Rugby Hangover

Lost my blog in a draft somewhere about the Rugby World Cup...but I'll give it another go.

Rugby Hangover, I'm sure it's an official term sitting in a dictionary down south. I believe I have one. Currently, I'm watching a bit of Rugby League just to get a little fix - but it's not the same.

The Rugby Union World Cup is over for another 4 years and it's been great. Maybe I should have made more of an effort to get to a game/fanzone but I don't feel I missed out by not going.

I met the Springboks - I met the guys who cause me to jump up and down and shriek so loudly (that CG tells me to shhh), I met the guys who have brought me to tears with their prowess, their skill, their utter commitment, the guys who have given me so much entertainment and happiness. I have shared their elation when winning and sadness when not. And yes, I'm chuffed to bits that I did meet them. It made my tournament and certainly ticked off a box or two. That I saw the men who have entered my living room for years on end. The ones we'll never see again.

And NZ won the whole thing yesterday - pretty much never in doubt that they would but Boks came close. In my humble and clearly very biased opinion, the final was last week, the SA vs NZ game, it was a pure game of rugby, fast from start to finish, on a knife-edge the whole time - not knowing which side of the coin we were going to come out. It was in short, bloody brilliant. I got to watch it in a place called Sutton, watching TB play some awesome tennis. I ended up in the reception of this sports centre with about 3 other male folk - jumping (but not jumping, just raising up to the balls of my feet) and trying to contain my wails of glee/despair while also watching tennis and punching the air over that. It was a great day. Got to go somewhere new, got to see TB play really well and got to see 'my' Boks play amazing rugby. It ranks up there as a super day really. Lets do it again.

I'm going to miss the RWC - until 2019 in Japan. I really do like this sport so much. So much a part of my life I guess, school rugby on a Saturday (sometimes provincial, rarely international), football on a Sunday - both with my dad (even through high school) - that was the Winter for me (Summer we did baseball and cycling). I wonder if that's why I like international more than club - because schoolboy rugby was always fast and action packed - and you followed your school (or brother school) like you do your country? With huge amounts of passion and banter with other schools - I guess in Westering, it really did bring the community together, my dad didnt' even have a son but joined the Supporters club since he figured he may as well support the hordes who came to visit all the time. Supporters club - yup they raised tons for the school but it was a social thing. They'd start on the Friday night with a jam session or some darts and on Saturday bright and early, they'd be up there cheering on the little ones, right on to the afternoon until the First Team played. MANY a time, I had to run home to get another bottle of sherry - I guess us teens weren't the only ones who drunk illicitly on the school fields. And the moms would be buttering the rolls for the boerewors and it was just a great vibe. If there was a provincial match, the men would all pile off there... for more drinking and eating and singing and even rugby watching.
I suppose you could say that was the 'typical' white south african male role. But it worked for when we lived in PE. It was nice. I saw a side of my parents, that I had only seen glimpses of in Cape Town - I was older so that might be why. Our house was always full, there was always something going on, there was always a party somewhere. I'm not going to bleat the only child thing but that sense of family/community we got from Westering, was pretty awesome.
That might be why I love rugby - it might be, the connotations of a good vibe...  and maybe because rugby has been good to me and forms the basis of some fantastic memories.

Bring on Japan (2019)!

Blasting the past

Chris found some old pictures and put them up on lè facebookè. I clicked on the link and immediately did a big fat chuckle. And the more I looked at the pictures, the more I laughed and the more I gasped and remembered. I'm wearing pink Lycra cycling shorts...who wouldn't laugh, it's horrific - no one in the world has ever looked good in pink cycling shorts. Oh the shame! 

To look at the photo, you'd think aah a bunch of good looking teenagers, all tanned and full of summer, having a super time, laughing so hard you can see their molars. And yes we were. But you see, I'm blessed by the memory of ten large elephants and I remember that day so well. You can see I'm the one slightly awkward....I am smiling but I'm not in hysterics like everyone else. LBW is glowing, and rightly so. Nhandi is manic...for other reasons. 

And it's strange because in all the other pictures I'm not so "awkward". I was so intent on not being shy....tried to hide it (still do) so much, that it's only in these two pics can you see it. And I remember not enjoying that moment that much but keen to not let on. I think I knew I'd be in shit with my parents...I was always in their bad books around that time. 

