Category: London

Does this make sense? I doubt

We went out for a pizza last night – a little celebration of sorts! As always, I had my accent radar on and tuned and was pleased that I got it right again: our waiter was a Zimbo!

We had a lovely conversation with this warm and friendly young man (as all Zimbabweans are), and he concluded that he had been following us around the world! He’d left Zimbabwe to live in South Africa before coming over to London last year.

I don’t mean to boast, but I can generally spot a Zimbabwean accent at 100 metres! Countless times we have been somewhere, I have heard a few words and I know that the person is Zimbabwean. Not that the accent is that different from Saffa, and I don’t know that I could describe the difference for you, but I can recognise it. My niece, who is Zimbabwean and lives in London, has a fridge magnet that states, “No, I am not from South Africa.” Rather like the one I’d like to have that says, “No, I am not Australian. Or Kiwi. Or from anywhere in Europe either, pinhead.”

We went out for breakfast with friends in Cape Town some time ago, and, as it was a cool and drizzly morning, we didn’t want to sit at a table on the balcony. We told our waiter we’d prefer to sit inside and asked if there was a free table for us. He glanced indoors and said to us, “I doubt.” That was it – I knew he was Zimbabwean, and he was!

Zim forrin is something else all together. I grew up with some of these words, and I know – having been away for so many years – there will be plenty of words to add or amend, so please feel free to give me your contributions, if you have any!

  1. Mush/mushi/mushi sterek (pronounced moosh): this means great, nice, wonderful, excellent, wicked. The sterek part adds extra emphasis. I used to use this word as a teenager, until I had it guffawed out of me by my cool Cape Town cousins who quickly replaced it with the much more street-cred-worthy “brilliant”.
  2. Penga: this means mad, crazy. When we heard about my husband’s job, we went penga.
  3. Neos/magic markers: growing up, it was a treat to have a set of these, instead of just pencil crayons. These are felt-tip pens. South Africans call them kokis.
  4. Kaylite: if you buy an electrical or electronic item, kaylite is the stuff that clads it inside the cardboard box. White, squeaky stuff that the rest of the world calls polystyrene.
  5. A few weeks ago I was chatting to my sister (who lives in Zim) and we were talking about Zimbabwean forrin. She said, “What about boppa it up with rekken?” Exactly, what about it? I said, “WTF?” (which means what’s that forrin?) She said, “You know if your hosepipe gets a hole in it, you use a piece of rekken (rubber inner tube from a bicycle or car tyre) to boppa (tie) it up and stop the leak.” Precisely.
  6. Sometimes Zimbabweans can’t cope up with things, when others might not be able to cope.
  7. There is a word that is not appropriate in print, that a lot of Zimbabweans use, which means very. I’ll illustrate. I was in Bulawayo with my sister some years ago and we bumped into a young friend of hers. After the usual exchange of pleasantries, she asked him how the recent youth meeting had gone. He said, “Eish! It was b….yf…ing difficult.” I asked her, afterwards, if he had just said what I thought he had just said. She said, “Yes. It means very.”

My elder son tore a ligament in his ankle, playing rugby, during his last year of school. He had to see an orthopaedic surgeon, and my husband took him to his first appointment. When they got back, I asked about the surgeon, what he was like, and my husband said, “He seemed fine.”

I took my son to his second appointment. Firstly, I nearly fell off my chair when I saw how fine he was (my husband didn’t tell me he was gorgeous! Well, I guess he wouldn’t…) Secondly, after listening to him chat to my son for about a minute, I realised he wasn’t a Saffa. After a while, I asked if he was Zimbabwean, and he was. Fortunately, he’d finished examining my son because we then chatted for about half an hour about Zimbabwe and everything we had in common through growing up there. My poor son shifted from moonboot to foot, shuffled on his crutches and quietly sighed. When we eventually left the rooms, he said to me, “I knew as soon as you asked him if he was Zimbabwean and he said yes, that we were in for a marathon.” Or words to that effect.

I was happy, mostly, when the ankle was healed and he had his last visit to the orthopaedic surgeon. Sigh.

