conspiracy theories

I have never been one to question very much. Some may say this makes me naive, but frankly, life is too short to obsess about the unknown. Nothing stays a secret for very long, so whether I doubt or not, any 'dirty laundry' will be aired eventually.
However, after seeing this evidence, I have started to mistrust the authenticity of the first Moon Landing. This may look like your average 'moon landing conspiracy theory' page, but keep reading - it gets good.

amsterdam - city of lost innocence

It's almost a week ago that I ventured to Amsterdam for the day, but nevertheless, always a story to tell and never too late, I guess.
I wouldn't usually just fly across to Europe for the day, but I wasn't going to turn my nose up at a free trip anywhere, especially if it is 'work related' and therefore get paid to travel.
The VLM aircraft that I boarded from City Airport at 7 am on 25 August wasn't much larger than the 6-seater beechcraft my father used to fly us around South Africa in, but they served a decent breakfast which kept me happy and quiet.
On arrival in Amsterdam we were treated to an adequate lunch in a 5 star hotel which is part of the NH Hotel group, the 3rd largest hotel chain in the world. Okay, it was a promo trip and they did a fairly good job at marketing so I figured they deserve a bit of blog space! The starter and dessert were fab, but it would have taken a chainsaw to get through the beef they served, much to the marketing hosts horror.
In true shopaholic style, I made friends with the lady who is the National Sales Rep of the travel agency and we went off on our own mission to ensure we saw every pair of shoes in Amsterdam. I have a suspicion that we were successful.
Naturally, the group would not allow us back onto the plane until we had been through the Red Light district. Whereas the others found it most amusing, I became quite low spirited as my heart broke for these beautiful girls who stand in doorways and beguile onlookers and prospectives alike. Sometimes, I think I'd rather be naive about these things.
In keeping with tradition, we almost missed our flight which would have been twice in the same week for me. We had to be escorted through a special passport control area and once again my accessories set off the metal detector. If I felt like I had been violated before, imagine my horror when the security woman lifted my top in the middle of the airport. I was mortified, but in too much of a hurry to stop and absorb what had happened.
I arrived back in London with enough time to go home and finish packing my bags, ready for my move into my new apartment the following day.
Unless I become a pothead or enthusiastic beer-drinker anytime soon, I don't see much likelihood of me returning to Amsterdam. I'd give it 2 stars.

edinburgh - festival of travel blunders

Saturday morning, after a pointless hour of post-Summer Ball slumber, Bronwyn and I travelled breezily to the airport at 05:45 knowing that we would arrive a mere half an hour before our flight. Clearly our heads were still filled with bad techno beats as we were actually surprised when the self check-in machine told us the flight had CLOSED. My heart rate quickened and Bronwyn's demeanour reflected my thoughts as we scurried around Heathrow Terminal 1 trying to find an attendant who would take pity on us. All we eventually got was a scolding from the nasty supervisor who pointed us in the direction of the ticket desk and suggested we sweet-talk a ticket clerk who may be more sympathetic than she was willing to be at 06:30, airport rush-hour. After smiling sweetly and playing the role of 'two silly girls' very well, we landed two standby seats on the next flight to Edinburgh. Phe-ew! The sheer irony of the situation is that I am a travel coordinator, so it is my job to tell people what time to to be at the airport!
Once through the gate, I thought the madness ended there, but thanks to my abundance of accessories, I set off the metal detector. Not only did the security lady check me, but she really CHECKED me. Bronwyn stood staring at the scene, agape, until I asked her politely to "...keep moving. Nothing to see here." I felt violated to say the least!
On arrival at Edinburgh we were greeted by the beautiful castle on the hill, ready to explore the historical city with so much promise of art and culture during this time of the year.
We saw a couple of shows at the Fringe Festival. I wont bore you, but if you do care, they were Scaramouche Jones and The Umbilical Brothers who never fail to blow me away! If you ever have a chance to see these guys, do yourself a favour and make sure you work your abs a couple of weeks beforehand otherwise you will feel the effects of laughter for a few days after.
Thanks to God for the great weather provided and to Janine for 'putting us up' on one of the most expensive roads in Edinburgh while her bosses were away at their castle.
The trip home was less adventurous, but I did bump into a friend of mine while wandering the streets of Edinburgh and was pleasantly surprised when he ended up on our flight home. As Bronwyn says, 'Do you ever go anywhere without knowing someone??' Hey, some people are just magnetic :-)

death by...

