Category Archives: *grin*


There are things that please me.  Mostly little things.  (But the little things are the best things).  Things that make me grin for days after I’ve discovered them.  Or things that I watch for every day, just to catch that moment of small glee, where my eyes light up and I blaze with silliness.

I’ve had a theory for years, that small delights are everywhere.  That the swiftest way to feeling jaded is to stop looking for the little joys.  During the deep sad of last year, I found it really difficult to connect to the joy, but the habit of looking for moments didn’t go.  It was an unexpected comfort.

Because delight is delicious.  And more-ish.  And one’s day can literally fill with delight, if you know where to look, and you’re not afraid to gasp and clap your hands at its appearance.

So, for you, I share my recent crop of moments*:

Tim Minchin, doing the musical equivalent of patting his head and rubbing his tummy at the same time (I’ve got a man-sized crush on Minchin)

The unwashed hippies of the Burning Man festival, performing Dr Seuss’s “Oh, The Places You’ll Go” (The text of this got me through last year.  For it is very true: “Unslumping yourself is not easily done”.)

The muppets, my all time favourite beasties, sing Flanders and Swann, my all time favourite musical comedians.

(Yes, Gnu, I *do* always think of you!)

And last but not least, my every-day delight.  My parked car is shaded by a Frangipani tree.  Every night, buckets of frangipani flowers fall and settle on my car.  Which means every day I start my drive to work trailing fragrant exotic flowers in my wake.  It makes me feel like some kind of fairy goddess.  And that pleases me.  Enormously.

*My apologies to those of you who indulge in mutual stalkage via other channels.  You’ll have seen some of this.

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The White Yak

In the theme of feeling loved (and running out of fingers and toes with which to count my blessings), this week the inimitable Nurse Myra (my Nursie), surprised me with a love package.  A little antipodean parcel of happiness and glee.

In it was this card.  And on the card was this note in the fair hand of Nurse M herself:

“If you meet the white yak of depression, reach out and pat him on the nose”.

Cue gooseflesh and welling eyes.

Aren’t I blessed?

Nursie, I love you too. Thank you.

PS in other news, *grin*, the grey has lifted (mostly).  In fact, there have been large patches of glee.  I can’t begin to explain how joyous it is to have the glee back.  It makes more glee.  And before I know it, I’m grinning like a loon at the mountain, some flowers, the driver in the car next to me.  But with it, the libido. has returned.  Like sap in spring.  Like high tide.  Like the building clouds of a thunderstorm. Uh oh.  With no outlet, expect bad erotica soon.

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To my dear friends who live in my computer,

Wow.  You know you rock, right?  Yes you, the person reading this.  You!  Do you have any idea how lovely you are?

I disappear for a year.  Come back and whinge like the Dickons.  Roll around like some raging emo kid.  And you don’t ignore me.  You don’t roll your eyes and shake your head.

No.  You make me feel loved.  I have been completely astounded by the depth of kindness and compassion you’ve offered me.  And I wanted you to know that I am deeply, deeply touched.  And not just in the way of the cuckoo.

Hope, compassion, love, strength, support, kindness, empathy…and always, a little silliness.  I hope you too have people who share these with you in abundance.

So, from the squishy bit in my left ventricle, thank you.  Thank you, thank you, thank you.

La (almost back to being) Dolce Vita


Get your Nosh on

It’s not often something sneaks into your heart.  Or someone.  Noah has.  Noah is a cute curly-haired kid I know in Cape Town who is incredible and irresistible.  And who is also on the autism spectrum.

His folks are battling.  And that means they can’t afford the therapy Noah desperately needs at this stage if he has a chance of mainstreaming. And so some mates are trying to help out.  Organizing a campaign called Nosh4Noah. A small thing, asking people to get together over food and raise whatever they can for one small boy. 

So far, events are happing in London, Melbourne and Cape Town.  The response has been incredible.  And watching it all, I’ve been to touched by the loveliness of people.

Fancy getting your nosh on for Noah?  Find out more here. I’m going to be playing poker on Friday night in London, and am plotting a couple of events for Cape Town. 

Here’s a snippet from the Nosh4Noah website:

This is Noah. He is three and he can write and count. He has been able to put the alphabet in order since he was two. He can sort shapes and colours, name animals, body parts and really likes to spell words with blocks. LOVE was one of the first words he spelt.  He is extraordinary.

I know this isn’t everyone’s cup of tea.  But I thought I’d spread the word.  He’s one helluva kid.

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Birthing day boy

It’s Mr Noord’s birthday.  He normally isn’t one to celebrate.  But, hell.  That’s never stopped me.  Happy birthday LB.   I told you there would be ‘cake’. Here and here, too, at some point in the day. 

I hope it’s  a good one. Really.  Lots.

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Beware teh interwebs…M is here!

Stop the presses.  Warm up the blogrolls.

M is blogging!

M.  Buddy of bosom. Long time friend and confidant.  Knower of secrets.  Loud cackler.  Lover of beans.  Proud owner of two new humans.  And now mommy blogger.

Go. Read. And note.  Those are my godson’s feet.  And they are epic on the scale of cute.

M, welcome my friend.  But be warned.  Is addictive like Black Bitch and fanta and mac cheese.

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Meeting Martin le Maitre

I had an embarrassing fan girl moment this weekend.  The words “I am a HUGE fan” actually came out of my mouth.