Sunshine signing off for today!

The meaning of Sunshine

When my boys were small they used to play hide and sneak, as they called it. My elder son would hide and my younger son would look for him. He would squeal and jump up and down with excitement when he found his big brother, and then it would be his turn to hide. He would always choose the same spot his brother had just hidden in until he learnt the value of finding his own hiding place.

So today it’s my turn to find my own hiding place. Well, I guess it’s exactly the opposite of a hiding place. My new blogging friend, the delightful and outrageously talented writer, Maura at 36×37, tagged me a few weeks ago and handed me a task, which is this: to answer some questions about myself and my blog. And then to tag some other bloggers in turn.

Here goes nothing!

1. If you could have any superpower, which one would you have and why?

I guess I can only be selfish in answering this question. I would choose the power to be in two places at once: in Cape Town and in London. Every day. To be able to skip between the two cities, without taking an 11 hour flight. My heart is in both places. London is our adventure, yet I yearn for my sons who live miles and continents away. My parents too.

2. Who is your style icon?

This question makes me want to laugh. Me? I have a style icon? If I wear clean clothes, dry my hair and brush my teeth, that’s me styled up.

I used to love Princess Diana’s style and I guess she was my style icon in the 80s and the 90s. And if I think back further, I loved the soap opera fashions of Dallas and Dynasty! I know that is sooooo uncool, but it’s the truth. I promised I wouldn’t hide.

When my younger son was small, we spent a few days off school and work together as he was unwell. For some reason, we sat and watched a few re-runs of Dallas on daytime TV. I told him how much I used to love the programme, and how I loved watching all the fashions. He swung round to me, looked me in the eye and asked, “Did those used to be fashions in the olden days?” I rest my case.

3. What is your favorite quote?

I have a few:

“Sometimes a sad man can speak the sadness right out through his mouth.” (John Steinbeck, The Grapes of Wrath.)

“Is this tomorrow?” (my younger son, at age 3.)

“Quote me to your heart’s content, Mom. I’m k*k funny.” (my elder son, at age 22.)

“We don’t need a major bloody march past.” (A client of the PR consultancy I used to work for. We did loads of work for his company and I always remember this regular instruction to us.)

“That’ll do pig.” (Babe.)

4. What is the best compliment you’ve ever received?

“You’re cute.” A shy, drop-dead gorgeous student said this to me when I was 19 and at university. That was almost 30 years ago, and he still tells me that today.

5. What playlist/cd is in your CD player/iPod right now?

Anything and pretty much everything by Van Morrison. He is the man.

6. Are you a night owl or a morning person?

I go to bed late in the hope I can sleep well, but I don’t, so I don’t wake early. In my previous, more ordered, life I would get up at 5.45am and start my week days with a 6.30 gym class and head off to work. So I guess, in an ideal world, I’m a morning person.

7. Do you prefer dogs or cats?

I grew up loving dogs and not knowing cats. My husband and boys taught me to love cats, with a passion.

Some years ago, we were on a family holiday at the Victoria Falls in Zimbabwe. We stayed over at a hotel, and were treated to some hilarity in the dining room that night. The waiter, who ground his teeth and kicked the kitchen door open as he entered and exited, stirred some hysteria in my sons and their cousins. When he came to take orders from the set menu, he asked each person in turn, “Beeffffffff or fishhhhhhh?” By the time he got to my son, he couldn’t resist answering, “Bothhhhhh.”

So, do I prefer dogs or cats? Bothhhhhhh.

8. What is the meaning behind your blog name?

I’ve been dying to tell this story! Sunshine in London has a kind of obvious ring to it, and I have mentioned before that it is both my nature and my intention to find sunshine in otherwise cloudy days. Our London adventure is exactly that, and we seek out fun and brightness in our everydays.

The deeper meaning is this: I worked for a non-government organisation in Cape Town during the 90s. This was the time that saw the end of apartheid and the birth of democracy in a nation that the world thought might implode. For me, it was the most amazing time of personal growth and learning that I have ever experienced in my life. I didn’t like how I thought or what my assumptions were and I worked hard, and with tears, to weave grace, respect and non-judgment into my life.

