ag...

...my gran is so cute.

Firstly, she has knitted about 78 teddy bears for children who have been abused. And continues to knit away commenting to herself, "Should this one's eyes be blue or black?" She's knitting bears for seriously unfortunate little souls, and with such care and precision.


Secondly, I showed her my laptop. She wanted to know how I play Sudoku "in my computer." When she started screaming, "Peas! Peas!! There's a fly in your computer!"
(Where, behind the screen?) "No, I saw it, it was over there (points to screen), and it's moved - there's a bug trapped inside your computer, how did it get there?"

Fiddle around a bit more. "There it is again! I thought I was going mad, but bordell there it is!"

The cursor. The cursor, Grandmere. God she's adorable. We had long conversations about the therapeutic side to knitting. I've found 45 different coloured balls of wool which I plan to manifest into this multi-coloured fokken ding...and will start knitting on the journey home this evening.

Leaving Cape Town tonight. I'm a little...put out. Because I am really enjoying myself and I fear the moment I spot the Hillbrow Tower, this sense of enjoyment will hastily cease. I've been walking everywhere, getting healthy levels of oxytocin secreting from my hypothalamus, enjoying the sunshine, watching squirrels, conversing with a coloured woman who was just somma sitting in a trolley on our street, and wondering why the fuck Cecil John Rhodes is such a fucking saviour in our history when, as a friend put it: He's really just an olden day Brett Kebble. I mean, the man is everywhere. Statues, memorials, roads, a university. So terribly boring and ostentatious of the man.

And so the trip home. I can hardly wait.

I'm just...

...gonna go home and knit a scarf.

I started saying this when I first joined Sobriety Club, in a self-deprecating, yet comprehensible manner - mainly so that people would laugh it off when I left a party at 9:00pm, with merely a light flick of their wrist and a, OK, we get it. You're sober, we're drunk, and although we don't literally believe you're going home to knit a scarf, your new lifestyle suggests that you do just about that anyway, so ha ha ha, fine.

But, no really. This week, when I say I'm off to go knit a scarf, I really fucking mean, "I'm going home to knit a scarf." Knitting is terribly versatile, see. Sure, I can't make shapes. So the initial idea of banging together a new toilet seat cover for the can seems a little over-dogmatic. I can only knit box-90-degree-angled shapes. Someone zyphed the toilet seat cover at the last house party we had, so I figure a nice bright orange fluffy one should put the zen back into our WC.

Annnnnnnnyway. 747 and I went to a Madhatter's Tea Party on Saturday. It was nice to catch up up with folk I haven't seen in ages, over my soda and lemonade spritzers. Especially K2, Dick, and the enigmatic Alice in Swaziland, who'd borrowed his maid's powder blue pinafore, for the occasion.

747 and I know when to leave these days. It's when you've chatted to everyone, and had a good time - even when more sober than the most Catholic friar in the Vatican. And suddenly people are incapable of stringing a sentence together. It was good, I had fun, but it was...time to go home and knit a scarf. Well, no not really, we went to watch a movie.

We watched a helluva lot of DVDs and/or movies this weekend. As well as a bit of festive cricket-watching at Wanderer's on Friday night. (Others bought tot packs; we bought packets of wine gums in little vampire fang shapes. People were loving the fangs. I thought it was a nice touch.)
Was a nice, chilled weekend. I'm starting to enjoy Sobriety Club. No, really. I mean, my eczema has cleared up. How's that for a bar rash that just didn't go away?

Here I thought it was stress, but no, it was just a bar rash that decided to squat on my upper chin for the last 5 months. Nice. And now it's gone.

Big week ahead. My car is going for a service ($$$$$$$$$$), I'm knitting doilys, and...I'm getting a new tooth.

I'm really living the dream.