Olives and ham

Things that have been irritating me immensely recently:

1. That esteemed publication – you know the one I’m talking about – that spouts headlines like (and these are direct quotations): “Mute girl raped!” and “Harry shags Chelsy!” The editors have yet to learn that not every sentence need end in an exclamation mark to arouse a sense of scandal in the readers, though I doubt its readers would know the grammatical intention of an exclamation mark, anyway.

2. The fact that my beloved chives have mysteriously disappeared – simultaneously – from the shelves of Pick ‘n’ Pays and Spars Joburg-wide. Why, God, why? Take the rosemary, dammit, even take the thyme, but please bring back my chives! Lunchtime sandwiches never tasted so bland, omelettes never so… two-dimensional.

3. The fact that the Gilb’s housemate’s pug puppy chewed my electric toothbrush head – and I don’t have an immediate replacement. Argh! Though, on that note, she’s pretty cute for a spastic ugly deformed two-week old puppy (ironically named Bella) – Gilb’s friends went through to visit last weekend and nicknamed her “Buckles” on account of the fact that she’s got back legs like a rickets-stricken (bandy-legged) Somalian child. She brings out the father in the Gilb, too, which is achingly cute to watch (he’s going to try very hard to appear to be a firm daddy, strict, yet gentle, and vulnerable to serious arm-twisting by wiley offspring)

4. Owen Wilson’s character in Wedding Crashers. As brilliantly hysterical a movie as it is, the writers glorified his character completely – to the point where it was acceptable for him to upstage his best friend’s wedding during the ceremony and confess his undying love for some chick. Have no idea why this grates my cheese so, but my cheddar’s all seriously flaked over it.


Two groovy things that happened recently:

1. Ever so slightly, I ice-skated backwards one evening at the Virgin Mobile ice rink. Amidst fellow skaters that were whizzing and whirling by, but nonetheless, a few backwards steps. I figured it out: wiggle the hips and away you go!

2. I remembered a dance move I invented at last weekend’s tennis pro’s and golf ho’s party – the Egyptian Moonwalk, I call it. It came back to me on a company team-building event on Friday, and I’ve been perfecting it ever since.