granny's back's been put out

Oh how I love my new Irish friend! She's too great for words. She's gone back to Dublin now, and she was right – by the end of the week I knew exactly what she was saying. Her accent is like a song, and there are some things worth mentioning: “Thirty three and a third” is “Turty tree and a turd” quite literally. What's her favourite day of the week? Torsday. Anyway, she's taking me to a beer garden festival on my first day in Dublin. Yay!

I ended up going to a Chino Pants Popular Drinking Hole in Sandton thereafter, at about midnight with a mate for a nightcap. Spur of the moment thing. Twasn't as traumatic as I thought. The pick up lines are so gung ho in these meat markets, I've even missed it.

And on Saturday 3RM and I hauled buns. We hauled boxes in his step-mum's Condor to my new shag pad.
Hauling boxes is a mission. Especially when you're moving to what seems a quiet suburban neighbourhood. (Although must reiterate, the Colony is within rolling distance of my flat). But my Daffyt Thomas mug, the one from The Dove? Was animatedly yakking away while we moved.

3RM: Dude something's talking to me in this box.
Mug: THAT'S EXACTLY THE SORT OF HOMOPHOBIC BEHAVIOUR I'VE COME TO EXPECT IN THIS VILLUGE....GOOD DAY!
By which an old lady and two hot guys walk past. Neighbours I presume.
I'M THE ONLY GAY IN THE VILLUGE!

...MFAMWY, THESE HOT PANTS ARE GIVIN' ME TERRIBLE CHAFIN'

With boxes all around me and two awesomely pukey yet full of charm 70s pleather chairs 3RM has lent me, we sat and quaffed wine. C and L came too, with champagne and snacks – and we sat on the balcony and had an unofficial little gathering of a roof wetting.

Next week I do the rest, I'm half moved in. I have bruises on my arms from boxes, and something in my back went 'ping' yesterday, I swear to God. Carrying boxes, scraping against my sort-of excuses for biceps.

Then some of us went out for dins and wine and got all political – well 3RM and I especially – and it all started with a debate around the fact that 3RM calls an orange light an 'amber light.' So yes maybe in the fucking Learner's Manuel you call it that, but my argument was based on the fact that nobody says 'I jumped an amber and got a fine.' It's an ORANGE LIGHT. Everyone but everyone calls it orange. And to prove my point, we phoned a few people.

Teddy said he called it a yellow light. So it wasn't a substantiated answer.

Ant said it was mainly orange, according to the consensus around the room. L said it was orange, even my father said orange: Dad, quick question: the colour between the red and the green on a traffic light. The colour, give me a colour swatch for this middle light. Thanks.

Was just trying to prove a point with 3RMs verbose dialect, and I think I did. Not out of anything except that he calls jerseys jumpers and Simba chips crisps and he's very English and so forth, and it's all very entertaining.

Anyway, I can't stop thinking about my home and where I'm going to put what, and how I'm going to finance this and that and gosh it's exciting!