South Africa is a nation of 11 official languages, three of which are predominant in the Western Cape, where I lived. One of my friends and colleagues, who spoke all three languages (isiXhosa, Afrikaans and English), told me one day that she had been thinking about me, and thought it was time for me to have an isiXhosa name. She said she had chosen one that reflected who I was, and it was Nomalanga. This means “sunshine”. I carry the name, with love and pride, and humility, wherever I go.

So now it’s over to you! My mission, as I did accept it, was to answer the questions, and then tag another bunch of bloggers to do the same. So consider yourselves tagged:

If any other reader wants to take up the challenge, please feel free to do so. And do – all – let me know when you’ve written your pieces, as I’d love to read them.

Sunshine, Nomalanga, signing off for today!

Taking it to the seats

The best part of our London adventure has been to see as much live music as our time and pockets will allow. We have treated ourselves to an embarrassment of concerts and gigs at the most amazing venues in and around London. Shall we eat or shall we see another concert? Hmmm, food can wait.

In the middle of summer, on one of the hottest days of the year – temperatures were well into the 30s, even mid-30s (I’m not sure what that is in Fahrenheit, or “old money” as they say here in London!) we went to see Diana Krall in concert at an outdoor venue. We honestly couldn’t have chosen a better day to do that. We arrived in Hampstead in the afternoon.

George Michael lives in Hampstead and he had, notoriously, driven into a Snappy Snaps photo shop in the early hours of a morning that week, heavily under the influence of an unknown substance. I laughed when I saw a sandwich board bearing this handwritten headline for a local rag: “George Michael drives into shop”. He was subsequently sentenced to four weeks in prison for that misdemeanour, and is currently fighting to be released on bail.

So on we continued to Kenwood House. It is a stately home, in the leafy suburb of Hampstead, and is used as a venue for outdoor concerts through the summer. It is really beautiful, the emerald green lawns roll from house to lake and on to the woods on either side and we languished next to a peaceful little lake to picnic before the show. As show time drew near, we made our way to the concert area, where row after row of brightly-coloured deck chairs awaited our arrival.  Our seats were near the front, and gave us a good view of the stage area which stood in sharp relief against the royal blue sky. The wooden deckchairs filled with fans, all eager for the show to begin.

What an amazing evening! Diana Krall is a fabulous musician, and we were so excited to see her live! She performed a huge variety of jazz numbers, accompanied by her talented band of drummer, double bass player and acoustic guitarist. She bobbed and weaved through her songs, and caressed the grand piano with such tenderness and skill I was in awe. A concert such as this, on a night such as this, in London – it doesn’t get much better than that!

On another hot summer’s day, we went to the O2 Arena in North Greenwich  to see Michael McDonald and Al Green. We live right next to the Thames, so we decided to travel along the river – we took the Thames Clipper and bounced along the rippling river to North Greenwich.

I am a huge fan of Michael McDonald, he is another one of my all-time favourites, and I’ve loved his music since his Shine Sweet Freedom days of the mid-1980s. In 1986 my husband and I went on a three-month holiday to the UK and Europe, and I remember sitting in a park in Amsterdam one chilly Sunday afternoon, under blue sky and icy wind, drinking Heineken beers and listening to the piped music of Michael McDonald and Patti LaBelle singing On My Own.

I digress.

We arrived at the O2 about an hour before the concert was due to begin. We sat down and soon a mountain of a man and his petite wife came to sit in the row in front of us. He said to me, “You’re not going to want me sitting in front of you, are you?” To which I said, “Not so much.” He duly sat down in front of me and blocked out the sun. Luckily when the lights went down we were able to shift along a few seats and both get a clear view of the stage!

