Tuesday, 3 July 2012
Life in the very fast lane...: Having spent the last 39 years of my life (which i...
Life in the very fast lane...: Having spent the last 39 years of my life (which i...: Having spent the last 39 years of my life (which incidentally are the only 39 years of my life) trying to avoid conflict of any description,...
Having spent the last 39 years of my life (which incidentally are the only 39 years of my life) trying to avoid conflict of any description, I seem to have failed miserably this week in this regard. I have a six year old who has more energy than the entire Liverpool soccer squad; who is "stronger" than Hillary Clinton was after discovering the truth about Monica, the blue dress and the Cuban cigar; and who, most unfortunately, was off ill this past week and was at home 24 hours a day, challenging me at every turn. I have new respect for the teachers on this planet; and I have never longed for a full-time job more than in the last few days.
It seems that mothers and daughters bring with them a whole new dynamic that no-one tells you about until you have had your daughter and then, quite frankly, it is too late. Whilst I admire my daughter for her absolute belief that the world revolves entirely around her, as a mother, I feel that I am aging rather quickly.
There must always though be a silver lining in the cloud, and in this case, it is two fold - firstly, I have developed a love for all things Penicillin that made her better in record speed, and secondly, I have discovered a new love - that I adore more than chocolate, white wine or even Chanel accessories - HOLIDAY CARE. Whomever came up with the concept of holiday care should well and truly be Knighted. I am in awe of this concept and now drive to school with a gusto like never before. Long live the schools that have this as part of their service offering!
As a side, my newly found social life that seems to come with living in Johannesburg, which is prolific, and which I adore, is not good for my waistline, or, in fact, any other part of my body that needs measurement. There seems to be this endless struggle - accept the invitation, enjoy the evening or lunch out, love the wine, the food, the conversation, but don't love the fact that the jeans that were once hanging on you, are now fitting quite snugly over the middle part of your body.
I heard once that you can eat, or you can drink (wine, not water), but you cannot do both. Of course, I would like to do all of the above - after all, it is just such good fun. I have given this a great deal of thought however, and I think I may have found the answer - starve on my off-social days, and life live during my on-social days. The problem though is that the starve days may be so dismal, that I may want to convert more days to social days.
I was busy having this debate in my head this morning whilst forcing my jeans closed, when my same said daughter proclaimed, "mummy has a big bum bum". I was mortified.
The lesson: Always, always ensure you complete those holiday care forms on time!!!
It seems that mothers and daughters bring with them a whole new dynamic that no-one tells you about until you have had your daughter and then, quite frankly, it is too late. Whilst I admire my daughter for her absolute belief that the world revolves entirely around her, as a mother, I feel that I am aging rather quickly.
There must always though be a silver lining in the cloud, and in this case, it is two fold - firstly, I have developed a love for all things Penicillin that made her better in record speed, and secondly, I have discovered a new love - that I adore more than chocolate, white wine or even Chanel accessories - HOLIDAY CARE. Whomever came up with the concept of holiday care should well and truly be Knighted. I am in awe of this concept and now drive to school with a gusto like never before. Long live the schools that have this as part of their service offering!
As a side, my newly found social life that seems to come with living in Johannesburg, which is prolific, and which I adore, is not good for my waistline, or, in fact, any other part of my body that needs measurement. There seems to be this endless struggle - accept the invitation, enjoy the evening or lunch out, love the wine, the food, the conversation, but don't love the fact that the jeans that were once hanging on you, are now fitting quite snugly over the middle part of your body.
I heard once that you can eat, or you can drink (wine, not water), but you cannot do both. Of course, I would like to do all of the above - after all, it is just such good fun. I have given this a great deal of thought however, and I think I may have found the answer - starve on my off-social days, and life live during my on-social days. The problem though is that the starve days may be so dismal, that I may want to convert more days to social days.
I was busy having this debate in my head this morning whilst forcing my jeans closed, when my same said daughter proclaimed, "mummy has a big bum bum". I was mortified.