If you have ever wondered how many Cokes or Kit-Kat bars it would take to kill you, there is a site that will do the calculations for you! Click here to put your mind at ease.

london - my own world

It was inevitable. After Friday's incident, about which I will enlighten you in a moment, there is no denying that I have begun to transform into an aloof, almost frosty, creature otherwise known as a Londoner.
A typical London Underground scene: Passenger gets onto tube. Passenger finds seat or place to stand. Passenger takes out book and begins to read or puts headphones into ears and pretends that no one else on the tube exists.

After work on Friday I rushed to the station and hopped onto the tube and found a seat against the glass panel (best seat cause smelly people can only sit on one side of you!). Compliant with tube practice I got lost in my book, oblivious to anything and anyone around me.
At one point a girl got onto the tube with an oversized bag and dumped in next to my seat, disturbing my concentration and appealing to my more forthcoming nature which considered offering up my seat so that she could watch her bag. Then I remembered that I am a Londoner and we just don't do that sort of thing, darling. She sat next to me instead.
Once out from underground and the symphony of mobiles began to resound throughout the carriage, mine joined the party and Mom's faced flashed up on my screen. During our brief conversation I mentioned that Bronwyn was meeting me at home and as the words were out of my mouth, someone was poking my arm and calling my name. I abruptly turned to see the face of the girl next to me and to my surprise it belonged to Bronwyn.
Bron had been sitting beside me for twenty minutes and neither of us had realised until she heard my voice. Twenty minutes...and if I had bothered to look up properly when she threw her bag down I would have recognised her and not been subjected to my less-than-thrilling novel. The people sitting opposite us couldn't ignore our hysterical laughter and, as an exception to the commuter 'rules', joined us in our amusement. Even more ironic is that it was the 2nd time that week she had gotten onto the same carriage as me, which is a rarity when you consider the number of tubes running at any one time of the day. This time it was purposeful, however, because she had hoped to find me and there I was, right beside her the whole time!
Just goes to show that, sometimes, what you are looking for......wait, no clichès allowed, but you know where I'm going with it...

busy busy busy

I'm having a crazy week - packing up all my belongings and moving flats, going to Amsterdam for the day, deciding I want to become a theatre critic and so making plans to change careers. It's all happening!!
Basically just wanted to say that I have so much to post but very little time to do it and will be up and 'blogging' again soon!

i'm in edinburgh

This is my first blog entry while on holiday. Not only does this prove that I am enjoying this whole blog thing far too much but I'm becoming increasingly more technlogical.
Am storing up all the news to relay on my return, but just wanted to stir up a sense of expectation.
So many stories and such little interest, I fear. Perhaps I should use this 'free' time to concentrate on marketing strategies. Is Bronwyn the only person who reads this thing??
Anyway, she is here sharing in the laughs already, so if anyone else is interested (okay, am just giving you all a hard time, I know there are others who faithfully frequent this page!) this is what we've been up to for the last 2 days...mostly.

chocolate heaven on earth

I have to go here! Enough said.

parlez-vous français?

I was slightly disorientated yesterday while dashing through Holborn station. For a moment I had to familiarise myself with my surroundings as an announcement was made to the thousands of commuters.....in French.
My first thought was that I had alighted at the wrong station and was, in fact, bound for the Euro-tunnel and would be forced to take an involuntary holiday to the South of France. I was soon shaken from my reverie as I got bashed from all sides and found myself on my usual platform with the same familiar adverts adorning the walls.
What baffled me was, not only did they make an announcement in a foreign language but, they made it before saying the same thing in English. What if this is the start of something? Perhaps the plan is to eventually make announcements in all the most widely spoken languages from around the world. If, in that case, English is preceded by the others, the majority of commuters would need to delay their journey just so that they didn't miss important information! There is the chance that they have started gearing up for the 2012 Olympic games. If the latter is true, hat-off to London for being prepared.....or perhaps over eager. I think I need to start learning French.

house-hunting

That phrase is a bit weird, isn't it: house-hunting? I get mental pictures of a man in a safari suite and a rifle braving the terrors of the wild to find a nice cottage with bay windows and then ploughing bullets into it and declaring, 'I got one!!'
Anyway, oddities aside, I am overjoyed at finally finding an apartment in Putney, after 2 months of dutifully sifting through the multitude of flatshares on gumtree.
Unavoidably, I have ended up in a flat with three other South African girls, but you would have a hard time trying to find a home in London that doesn’t house a Safa, Kiwi or Aussie.
As sad as it is to ‘fly the nest’, there comes a time in every female’s life when the need for independence overshadows the appeal of Mom’s tasty cooked dinners and nice clean bed-linen.
It’s never easy to say goodbye, especially not when you do it as much as I do and it’s even harder conveying such news to those you know it will dismay. Perhaps the fact that I’m not moving very far will be consolation for Mom as the significance of her daughter packing her bags once again weighs down on her spirit.
Ofcourse, the responsibility of rent and bills is once again upon me and for this reason I am especially grateful for having the last six months to make friends who can feed me when I'm skint - phew!

