I am sitting in the lounge, and Boris Barker, my faithful Weimeraner, is lying about 5m away, snoozing on his side, and blissfully unaware of the freaking 2#$%000 fleas having a beach party on the pink of his belly – round his nibbles and all along his schlong. His skin – and mine – is literally crawling. This, after we Frontlined the entire troop on Friday and sprayed again yesterday. I can just shit myself. Or at least ‘gril‘ myself.

Plan A: So, I casually get up of my flea-free (hopefully – although I am not so sure, what with 3 cats and 3 dogs) arse and nonchalantly meander past the slumbering canine, towards the kitchen and out the backdoor, to where I know the spray bottle of all natural, all organic Khakibos flea repellent is lurking in the courtyard. I retrieve bottle, which I straight away tuck into the back of my jean-pant and make my way back to the Flea Circus.

(While I am typing this, I swear I can feel the fleas nibbling at my ankles. No. really.)

The PLAN is to get as close as possible to the offensive hound, before hauling out the weapon of mass-flea-destruction, and letting rip with a vigorous finger pump-action, so that the infected area is sufficiently doused, and the fleas feel the full wrath of my itch and agitation. But, man, the animals in this house are sooo wary of anything with a snozzle, and as I am whipping out the bottle from behind my back, that Boris is already levitating off the floor and air-swimming towards the open front door. (Mental note to self: close all exits before attempting an operation of this nature.)

But, I manage to ankle-tap him, as he is whizzing by the coffee table, and I pin him -and his fleas – to the floor, as he stumbles. And then I furiously start squirting Khakibos – on the fleas, over his stomach, on the fleas, on his chest, on the fleas and on all the orifaces and appendages in his nether regions.

At this stage, Boris is most unhappy with the turn of events. To add insult to his khakibos shower, he is kicked out into the garden, where I hope the fleas will jump off and DIE. Of course, I cannot attempt the above herbal assault on any of the other dogs. It is too late. By now, they have caught a whiff, seen the spray bottle in my slippery paws and taken note of the illegal tackle I performed on their comrade (most unbecoming for the lady of the house.) I suspect they have alerted the SPCA and are cowering in the furtherest corners of the garden, behind the Corderlines, with the cats.

But I am satisfied. If that freaking Khakibos doesn’t poison the pests, I am confident that with the quantities I despatched, they will drown for sure.

On the plus side, the house is now smelling like a health shop, as Khakibos fumes subside. And I am no longer distracted by the f%&king fleas. At least for the next 44 minutes.



Please pray for these people that stay in St Francis. It really is bad – and the wind is still pumping!!

St Francis Chronicle

“Houses are burning all the way to the sea on the canals,” a fireman told St Francis Chronicle this evening. The fire apparently started at Royal Wharf late afternoon where some people were having a braai.

It also reportedly started when the electricity went off. From there the fierce winds that sprang up this afternoon  tossed the fire rapidly down Spray Avenue, taking down Hynsie and the Robertson’s house, then the Nortje’s house before jumping over the canals towards big Time Taverna and in the vicinity . Some bystanders estimated as many  as about 60 houses could burning down – or more..

Most of the houses on the canals are thatch roofs and many do not have water hydrants, so the fire was spreading fast from about 4.30 pm onwards.

Photos taken in Spray Avenue and in the vicinity of La Digue place and the little bridge towards Big Time Taverna by…

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Hi-ho-hi-ho….it’s off to work I go…

I kid you not. I found a job. Got the call on Tuesday and started on Wednesday.

And it has been a loooonnnngg 3 days. Damn – have forgot what it is like to live by someone else’s rules.

Clock in. Clock out.

Luckily, it is 3.5km’s away from home – 5 minutes – there and back. And, big plus – most Fridays, you get to go home at 2pm. YAY.

Think that the worst has been the fact that I have been baking every night. Funny how – now that I have permanent employment – everyone wants a freaking cake??!?

But by Monday evening, the worst will be over. I would still love to bake – but obviously, as I have time.

This place I am working for … summed up in 5 words … Big brand, surf, table tennis.

Yup, even the G.M. partakes in the teatime ritual of table tennis. Very serious stuff….

Am very grateful. Glad that I do not have to travel to PE every day. that would cost me a good 2-2.5 hrs p/day and at least 3 grand extra p.m in petrol.

Just hope I can make it – sort of feel a bit old ….

But please excuse me while I  get used to the working routine. Promise that once I am settled, I will take my blog seriously, again.

Please note, however, that I will take a Freebie trip to Franschoek, at the drop of a hat….

Due to these unforseen circumstances, I have taken up drinking on a serious note again…

I want a prezzie – tell my Secret Santa…

if you go and check out http://thestilettomum.wordpress.com/2012/10/17/blogger-secret-santa-61-and-counting/ , you will notice that The Stiletto Mum is organising a bit of Goodwill and gift giving and all that – for the Festive Season.

And I have decided that I am there, like Fred Bear … It’s on, like Donkey Kong …

How it works: I think you get over to the blogsite (apparently, you don’t need to be a blogwriter – just reading a few of them is enough), and make your voice known – then you get put on the list and there is a big mix up, and, Voila – you get a prezzie in the post!