The lesson: Always, always ensure you complete those holiday care forms on time!!!
Tuesday, 15 May 2012
One of the most fascinating things I find about Grahamstown is how much of "social hot spot" our local grocery store is. There is not a huge amount of choice in terms of where one can shop, but there is a firm favourite in town, which at times is SO busy, you would swear you were in the central shopping district of downtown Chicago.
When I first arrived here, I once (and only once) made the fatal error of thinking that I would shoot into town, whip into the store, scoop up some groceries and nip home, without a stitch of make up on, and my hair looking rather dishevelled. I think it was the largest mistake I have made in my 39 years of existence. As Murphy and his luck would have it, I bumped into every living being I had ever met here, who ALL gave me an "oh dear she has gone to seed already" look, before moving swiftly on to the next aisle, or wherever it was that I was not.
Since then, I have accepted that this retailer is the place to see and be seen; a most definite area of social networking, and, that there are more dinner arrangements made in the cheese aisle than there are via telephone, e-mail, Facebook or Twitter.
With this in mind, having to drop in for groceries yesterday before collecting my daughter from ballet, I made sure my hair was done, my make-up pristine, and that my "hold it all in" pantihose were firmly where I needed them to be.
I was all dressed up and pushing my trolley around with the perfect poise - chin up, shoulders back, my sunglasses on my head, Jackie Kennedy style. However, I bumped into no-one I knew. I was, quite literally, devastated. All dressed up nowhere to go.
Feeling rather deflated, I drove back to the farm with my six year old ballerina, and started trundling my plastic packets laden with groceries into our kitchen. Luckily for me, my daughter was outside feeding the little chicks, with my fiancee keeping an eye on her to ensure that the chicks were not force-fed their crushed oats. Our cook was kindly helping me with the carting process, and had left her washing up to go out to my car. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw movement. I stopped and looked, and lo and behold, a long brown snake was heading along the floor towards me. In quite the most unladylike fashion, I dropped my groceries and screamed at the top of my voice "SNAKE, SNAKE". My daughter screamed for our cook, who climbed into my car, taking cover. I kept thinking about the only bit of advice I have ever really been given about this type of a situation "never leave a snake" - one should ALWAYS stay to watch it and see where it goes. I am afraid, I couldn't. My heart was rummaging around in my throat, the snake was approaching me, the beautiful "Pink Lady apples" were lying smashed and bruised on the floor, and my prescence in the kitchen was history.
My fiancee decided to take matters into his own hands and ran inside with his father's old walking stick; he bellowed to me to come and help him and show him the snake, so I knew I had no choice, I had to face this fear. I ran in after him and... NO SNAKE. The damn thing was gone. After a suitable dressing down about never leaving a snake (blah blah), we knew for certain that 1) the snake was somewhere in our kitchen and 2) we had to find it.
After a lot of convincing me to stay, we decided to take a chance and SLOWLY move the tumble dryer away from the wall... and there it was - angry and clearly not in a good mood - the brown, long reptile. It reared it's head at which point I thought that life as I knew it was not worth living. After somewhat of a fight, the dreaded snake (a Cobra), met with a quick ending. In the classics, this would be called "death by walking stick".
The moral of the story here - clearly my lesson is that instead of thinking I am Eve, happily living in the Garden of Eden with my Adam, I need to remember there are apples (no longer good enough for consumption) and there are snakes, and somehow, down here, they all seem to collide at once.
When I first arrived here, I once (and only once) made the fatal error of thinking that I would shoot into town, whip into the store, scoop up some groceries and nip home, without a stitch of make up on, and my hair looking rather dishevelled. I think it was the largest mistake I have made in my 39 years of existence. As Murphy and his luck would have it, I bumped into every living being I had ever met here, who ALL gave me an "oh dear she has gone to seed already" look, before moving swiftly on to the next aisle, or wherever it was that I was not.
Since then, I have accepted that this retailer is the place to see and be seen; a most definite area of social networking, and, that there are more dinner arrangements made in the cheese aisle than there are via telephone, e-mail, Facebook or Twitter.
