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.

I started formal work yesterday for the first time since moving to the Eastern Cape.  One gets very used to working for oneself, but I did know that moving here would certainly mean a change in my work life, little did I realise to what extent.

After battling to even secure an interview with anyone down here, I have finally been given a temporary assignment for five weeks by the most lovely of ladies, and I am so excited, and incredibly grateful, to be gainfully employed again.

The stark reality of the work differences between Grahamstown and Johannesburg hit me like a wet lagoon fish within the first five minutes of "Day 1" yesterday.  I am working in one of the oldest and most lovely buildings in Grahamstown - so old, in fact, the there are two "W.C.'s" - both of which are outside the office building, in a small courtyard.  This for me was initially a reason not to drink a drop of liquid from 10pm the night before and pretend that each working day would be like preparing for major surgery - no liquid consumption would be permissible.  This plan lasted for exactly 11 minutes, after which I decided that the outside lavatory was quaint and lovely and the adjoining courtyard is indeed very charming and reminds me of England.
What did confuse me however, was a distinct smell of fresh-ish French fries, so I took myself down the street to investigate.  Lo and behold, our neighbour is none other than a fish and chip shop - reminding me even more of England, except that in this shop, every single table has on it a 1.5 litre bottle of Fanta Grape, and 2 polystyrene cups layered over the bottle neck!  This is a far cry from the Evian bottles that adorn most restaurants in the major metropolitan culinary hot-spots.

Whilst smiling to myself and deciding to return to my desk and perhaps get on with what it is I was actually supposed to be doing, I was confronted with not one, but three, street vendors selling "new stock" of Coco Chanel, Chanel No. 5, and Estee Lauder's Beautiful.  I asked which truck these items had fallen off, and one of the chaps just said "can't say Lady!"

Day 2 has been less of a shock to the proverbial system, although I was confronted with a "movie moment" when, trying desperately to get an advertisement into the local newspaper in time for the print deadline, I was told their e-mails seemed to be down, so was asked to "just run over" with a flash disk and sort out the problem at the designer's desk.  I honestly thought I was hearing things, but the deadline was looming, and apparently I was in need of a run.  So, black Italian pumps on, flash disk in hand, I decided to take the leap of faith and run to the newspaper office... sadly, I failed to look right in time, and was suddenly facing a donkey cart, with two very unsurprised looking beasts, carrying their owner to who knows where, down the main "High Street" of town!

Toto, I am indeed a long way from home...

P.S. Print deadline, despite collision of the first kind, has been met.

Life in the slow lane...: A windy day on an African farm...

Life in the slow lane...: A windy day on an African farm...: I recently moved from the city of Johannesburg to join my fiancee and love of my life.  Oh, Johannesburg - the financial capital of Southern...

In an endeavour to entrench myself in Eastern Cape life, I have just started a monthly supper club for like minded (potentially nuts?) women - I was part of a superb one in Johannesburg dubbed "Sex and the City", so this one has been called "Sex and the Town".  We met for the first time last evening, and it was a riot.  In Grahamstown restaurant food is better than expected and service is much worse than one would ever believe. 

We all poured our own wine all evening (this, you must understand, is a mammoth task), we had to BEG the waiter to take our food order, and at the end of the evening, when we were just starting to talk about the REALLY interesting stuff, the music was switched off, the "once were white but now off-grey" tablecloths were folded around us and removed, and it was clear there was only one way for us to go - OUT.
So out we went and continued our by now very interesting conversation on the pavement, where the car guard's face was a picture of amazement and complete disbelief.  I am quite sure he has not heard such interesting dialogue for quite a while.

What these evenings do instill in me, however, is a sense of female empathy, that I am very lucky to have found in a relatively short time.  Much like Carrie Bradshaw in Sex and the City, a character I have always hero-worshipped for everything she has - the look, the figure, the writing talent, Mr. Big, the clothes and above all, the shoes (!), there is potential for great soul friendships amongst women - this applies to those who live in a city like New York, which never sleeps, to a town like Grahamstown, which often misses the morning alarm clock completely.

I drove back to the farm incredibly slowly thanks to the ever present kudu population who love that road once the sun sets.  Whilst so doing, I was thinking about how we, as women, have so many similar experiences, challenges, moments of despair, followed by moments of elation, a mutual love of wine, followed by a mild obsession with food, and a bond that needs no words to describe its depth, meaning or prescence.

I so look forward to our next "Town" dinner, almost as much, I would imagine, as the car guard is looking forward to it!

A windy day on an African farm...

I recently moved from the city of Johannesburg to join my fiancee and love of my life.  Oh, Johannesburg - the financial capital of Southern Africa - to a warm and dusty farm in the Eastern Cape.  I gave up my business, I traded in my Chanel pumps for no name brand gum boots; I inherited what they term today "an instant family", and I set myself free from my previous happy existence in order to pursue what I believed would be an even happier one.

Reality struck when I was suddenly without work, without any disposable income and, quite frankly, without a sense of humour and a fast failing central nervous system!  There was nothing funny in this situation.

One day rolled into another; one day of accomplishing nothing led to another one that was just the same.  I sat and moped and felt sorry for myself and missed my old comforts and day dreamed about the novel I will one day complete, and the wealth I will one day find.

Then suddenly one day, I awoke to the most perfect morning.
I looked outside and the few clouds on the horizon were pink, and with that, my heart changed from the pitch black emotion it had become used to, to the pink pulsating feeling that life is what you make of it, and that one's thoughts become one's reality.

I am still "a long way from home", quite literally, and also a long way from creating the life I truly want and fulfilling the dreams I have daily, but I have begun, and that is the most important part.  Each day is a journey, clawing myself back to my previous happiness.  It is up to me now to make my happiness, to love my surroundings, to be positive and work hard, to provide happiness to those I hope to work with in the future - to take those steps...

I am not giving up... on the contrary, I am only just beginning.