I have to say we did not have the jolliest few weeks since getting back from our trip to Scotland. I mentioned our kitty woes. Well, the vet’s bill from Vet 1 was R1600 (with no improvement in Princess Poppy’s allergies) and the bill from Vet 2 is R3000 and climbing (but at least the cats are getting better).
Then as loadshedding kicked in with a vengeance, our generator broke. We had it fixed and serviced. Goodbye R1800, only for it to break the next day. We were then told it would cost another R3500 to fix. Um…no thanks. We are now looking into solar options.
And no, dear reader, THAT WAS NOT ALL!
On the same weekend as the generator fiasco, whilst the husband was enjoying watching a spot of rugby on TV, water started cascading down the stairs. A new water feature in the house…how special! Not really. The hot water pipe had burst in the shower. The husband said that for a moment, he just sat there, eyes closed, listening to the gentle sounds of the water lapping against the bottom step in the hallway.
Our water bill has also been HORRENDOUS for the last couple of months so this pipe could possibly have been leaking for a while now.
Why do these things always happen when you have three ront fifty in your bank account??
Am trying to look on the bright side, but with bloody loadshedding every half an hour, the bright side is looking a bit dim. Loadshedding also freaks me out because it makes me feel like there are no grown-ups in charge here. The powers-that-be make promises that sound as sincere as a teenager promising to clean up their room.
But enough whining.
Let me think of the nice things that have happened since we last spoke.
Well, dear reader, the Lastborn went to a fantastic matric dance at the Firstborn’s old school. She was invited by an old mate, a lovely young gentleman who won over the Husband (no easy feat) by repeatedly calling him ‘Sir’ and having impeccable manners and being KIND (kindness is so very under-rated.)
- Husband: *after meeting young gent for the umpteenth time* You can call me Paul.
- Young gent: Yes, Sir.
I have to say the Lastborn was treated like the queen that she is, not only by the young gent but by his whole family. We met the crew for coffee a few weeks before the dance at our fave spot, Croft & Co whereupon his mom gave the Lastborn a voucher to get her nails done and was so thoroughly lovely, I felt somewhat ashamed that the Firstborn’s partner for his MD only got a corsage from us (which promptly broke at the pre-drinks. Eish.)
The weekend of the dance was insanely busy. The Lastborn who is alas, a workaholic like her mama, had a waterpolo sleepover (a school tradition) on the Friday night followed by a morning drama prac rehearsal and a lunchtime technical rehearsal. Between these two rehearsals, we had to fling her in the shower, then take her to get her hair done and apply body make-up to even out her unfortunate water-polo tan, before packing up her kit and getting her back to school. She got dressed for the dance in record time during the tech rehearsal.
The young gent (with dad) fetched her from the school in a fabulous car. They were stopped by security at the gate:
- Security: What is your reason for being at this school?
- Young gent: we are here to fetch a young lady for a dance.
- Security: *shooting admiring glance at car and outfit*: you are on point, Sir.
Pre-pre-drinks and pre-drinks were thoroughly lovely. The hostess’s younger son who was acting as barman wore his school speedo for the event, which caused much hilarity. There were tons of photos, even with a biker group which were relatives of one of the young gents and added a certain frisson to the event.
Eventually, with our biker escort (extremely useful at stopping traffic during loadshedding), we made our way to the school to watch the kids walking in and got to meet up with lots of old chums including a friend whose daughter was in Kindermusik with the Firstborn when he was two.
A lot of people complain about how involved these matric dances have become *side-eyes the Husband who whined like a baby at having to wear a suit*, but to be honest, I feel like we have been so starved of these rituals for the last two years during the rona, that I am unashamedly lapping all of it up.
Life is short.
This was brought home to me by the one new friend I met at pre-drinks (we in fact attended the same varsity) whose husband passed away from Covid last year. After hearing her story, I realised that my troubles are small compared to hers, and that we never know what’s around the corner, so we have to make the most of the time we have with the people we love. In this spirit of gratitude, I will be throwing myself into all these final events at the Lastborn’s school in a snot-and-mascara-running-down-my-face-from-all-the-blubbing, deeply, DEEPLY uncool manner.
TV recommendations: Loadshedding/broken gennie…have watched diddly squat.
Book recommendations: The Book of Gifts by Craig Higginson. This came out a while ago, but I read it now because I’m on a panel with Craig tomorrow. It’s literary suspense, about a love triangle between two half-sisters and how it affects the son of the one sister.
Beautifully written and set between Joburg and Umhlanga, I loved the sharp insights into relationships and the familiarity of the settings (fans of Love Books should look out for the mention of Anna and her famous carrot cake.)
Hope to see you tomoz at the Parkview Heritage Festival. Reminder that you do need to buy tickets for the event but they are only 50 SA ronts for what is quite a marvellous program. Our panel is at 9.30 am where I will, as previously mentioned, be chatting to Craig, Razina Theba and Terry Kurgan.