To see Michael McDonald performing live was just unbelievable. He was sensational. We again needed three seats as I was beside myself, and I boogied myself silly in my seat! I did my ugly whistle at the end of each song. I think I annoyed the people on either side of me (yes, I do include my husband!) as I bobbed and jived and shimmied and shook my bones to the dulcet tones!  – what a relief when Michael shouted out, “School’s out!” and gave us the nod to stand up and dance – YAY! He sang everything that I know and love from Yah mo’ be there, to Shine Sweet Freedom, You belong to me, Taking it to the Streets, Minute by Minute, What a Fool Believes and he was joined by a local singer – Jaki Graham – who filled Patti’s high heels fabulously to join him for On My Own. He left the stage amid much protest from the fans, after an hour and a half of pure, beautiful, blue-eyed soul.

It was interesting to combine Michael McDonald and Al Green in the same concert. They had equal billing, they didn’t share the stage but brought their music from opposite ends of the soul spectrum.

The interval over, we made some noise for the Reverend Al Green. He entered from stage left, resplendent and melodramatic in dark glasses, suit and boots and carrying a bunch of long-stemmed roses. He waved with his other, white-gloved, hand. And so began the Reverend’s soul session, interspersed with the flinging of long-stemmed roses to adoring female (and male) fans in the audience. He sang his heart out through soul standards and smooth cover renditions. His three daughters doo-whopped in the background, and he was accompanied by an outstanding band that he ordered around with elegant, frilly, trilling fingers.

When the Reverend got excited, he would stamp his feet and slip his silk-lined jacket off his shoulders and on to the floor. He would pick it up and put it on again as he pulled himself together after each song.

I was less than impressed with the audience that night. After an absolute treat of songs like Let’s Stay Together and Let’s Get Married, part of the audience thought Let’s Get Outta Here, and started to leave the auditorium before the end of the concert. The Rev called out to them, reassured them he was on “no curfew” and yet he watched as a steady stream filed out. I guess it was to get ahead of the traffic but come on, London … you can do better than that! This was a one-night only show. Al Green was clearly not amused, and the show ended abruptly.

My husband is mad about American Idol-winner, Fantasia, and she had a one-night only, first-ever concert in London in May. This was held in IndigO2, within the O2 Arena complex. We had fabulous seats in the second row upstairs, and watched Fantasia perform to the writhing mosh pit in front of the stage.

She was incredibly energetic and passionate, she put her heart and soul in her songs and most of her wardrobe on the stage floor. I exaggerate … she threw her shoes off as she walked on to the stage, and got rid of her necklace and earrings and anything else that bothered her as she stomped and sang her way beautifully and emotionally through a range of old and new numbers.

She gave the organisers a headache, as she wanted to “feel” her people; the mosh pit was separated from the front of the stage by a barrier, and, when the people couldn’t come to Fantasia, she stepped down from the stage to come to her people. It was a wonderful concert, a treat to see her and experience her stage presence and vitality, and to enjoy a talent that we watched unfold on international television.

I stand in awe of such talent, of endless opportunity and of life in a city that breathes life into so many artists and actors and buskers and students and punters-who-watch. May I never take this for granted, and may I always jump around in thrill and excitement. And may we always need three seats.

Sunshine signing off for today!

My life on the island

Job hunting in London can be fun. Not. Ever. It feels like my working life is a reality TV programme, and I keep getting voted off the island. And I have to keep going back on to the island to be voted off again!

If I could do anything that meant I could cease the hunt, and leave the island of my own volition, I would do so in a heartbeat.

I send off applications and the wait feels like a results programme, complete with a loud heartbeat soundtrack. “And the winner is ….. not you!”

Please don’t feel sorry for me! That’s not the purpose of my writing about this. I’m a survivor. While I do allow myself the indulgence of self-pity every now and then, I keep praying and going and know – through gritted teeth – that this thick skin I’m growing will serve me well. One day.

I recently applied for a writing job with a charity based in central London. I sent in the detailed application form (it wasn’t the one where I mentioned mud-wrestling with Mathew McConaughey, promise!) and waited to hear if I’d been shortlisted. A few days after the closing date, I had heard nothing, so I knew I’d been unsuccessful.

However, I decided to make sure. I sent an email enquiry, and got a reply, which is unusual; I guess I should be grateful for small mercies. The emailer advised me that unfortunately I’d not been shortlisted, but said I was welcome to call her for some feedback. I arranged a suitable time to do so.