With this in mind, having to drop in for groceries yesterday before collecting my daughter from ballet, I made sure my hair was done, my make-up pristine, and that my "hold it all in" pantihose were firmly where I needed them to be.
I was all dressed up and pushing my trolley around with the perfect poise - chin up, shoulders back, my sunglasses on my head, Jackie Kennedy style. However, I bumped into no-one I knew. I was, quite literally, devastated. All dressed up nowhere to go.
Feeling rather deflated, I drove back to the farm with my six year old ballerina, and started trundling my plastic packets laden with groceries into our kitchen. Luckily for me, my daughter was outside feeding the little chicks, with my fiancee keeping an eye on her to ensure that the chicks were not force-fed their crushed oats. Our cook was kindly helping me with the carting process, and had left her washing up to go out to my car. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw movement. I stopped and looked, and lo and behold, a long brown snake was heading along the floor towards me. In quite the most unladylike fashion, I dropped my groceries and screamed at the top of my voice "SNAKE, SNAKE". My daughter screamed for our cook, who climbed into my car, taking cover. I kept thinking about the only bit of advice I have ever really been given about this type of a situation "never leave a snake" - one should ALWAYS stay to watch it and see where it goes. I am afraid, I couldn't. My heart was rummaging around in my throat, the snake was approaching me, the beautiful "Pink Lady apples" were lying smashed and bruised on the floor, and my prescence in the kitchen was history.
My fiancee decided to take matters into his own hands and ran inside with his father's old walking stick; he bellowed to me to come and help him and show him the snake, so I knew I had no choice, I had to face this fear. I ran in after him and... NO SNAKE. The damn thing was gone. After a suitable dressing down about never leaving a snake (blah blah), we knew for certain that 1) the snake was somewhere in our kitchen and 2) we had to find it.
After a lot of convincing me to stay, we decided to take a chance and SLOWLY move the tumble dryer away from the wall... and there it was - angry and clearly not in a good mood - the brown, long reptile. It reared it's head at which point I thought that life as I knew it was not worth living. After somewhat of a fight, the dreaded snake (a Cobra), met with a quick ending. In the classics, this would be called "death by walking stick".
The moral of the story here - clearly my lesson is that instead of thinking I am Eve, happily living in the Garden of Eden with my Adam, I need to remember there are apples (no longer good enough for consumption) and there are snakes, and somehow, down here, they all seem to collide at once.
Tuesday, 8 May 2012
I have always loved the season that is Autumn - we are out of that unbearable, sweltering heat which leaves me puffed up, red faced and unable to conceal my sumo wrestling sized upper arms. I love the cooler, more temperate days, the slightly chilly nights, and I don't even mind the odd bit of frost that is around at the moment. I love the changing colours of the leaves on the trees, and the creeping ivy that changes from mamba green to crisp, blood red.
Speaking of mambas...I also love that our snake population has decided to move off and stop seriously affecting my "chi" on a daily basis.
I was told before I moved here that in terms of snakes "about one a year" would be found in the garden. WRONG! So far, we seem to have averaged one every eleven days, and I am starting to realise that "one a year" was a bit of a marketing trick, especially knowing how much I fear and dread all things reptile.
My first experience with a Table Farm snake came in the form of a huge cobra which was found slothing around in the sheep shearing shed. They apparently have a "mate" at most times of their lives, which means that it's little friend is still wondering around here somewhere.
I thought I had got my head around the fact that I did not see the snake and had not seen its friend, so I decided I needed to be brave and move on from the troubling news. However, not eleven days later, I was walking through the garden when I was nearly deafened by a blood curdling scream from Julia, our resident gardener extraordinaire, who came sprinting past me shouting "SNAKE, SNAKE". I turned around and ran into the house faster than even Caster Semenya, screeching like a wild woman for my all too calm fiancee to come and help immediately. No problem was the response, and soon enough the male boomslang was removed from the bush right near our verandah, and sent off on his merry way. I was told again, that these reptiles ALSO like having a mate around, so now I was dealing with not one, but TWO friends somewhere...
