The Otter Trail is described as tough. I wouldn’t use the word tough. I would use incredibly hard, impossibly difficult, Jesus-help-us-all because this is never ending painfully tortuous. And just a little exhausting.
San Parks uses words like ‘should be reasonably fit’. They don’t say you have to be like Wonder Woman. Combined with Cat Woman. They don’t say ‘Be careful Caganoff, you might die’.
They describe Day Two as ‘the hardest’. They forget to say that Day Three,…Continue
Added by sandi caganoff savadier on November 23, 2012 at 11:21 — No Comments
You look like a whore’ said Thembie, our housekeeper, as I was dressing to go out for lunch.
I looked in the mirror.
“Elegant!” I thought to myself, admiring my tight fitting black dress, fish-net stockings, high heeled shoes and thick red lipstick.
She muttered something in Tswana under her breath, and pulled out a few dresses from the cupboard for me. ‘Try this’ she said, handing me the plain brown sack.
“I hate that one!” I said.
“So why did you buy it…Continue
Added by sandi caganoff savadier on October 22, 2012 at 13:00 — No Comments
I’ve often been accused of having no patience. I fucking well do have patience, and I don’t have time for anyone who says I don’t.
To prove my point, I took up golf. A game where one needs nothing but patience. My boyfriend laughed. ‘You’ll never play golf’, he snorted.
I was determined to prove him wrong.
I signed up for six lessons, thinking it would be a breeze. After all, I played tennis for Zimbabwe when I was 12. How hard could golf be?
Look down at the ball, lift…
Coffee this morning, and white suburban women moaned about the problems with the Gay Pride Parade. The noise from the car guards directing cars that didn't need directing, the music, the beer bottles, the fact that it went on well into the night, unstructured, unsupervised, very unsuburbanish.
I wasn't overly sympathetic.
'I guarantee you that no-one in Alex is sitting round their coffee tables, moaning about the chaos from the Nike Jozi Run' I said. 'First, I guarantee this…Continue
I missed out on the lunch where my kugel friends decided they’re all fat and need to lose weight. Each one has put R 500 into a kitty. Whoever loses 4 kgs, or more, by the end of October, gets the money.
It’s Sandton’s Biggest Loser.
It started off with six women, until all the other fatties came out the fridge. Now there are a whole heap of them. Not sure what to call them. Blubbery Beauties. Greedy Goddesses. Wallowing Women.
The prize money is substantial. But I…Continue
What is it about clothes that make us women lose our minds? I set out this morning with no intention of spending any money. Which I don’t have, incidentally. My intention was to buy a newspaper and a cup of coffee. And window shop. One of the last pleasures left to women with no money.
I walked past Wizards Vintage.
Out of the corner of my eye I caught a glimpse of them - irresistible, knee high, lace ups boots. Leather softer than a feather. As I stared at them, I…Continue
Added by sandi caganoff savadier on August 8, 2012 at 19:07 — No Comments
I needed to fetch my little black dress from the Dry Cleaners today. In most countries, one drives, parks, runs in, picks up the clothes, and runs out again. Here – not so much.
Happy Harrys is just a few short blocks from my house. I jumped into my car. Roared off. Stopped at the robot. Eight men appeared at the window. I bought a homeless magazine, a mop and feather duster that I didn’t need, a cell phone charger, and had my windscreen washed.
I continued. Pulled…Continue
Parking outside Scusi at 7.30, the local homeless person says “Morning Madam, I clean your car for you, sparkle sparkle.” Fuck no. No. I don’t need a sparkling car. I can’t be kind, so early in the morning. I yell at him, step over the next homeless guy, dodge the doiley seller, and sit down at my usual table. Good coffee, and I manage to ignore the blind kid selling trinkets. I drink, pay, tip the waiter – double - and leave.
And then back to my car. By this time the car guards are all…
Added by sandi caganoff savadier on July 17, 2012 at 11:27 — No Comments
Hot sweaty sex is on the decline in Jozi. Not surprising. Trying to work out the perfect time to “do it” has become tricky. The idea of an afternoon quickie is delicious, yet just as your partner is about to de-robe you, the doorbell goes. A broomseller. A beggar. The man with a long sob story about getting his wife to the hospital.
So you try the nights. Excellent. Children in bed, soft lighting, the smell of bubble bath and candle wax. But the sounds of neighbourhood alarms, police…
Added by sandi caganoff savadier on July 16, 2012 at 10:30 — No Comments
If I had to choose between giving birth and going great white shark cage diving again, I think I would choose giving birth. At least here you have a nurse and the option of pethidine.
There are many things wrong with this sport.
The name, for starters. There is no diving. There isn’t even snorkeling. What there is, is a lot of holding your breath, ducking down,…Continue
'Dial 255 if you need anything'. Fritz beamed at us. 'You may want your frocks pressed or your shoes polished'. He left our coupe, weighed down not only by his moustache but also by ten pairs of shoes.
We beamed too, sitting in our wood paneled coupe, sipping champagne and popping caviar into our mouths, the world whizzing by.Gazing out of train windows makes one feel poetic. And a little melancholy. One of us was getting over the death of a dear friend. The other, a broken heart. The…Continue