We eventually spoke at the end of the day yesterday. She said I had completed the form well and my application was strong. (“Good girl! You made that song your own.”)

She said the fact that my experience was largely South African, was a key factor. (This is the first time I’ve been told that directly, and somehow it felt discriminatory. “We don’t know that song. Is it big in your country?”)

She went on to say how inundated they’d been with applications, and also gave me some feedback about my style of writing, and saying that how I wrote the application form did not fit their brand. Fair enough. And whatever. (“Maybe you need to work on your vocals.”)

However, the gem is yet to come…

She said to me, “If I can give you some advice as you continue your job hunting, it would be to get as much UK experience as possible.” Seriously?

All possible responses escaped me. All I could do was listen in bemused silence. Gob-smacked, that’s what I was! What I really wanted to say was, “And you are the weakest link. Goodbye.”

Sunshine signing off for today! The tribe has spoken.

London, alive and screaming

Today, I thought I would take you on a journey to some fun London venues, and tell you about some wonderful new, up-and-coming artists that we’ve seen while we’ve been here. We’ve also seen some old and fabulously well-worn artists, who I’ll write about another time.

There are SO many things that I love about London. (Like you haven’t heard that one before!) But one thing that stands out above the crowd for me is just how much everyone loves London! Every day we read about interesting people who are visiting London; if it’s not the Pope (and I just loved the comment I heard on the radio on Sunday, by a young teenager in Birmingham who’d seen the Pope. She said, and try and imagine a nasally Birmingham accent saying this: “He was amazing. He’s kind of like a celebrity. But holy.”), it’s actors here for their movie premieres, singers and bands on concert tours, cricket teams on match-fixing tours, politicans, philosophers, bankers, chefs and models. And, of course, there are people like my husband and me, people from every nation and continent and language and race and accent and religion you can imagine. This heaving mass of humanity, the focus of so much attention, in such a small country. I stand in awe and constant fascination.

It is also the place musicians flock to if they want to “make it” on the music scene. There are weekly magazines and websites that list gigs that happen each week in London, and these number in their hundreds. My husband and I grab any opportunity we can to go and see new artists whose names we may not at first know, but whose gift of music is outstanding, and whose music we now love and share and will follow.

My husband is something of a music geek. He absolutely loves music and anything to do with it. He reads about new artists, tests out their wares on iTunes, and checks out who’s performing where and when. He found out about a young singer/songwriter called Diane Birch, and was so excited to read of a “one and only” performance in London in March. A lovely friend of ours was staying with us at the time, so the three of us went to the Vibe Club in Brick Lane (east London) to watch her performing. If you haven’t heard of her, check her out. She’s a young American singer/songwriter whose talent is incredible, and way beyond her 20-something years. Her style is folk, country, soulful – and she has enjoyed some commercial success with one of her songs, Valentino, which was featured on the soundtrack of an Ashton Kutcher movie, Valentine’s Day. We stood in the small club and enjoyed the treasure of an evening of her brilliant music.

Brick Lane is the best place in London (well, one of them) to get a good, genuine curry (in London people talk about “going out for an Indian”, meaning an Indian meal!). As you walk along the length of Brick Lane, restaurateurs stand in their doorways, touting their menus and trying to encourage you to patronise their spot. After our concert, we headed purposefully towards the far end of Brick Lane in search of one of the legendary bagel shops that stay open 24 hours a day. We found them – there are two right next to each other! – and had a the most delicious smoked salmon and cream cheese bagels ever! At £1.50 a pop (a steal, I tell you), it wasn’t surprising that we “mmm, yummmmm’ed” all the way back down the Lane!

After my birthday in July, we went to see Diane Birch for a second time. It was another unique performance at an outstanding venue in Notting Hill. What a beautiful area that is! If you’ve seen the movie, Notting Hill, you will know what I mean! And being there in person was even more fabulous. Streets of unique little shops selling antiques, vintage clothing, unusual clothing and all sorts of other interesting things! And the houses are just stunning – three and four storey Victorian terraced houses, really beautiful! I want to live there when I grow up! We saw a house for sale there (between £2million and £5million!) – and thought we’d wait until I got a job before we put in an offer!