Adam has just commented that he wishes we could go back for one day. I know what he means...we are so fresh, so alive, so untouched by life. But then it hit me, to go back for one day would mean a day with Nhandi. I wouldn't go back to that day though.... I'd choose another. Same period of time, just a different day, maybe that one at Clovelly when Nhandi accidentally flashed everyone. That was a good day. Or when I chipped my tooth on a bottle of cinzano. That was a funny night. So fortunate to have had those girls in my life. Liz, who still tries to fight my corner, who hates everyone who has ever wronged me....just as she did age 14. Who hasn't changed one little bit, still bloody naughty and stupidly fun to be with. Nhandi who, well we know what Nhandi was to me. Is to me. 

And now I feel the ache of her not being able to whatsapp with Liz and me (like we've done today) about how funny and how "rop" we thought we were. And those pink shorts. I guess one could excuse them - if you didn't know I had a pair in green and also black and some with stripes. I wasn't even a keen cyclist. And clearly not a follower of fashion either 

No thanks

It's interesting. A friend recommended a book that she was reading. Not personally to me but to a Facebook audience. I feel I need to clarify that. But I'm sure if she knew me better than she did, she'd still recommend the book  

Anyway I clicked the link and read the reviews and thought Wow this book was written for me. 

But I'm not ready for that book. Just reading the blurb and the reviews had me wanting to grab all my possessions and tell them that they were safe. 

It's a book about getting rid of things you don't love. De-cluttering. Apparently, after reading this book, you'll have a tidy wardrobe and handbag. 

This scares me shitless. I'll put it in the wish list for now. 

Alone, scared and tired.

It's a shame that TB won't be able to leave the house in future. But it's not on a whim that I make a remark that seems so draconian. It comes from necessity. 

We like having our windows open...not so much the doors....and fresh air is good. 

So spiders come in and various other beasties. 

However since TB has made this house his lair, two spiders have dared to cross the threshold. Compared to the thousands that used to march in, this makes me think they have heard the tales and are, quite rightly petrified. 

This analogy makes sense and I'll give you the proof. 

Yesterday I waved TB off as he boarded a train, waving my hanky, running after the locomotive, sobbing "until we meet again"- no not really. 

A pleasant day ensued. I relaxed, I chatted, I stuck my feet in some sand. It seemed like any other nice day of sunshine. It was the calm before the storm. It was lulling me into a safe place. Unfairly I think. 

Last night, I go to put myself to bed. MAHOOOSIVE spider on TB's side of the room. He looked at me as I walked in, wiggled a leg or two and gave me a sordid wink. He knew I was home alone, he had come to terrify me and maybe nibble at my soft flesh. He heard my protector was not here. 

So that's why I'm tired and sleepy and scared on this day. And why I say that maybe it should become law, TB never leaves the house. 

A pointless blog

I was reading some arb tripe about 'Your South African Girl'... or something like that. It was a little wishy washy and while it had some good points like always wanting to be barefoot, it wasn't me...

Anyway, it got me to think. How am I different to the girls I see around me? Am I a South African girl? And I think I am. I think the years I grew up there have made me a different breed.

I do like to be barefoot as much as possible - or in flip flops. I don't know how to do make up and hair in a 'girl' fashion - I actually wish I did know this bit. But make up was never very important growing up. When I became a teenager, I was all about the beach or swimming pool so hair was something that needed to 'wash 'n go' - as long as you knew how to do a plait, you were sorted. Eyeliner and mascara and lip gloss was the most you wore in make up. Oh I know I was the exception - all my friends wore foundation but with freckles, it was a pointless exercise so I didn't bother.

Nope, I was all about a pair of board shorts, a tee, some sandals and a perm that bounced back, lip gloss and a towel. I was ready to go. And that's not changed. Yes, I LOVE sparkle, I love a new dress, I like dressing up. I'm a girl for'shore but I'm also not fussed too much.

So in a way, this South African girl is able to converse well with others, hold down a sporty conversation, be ready in ten minutes (if I know what I'm wearing), rough it but be girly as well.

I think that does make me different to those I see around me. I like being a little different. But it does make me a tad frustrated. If you're cold, put on a jumper... who gives a shit if it doesn't go with your outfit - unless you're going out/out and then of course co-ordinate your stuff.

I like that I'm relaxed about the small stuff but passionate about the things that are important. Hmmmm and as I'm reading this back, I'm thinking I'm a contradiction.

