Yesterday my best friend and I were discussing my blog, and with a little caution in our voices, we both expressed that keeping up content for the blog may become an issue in the future, given that down here, things happen very s-l-o-w-l-y.  Unlike New York City (my most favourite city in the world), which literally never sleeps, Grahamstown is in a permanent state of deep slumber, waking up on occasion to open one eye, look around, think better of that idea, and close the same said eye again.

However, it seems I do not need to worry one little bit, as occurrences seem to follow me around down here, as surely as night follows day and the other way around.

Today is Friday the 13th.  I have always been adverse to suspicion, and this morning my

fiancée and I were even discussing this date in a jovial manner.  I was telling him that "nothing bad has ever happened to me on Friday the 13th" and I moved my mind swiftly on to Sky TV news which seems to show ONLY news about Friday the 13th, every day - bad news, worse news, then some really seriously terrible news. 

I shot off to my place of temporary employment with an en route plan to drop off my car at the local car wash.  Living on a farm, my previously pristine vehicle now looks like it is in a state of permanent preparation for war.  Today it is so dirty and dusty that the registration plate is barely visible, or so I thought. 

I was happily listening to the news in Afrikaans on Radio Algoa, understanding the odd word here and there; I turned left onto the car wash street and lo and behold there was a traffic cop, running towards me with his eyes on fire, waving me down.  I was most perplexed.  I thought perhaps his car had broken down and he needed a lift in my farm car; but no, as I unwound my window, he bellowed in a deep, angry voice, "THAT IS A STOP STREET YOU JUST WENT THROUGH, NOT A YIELD!"  Now I was even more perplexed.  I looked at him and said, "but I did stop?" His reply was so aggressive that my knees literally started to shake and my bottom lip began to quiver - "you only stopped for two seconds, by law you need to stop for five seconds; that is reckless driving, I could arrest you for that!!" 

Something inside me stirred and I could feel my ever repressed anger start to bubble to the top of my normally clear head.  I looked at him and said in a monotone voice "I beg your parden, you could have me arrested for stopping three seconds short of your version of the law?"  I thought Mr. Traffic Cop was going to take off.  His eyes widened, his nostrils flared, his pink tongue turned purple and suddenly he seemed to grow from 5 ft 11 inches to 9 feet 2 inches!  "Oh bugger", I thought to myself.

He looked at me and screamed, "I am going to arrest you!  Get out of your vehicle".   A small crowd was gathering on the pavement next to my car.  I felt like I was perhaps on TV. I looked at him casually, even though my insides were twisting, turning and coiling around.  I leaned over to my cubby hole, pulled out a "Know your rights on the road" document I used to keep on hand in Johannesburg after a few experiences with aggressive cops up there; I opened the document and said to him in an icy tone, "I am sorry Sir, but I know my rights.  Your aggressive behaviour is old hat to me; I am from Johannesburg, where women are often treated like you are treating me by traffic officers, I know my rights, and you have NO right to arrest me!"  Mr. Small Town Traffic Baron stared at me with even wider eyes.

Members of the pavement crowd started to laugh; Mr. Traffic Cop looked at me, swallowed very hard, and said, "I am going to arrest you!"  I looked at him, lifted my Chanel sunglasses and placed them casually on top of my head, Paris Hilton style.  I gave him my most authoritative voice and said, "just you try" as I out-stared him successfully.  More laughter from the pavement gang.  Mr. Cop was now at a bit of a loss.

"Where do you live?" he screeched.  I replied, "on a farm" he replied, "why is your car so dirty?", I replied "because I live on a farm, and I am on my way to 33 African Street to have my car washed, you are making me late, but perhaps you can direct me to 33 African Street?"  Mr. I-don't-know-driver's-rights looked at me and said, "okay, I won't arrest you, but I am fining you R500.00 which you can appeal down the road and don't stop for such a short time again."  He then proceeded to attempt to wipe my licence plate clean as he noted down my fine in his duplicate book. I agreed - to two things - to stop for a l-o-n-g time in Grahamstown, and agreed too, that I will most certainly be appealing my far too stiff sentence, with the approval of our least favourite traffic police employee.