the woman in black

Unsurprisingly, the £12.50 theatre tickets I booked for last night positioned us, once more, in the 'nose bleed' seats (note to self: must remember oxygen mask for next show), this time in the Fortune Theatre. The Woman in Black is the second longest running show in the West End and is housed in a theatre which opened it's doors in 1924. It appears it has had little modification since then and when you realise that this show is a thriller of the most chilling kind, you will appreciate that the creaking floors and squeaky chairs only add to the chills.
After a relatively uneventful first half, I was becoming concerned that I had subjected six of my friends to an evening of boredom and futile back-ache ensuing from craning their necks to see the stage.
During interval I sourced some Pringles in the hope that the comfort of junk-food would distract everyone from mentally accusing me of poor judgement in show choice.
But to my delight the horror kicked in during Act 2 and heart rates were doubled as the story unfolded. It must amuse the actors to no end when their performances summon cries of terror from the audience and I'm sure our reactions are representative of nightly audiences; I jumped a foot off my chair, Bronwyn screamed and Harry chuckled.
Above the storyline and sound acting, the attention to minor detail is what really satisfied this brutal critic. Whether it is due to it's extensive run affording the production team time to focus on minor details or thanks to the solid cast of two, all I was left to reflect on was the wasted face and haunting shadow of the woman in black.

what's that song?

Lucozade, a drink that only springs to mind when I am suffering the symptoms of a vicious stomach bug, has joined others currently accomplishing marketing success by provoking the question, 'What's that song?'
On Saturday, the girls and I patiently endured the pre-show adverts before feasting on the eye candy that is Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. I found myself once again bopping along with the cartoon birds to the "inna gadda do do badda bingy" that resounded when this funky little advert charmed the big screen.
The artists behind this cheerful tune are a band called 'Real Tuesday Weld' and the song in question is Bathtime in Clerkenwell. Being an association geek, I was thrilled that I, in fact, work in Clerkenwell! The song itself is definitely one to which you can, unashamedly, Charleston.
Their album 'I, Lucifer', is inspired by the Glen Duncan novel in which Satan is offered redemption if he can last a month as a man, without committing any sins. According to the BBC it's a melancholic collection of sardonic whispers, melodious instrumentals and woozy, underhand beats. I would usually be put off by an album with such a name, but since I have been teased by the aforementioned track, I may put my reservations aside just this once.

factfile #1

I am a dedicated believer in Post-it notes. For a fanatical organiser such as myself, I truly believe them to be right up there with computers and birth-control as one of the most functional discoveries of the 20th century.
While journeying on the Piccadilly line this morning I came across this tasty little titbit in my Metro paper:

The most expensive Post-it Note features a charcoal and pastel drawing by artist RB Kitaj. It sold for £640 during an online charity auction in 2000. The notes were not introduced until 1980 in the US, although the adhesive used on them was created in 1968. It would take about 506,880,000 Post-it Notes to circle the world once.

It's all about educating my readers. You never know when you may need something to say that could make you sound clever!

little surprises

Walking into my favourite, non-Starbucks, coffee shop in London, Benkito, I was greeted with such familiarity that I immediately basked in the warm feeling of welcome. There's a certain sense of belonging when someone recites your order before you've even sat down.
This being the case, it seems wrong that I wouldn't know this friendly face's name, but for reference purposes I'll call him 'Pablo'.
Once seated on one of the less than comfy, but well worn in couches, Pablo proceeded to place a delectable piece of carrot cake before me. On noticing the lack of customers in a usually buzzing cafè, I commented on how quiet it was and was met with an earnest reply: 'You never know what it will be like, such as it is in life.' Emphasised by his South American accent, this profound statement sat so well with me.
It is true that life holds surprises in the most unexpected places (I guess if they were in expected places, they wouldn't be surprises!). From the sudden appearance of the man of your dreams to an appreciative comment from a good friend. Or perhaps it's in a great cup of decaf in BK while 'Have I Told You Lately that I Love You?' plays in the background. And then some ladies mobile rings...