The concert venue, The Tabernacle, is a beautiful old refurbished church building which dates back to 1888. When it is not hosting well-known and less well-known artists in concert, it is a community centre where you can learn Spanish, capoeira, ballet, belly dancing or zephyr yoga. Its history is remarkable. Diane Birch performed without her backing band this time, although she had a guitarist in tow, and it was another gift of an evening. Quite lovely.

Another concert that my husband discovered was a young, English singer called Rox. We arrived at The Scala in King’s Cross good and early for the 7.30pm start, and immediately realised we were in the minority in a queue-full of youngsters. We were relieved to see some older punters join the queue and, once inside, and the crowd started gathering, we realised we were not the oldest there! The Scala also has an interesting history, having been built as a cinema which was nearing completion just before the First World War began, and which was used as a labour exchange for demobbed soldiers in 1918.

What made the evening all the more special for us were the two opening acts: a young singer/songwriter from Jackson, Tennessee, called Lauren Pritchard. She was first up on the evening programme and, at that stage, there were probably about 30 people in the venue. I couldn’t believe the whole of London wasn’t there watching her and cheering her on – what an amazing voice, a beautiful talent, and achingly soulful songs. I loved her!

Next up was an English singer/songwriter called Liam Bailey. His reggae style songs take you on journeys through pain and triumph, joy and angst; another young, soulful and generously talented young singer. Rox is a tiny dynamo of a singer. And she’s about 12. Actually, she’s 21 and has a big voice, a delightful personality and gave a rocking performance. The tickets cost us just £10 each: what a privilege to be able to enjoy such talent. These are all artists to watch – please check them out and let me know what you think.

One of my most precious friends in Cape Town is the only person I know who’s seen The Beatles live. She went to a concert in London when she was 14, and wasn’t too fussed – although quite intrigued – about these Liverpool lads who had turned the music world on its head. She decided, before she went in, that she wasn’t going to scream and swoon like all the other silly teenage girls, and she stood in the queue, with her painted-on eyelashes and seriously mini skirt, resolute that she would stay cool . Once she got inside, she screamed her voice hoarse with the rest of them – she got totally caught up in the moment. She didn’t know at the time, but she was watching history in the making. Hell, that’s enough to make anyone scream!

Sunshine signing off for today.

Blogging is not pants

I had another paper aeroplane conversation with someone yesterday. We could still be at it today, burying ourselves deeper into complete misunderstanding of each other, if he hadn’t broken the deadlock in a simple way. By spelling it out.

Our front door buzzer went and I went to the phone to find out who was there. It was a delivery man from UPS. He told me he had a delivery for someone else, and asked if I would collect it. This is how the conversation went:

(me) “Hello?”
“You all right? I’m from UPS and I have a delivery, it’s 4A.”
“You must be at the wrong block.”
“No, it’s 4A.”
“This is Flat A, but we’re not block 4.”
“No, it’s FOR A.”
“But this is A.”
“Yes, but this is for A.”
“But this is A.”
“Yes, this is for A.”
“Is the delivery for me?”
“No. It’s for A.”
“A?”
“Yes, A for egg.” (he had a well cockney accent, you see.)

I really laughed to myself, as I ran down the stairs to collect the parcel for my upstairs neighbour, and I wondered what Mr Delivery Man thought about this person who spoke well forrin!

Which is a perfect opportunity to segue into more examples of UK English words that I don’t know, and Saffa English words that no-one here knows!

