Nadine Gordimer

“The truth isn't always beauty, but the hunger for it is.” 
― Nadine Gordimer

And so we learn about another icon passing on. Well maybe not an icon for everyone, but certainly a woman who gave me inspiration. Who spun words into fantastic writing. Who opened my eyes somewhat.

The first South African to win a Nobel Prize - and a woman at that.

So yes, I am saddened by her passing albeit at a grand age of 90.

I think I'll root out my copy of July's People and have a little read and remember the woman who I admired and who I wanted to grow up to be.

RIP Nadine Gordimer. And thank you.

Excitement and lyrics

In the words of the Pointer Sisters - and I apologise if I get them wrong, as I'm notoriously wrong when it comes to lyrics, Karma Chameleon my biggest error, every day is NOT like the bible.

But yes, in the words of a song:

"I'm so excited, and I just can't hide it"

I guess I could look the lyrics up but if I was a lyric looker upper, I would have got the words to Culture Club's biggest hit right.

Anyway, I'm so excited.

Road trip AHOY! Mixed cds AHOY! Best Bear in the world AHOY!

I'm not a pirate nor a sailor but saying AHOY after each group of words is making me chuckle.

Crap, now I've got Karma Chameleon in my head - my version.

Reading and Writing and a little bit of Adventure

See the thing is: I'd like EVERYONE to read my blog and heap critique and praise upon me. But I'd also like precisely, no one new to read my blog, thus letting me write anything I choose.
I wanted this to be a blog similar to my diary, but I've also realised that I'm censoring myself. That I'm imagining readers out there who might judge me. I don't particularly care if people think I'm ditzy/dumb/blonde/idiotic - because then when I wow them with my brain cell, they are all surprised. ;o) But I do worry that someone might take away the wrong message from my words.

I can't think of one instance where they might, but it's still a thought in my head when I'm writing. And then I think - do not be ridiculous, you have all of 2 readers! So with that in mind, I am going to copy and paste something I started (but didn't finish) back in 2012. It could very well be the start of a story - it could very well be 'something'. If I don't get anymore than 5 views, I will un-censor myself. I've only pasted a little bit of what I've written - a teaser if you will. Enjoy?

My Adventure:

“Box of fags Lily, I need a box of fags”

I was stressed out and frazzled. After months of prep and working overtime and plans and lists and notes of lists to do, I was finally booked into flight EY12 and on my way. Having given up smoking a million years prior, it was slightly odd I was demanding nicotine. But I was travelling into the unknown. For most people it was a slightly long way to go for 10 days, for those who knew me, well, they thought it would never happen.
You see, I’m a ‘gonna do’. I love having a plan, I love having a goal and I find it very easy not to get to them. Scared of failing? Oh for sure!

Boarded and I’m on my way… 3 planes to Destination. 3 planes until I relax. And I won’t believe it’ll happen until I’m in that hotel room. And that’s not me being negative, it’s just me accepting that the Universe is sometimes very cruel.

I am travelling halfway around the world. Yes, I am really doing this. And I’m not entirely sure if it’s because I’m blonde, look bewildered or I’m alone - or even a combination of all three but everyone is wanting to help me. I can’t sleep for the air hostesses plying me with food. I can’t move in the airport without strangers, fellow travellers and ground staff directing me. Could it be that the Universe is giving me a break?

And some 18 hours later and 3 planes and a Burger King in Abu Dhabi, I reach Phuket. My cupcake case has travelled with me - I could have smooched the sides off that suitcase. And here I am. I really have done this by myself (albeit with every nationality helping).

No driver outside customs. No driver in the hall. So I walk outside. And the heat hits me. I dressed in layers thinking the warmer it got, the more I could remove. But in Bangkok I was just a disgusting sweaty heap and decided to just run with it. The heat physically propels me back. I left England where it was a whopping 13C and now the numbers have switched themselves. It’s no longer an act, I’m seriously bewildered and confused and slightly nervous. There are people everywhere. Lots of tourists looking like me. Lots of men waving signs and flowers and shouting. And a man with a clipboard, he’s pretty official looking and he grabs me and shouts “Who are you”. To be fair, I don’t really know. I think of grabbing my passport to have a look. All of a sudden, it really doesn’t seem like it was a good idea to have stayed awake since Monday 6.30am when it’s Wednesday now.