As a SA 'chick', I think you have to be all those things... able to watch/talk about sport, be able to do a braai and yet be a girl too. SA girls are chameleons?

Reading 2015

I've done my first big UK festival. Reading 2015. And it was epic, it rocked and all other superlatives. 

I'll admit to being shit scared before we left. I'm not renowned for my camping skills. And I have cried over a public toilet in my past (Eltham train station). So a person could understand my trepidation. 

But it was brilliant. 

So much goes on that its impossible to see every little bit that you want. But you have to ride with that. And suck it up a bit that not everyone wants to see what you do and majority wins out. 

Yes, I am proud of me. I displayed zero "only child" attributes. I looked at the campsite toilets, gagged a little and then gave myself a pep talk and dived right it. Well no, to dive into those toilets (basic word for cesspool), would be stupid, suicidal and silly. Actually, I used skills, I went to the one the cleaners hung out by. It was always awash with the blue stuff they used. 

The camping side was actually fantastic....I must have had some dire experiences before to have dreaded it. Or maybe I just went with the right bear. Who made it all really enjoyable. Who set up the tent inside so that we were snug as bugs. I also realised that sending CG to scouts was a big plus. Money well worth spent as he was so gung-ho with the carrying of heavies and putting up of tents. Brilliant stuff. 

And then the music. Awesome. Words almost can't do it justice. The buzz and electricity of live music, in a field. To dance like no one was watching, to jump like a kangaroo to tunes you've never heard of. Be stunned by new bands and be inspired by ones you've loved for a while. To indulge and laugh with people you adore. 

Yes this as my first UK festival was an epic induction. I want to go again, I want to go yesterday!! Tomorrow! 

I almost can't believe I saw Metallica. If you had told me as a 14 year old that I would, I would have said "nooit man, there's no way". It's just that they're such an huge band....some little hip hop fan might say they are too polished, but I'd say they were bear perfect. 

Bucket list has been ticked off. 

I do love the vibe of a festival - this being only my second one. The bonhomie of strangers, the dancing in a field, wearing floaty stuff and feeling so good about life in general. It's like most of the rules we live by in "normal" land just disappear for a few days. Almost anything goes. Talking shit by a fire, queuing for fresh water, sleeping in a bag. It's primal but it's fabulous! 

Things I will remember forever 

* Finding the perfect campsite. 

* Listening to teenagers and giggling with TB about it 

* That bowl of fruit from Starbucks which was so juicy and real. 

* Standing with TB behind me during Mumford and friends and dancing slowly

* sunrises and sunsets 

* so much more. 

* lying in the tent, hearing the world outside and just 'being' 
* the music - the 'live'ness

Reading2015 you rocked my funky socks off. 

Rocking with mushiness.

I don't want to be gushy and mushy but I have to get this out. TB rocks. 

And I guess this is a awwww post but it needs to be put down. 

I've written a piece but it's not ready for a blog appearance. However, as I was writing it, a few things occurred to me. 

I could not have gone to Reading with anyone else. It also occurred to me that I am all "me" at this moment in time and TB lets me be that. There are no expectations on me to be anything other than who I want to be. When I'm tired/sad/meh he gets that without me saying a word and moves me to a better place. Either with a song, a giggle or a touch. And all is right in the world. When I'm goofy, jokey, smiley and happy, he goofs along with me. That in essence, is all I need. 

I have itchy feet, sometimes I need to escape here. And he gets that and we do. He's a doer and I'm a dreamer and maybe that's why it is so nice. 

Life can't be roses and skipping through rainbows all the time and I accept that. And I accept that there will be frustrations and not always excitement. But I also accept that this thing we are doing, makes me smile inside. Hearing dreams and aspirations to make them reality, make me want to make it all right in the house and his world. 

I got an infection at Reading, it was painful and frustrating and a pain in the arse. I was frustrated with me, I was so conscious of trying not to moan and ruining everyone's weekend. And if I was annoyed with my body, I was certain  it was a pain for TB. DId he bitch? Did he shout? Hell no. He was quite possibly the most concerned and considerate person he could have been. Grateful? I am. Beyond a doubt. In that moment, I thought, you are lucky....you have a best friend, a lover, who only wants you to be you, who only wants success. 

And isn't that fortune favouring me well? 

I know this blog will be read, and I hope it will gather a smile.