  1. A while ago, a local friend of ours talked about someone who had “popped his clogs”. He said it dead seriously (excuse the pun), and couldn’t work out why we found it so comical. It means “died”. Isn’t that just the funniest expression? To me, it doesn’t really fit with what you’re saying, and makes me want to chuckle. I’ve included an explanation of the expression below*.
  2. Blag – I’ve heard this a few times. I thought it could mean “to use your blog to brag” but it means “to lie” or “to wheedle yourself into a situation through tricking, lying or cheating”. For example,  I blagged my way into that club/job/relationship.
  3. Pants – I know I’ve talked about the different meanings of pants and trousers. But it can also be used to mean “bad” or “rubbish” (see below). The first time I heard the word used was in an interview with Andy Murray (the Scottish tennis player who, I heard a comedian say this week, makes Gordon Brown look charismatic.) The interview was a post-mortem of a match he’d just lost and he said, “I wasn’t happy with the way I played. My service was pants.”
  4. Rubbish – in my use of the word, it can mean garbage or poor quality. For example, Why do I always have to take out the rubbish? or This TV programme is a load of rubbish. Here in the UK, the word is used slightly differently, and I love it. I sent a friend a text a few weeks ago to say that both of my interviews had yielded no’s. She replied with, How rubbish!
  5. Cagoule – this word fascinates me. I had never heard it before I arrived in London last year, and now notice its use quite often. It means light raincoat, one that can fold up and be carried easily. It reminds me of a silly story a friend told me years ago, of a chap walking up to someone in the street and, with unlit cigarette in hand, saying, “Have you got a light, mac?” and he said, “No, but I do have a heavy overcoat.”
  6. At the minute: this means right now, at the moment. As in, I’m between gigs; I’m not working at the minute.
  7. And now on to the Saffa-isms! Pitch up or pitch: this means to arrive, to turn up. I find it hilarious. Especially when I heard it on the TV news in SA once: “He held a press conference on his arrival, but not many people pitched.”
  8. Bring with/come with: Use can include: Where are you going? Can I come with, and can I bring the kids with? I grew up in a home where these expressions were absolute no-no’s (along with the word kids!). We had it drummed into us that we should say with you at all times, in place of with. My sister continued the tradition and drummed this into her children. When her son was a toddler, I remember her thinking aloud, “What shall I mix this with?” Her son said very bossily, “WITH YOU!”
  9. Eina! This is an expression of pain, and is pronounced aynah. If you stand on my toe, I’ll say EINA! Not usually without adjectives and expletives. But you get the picture.
  10. Sis! This word is one which expresses disgust. Like yuck! And you usually pull a face when you say it, nose turned up and mouth splayed in ugliness. Last week at our local supermarket, I thought I’d stood on someone’s toe but discovered I’d stood on a half-chewed milky-jelly-sweet in the shape of a set of dentures. It stuck to my shoe. Sis.

My education into the English language continues and never ceases to fascinate. A few years ago, a new colleague at work was observing me and the joking banter I was having with a colleague at tea time. She said, “Yor! I fasciNATE myself with you!” I have decided that here in London, I fasciNATE myself with talking forrin!

Sunshine signing out for today!

*idiomdictionary.com defines the expression as a “light-hearted euphemism, implying that after the person’s death, his shoes or ‘clogs’ and other personal effects are pawned (‘popped’)”.

What colour is your parachuuuuuuuu…

Earlier this week I took a risk. I applied for a writing job, and said that I was “no spring chicken”. I did, however, add that I had all my own teeth. Granted, they were looking for a witty writer, and I don’t know if they’ll take me on, but it was quite fun taking the less-than-serious approach.

My sons would say, “oh dear”, or their typical one is, “ooh, LAME!” They have crowned me the Mayor of Lameville, but that makes me want to retain the mayoral chain even more.

So I thought I would write a bit about risk today. I guess because it’s so much on my mind right now.  It can be fun, and it can be scary. Fun, like just before we left Cape Town and went to meet with a consultant at the bank: a middle-aged woman, dressed in a business suit, walked past us several times. She looked at us and walked on. And then did the same again. On her fourth journey, she walked over to us and pulled my husband’s ponytail. She said, “I just couldn’t resist it!”

It can also be scary. We turned our lives upside down, just over a year ago, to come and live in London for a few years so my husband could fulfil his dream and get his doctorate in counselling psychology. It took us a little while to decide to come, but the turning point came when we told our travel agent to go ahead and book our flights. And we had to pay for them within 48 hours. There was no turning back at that point.

