The parables of Skedonkie (Part1)

We have all had one of these, the very first car we started out with.  You know the one I am talking about, the one that drives but really by all the laws of physics and reason should not be able to.

One such legend was Skedonkie.  At the time she was a great source of humiliation/frustration and mayhem.  Now that I think about it, she was not all that different from a toddler.  But I digress.  It has been years since we parted and now that time has healed all the wounds she is an endless source of myrth.

Like the time she became a flame thrower….

There was always a number of things wrong with Skedonkie.

Like:  not starting in the morning, or the clutch not releasing or my personal favourite, the timing being out that resulted in backfiring. Like a canon. True Story. There was only one person in the whole of Cape Town that was able to get Skedonkie’s timing right and on this occasion he was not available, so I spent a very unhappy two weeks with a car that regularly backfired.  It was mortifying.  As these things go with temperamental cars the backfiring was worse at certain times, when heading uphill, downhill, straight, and also intensified when “gearing back”.

One late afternoon, on my way back from work, I was heading down the steep slope where Boyes Drive meets up with Main Road.  It was peak traffic and Skedonkie had been happily backfiring at two minute intervals when to my horror traffic had come to a complete standstill right on the steepest of slopes .  Let me add at this time the brakes weren’t all that keen on braking when asked to, so I had to gear back in order to ensure that I did not rear end the car in front of me, who even despite of having been keeping a very wide bearth from me was a mere metre away.

<All the other drivers had been keeping well clear because, I suspect, the fear of my car imploding.>

Along for this unhappy ride was a scooter a number of cars behind me, too scared to come closer.  It was at this time that my nemesis decided that in addition to backfiring big clouds of noxious black smoke (which I might add came in through the boot where there was a hole the size of a basket ball right above the exhaust pipe-I always had to have a window open for fear of inadvertently gasing myself while driving.), she would also, just for the sake of sport, throw in a flame or two.

It was at this juncture the scooter thought it would be a good time to get past this moving hazard violation. As I came to a standstill, I heard a loud crash and instantly thought someone had rear-ended me, only to see a metre and half long flame coming out of my exhaust pipe (and boot), just as the scooter was right behind me.

I could actually see the look of “holy shit did that car just throw a flame at me” on the terrified driver’s face. And the scooter? Well he thought he would rather brave a head on collision by passing me on a blind bend than spending another second behind my death trap. Wise move, if I could I probably would have gotten out too…


Nepotism and wine

I am not above nepotism, so if you are, I would suggest you stop reading.  Right Now.

I truly love the Bonnievale/Robertson/Ashton area.  I would move there in a heartbeat. Commuting to work may be a bit of a hassle, but move I will, just as soon as I can finally, successfully, apparate and dissapparate.

Just look at this website: http://www.farmerredbeard.co.za and see all that this wonderful Valley of Wine and Roses has to offer.  Just that name says it all.  Who wouldn’t want to visit a place with wine and roses?

So if you feel the need to break away for the weekend, or play truance for the week, this is definitely the place to go.


Sleepless in Marina


This post contains some vivid imagery, if you are at all like me, and think in pictures, I would suggest that you read no further. The author cannot and will not be held responsible for any therapy that you may need as a result of this post.*

This has been a week from hell in the sleeping department.  Somewhere during last weekend, my toddler has been replaced with someone else’s.  Can’t be mine, mine slept like an angel.

DH goes away every month for a week for work, he has done this since T’s birth, so there is nothing new, he has always taken it in his stride, and although I try to lessen the impact by spending extra quality time, this week it is simply not doing the trick.

He has been waking every night, without fail, at 2:00.  Not with the usual gurgling laughter and smiles, but with big crocodile tears and loud wails. He won’t take his bottle, dummy or even his beloved bunny (although Bunny’s shares have dropped decidedly since he donned some clothes-Gotta love Build a Bear).  The only way he calms down is by putting him in bed with me, which has left me with very little sleep as sharing a bed with him is the equivalent of sharing a bed with a hyperactive octopus or similar.

<I honestly don’t know how the co-sleeping parents do it, I am as ratty as a bear with toothache and it is been nary a week, I cannot imagine that this should be a permanent arrangement (apart from the fact of course that sharing a bed is as good as taking birth control-definitely not high on the list when TTC).>

Last night things got pretty out of hand.  He would not stop screaming, even when he was in the bed with me.  I was not even allowed to turn or move an inch.  As Murphy would have it that was about the same time that I had to go to the little girls room with the mother of all pee’s and there was just no getting up out of bed. Eventually, by the time that it felt I was about to spontaneously combust it seemed that he had finally fallen asleep.

I had barely gotten to the bathroom when he jumped up out of bed and proceeded to run about the house, frantically looking for me, while screaming at the top of his little lungs.  After a week of this it is little wonder the neighbours won’t greet me anymore. Any the way, this little tirade culminated, with him sitting on my lap, while I was on the loo.

I was really trying very hard at that point to hang onto the last dregs of sleep while trying to wipe and not have a complete sense of humour failure.  Alas twenty minutes later his was snoring his sweet cheeks off and I, was counting sheep.

