Thursday, February 12, 2009
a kiff present. for little old meeeee
Am tired and strung out right now, so when I got a surprise gift delivered to me from a stranger, I hit the silver lining of my day.
Three bottles –a tri-set – of Pierre Jourdan sparkling wines. Hell, a two litre bottle of Autumn Harvest Crackling would’ve been a treat, but I hear this is special stuff.
It came with an awesome note from someone who enjoys my blog and who enjoyed my book.
Cripes, any bird loves a present!
And yesterday, I was so exhausted, this gesture was another reminder of just how thoughtful and generous people can be. I should’ve done what any self-respecting bitch like myself would’ve done – popped the cork, sat in my waterlogged hammock and pulled out the champers glasses.
Instead, I ended up phoning my mother no less than 5 times, my stepfather 3 and their home phone another 2 in a crazed frenzy, because they were strangely absent. And sadly, after a few hours of disappearance your brain starts to manifest with horrible thoughts.
Perhaps if they lived in Chad, I wouldn’t start to panic. I wouldn’t start thinking, ‘Fuck. Are they tied up? No. Maybe they went to see a movie. No. Car accident? Oh fuck. Wouldn’t the cops have phoned me by now? Fuck, I don’t even have the neighbours number.’
Then awful, tangible images of what could’ve happened to them. Maybe it’s because we live in Gauteng.
Maybe it’s because I’m on edge right now.
Maybe it’s because they always have their phones on them.
Arrrgh, really. Do I phone her sister in New Zealand? Can’t phone Grandmere because she keeps on asking me when she can read my book and I just can’t face explaining to her why that would be a bad idea.
‘Mais Petits Pois - Eez eet een Excluseeve Books?’
‘Well..not really one anywhere near to where you live Grandmere. I sent one to you but it must’ve got lost in the post.’
‘Ah oui. Ze poste.’
Mum’s going to suggest that it’s written in Afrikaans.
Hang on, so where is my mother?
I sat and chewed my nails for an hour. I never chew my nails.
Turns out they ran a night race in Irene or something. What the fuck.
Little Britain wasn’t even distractingly entertaining, it was downright annoying.
But the Ant and the Gilb are coming round for dinner tonight (What the dickens will I make? I haven’t cooked in….6 months) but at least I have some ooh la la tres tres bubbly to pass around, and the Ant being a wine snob, should surely be impressed.