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!

so much change, so little time

So, for almost three months now, I have been interviewing with an incredible company, and have been offered a job with them. It's been a long tough process, and the process itself has been an enormous learning curve.

My feet are still, five days later, not quite on the ground as I write this. Honestly, it hasn't sunk in yet.
All this change is kind of overwhelming, exciting and terrifying at the same time.

I figured - when all that shit of a few weeks ago happened and continued to happen...and continued to happen – only if I got this job, I'd stay in Johannesburg. That was the plan, give or take, at any rate.

In the meantime, I'd been organising an ancestral visa to the UK in case I didn't get this job. Why the UK? (And not Berlin – my first choice?) It is the easiest and quickest place to get to. And there was a time when I wanted to leave here pretty fucking quickly. As a result, I had all the paperwork ready. I was already imagining my life over there: and it would be fairly obscure. I was going to go start over, and make Brit friends and eat Spotted Dick. I applied for 7 jobs in London in a wild frenzy.

Then I got the job here. And frankly, I'm ecstatic. I am so excited, I can't even begin to describe it. I've looked up at the clouds and said to whomever is listening OK, so what the fuck. Is this why? To balance out all the shit you've dished me? How is it you have helped me achieve something against every fucking possible odd out there?

The great news is I still get to go to London and Dublin at the end of May. For training. I am absolutely so excited, Jesus, I am so chuffed and excited I could literally dance about the streets flashing my fanbelt to whoever is willing to notice.

Never been to Dublin before, how surreal. All this change, everything, it's all so insane. Dooblin!

When my notice period is up for my current apartment, I'll be moving into a little place all on my own. I'm scouting out new homes at this very moment, the pressure is on. I saw the first place last night. It's strange looking for a place on your own. I've only ever done it with boyfriends and flatmates. The place seemed very cold last night, and I don't want to live in a cold place. It has to be something that immediately grabs me. I'm not sure if I want to leave my house, it's become that much of a comfort zone. Maybe I should just stay. Arrgh, what to do, what to do.

So much to do and organise before I start working full-time again.

The universe works in the most mysterious ways. And I still don't understand it.

the sun is shining

...the weather is sweet.

Chapter 1 of our holiday is almost over, and today we will will mozie up the coast and through the Midlands into Chapter 2. Luxury tree houses with jacuzzis in them.

Not before stopping off at my old house. The one I grew up in as a kid. It's been turned into a National Heritage Site and simultaneously, a restaurant. Or so I hear. I may just be able to have lunch in my old bedroom. It's going to be emotional.

It's been swell here though. The weather has been great, we've been swimming everyday - and finding a new beach each time. We climbed a lighthouse yesterday, and I nearly had an aneurysm - mainly from the heights. As I get older, my phobia of heights just gets worse and worse. I had to come down sitting on my bottom.

Oh yes, and since the Transkei starts in our back garden - I find this fascinating - this interstate thing - the Wild Coast Sun is just across the river. One of Sol Kerzner's kitsch as shit enterprises, it's not hard to distinguish the Wild Coast Sun from it's lavish and ostentatious sister, The Lost City. Nevertheless, we had a sundowner there, while 747 told me a funny story about him losing his doondies in the ocean this one time.

I made 747 drive over the interstate border post twice. I wanted a picture of the sign, and we missed it first time, so we fannied about on the border until we finally found the sign. Then my camera batteries ran flat.
Sometimes I feel like I'm living in the set of Fawlty Towers.

We had seafood last night. And didn't get wrecked like we accidentally did the night before.