Working like a hound dog.

I cannot begin to explain to you how this new little job of mine has steam-rollered me into submission.

I am surviving from day-to-day – and still feel like a right twot.

Get home, and all I want to do, is drink and sleep. Today – someone called me ‘Chardonnay Verwey.’ Yes – only funny if you are South African and have watched the movie, ‘Vaatjie sien sy gat.’

Worst is – the aunty who has been training me, is leaving tomorrow. But fear not, I have her phone no. on speed-dial.

Did first bit of Christmas shopping today – 5 gifts in 5 minutes.

This weekend, I shall be making the Merry, baking the Christmas cookies, trying to strangle the Tree with baubles and string lights, drinking the cough syryp; and attempting to get as many 3 for the price of 2 specials at Clicks.

Oh – and there is the case of the ‘Hello Kitty’ cake for Monday. Sunday’s worry.

It is raining again. Mainly because Austin, our international gardener of mys-Tree, washed the car AND all three dogs. Damn, he is good.

Fa-la-la-la-la…. La-la-la-la.


I have a yearning … but not in my loins …

Yes. Since I started this whole blog thing, my yearning and deep-seated need to write a cheap and trashy, but exceptionally erotic, ‘Mill’s ‘n Boon’ – type novella, has been growing – bubbling, stewing and convulsing – if you will.

I have been thinking about the plot, about giving it a good old South African flavour. Maybe, even contacting my old Matric school Principal – let’s just call her ‘Nats’ for privacy’s sake – to get some tips. I know for a fact that she did her thesis on just these lurid, cheap-thrill type of softbacks, that your mum used to read, after the TV shut down at 9pm …

Because, let’s admit it – sex, or at least the hint, smell and thought thereof, sells. Now, to be honest, I have not read that many novels – hard or softcover – in the last while. I can zoom through magazines, e-zines, FB and the like. But, when I have to do the time required for the thorough absorption of longer pieces of fiction, I falter. Mainly because, currently, I find that I have the concentration span of a paedophile in an orphanage. So, maybe, before I start with chapter one, I will need to do a little research, a little more reading up, if you will?

But, I can just picture an intregal chapter in the torrid affair, starting with:

Sannie pulled the Toyota into the barn with a stink spoed. As the dust settled, she jumped out the bakkie in her Pick ‘n Pay floral gum boots, and yelled, “Jannie, I know you are in here! And you better ONLY be shearing the sheep!”

Jannie appeared from behind the bales of wool and says, in his best Big Buck accent, “Vrou, what twak are you speaking?”

Sannie, in tears now, replies: “It is just that I heard that that flooze, Magriet, you know – Koos’s daughter – has been hanging around at the auctions, in her Truworths’ jean pant and her K-Way multi-fleece jacket. And I hear that she is trying to catch herself a farmer…” Her bosoms are heaving and the tears are flooding, like the Orange River, down her rosy cheeks.

The sight of all these farm homones make Jannie gasp for his breath. “But, my woman! How can you think of such horrible things? You know I love you like a Boran bull loves a salt lick!”

Come on, whaddya think!?!?!?!?