Needless to say I am feeling rather green around the gills today and all would be well served to steer clear of me, as I am very likely to bite.


We’re all going on an autumn holiday…

lets hope it does rain the whole time…

I have never been to Velddrif and although it wasn’t first choice I have to admit that amid the mild panic that is slowly setting in, panic because I haven’t even bought a single scrap of food for the trip, or even packed a bag (although I have made a list-Progress!) but my Pedi is booked<It is all a question of priorities> I am now rather looking forward to exploring this hidden gem!

In preparation for the exploration the DH is getting tips from his father this evening on worthy places to visit, amongst which he keeps on teasing me, will be all of the harbours in the vicinity.

<My father in law’s idea of exploring a new town is driving to the harbour, and buying some sort of dried/smoked fish with a truly offensive odour (aren’t they all?) and eating it in the car, much to the chagrin of all of those present, well the ones of the fairer sex in any event.  So bad is this habit that when he offers to drive around the day to ‘explore’ none will take him up on his offer. 

The last one of these excursions still etched in our minds…It was a particularly dreary day, we were in Hermanus for the weekend and there wasn’t much to do except to take a drive.  To truly appreciate the fear about driving with my father in law-bless him-you have to take a drive with him.  He is a big man, and always drives a 4×4 of some sorts, at rather high speed, while checking his cell phone (which might as well be surgically attached to his ear/hand) while simultaneously drinking coffee and playing with the GPS, all while he is veering in and out of his lane (I am a nervous passenger, but my MIL wins this contest hands down). With every leap out of his lane, or electronic squeal of the press of a button, her cheeks tend to puff up a millimetre more. On this particular day we (he) were driving around aimlessly, for hours.  He drove so fast through the town we could barely catch a glimpse of the place, and where does he come to a halt? The harbour…

By this time the atmosphere in the car was so thick you would need a chainsaw to hack through it  We stood there for what seemed like hours, in fact it was barely fifteen minutes, but it was fifteen minutes too many.  Just when we thought the day could not possibly get worse, my father got into the car with a pack of the most vile-smelling bokkoms I have ever had the misfortune of sharing a car with, and he proceeded to drive back to Hermanus. End of trip.  The men were chuffed on their day out, the girls, not so much.>

Harbour visits? Not unless I have anything to say on the matter.  But explore we shall!

Here is to sugar induced hyperactivity, crackling fires, good wine, great company, long walks along the river bed and afternoon naps! Oh and not to forget the night-time Easter-egg hunt I have planned, gotta love Woolies’ glow in the dark eggs!

Have a Happy Easter everyone!


Between a hard place and a big woman

It has been sweltering hot in Cape Town the past couple of weeks.  Nothing has brought much relief, not even the wind that has been pumping at 25 knots the past couple of days.

Wind in Cape Town doesn’t bring relief from the heat, it only means that you are still hot while simultaneously being blown into a 45 degree angle.

I am unable to even lift an arm for fear that I may become airborne when the wind finally gets hold of that lovely floor length sundress that I thought would be such a good idea to wear because I was too damn lazy to shave this morning and the dress was the only way to hide the proof that I could become a specimen in one of Jane Goodall’s programmes.

I don’t do well with heat, when it gets this hot I become a prime candidate for spontaneous combustion. I also don’t do well with traffic, and don’t have the willpower to suffer through traffic into town every day, that leaves me with taking either the train or the buss.  Having been on the receiving end of buss driver’s driving abilities, I decided that taking the train is probably the safest way to commute.

The train affords me the time to sit and read my book, which otherwise I would not be able to do, it also allows me to sleep for that little while before I get shoved into reality-something that generally gets frowned on when you try and do it in traffic-fellow road users can be so pedantic sometimes.

The train is really lovely (I am hoping if I say this enough it will eventually become true) except on really hot days, days where in the immortal words of a friend “you sit in your own crack-sweat”.  Yesterday was such a day.  It is was so stuffy inside the carriage that even with all the windows open you could barely get catch a breath that has not been breathed by someone else(oddly enough the only time one gets a decent breath is right across I&J in Saltriver, in which case you don’t want it).

It may have been the heat, or the fact that Metro Rail cancelled yet another train and the people that would normally be spread over three trains were all squeezed into one, thereby making the fresh air: poop ratio 0:10, but in any event, being early for my train (which was cancelled) I managed to run across to the next one (which of course was two platforms over-no need to join a gym if you take the train-just another service Metro Rail offers its clientele) and catch one of the last seats.  Fabulous! It was prime real estate, the corner seat right by the window, it was a 3-seater, but I was hoping the giant man sitting next to me, with his legs spread as wide as if he was going to be giving birth any moment, might dissuade someone from sitting there. If only.  Two minutes after I got settled the giant man was joined by a giant woman. Who promptly sat on me, for the entire 40 minutes that it took for the train to get to Retreat-where thankfully, they disembarked.  I tried wriggling in my seat, sighing loudly when she jabbed me with her elbow, jabbing her with my elbow and then mumbling an insincere “sorry”, the evil eye, but clearly this lady was not to be moved, not even a millimetre.  But today I am going to be trying out my secret weapon.

And if I happen to be sat on again today, I will keep my finger on that “mister”.