Secretive? Moi?

Well, maybe a little. I prefer to think of it as annoyingly vague.

Not too long ago, a friend berated me for keeping my cards too close to my chest [insert silly joke about my magnificent Christian Bale-esque chest+] She could be right, but then again, it’s also possible that I’ve just run out of things to say. It’s a short step from “sharing” to “shut the fuck up, already!”++ After all, I would hate bore you with the tedious minutiae of my life (although I’m sure David will be pleased to hear that my scrofula are healing rather nicely).

Nevertheless, when I cast my anally-retentive eye+++ across my more recent ramblings, I think the record may be angled a few fractions of a degree off square and could perhaps do with a little straightening:

So – to answer the question – yes, I have been seeing someone and no, I’m not going to provide more detail than that. Consider this a public service to all the stalkers who can now rake through the archives to look for clues. It’s no use denying it – you know you want to.

+ Hey, don’t just take my word for it, ask HER

++ and it’s an even shorter step from “self-referential” to “Head Up Own Arse Syndrome”

+++ which is rather ironic, when viewed in conjunction with my second footnote, above.

A shot in the light

First of all, I need to apologise for the previous entry. Public displays of introspection are invariably embarrassing. It does demonstrate one thing, though: audience participation can go a long way towards redeeming a shitty production.

Moving swiftly onwards – on Sunday I joined the happy+ throng++ at the second get-together of the Cape Town Flickr Meetup Group in Kalk Bay. There’s a convoluted story behind how I ended up there (when I had initially expected to be elsewhere), but I won’t bore you with the details. “Convoluted” doesn’t necessarily translate into “interesting”. I got to meet worthies such as Other-Duke, Betenoir and the venerable Coda. Okay, who wants to touch me?

Our group attracted many nervous glances from the passers-by, which is understandable. After all, random clusters of weird people milling around on street corners excitedly brandishing cameras is perhaps not an everyday occurrence… Hang on – what am I saying? This is Cape Town. Maybe we were just a little bit too scruffy and disreputable to pass as tourists? Before the authorities swooped in to arrest us on suspicion of being too scruffy and disreputable to be tourists, we scattered in various directions to boldly seek out new civilisations photo opportunities.

After reconvening at Cape to Cuba some time later for drinks and chilli poppers, topics of discussion ranged from photography+++ to new project ideas, including Stalkr and Vomitr. Good times.

+ Yes, yes, I suppose it’s possible that some of them were crying on the inside

++ about twelve people. I’m still not sure what the minimum entrance requirements are for official throngitude, but I live on the edge

+++ No, really – I swear!

Toasted

It’s been many moons since the Win a Date with Kyknoord competition. The winner (the delightful and ever-popular Peas on Toast), & I had a standing arrangement that she could collect her prize any time she found herself in the Fairest Cape. And so – just before Christmas – she did…

I should perhaps mention that the first time I went on a blind date, the experience left me a bit scarred. I’d been asked to escort a friend’s girlfriend’s friend to a university residence function at the Cape Sun. What should have been a pleasant evening turned vaguely surreal when my date got totally ratarsed on sparkling wine and started flirting outrageously with the guy sitting next to her, while his date spent the evening looking daggers at me – as if I had any control over the situation.

Fortunately, my date with Peas was a lot less horrific. Actually, it was brilliant, but I like to use the word “horrific” wherever I can. We met for lunch at Wakame in Mouille Point+. This was the first time we’d met in person – in fact, we’d only spoken on the phone once (five minutes earlier for a few last-minute directions to the restaurant), so I wasn’t sure what to expect. Ms On Toast was, however, suitably spectacular. She arrived resplendent in white, complete with sparkly body lotion, crystal chandelier earrings and a distinct Jennifer Connolly look to her.

In keeping with the pretentious theme, we duly did the whole air-kiss thing and shortly thereafter, I was drawn into the fascinating World of Peas. It was an age before either of us looked at the menu with any degree of seriousness. I think our waiter had given us up as a lost cause, because the look of surprised relief on his face when we eventually ordered was something to behold. If truth be told, the service was great. Sadly, the food was less so, but this was a relatively minor detail that did little to detract from my enjoyment of the afternoon.