london a-z

I am constantly amazed by the size of London. Not it's vastness, but it's ability to become one of the smallest places on earth.
I was out and about in Holborn Circus during my lunch break and as I was about to go into my favourite retreat, Starbucks (from now on I will not name it as I have established this on a number of occasions), I saw a belt that I recognised. As I looked higher I realised it was on the person with whom I associate it, Tracey from church. Her and her brother-in-Law were studying an A-Z (London street map) looking a bit perplexed. So, instead of meandering aimlessly, I directed her and her brother-in-law towards the high street where they could shop to their hearts content for the rest of the day.
I am constantly bumping into friends and acquaintances while strolling the streets of London and this leads me to assume one of a number of things:
1) London, or perhaps the world as a whole, is really a small place
2) I wander the streets far too much
3) I know a lot of people
4) God knows when I need to see a friendly face
I love the look of surprise when you bump into someone you know and they display what you are feeling. There is something so special about an unexpected meeting; I don't like to use the term 'divine intervention' too lightly but it's the little things that promote joy and thus have a spiral affect on others you may have the privilege of influencing.
On that note, I've learned that you are never anonymous. You may feel lonely, but many times this is a choice. You may think you can get away with stuff you wouldn't when you are surrounded by people you know, but truth is that there is always someone watching. You may think you need to catch the tube from A to B, but it could just benefit you to walk!

no such thing as free lunch

I happen to work directly outside the conference rooms on our floor at work and as a result benefit from catering that is regularly supplied for the meetings.
Today, one of the ladies came out and asked if I had had my lunch yet and offered me a nutritious salad which was spare as the 'wheat-free' lady never turned up.
Who said there is no such thing as a free lunch?
Five minutes later she came out and asked if I could assist in changing the temperature in the room. I was happy to oblige as she had just given me lunch. But this did mean that it was no longer free, as I had paid for it with my time which could otherwise have been spent surfing the net! A small price to pay but nevertheless, whoever came up with that theory has been proven right again and I lose another opportunity to point out genuine good in the world.

foxy hotshots

I finally gave in. I could no longer stand being tormented by incessant football talk at my desk and as a result have joined the Fantasy Football league.
What does a South African girl know about football, I hear you ask? Absolutely nothing....which is what made picking a team so amusing!

Please see my team selection below:
Edwin van der Sar - his name sounded South African
Wayne Bridge - one of my close friends' names is Bridget
John OShea - I like Irish people and his name sounds Irish
Christian Dailly - I am a Christian!
Michael Dawson - Dawson's Creek was my favourite TV series
Damien Duff - Hilary Duff is a cool chick
Luis Garcia - people with the surname Garcia are usually very good looking
Scott Parker - he has same initials as Sarah Jessica Parker so must have great taste in shoes
Thierry Henry - most expensive striker on the list and I always need a couple of good quality items
Juan Pablo Angel - I believe in angels
Peter Crouch - I got bored so I just moved my mouse around a bit and picked whoever it landed on

Although my selection methods may seem amateur, don't be fooled into thinking there isn't a deep underlying strategy.
I may not know much about managing a football team, but with a budget of £50million to spend, when it comes to shopping, I know my stuff!
Click here to join in the fun!

high life not wildlife

I know I committed to relaying my weekend camping stories in a previous blog, but instead of telling you all about my trauma of sleeping on stones, almost drowning during the night thanks to a leaking tent, brushing death by hypothermia and surviving three days on camp food, I am opting to speak only of the positives!
There is something about escaping the buzz of the city that makes people become slightly more genuine. I love meeting new people, but even more than that, I love getting to know my friends and acquaintances better.
What made the suffering of camping worth it? I got to see stars. Granted, there were only about 3 and even then they kept disappearing behind clouds, but hey, am trying to appreciate the small things.
The highlight of our trip had to be right at the end when we were standing at the station, about 80 teens and young adults, and our train pulled up on the opposite platform. I have never experienced anything like it! There was silence as realisation descended upon us and then everyone started flailing their arms and yelling at the train driver as we stampeded down the stairs towards the correct platform. What bozo puts a sign saying 'to London' on the wrong platform anyway?? Thank the Lord, a large group of screaming lunatics is hard to ignore and the driver was alerted and delayed the train for us. This, I can assure you, would never happen in London.
Although the weekend was inspiring, it will not be an easy task to convince me to go camping anytime soon again. As much as I love the whole idea of being one with nature, I can get the same feeling from a Radox aromatherapy bubble bath and satin sheets in a 5* hotel.
Oh go on, call me precious if you must! Sticks and stones may break my bones (and I know this first hand) but I'm willing to deal with your words if it means I never have to camp again!

overheard

I was listening to two girls on the train this morning. They were speaking Afrikaans at an unnecessarily loud level, saying really awful things and swearing. I don't know if they thought no one understood, but I think it was more a case of not actually caring. There was a lady across from me who was clearly South African as she kept looking at them and then at me and shaking her head and smiling. Thanks to the usual tube dealys the train kept stopping and all of a sudden it jolted. One of the girls shouted out: 'Wat doen hulle nou?? Sit hulle nuwe tyre's op hierdie blik...mse tube!!!?' For those of you who are SAFA's you will know that it's a pretty rude way of saying 'What are they doing? Putting new tyre's on this train?'.