I was pulling up to get some petrol, and I saw Martin Le Maitre.  There.  In the forecourt. In the flesh!

Who, I hear you ask?

I’ll get to that.*

I rolled down my window and gushed.  GUSHED.

“Hi.  Oh my.  I LOVED you in that programme.  What was it called? That one.”

Cue totally bimbo flapping of hands moment.

“Hard Copy! That’s it.  Hard Copy.  I’m a HUGE fan.”

Bless him, he grinned.  And came over an introduced himself.  Shook my hand.  I was all giggly.  Not least because I was getting that weird sense of watching myself and thinking ‘you’re a git, git, shuddup shuddup‘.

He said, “I’m down here doing a play…Waiting for Go…”

“GODOT”, I shouted, digging in my handbag like some frantic lunatic.

His eyes widened.

I pulled out a brochure for a local theatre, waving it at him.  “Look, look, I’ve got a brochure.  I’ll be going!  I can’t wait.  I LOVE Waiting for Godot!”

Martin’s smile wavered.  He stepped back.  “Great.  That’s good.  Um.  Well, lovely to meet you,” he said.**

I mentally hit my head repeatedly against a mental wall of splintery wood “doh!”

“Yeah, lovely to meet you…*ahem*….good luck, break a leg and all that”.

I drove out of the garage like I had the Imperial Deathstar on my tail.

Nothing like a dumb fan girl to make things awkward.

Although, let’s be honest,  I *am* planning a little Samuel Beckett in the next couple of weeks.  Stalk stalk***.  And it’s directed by Damon Galgut, which I hear is a good thing.

*Martin le Maitre is a local SA actor.  Notably for me, he played Ivan Ferris in a local TV drama series called Hard Copy, which followed the trails and tribulations of the newsroom staff of a busy, but failing newspaper.  Ivan was a curmudgeonly, hardnosed journo, with a drinking problem and a soft heart.  I had a big crush.  The show was ace.  Well written.  Funny in all the right, dark places.  Clever.  But short lived (as is most good TV in SA ).

Did I mention I’m a fan?

**I’m being ungenerous – he was actually really sweet.  I’m sure I just imagined the look of panic in his eye!

***Stalking in the most gentle sense.  He also has a lovely family and appears to be rather nice, for an h’actor!

Is the time, is the place, is the motion…

I’ve had a pretty rollercoaster year.  Work has been incredible.  My private life has been a fucking shambles.  The old black dog has been biting at my heels and it’s been really hard to find a lot of joy.  I’ve found myself punishing myself with a lot of really self destructive behaviour.  And let’s face it, that’s not going to get me off the couch and back into bounce mode.

Fortunately, I’m now old enough and ugly enough to know how to trick myself into feeling good again.  Exercise and adventure.  So I’m back at the gym, and the combo of a lot of free time and some extra loola, means that adventure is possible.

But what adventure?

Why a completely new one of course.  Those are the best kind.

New place.  Fab people.  I’ve decide to join the marvellous minx Nurse Myra and devilish diva DaisyFae for their annual summer jaunt.

Greece.  Warm sea, good food, hairy men and no doubt hilarious, disgusting and all round fabulous conversation.

Girls, I can’t thank you enough. I can feel joy sneaking back into the edges.  This is just what I need.

Now pass the Ouzo and let’s break some plates!

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What to do?

I have some money.  I have some leave.  I am no longer circling my life around another being.  So, what to do?

Fly to Thailand and hang out with Ramon?

Sail from Mozambique to Madagascar with crazy cousin?

Wait until M is ensconced in Malaysia and visit Kuala Lumpur?

Do a little European tour and take in the cultcha?

What to do, what to do?*

On a travel note, tomorrow I go to London for two weeks.  Mostly work, but some play.  Mostly looking forward to a Chopin recital a colleague is taking me to.  I heart Chopin.

And boots.  I heart boots.  There WILL be boot buying.

* there was a plan to visit Dais and Myra on their annual jaunt, but the fekkin’ world cup seems to be giving airlines licence to rip folks off.  *sigh*

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Australian Kisses.

Some men really like cunnilingus.  Some just don’t.  This is a new discovery.   I used to think it was me.  That I just wasn’t one of those girls who liked a little tongue lashing.  But it has come to my attention that this is in fact not the case.  I am one of those girls.  I was just waiting for a boy who was a connoisseur.  A  specialist. A punani pundit.  A purveyor of pussy.  A man who likes it Australia style.  The old kiss on the lips down under.  Because the difference between a boy who goes down out of duty and one who’s thinking about you for dessert is very, very clear.

And these days, with all the hints and tips out there on the interwebs, there is very little reason for the old ‘I’m not sure I’m doing it right’ excuse.  That’s what experimenting is for. And trying again is fun.

And look.  I’m not one for doing anything of sexual nature that you don’t like.  But I know something.  I didn’t use to like playing the old meat flute.  Until I realised how much pleasure I could give someone.  Pleasure with a bit of power.  And I started to enjoy it.  And the more I enjoyed it, the more it turned me on.  So now I find myself rather delighted to delve down stairs.  In fact, yum.

So it stands to reason that the same goes for boys.  Once they realise how delicious it can all be, how a little lickage could make their girl crazy, surely there would be no stopping them?  Unless, of course, they’re sexually selfish.  And in that case, gals….

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