Dutch. As I reiterated, I don’t mind buying the wine.) That’s if, of course, you and Entry A don’t get engaged on your second date and have three babies before I get down there. I’m a serial dater, not a home wrecker.;)

Right. I'm off to feed the masses more cake.