I have a few things to say to you honey:
Trains don't have tyres
The rest of us on the tube do not care to hear about how many guys you did/didn't snog in the pub on Saturday night
I would like to go at least 2 hours after waking up without having to hear the 'F' word more than 30 times
I don't care how much sex appeal your friends Davie and Willem have and whose beds they share
There is a reason that 90% of people don't talk on the tube - it ticks fellow commuters off
PLEASE MAKE FULL USE OF THE GAP BETWEEN THE TRAIN AND THE PLATFORM!

gone camping

I will be away for the next couple of days on a Hillsong youth summer camp. Those of you who know me can have your snigger now as you contemplate me with no place to plug in my hair straightener!
I will be the first to admit that I am not what you would label your typical 'happy camper' but I am focussing on the awesome time I will have away as opposed to sleeping in a tent on the hard, cold ground (you wouldn't be far off if you were comparing my situation to the story of 'The Princess and the Pea').
Undoubtedly, I will have a number of stories, on my return, of how I was attacked by nasty teenage boys with water-balloons and shaving cream.
Fun, fun....

never got to say goodbye

I received a phone call from my father at 12:30 this morning to inform me that my great-grandmother passed away in Port Elizabeth in the early hours of the morning.
I had heard via the family grapevine that she was poorly a few days ago, but I don't think anything every really prepares you for the loss of a family member. It is so final. I will never get to see her smile again, or hear her voice or listen to her complain that she has been given soap for Christmas again!!
Rebecca van Niekerk lived a long life (we speculated about 92 yrs in our last family discussion on the topic of her age) and although she had her fair share of tragedies, I think she passed away feeling loved, thanks to my amazingly devoted grandmother who was faithful in serving and looking after her mother until she took her last breathe.
There is now a gap where she once stood and all we have are stagnant memories. Rest in Peace, Ouma.

"remember you are not a salmon"

Fellow chocolate connoisseurs may have noticed this completely random statement on their Kit Kat wrappers recently. I have contemplated it many times over the last few weeks, done some research and still can't seem to come up with a sensible theory.
I want to take this opportunity to thank Nestle for putting my mind at ease over a question that has been burning me on the inside for way too long: Am I or am I not a fish?

Any explanations are welcome!

Please see evidence (captured by groc, another amused consumer) on flickr.

old school photos

Feeling the urge to reminisce? The World School Photographs site is great. They found two pictures of me.
Where do they get them? And what was I thinking with that hair?
Ah, the good old nineties.

think before you click

I have been polite long enough! Today I received the same forwarded email FOUR times....and it wasn't even a good one. This has become a common occurrence of late and the real pain of the situation is that I was the original sender. It seems I had just been included every time it went around our intimate little email circle. Perhaps if I didn't think it was all that amusing in the first place, I shouldn't have sent it back out into cyberspace, but is this the price I pay for trying to bring a smile to the face of fellow '9-5ers'?

This state of affairs concerns me for a number of reasons:
1. It's just plain annoying
2. My friends have obviously not taken the time, like I do, to think about who in their life would truly appreciate that particular message and have just sent it to everyone on their 'mailing list'
3. Precious megabytes are being used from my work email quota and when I exceed my limit the IT department are likely to hunt me down and make me work overtime until I have slaved to pay it all back or even worse......block my internet account all together!! How would I then pass the time during the day?? This would be a true tragedy.
4. When I see that I have a new email I get so excited, only to realise that it is in fact one that I have already seen. Thereafter my elation turns to disillusionment and I am sad for a few moments as I get over my disappointment.

So this is my appeal to all those serial 'forwarders' in my world. Spare a thought for my sanity and 'think before you click'.

hop, skip and a jump

This is so much fun!! A friend from church, Sarah, suggested I check out the Racing Frogs website. What a sound piece of advice.
Every morning I log into my email with expectancy, hoping that my nurturing and training has paid off. My 'little froggy' has made a fantastic comeback!
Give it a try. It's bound to provide great entertainment until the novelty wears off.