Life in the very fast lane...: I was told recently that if you want to achieve yo...

Life in the very fast lane...: I was told recently that if you want to achieve yo...: I was told recently that if you want to achieve your dreams, you need to have your thoughts in order by having a five, ten and fifteen yea...

I was told recently that if you want to achieve your dreams, you need to have your thoughts in order by having a five, ten and fifteen year plan.  Given my age and stage of life, the fifteen year plan would pretty much reflect where and how I want to live out my dreams, for the duration of my life.

Given that only the good die young, I am pretty sure that this means my fifteen year plan will be the one that keeps me going for a very long time.  In other words, I had to make it truly good.

So with this in mind, I set about planning.  Given that I am truly clear of thought after a glass and a half of my favourite tipple, I made sure the house was quiet, the glass was full, and there was plenty of ice in the freezer.  Warm white wine just does not work for me.

My five year plan was easy, and very boring.  Be financially secure, still live in Johannesburg, educate my daughter, and do not fall pregnant.

My ten year plan was slightly better – educate my daughter, be based in Johannesburg but have a quaint beach house I can call my holiday home in the Eastern Cape, travel overseas and drink champagne from sun up to sun down, do not fall pregnant.

But my fifteen year plan was really the one that filled me with a huge shudder of excitement.  It is as follows – as I will have educated my daughter by then, I will be free to base myself outside of Southern Africa.  My favourite country aside from this one has always been, and will always be, France.  So there we are – it’s off to France I shall go.  The South of France is my most treasured part of that country, and I have always coveted the idea of buying a stone house with shutters, with a view of the French hills, somewhere along the Tour de France route.  Of course, by then I will have sorted out my life savings, so I will be able to write full-time (heaven help us all).

I was as proud as punch – my five, ten and fifteen year plan completely sorted.  However, I was not finished – the best, as they say, was still to come.

We all know I am not very good at long-term relationships, well, let’s re-phrase – I am brilliant at getting into them, but staying in them – not so hot.  The French are fond of their brief encounters, and I am fond of many French things, such as their wine (of course), their cheese, their olives, their baguettes, their croissants, their porcini mushrooms, their truffles, and last but not least, their kisses.  Eureka, I found it, the perfect solution for me.

I will learn the art of discretion, and I will befriend the local wine farmer for a bit, the local porcini mushroom farmer for a while, then the local baker, olive farmer… and so we go on… you get the picture.  I will be kept in company, without having to marry anyone, and better than that, I will be kept in wine, mushrooms, bread and cheese.

Of course, when it is Tour de France time, I will be busy as far as the locals are concerned, so that I can spend my days on the side of the twisting roads, watching out for the yellow jersey, and not having to call home and tell anyone where I am and what time I will be home.  Bliss, pure bliss, especially for a free spirit such as myself.

The locals will be happy as they too will not be required to marry me, and they will be entertained by my endless stories and tales of times gone by, and dreams by then currently being fulfilled.

I looked up and found the bottle finished, and the plan – perfected.

And so, the moral:  I have my plan, which means I have begun to pave my personal pathway to my dreams; and until then, there are really two things I should be focusing on – learning French, and not getting pregnant.

Life in the very fast lane...: I met up with some girlfriends recently for dinner...

Life in the very fast lane...: I met up with some girlfriends recently for dinner...: I met up with some girlfriends recently for dinner, and of course, after a few glasses of fine wine, the conversation headed straight toward...

I met up with some girlfriends recently for dinner, and of course, after a few glasses of fine wine, the conversation headed straight towards that allusive thing we call love.  The pursuit of love, the lack of love, unrequited love, regrets regarding love, and of course, the hope one feels at times that love may possibly still be in store at some point in time in ones future.

After much debate, there was a sudden moment of clarity - somewhere, somehow, every girl, at some point in her life, wants to be pursued by someone they could possibly love.  This desire is universal, and is the subject of many a novel, many a movie, many a wish and many a prayer.

I think we all understand by now that men are hunters, and women are gatherers.  We know about the man cave thing, and whether we like it or not, we need to accept that male and female DNA is as different as North and South, day and night, vodka and gin.  But deep down, women want to be chased - they want to feel like they are being fought for, that they are more important to someone than other women in the running, they want to be chased and they want to run and run, until they allow themselves to be caught, and then feel that they are special, and someones favourite favourite.