You are also supposed to write a little about you, yourself and Irene – so that the Gift-or can bestow on the Gift-ee a prezzie that is worthy.

Now, a study on the habits and deep-inner psyche that makes up https://rosfromscratch.wordpress.com ….

– I am not a big reader, although I love how-to books and, yes, I soak up the Ideas mag every month – also the Essentials, Your Family, etc, etc.

– Love my baking – cute little cups and gadgets and books and decorations….

– Please do not buy me chocolate – this is the one thing that I just buy for myself, whenever I feel like it. Not a novelty in this house, more like a grocery cupboard staple.

– Am quite taken with the value for money stuff you get at Mr Price Home, especially the eighteenth-voertsek-Victorian-Botannical stuff, with the birdies, butterflies and twigs and orchards.

– I bubblebath every night, except for when I wash my hair in the shower. I love a good bottle of nice smelling stuff. And have discovered that the most expensive is not always the nicest or lingering. With this said, I will, however bend over backwards for anything from the Charlotte Rhys range.

– And I am ashamed to say I use linen mist every evening – but only on my pillow.

– I have no issues with Clicks products.

– I love a good laugh

– I love retro stuff, especially tins, posters, kitchen paraphenalia and bluntcards – the ruder, the better.

– I am not adverse to dangly earrings and vintage jewellery and wine.

– And Franschoek.

Well, that should exploit the gift budget of 100 ront a 1000 times over….

You’ll get jam and earrings – and damn well like it.

Aaah! Falalala – fa – la- la -la! Traditionally, and because I am mostly materialistic, I find the level of happiness and eagerness for the Silly Season is directly proportionate to the wads of cash I have in my Visagie wallet.

BUT – this year … I have decided to not be so shallow, mainly because we are really scraping the barrel and, quite frankly, it is quite exhausting being soooo proportionately depressed and morbid all of the waking moments in my day.

Five things that I have decided, or started, to keep the mood afloat….

– The ones I love around me, will be getting homemade gifts, of which have been mostly made during my manic beading stage; my manic crocheting stage and the soon-to-be commencing manic biscuit baking stage. The least I can do, is share what I have an abundance of, and although it is not money, there is a bit talent to spare, I think? As a matter of fact, the festive smell of oranges is wafting through the house as I attempt to make marmalade for the first time – eva, girlfriend! (Even dug the pips out and put them in a baggie-thingie in the pot? Made sure the string wasn’t blue. WTF?)

– I will be inviting my brother, and the lovely Kira, round for at least one of the celebratory meals – because they are so easy to please, eat absolutely everything – including Turkey with a herb, honey and buttered butt. They never complain about the food, what they can and cannot eat, cholestrol, spiciness and smoked mussels. In fact, I get such pleasure out of feeding them, it makes me feel like Gordon F$%king Ramsey. They are also laid back, and we got no backhanded compliments – and there is definitely no rowing out to the centre of the lake of self-pity with them. Yay.

– I will be drinking my tipple of choice very regularly until after the Grinch has stolen the prezzies. I deserve it. So, deal with it, and don’t you dare try to stop me, Prissy Prats.

– I will be visiting the beach more often, starting yesterday. We stay 800m from an array of world-renowned surfing beaches, dude. Plus, it is for free. Plus there is always someone there who is fatter, uglier or whiter than you. And I love to lie and watch the busy little people peeing on the sand, eating the sand, throwing the sand and transporting the sand in their nappies. Also, no news from Franschoek – yet.

– I will look on the bright side, and pray more, and really have faith that everything will be better next year. I know that S and I will continue to be able to earn a living. (Although I will put my foot down at standing on the harbour wall.) I will love the place we stay in and know that we are privileged to be here. My son will continue to do well in all spheres of school life… and we will find a way to keep him where he is now. Afterall, he and his sister are superstars – sharp and street smart; talented and really lovely, likeable people – and they are doing it all themselves… from waterpolo to arranging flowers in an egg. (Luckily, for their – and my sanity – I stopped with the whole helicopter parenting thing a while back. And we all survived. Who knew?) God knows how He got it right with parents like S and I.

Anyway, off to stir the pot (with the soon-to-be marmalade) a bit more.

100 posts … and I missed it!!

Yes, just realized that this will be post 102. And I missed post 100. How very tardy of me. But, in any event, ‘Congratulations and salutations to me.’

Two weekend parenting problems/ moments – courtesy of my kids:

101) My 13-yr-old boy-tween-man asks me this morning, “Mom, what are contraceptives?” I kid you not!?!?!? WTF!?!?!? This is the same kid who has, for the past few weekends home, been stealing the Vaseline out the bathroom cabinet! (I know it was him, since we found the jar hidden under his bed.) The same kid that googled ‘Kim Kardashian does …’ on my husband’s PC at work. The only one that stole the rude, Dutch playing cards from my brother’s cupboard. The only individual in our home who stays in an all-boys’ hostel.