Another eleven days passed and lo and behold, a puffadder in our rubbish bin... not two meters from our kitchen door and on a path frequented not only by us, but our children. My nerves were starting to shatter one by one and these snakes were getting to me in a big way. Not to worry, I was told that we had "had our three" and as everything happened in threes, we were now over our snake experiences.
But clearly someone has a sense of humour, as eleven days later, whilst driving happily along the national road in his "bakkie", my fiancee noticed something out of the corner of his eye whilst looking ahead... there was another boomslang, clearly the other chaps little mate, who was IN the engine, emerging at pace along the windshield. The brakes were SLAMMED ON and the poor chap in the car behind narrowly escaped driving straight into the same said bakkie. This bakkie is rather old and sadly, it's window does not not electrically wind up as quickly as it should, or as it used to in its year of purchase (a long time ago), but that button was pulled so hard whilst watching the snake slither its way along the window, clearly not loving the wind it was meeting on the ride!! Upon reaching the farm, the snake had disappeared, and when opening the bonnet, was nowhere to be seen. There have been hunts high, and hunts low, and nowhere is the resident reptile...
I have learnt two huge things from this... firstly, I LOVE Autumn the acceleration of hibernation I hope is taking place and secondly, no matter what, I need to travel in my own vehicle at ALL times...
Speaking of mambas...I also love that our snake population has decided to move off and stop seriously affecting my "chi" on a daily basis.
I was told before I moved here that in terms of snakes "about one a year" would be found in the garden. WRONG! So far, we seem to have averaged one every eleven days, and I am starting to realise that "one a year" was a bit of a marketing trick, especially knowing how much I fear and dread all things reptile.
My first experience with a Table Farm snake came in the form of a huge cobra which was found slothing around in the sheep shearing shed. They apparently have a "mate" at most times of their lives, which means that it's little friend is still wondering around here somewhere.
I thought I had got my head around the fact that I did not see the snake and had not seen its friend, so I decided I needed to be brave and move on from the troubling news. However, not eleven days later, I was walking through the garden when I was nearly deafened by a blood curdling scream from Julia, our resident gardener extraordinaire, who came sprinting past me shouting "SNAKE, SNAKE". I turned around and ran into the house faster than even Caster Semenya, screeching like a wild woman for my all too calm fiancee to come and help immediately. No problem was the response, and soon enough the male boomslang was removed from the bush right near our verandah, and sent off on his merry way. I was told again, that these reptiles ALSO like having a mate around, so now I was dealing with not one, but TWO friends somewhere...
Another eleven days passed and lo and behold, a puffadder in our rubbish bin... not two meters from our kitchen door and on a path frequented not only by us, but our children. My nerves were starting to shatter one by one and these snakes were getting to me in a big way. Not to worry, I was told that we had "had our three" and as everything happened in threes, we were now over our snake experiences.
But clearly someone has a sense of humour, as eleven days later, whilst driving happily along the national road in his "bakkie", my fiancee noticed something out of the corner of his eye whilst looking ahead... there was another boomslang, clearly the other chaps little mate, who was IN the engine, emerging at pace along the windshield. The brakes were SLAMMED ON and the poor chap in the car behind narrowly escaped driving straight into the same said bakkie. This bakkie is rather old and sadly, it's window does not not electrically wind up as quickly as it should, or as it used to in its year of purchase (a long time ago), but that button was pulled so hard whilst watching the snake slither its way along the window, clearly not loving the wind it was meeting on the ride!! Upon reaching the farm, the snake had disappeared, and when opening the bonnet, was nowhere to be seen. There have been hunts high, and hunts low, and nowhere is the resident reptile...
I have learnt two huge things from this... firstly, I LOVE Autumn the acceleration of hibernation I hope is taking place and secondly, no matter what, I need to travel in my own vehicle at ALL times...
Friday, 13 April 2012
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
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.
Wednesday, 11 April 2012
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.
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.
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