As the wine flowed and the ice diminished, it became clear that when women allow themselves to be caught too early, the pursuit is done, the race is run, and the game is simply over.  In the background, if you listen carefully, you can actually hear the man whispering "done... next!" 

Of course, women being women, this is likely to be when they become far too interested in the man of their moment, insecurity kicks in (an instant turn-off for anyone with XY chromosomes), the woman starts planning where she can hang her curtains, this is known commonly as "the furniture look", and the man starts taking up other activities that keep him away and out of the cat's clutches.

We did not manage to really come to any conclusions at first on this subject, so another bottle was required to increase our ability to analyse this properly.

After the end of bottle two, we got it.

As women, at a point before being caught, you need to run like your life depends on it.  When at first you feel the urge to cave in and be caught, you run even harder, and you keep running until you are quite sure that the undersides of your Nike trainers are almost worn through.  When you have run nearly half way across the emotional country, and you are sure you have enough money for all the toll fees and plenty spare to put diesel in your love tank... you turn around, allow yourself to be caught, and revel in the knowledge that somehow, the XX beat the XY.

And so, the moral:  first stop tomorrow... the sports store, for my new pair of Nike trainers.  Let the running, and the chasing, begin.

Life in the very fast lane...: I have a love of romantic movies, but particularly...

Life in the very fast lane...: I have a love of romantic movies, but particularly...: I have a love of romantic movies, but particularly when they are combined with an aviation slant… think Top Gun, Fly Boys and the one I wa...

I have a love of romantic movies, but particularly when they are combined with an aviation slant… think Top Gun, Fly Boys and the one I watched last evening, Pearl Harbor.  There is something to be said for beautiful women, handsome men in their flying uniforms, and those very fast propellers.

I am known at times to be far too much of a sentimentalist, and it has also been said of me that my fixation with all things involving the male species and their flying machines (I chose my first school project to be about Orville and Wilbur Wright as I loved the idea of not one, but two aviation pioneers!) has, at times, bordered on the obsessive.  However, mid-life hormones aside, what I find so wonderful about these movies is the common thread – individuals with a love for speed, danger, excitement and of course, living on the edge – something history has shown to me that I am clearly far too fond of.

To digress slightly, I decided at the beginning of this year that it was time for me to return to the early morning, very traditional, said (not sung) Eucharist at the local church.  It had been so long since I had taken communion that if I were Catholic and had to state how much time has passed since my last confession, the priest would most certainly need some smelling salts in order to be revived.

On the back of the fact that the Pearl Harbor film is nearly three hours in length, and involved some tears on my part over the affairs of the heart involved for the characters, I arrived at church this morning at 06h55 looking red eyed and I dare say a touch disheveled. 

Amazingly, I was greeted with long lost hugs of affection by members of the parish I felt sure would never remember me, but, astoundingly, they all did.  They are wonderful people, and they have been attending the old stone house of worship for a long, long time.  It became apparent to me whilst I sat listening to the sermon, that I had most definitely brought the average age of the congregation down by about seventy four years.

Biological statistics aside, when I left, I was approached by a senior citizen and asked if I would consider being a “Sides Person” to help out with collections and directing the congregation towards the correct place for communion etc.  I did not want to be impolite, so I said I would “think about it.”  The very nice gentleman said to me, “but we need you!”  Suddenly Uncle Sam’s army poster flashed before my eyes, and I felt, for a Nano-second, like I was signing up to be one of the gorgeous nurses, like Kate Beckinsale, out of none other than Pearl Harbor.

I managed to escape without signing on a dotted line, but I remembered vividly a line in this very movie in which Alec Baldwin says of the war pilots that there “is no such dedicated a soul as that of a volunteer.”  It is so true isn’t it?  If one volunteers to do something, it means you really do want to help out in that particular area, and correspondingly, it means that as a soul, you must be so dedicated to the cause.

I am still sitting on the church fence trying to decide whether to sign up or not, so I shall sleep on it, without watching any lengthy movies, in order to make my final decision.

All this being said, two things that rest with me are:  decades may pass between visits to the local church, but in many instances, familiar, kind and welcoming faces remain where last you saw them; and secondly, I have decided to really go after that Kate Beckinsale look, and once I have it, it may be time to try and find my own Orville Wright.

Life in the very fast lane...: I have a wonderful client, whom I admire greatly f...

Life in the very fast lane...: I have a wonderful client, whom I admire greatly f...: I have a wonderful client, whom I admire greatly for so many reasons. She is incredibly savvy from a business perspective, along with the ...