With knees still shaking, I dropped off my car at the car wash, and walked to work.  I have as my ethos that every day, I have to learn some type of life lesson.  Today I have learnt two lessons - firstly, it IS possible to out-smart a cop and secondly, content for my blog does not appear to be a problem. 

So Easter is behind us and I have managed to remain "temporarily employed" for ten working days without being asked to leave.  However, life in the slow lane continues to get "curiouser and curiouser" as Alice in Wonderland said, as the working days pass me by.

We have been having some problems with our circa 1987 computer, and apparently there is only one chap to call to fix the same said computer - our I.T. extraordinaire - Warwick (names have been changed to protect the not so innocent).  I rang Warwick up this morning with a hint of desperation in my voice as I had a deadline to meet and computer that is very large, very heavy, very slow, and did not appear to be working much at all.  The hour-glass "I am thinking" icon on the screen went on for literally - an hour.  Warwick was nothing short of delightful on the phone and promised to be there within thirty minutes.  An hour-glass-and-a-half passed by and there he wasn't.  So I called again, and then, somewhat sheepishly, Warwick walked in with a very calm and relaxed approach to my by now hysterical pleas for help.

Time passed all too quickly and nothing appeared to be going on.  I know I was hovering, and in hindsight this may have proved to be part of the problem; and I think I may have been saying things like "is it fixed yet?" and "so what is happening now?" a little tiny bit too much... but then again, this was the "IT" guy of I.T. in the district, so I was sure he was used to a little bit of female nagging.  Obviously not.

An hour and eleven minutes vanished in a puff of soot; I was closer to the deadline time, but nowhere closer to achieving the deadline, and I admit, my ego was more than a little worried about missing the same said deadline and being fired from a temporary position - I just didn't think I could explain that in the farmer's pub on Friday evening... somehow, I had to meet the target.

My face started to turn crimson, and Warwick continued to have his foot on cruise control.  Eventually I couldn't hold myself back and with hand movements not unlike that of a nubile Italian woman at the very end of her tether I sort of shot out the words "Warwick, this is not good enough, we have to get this fixed!"  His reply - "Honey, just calm down" - well "honey" turned to its predecessor - a hive of angry bees.  I replied that there was absolutely no reason to be calm; on the contrary there was much reason to panic.  I said with what I thought was lightning speed "if you do not fix this quick smart, you and I are going to feel like we are in an apartment building in Syria being shot at as I will have missed my very clear deadline!!!"  Warwick looked at me with a completely puzzled look and said "Honey, what the hell are you on about?"

That was it for my nerves, they were officially shot.  My deadline was about to come and go, and Warwick carried on staring at the screen, typing a bit of this and a bit of that, and nothing was being fixed.  I eventually said to him as the clock struck one minute past one o'clock and my deadline was officially over... "Houston, we have a problem" - again, the blank look - again I felt as though I needed a large rocket and I had all sorts of ideas as to where I would place it... But wait for it, for the best is yet to come... Warwick stood up slowly and said "Philippa (my name, for once, was not Honey), I just need to get something from my car, I am coming back now and I will sort this out".  My reply was simple "what could you possibly need from your car?" his reply "just trust me on this, I will be back now, I just need to fetch this thing"... angrily I said "Warwick, what is this thing?" - "I will be back RIGHT now, just wait".  My sixth sense smelt a very large, decaying rodent.  Off our Warwick went to his car, and I sat down, face in hands, as he ran to his car to get "this thing".  A second went by, as did a minute, as did ten minutes, as did thirty minutes, as did an hour... it is now eight hours later and Warwick is still not back from collecting this thing from the car.

And so I sit here, bottle of wine in hand, with my deadline still un-met; my face still crimson; my awe of this town ever growing.

Miraculously I am still (temporarily) employed, and from what I can gather, Warwick is still collecting this precious item from his car.  What is my lesson here, I ask myself over and over and over again?  I have come to three conclusions - it is clearly time for a new computer, Warwick will most certainly be tripped up by one of my stilettos when I manage to find him, his car, and his thing; and perhaps this IS actually a town where, if deadlines are missed, tomorrow really is, as they say, another day.