Peas seems to have this uncanny ability to put you at ease: before I knew what was happening, found myself telling her the Dark Shameful Secret of what I do on Saturday nights. The discussion also strayed onto topics such as individuals who annoy us++ (and why); fascinating toxins; the smoking conundrum; spider bites; my love affair with the tarmac; the pros and cons of kelp-swimming; Third World Ant‘s interesting warning; exes; currents; never-weres; and The Project. This is by no means an exhaustive list. That would take too long to type.

So there you have it. I have been promised a return match, in Johannesburg of course, so all offers of sponsorship will be gratefully and graciously accepted. Incidentally, I think that thing going “boing” in the background is Hope springing eternal.

+ It was originally supposed to be dinner elsewhere, but we thought that the opportunity of “doing lunch” in one of Cape Town’s more pretentious venues was too good to miss, DAH-ling. Also, I couldn’t resist the semantic pull of a place that looks north out on Table Bay.

++ If you think you are one of these people, you probably are.

Taguerreotype

blog tag n bastard child of a chain letter and pyramid scheme; poor cousin of the meme.

I’ve been tagged. Again. From multiple directions, this time. Apparently Other-Duke, The Granny Wrangler and Champagne Heathen would all have me reveal more about myself. You guys are new around here, so just this once I’m prepared to waive the usual $20-00 application fee and a picture of yourself in the buff.

For the first tag, I have to list ten people I’d invite to a dinner party and specify where I’d hold it. That’s easy – I’d ask Manto Tshabalala-Msimang; Charles Nqakula; Jacob Zuma; my ex-wife’s attorney; The old bat from downstairs; Mr Head; Noeleen Maholwana-Sangqu; Graeme Smith; Tim Modise; and finally, the retarded fucker who carved me up on the freeway this morning.

Dinner would be served at the top of Lion’s Head. This will limit the collateral damage when I hit the table centrepiece with a low-yield tactical nuke.

Tag number two requires me to list five things you (probably) didn’t know about me:

• I once spoke to an alien. (It was dark, I was drunk and it was a Port Jackson tree)
• I used to wear nylon stockings when I was in the army (I was stationed in Bethlehem in the Free State, where it gets seriously cold in winter. Besides, I have great legs)
• Okay, I had great legs (now they’re all scarred from my various close encounters of the tarmac kind)
• I have posted nude pix of myself on Flickr (…and the hit counter spins out of control)
• Too late! They aren’t there any more (Mwahahahahahahah!)

That was fun. I hereby pass the flame on to the following worthies:

Anne, Mandy J, Luke, Dolce and Forgottenmachine. Take your time. I’ll wait.

Weekendend

I’ve just come back from saying goodbye to Katt at the airport [sniff]. I can hardly remember when I last had such an enjoyable weekend. I also wish to place officially on record my indebtedness to Flyboy for being so unutterably cool about this. Yoo da Man! I could kiss you. Actually, I think I will. I’ve got big sloppy wet kiss with your name written all over it, so you’d better pucker up the next time I’m in the Eastern Cape*!

I took the day off on Friday and we went off to Kirstenbosch to hug trees, curse butterflies and generally commune with Nature. We (and by “we”, I mean “I”) also tortured poor M with cruel text messages like “We’re having lunch at Kirstenbosch. The weather is absolutely glorious. How are things at work, by the way?” If you happened to feel a temperature spike in the city early on in the afternoon – that was probably no coincidence.

M got her revenge by showing us her shiny new car when we went over to her place for dinner on Saturday evening. It is indeed shiny and I suppose I should have been more complimentary at the time, but I was too busy choking down my jealousy. Her bulldog took an instant shine to me, which would have been fine if he didn’t have the breath of Satan (burglars take note!). Fortunately, I was shortly banished to the kitchen while the ladies discussed power tools and hunting – in other words, a perfectly typical evening in the suburbs.

Sunday was less structured, although we did manage to play a game or two of Scrabble. This sounds a lot more intellectual than it actually was, because we were sorely tempted to go the Redneck Rules route (do you know how many points “dawg” is worth on a triple-word score? A lot!).

Sadly, all good things must come to an end and experience in this regard does damn-all to cushion the blow. If you need me – I’ll be over here in the corner, brooding.

* Although this may end badly. Very badly. He owns lots of guns.