I have a wonderful client, whom I admire greatly for so many reasons. She is incredibly savvy from a business perspective, along with the necessary ambition needed to succeed; she is funny, and positive, and as bright as a brand new button. I am fortunate to now be able to call her my friend, instead of just someone I do some work for.

It is therefore not at all surprising that when she and I were talking about relationships a couple of days ago, over a glass of something delicious of course, I pricked up my ears when she began to give a certain view on matters of the heart.

It seems that for whatever reason, one person is almost always more interested in the relationship than the other. Heaven knows why, but if you look around at things and go to the movies or listen to song lyrics, it seems this is a universal pandemic. It seems too, that it is easier when it is you who is less likely to get hurt, but then there is the corresponding guilt, which is not fabulous.

My client made a comment that really struck home. She said, quite simply - "you know, not every race has to be the Comrades". I asked her to elaborate. As I was now on glass two, I thought I was at that stage of the evening where I become super bright and exceptionally sharp, but I was also quick enough to ask her to explain herself before I gave her my convoluted version of the statement.

She said, "I mean, not every man we date has to be "the one". There will be one, possibly two, maybe even three men who may be "the one", but the rest are not even close to this, but that doesn't mean they need to be written off immediately. They may add things to your life for a portion of time, until they don't. Those are the 5, 10 or 15 kilometre runs. They are not the Comrades. But when you train for the Comrades, you can't do it unless you have completed those 15 kilometre runs. And sometimes you do the Comrades, then you finish that race, and you run shorter distances for the rest of your life. You see, not every race has to be the Comrades".

"Wow, this wine really is making you clever", I replied to her.

We chatted about this issue with amazing clarity, and we both felt sure at the end of the bottle, that we had it all worked out.

In our lives, it is so true that some races will be long, some will be short; some will have a lot of uphills, some will have a lot of corners; some will have the odd vicious dog that runs out and tries to bite you as you beetle past; some will be the Comrades, some, will not.

In my life, I am proud to say I have run the Comrades more than once. I have done one down run, and one up run. I think I am done. But... I am very happy, for now, to run some short races, and whilst I run, I will be trying avidly to avoid any of those so-called vicious dogs.

I have a wonderful client, whom I admire greatly for so many reasons.  She is incredibly savvy from a business perspective, along with the necessary ambition needed to succeed; she is funny, and positive, and as bright as a brand new button.  I am fortunate to now be able to call her my friend, instead of just someone I do some work for.

It is therefore not at all surprising that when she and I were talking about relationships a couple of days ago, over a glass of something delicious of course, I pricked up my ears when she began to give a certain view on matters of the heart.

It seems that for whatever reason, one person is almost always more interested in the relationship than the other.  Heaven knows why, but if you look around at things and go to the movies or listen to song lyrics, it seems this is a universal pandemic.  It seems too, that it is easier when it is you that is less likely to get hurt, but then there is the corresponding guilt, which is not fabulous.

My client made a comment that really struck home.  She said, quite simply - "you know, not every race has to be the Comrades".  I asked her to elaborate.  As I was now on glass two, I thought I was at that stage of the evening where I become super bright and exceptionally sharp, but I was also quick enough to ask her to explain herself before I gave her my convoluted version of the statement.

She said, "I mean, not every man we date has to be "the one".  There will one, possibly two, maybe even three men who may be "the one", but the rest are not even close to this, but that doesn't mean they need to be written off immediately.  They may add things to your life for a portion of time, until they don't.  Those are the 5, 10 or 15 kilometre runs.  They are not the Comrades.  But when you train for the Comrades, you can't do it unless you have completed those 15 kilometre runs.  And sometimes you do the Comrades, then you finish that race, and you run shorter distances for the rest of your life.  You see, not every race has to be the Comrades".

"Wow, this wine really is making you clever", I replied to her.

We chatted about this issue with amazing clarity, and we both felt sure at the end of the bottle, that we had it all worked out.

In our lives, it is so true that some races will be long, some will be short; some will have a lot of uphills, some will have a lot of corners; some will have the odd vicious dog that runs out and tries to bite you as you beetle past; some will be the Comrades, some, will not.

In my life, I am proud to say I have run the Comrades more than once.  I have done one down run, and one up run.  I think I am done.  But... I am very happy, for now, to run some short races, and whilst I run, I will be trying avidly to avoid any of those so-called vicious dogs.