And then there’s my driver - holding a sign with my name. That’s MY name! He’s a lovely man who is just so happy I say hello in his language. He tries to teach me some more Thai, but my brain refuses to engage. I offer to sit in the front, he looks as confused as my brain is. But he lets me and we have a jolly old yarn. I tell him the roads are better here than in England - he cannot believe it. I say no doubt because they don’t get frost and ice and snow in Thailand. First foot in mouth case… I totally forget that due to the Tsunami, they needed new roads, these roads aren’t old roads. The Romans probably didn’t build them. Idiot.  I see a Tesco and a Boots. Yes MaccD’s I totally expected, they span the Globe like the little parasites they are (McDonalds, the nits of the World - ha!) But Tesco’s… bet they won’t take my club card.
And human sized ceramic chickens for sale along with all the animals you can think of. How do people get them home? If I lived here, I would have a couple of those chickens in my garden. How are they made? Who makes them? Is there a giant chicken used as a model? Is there a market?

My eyes are everywhere, soaking up everything and my driver is fantastic, tells me about the rubber plants and the pineapple plants and the coconuts plants. He’s knowledgeable about vegetation. We pull into the hotel. It’s gorgeous. And a million times better than the pictures on the internet. The heat hits me again in my skanky jeans and vest and other vest combo. Whoever said ladies glow, never went to Thailand in jeans! I can feel my toes sweating.

YUCK!

I've always been a bit 'funny' (re weird) about public toilets. A source of many family jokes (and no doubt exasperation) of how easily disgusted/freaked out I am. It's my mother's doing of that I have no doubt. Her shriek of 'Don't touch ANYTHING!' and making sure my legs cramped hideously while hovering over a toilet seat, then scalding my toddler paws as she scrubbed, not only every germ that DARED to touch skin but also the very skin off my body, makes me believe that.

There's an infamous (within the family) story of how my great granny took a 3 maybe 4 year old me on a lovely train trip to the beach. A good 40 min ride.Upon arrival, I declared I needed the toilet. It was the vilest public toilet in the world, hence I refused to go. Granny had to take me home. She wasn't really a beach person anyway, I suspect it was all about the train journey. A little bit bratty but she got it - she understood.

I could regale you with a few stories of my public loo larks. But the truth is, within 5 minutes of going anywhere new, I WILL need the toilet and the place will be judged. Never mind that it's got the best food going, if your loo isn't pretty and clean, then chances are, I won't return. Eltham Train Station - take note - this is why I've never been back!

The reason I started this post (has been sitting in draft form for a few weeks) is because I realised another reason why I don't like public toilets. The people. The smell you get from the last person who's entered. It gives me the grills (pronounced grrrrrrils - no English word compares) to sit on a slightly warm seat (albeit covered with reams of toilet paper, to know that another body that I don't know has just recently been there. And if they are an unwashed body, the intimate stench you get from them. Double and triple yuck. It's vile, it's horrible and I wish I was the Queen, so that I'd always get a new WC.

An open letter

** I wrote this months ago - april I think and didn't publish it. It's so angry and emotional and I dislike being angry (gives other people power I think). Now although it said 'open letter', I'm enough of a softy to not want the person it was intended for to actually read it. However, I only have 6 followers and it's a good piece, so I'm publishing and owning up to my words. The person in question values honesty so...**





I'm not so idiotic as to think the person who this is intended for, will read this - but it's in my head and therefore needs to get out.

So it's happened again, the thing that happened last year has occurred once more. Am I surprised? Well yes and no, I predicted something along these lines just got the timeline wrong. I also thought that lessons had been learnt and it wouldn't go down the same route. But it has. And it's a wake up call for me in one respect. In another, it's totally thrown me AGAIN! Never in all my years, have I been in such a situation. Even as a teenager, when quite frankly, you're hot headed and don't know your arse from your elbow. You might not have realised that the opposite sex come and go, but friends are the ones that mop up your puke, your tears, put up with your drama, call you out when you're being a twit. Maybe, it's just something myself and my friends realised early on. Maybe it's a 'all girls schools' ethic? Maybe others don't get that memo.. And at 30-something, it's really something that should be known by now.

But again, a person who I considered a best friend, has supposedly chosen me over an idiot. I say supposedly, because I really am only supposing, I've not actually been told this. So yes, my open letter.