So, I ask him why he wants to know? He has started revising for exams and is in the middle of a Geography module. A most admirable action, but with it’s own conundrums …. Hence, he asks me if I know that, in China, they give out FREE contraceptives and abortions? OK. Be a cool mom. I nonchalantly say, “Mmmm …. and then give him a somewhat vague and rushed overview of what contraceptives are; how important they are; and that a baby can be made in a split second.” The subject gets changed, while I make a note to tell his daddy to give him a basic ‘Birds ‘n bees’ lecture.

I also make a point of asking said father why we are paying exhorbitant school fees if 13-year-old still does not know the basics? I mean, where is he when these conversations are happening in the the hostel dorms, at 9.23pm? Most probably, in the loo …. Am relieved to say that Mr rosfromscratch proceeded to broach the subject, after much prompting from myself. From what I heard down the passage, thing it went OK. (I did interject by telling them – both – that I did not have the funds to raise another kid. And that girls, of all ages, are deceitful and manipulative little beings.)

102) My 9-yr-old madam tells me that Santa needs to bring her one of those “PILL phones?” I kid you not!?!?!? WTF!?!?!? (You will note that this is a very similar display of emotions to parenting problem 101, above. After almost 14 years in the business, it is difficult to come up with fresh and exciting parenting responses.) So, after cross-examination and frantic hand movements, in which she was describing how big desired gift was, we figured that she was talking about a ‘TABLET PC.’

I tell her what she really means – and she tells me to stop being so petty; that she was close enough. At a later date, we will explain to her, based on inside trading information, that Santa shall not be depositing recommended dose of Phone in her stocking this year, due to financial contraints. I will, however, be applying to the Medical Aid for extra doses of the Naughty Pill for this one.

Good new: Guitar Hero is in working order again … I feel an ‘Eye of the Tiger’ session coming on….

And Franschoek-it-all, I am on my way to Cape Town in 2013..


Franschoek is the Bee’s-Knees!

Well, it finally happened. Franschoek is the most popular topic I have blogged on. So, how much longer do I have to beg for redemption?

Anyway, turns out my life after 8pm at night is not so boring, afterall.

Last night started with a bit of, “Remember when…” And before I knew it, S was dusting off the ABBA Greatest Hits, and ‘Fernando’ was echoing throught the kitchen and, in fact, all the way into the park across the road. This lead to me literally Dancing like a Queen all around the lounge furniture, while syping my wine. Out the corner of my eye, I was also watching Will Ferrell, in ‘Blades of Glory’ on mute. I then came to the conclusion that ABBA would have been the perfect source for this flick’s soundtrack, what with all the colour coordinated headbands and ‘retro Puma and Adidas warm-up suits.’

Seems that my R44.99 slippered-moonwalk, flaying arms and ‘Jazz Fingers’  was having an adverse effect on Mr rosfromscratch. I think I threatened to perform on Guitar Hero, as well. (Kidding aside, this mama rocks this game.) Of course, this lead to my wine glass being permanently topped up. I am afraid to say that I do not recall how I got to the ‘Lurrvvve Cave’, after I remembered to take my Zolpidem at 11.11pm.

But I do have vivid flashbacks of what happened there. And I think I was pretty much naked. And I am certain that I was NOT ‘Dancing with the Queen of New Orleans.’ But, I may have been bouncing on the Queen, in the dark. Thank God I am married to Mr – else one of us could have landed up in jail. Have been sitting tenderly, all day.

Remininscing about the good ol’ days has it’s benefits.

One side-effect …. I am going off to the Bon Jovi concert in Cape Town, in May next year. I kid you not. Tickets were booked today – and we even have a lift – thanks, Breyten.

Damn, I must have been good, last night!

I been a bad puddy cat…

As, my faithful fans (12) will notice, I have been a bit mean on the blogging side. This is mainly due to the following reasons:

1) on 30 October, I got a ‘security alert’ call from my service provider to tell me that I had been way too active on the Net, and therefore now had an account balance of f%&king ridonculous Ront. I can not even bear to think the amount aloud. EEEk! Quickly phoned my darling S – to warn him – so that he would not have a coronary when doing a balance check on the  bank accounts. Shame. He was very understanding – rushed up home and confirmed that it was me farming on the Net, and not some Cyberspace Fiend that had hacked my account, and was indiscriminately blogging and liking and commenting on sites all over the globe. So, there and then, I switched off the laptop, hid it under the diningroom table, and decided to wait ’till the November for my new allocation of Gigs… and here we are.

2) Got a bit busy with baking – had a Heee-Haaaaa Cowboy hat cake to put together. This had me sweating bullets. Most of all, when I took the effort to weigh it, and it came in an artery-busting 5kg’s of lard and sugar, Baby. Plus, there was a batch of Red Velvets on the side, and a retro orange cake, with orange icing, which was made for a friend of ours – who promptly ate the whole thing in less than 12 hours. By himself. With a fork. Straight off the serving plate. His wife will thank me when he keels over and she inherits big time.

So all about heart disease, this one …