"I am sorry that I didn't tell you about an email I was SENT (note, that I did not send myself). I'm sorry I replied - I've been brought up to thank a person when they wish me for my birthday. I didn't tell you because a) it didn't feature on my radar as the most important thing in my day/week/year/life
b) it wasn't huge news
c) by the time I spoke to you/saw you it was 2 weeks later, I had been (i) ill, (ii) away on a mini-break, (iii) celebrated my birthday and quite frankly I had forgotten.
I forgot that I needed to document every single time, this man has emailed me, walked past my desk, looked at another female. I wasn't aware this was a remit of our friendship. However, I don't think it's stuff worthy of losing a 9 year friendship over. But, maybe this was the excuse you were looking for?
In reflecting on this, I realise that there were a few things I hadn't told you - that had slipped my mind because I didn't want you to get hurt, have an aneurysm, blame me for the fact he can't keep it in his pants. And blame me you will because you're obsessed with this man. No matter how many times you are confronted with the truth, the bare bold facts, you still let him into your house, your life, your bed. It's not healthy. Maybe you think that he comes running back because he won't admit his feelings for you. No, the simple truth is that you're available when others have turned him down. You're not going to say NO to him, he knows that so when a need overcomes him, there you are. Ready and willing. He's never going to have that change of heart and settle down with you. Never. I know this, deep down you know this. God knows he's told you enough times. He's told everyone enough times. What kind of man honestly thinks your best friend is fair game?
But, you've made your choice and I imagine you'll continue to choose him over yourself and your own happiness. I don't think you're bitter just yet but it does come across that you hated me being happy. You preferred it when I was as miserable as you, so we could bitch together and so on. You liked it when my life was worse than yours so you could feel better about yourself. You liked it when you could tell everyone how much I f**ked up and you know, actually that's not a friend. A friend does not break confidence - you did that. So the signs were there for me to see and I was just as blind as you appear to be over him.
I'm thinking you've done me a favour. I don't have to dumb down my happiness, I don't have to watch my words for fear you'll freak out. I don't have to keep to myself and not have you as my only friend in case you get upset. I don't have to listen to you bitch about everyone else and then see you creep up to them. Yes, I will miss our coffee and chats...but the times before. I think you were jealous I took it so badly about Nhandi, you gave me a pat on the shoulder, when I needed a hug. Things have not been the same since she died. Maybe because I stopped being a doormat - I know I changed. But really, I needed a friend, a best friend and you came up short."
So there you have it, an open letter of sorts. For the person that would never read it.

Grrr

Oh my f&@)£! 

Feels like this session has lasted several centuries. The lady with the happy name is asking inane after inane question. I am pretty convinced I'm in Hell with this man talking at me, surrounded by Idiots of every degree. 

I got tears in my eyes earlier....yes it might have been partly my headache but I am going to blame e18d 

Ouches!

I lived in Africa for half my life (as it stands now). I know full well the damage the sun can do. It was drummed into us at school - stupid sun hats anyone? - And I guess they weren't stupid, they were just stupid looking. Factor 50 was an essential part of my routine - also an aversion to freckles helped. I mean, it didn't stop us slathering baby oil onto our skins when adults weren't looking and baking ourselves to the equivalent of a really fried chip but hay... the price you pay for an awesome tan. Being of a very fair complexion - the Irish and Scottish back genes will give you that - I  probably paid a high price in heat stroke and the like. Also peeling, I had a permanently peeling nose - the kind surfers have -also a lot of shoulder peeling.

And yet yesterday, I sat myself in the sun for a few hours - not with the sole purpose of burning but to enjoy, nay...to bask in the delight of a summer's day. To really enjoy the heat penetrating my bones and warming me up inside out. Today, I look like a stripy tomato. I say stripy because as I wasn't consciously tanning, I hadn't positioned myself in the right way. *rolleyes*

Anyway, today I hurt, really hurt. I have the dehydration headache from hell - never mind the litres of water I've ingested, I've got plenty sore bits.

But although I'm on the verge of incredible self pity, I shall not indulge purely - because it's self inflicted. I'm old enough to know better, I'm 'African' enough to REALLY know better. ;)

In other news - SO enjoying this World Cup - I've seen a bit of every game, I'm loving the anthems, I'm just really liking it.

Also adding to Laws - shops should stay open 24/7 so that healthy meals can be enjoyed and consumed by bears that find themselves hungry after hitting balls.