While we were committing ourselves irrevocably to climb on to an aeroplane that would launch us halfway across the world (or is it all the way across the universe?), it felt to us both like we had just thrown ourselves out of an aeroplane. We began the process of looking for a tenant for our home, finding a new home for our darling little Jack Russell Frankie, packing up our home, and starting to let go of all that was familiar. And secure.

We found tenants, Frankie went to an incredibly loving home, and our household contents were emptied into storage boxes, farmed out to relatives, donated to charity, given away to friends, recycled or thrown in the garbage. Our lives were simplified – for a time – into two 20kg suitcases, and two pieces of hand luggage.

We left behind all that we knew and were sure of. And, although we were excited about reuniting with our precious sons who were in London at the time, we came to something unknown and foreign. We both knew that we would regret not taking the risk, and following our hearts. It was for us a culmination of answered prayer, but for a time it felt like we were hurtling at breakneck speed down to earth, waiting for our parachutes to open!  They did open, and we have been gliding down to earth, enjoying the scenery and noticing everything that is new and different and exciting all around us. And, apart from the current levels of insecurity, we are loving every minute of this London adventure.

So, would I launch myself out of the aeroplane again? Hell yes. But would I say again, in a job application, how much fun it’d be to mud wrestle with Matthew McConaughey? Not so much.

Sunshine signing off for today!

Heard the one about the comedian who thought he was a copper?

When I think of London bobbies (policemen), I usually think of seriously neat, black uniforms, large helmets (I’ve learnt never to call them hats), clippety-clop shiny black shoes and deep voices. What I don’t think of is comedy, but that’s exactly what we experienced a while back: a genuine, London, stand-up bobby.

We’d not long been in London, and we went with a friend of ours to see an ABBA Tribute Concert at Hyde Park. It was, as you gather, an outdoor concert, in the heart of central London. Magical. However, I don’t know why, but I always feel compelled to justify why we went to see an ABBA Tribute Concert. It’s maybe because I think I’ll drop down the hip-meter (to the artificial hip-meter perhaps?), or because deep down, secretly, I do actually quite like ABBA. Being a teenager in the 1970s, ABBA was part of the soundtrack of our lives and, although I have never owned an ABBA album, I know pretty much every one of their songs. Word for word.

So back to Hyde Park … the line-up of artists to perform ABBA songs was quite mind-blowing really. Lulu, Elaine Page, Kylie Minogue, Jamie Cullum, Marty Pellow, Chaka Khan, Beth Nielsen Chapman, Jason Donovan … the list goes on. The two Bs – Bjorn and Benny – from ABBA joined in too, and said they couldn’t believe that 35 years on, they would witness 36,000 people in Hyde Park singing along to all their songs. It was pretty awesome. We stood and locked arms with our neighbours and swayed and sang our hearts out – Dancing Queen has never sounded so good.

When the concert was over, and we were walking towards the gates to leave Hyde Park, there were some crowd control measures in place, with stern-looking coppers barricading us in, to stop us all crossing the road en masse. A copper was standing in a little raised booth at the gate, microphone in hand, dishing out instructions to the crowds. He was our “stand-up bobby”. He was absolutely hilarious, and embodied so much of the English humour that I know and love. It was like being treated to another show.

He said, “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your patience. You are being held here for your safety. And, quite frankly, for my amusement. And because I can. Once you get to the tubes, and the Transport Police take over, no-one’s looking after you – you’re anyone’s game.”

He asked the crowds if he was better than the ABBA show, and someone shouted “NO!” so he said, “That’s why I’ve put tickets on all your cars. Now who’s laughin’?”

He also said, “‘eard the one about the brain who went into the pub, went up to the barman, asked for a pint. He said I can’t serve you, you’re outta your ‘ead!”

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your patience. You are being held here for your safety. Hey, I should put that on a loop, add a bit of backbeat and some scratch … then, Mr Simon Cowell, who’d be number one at Christmas, eh?”

Someone asked him for his number, so he said, “999!”

It was the most refreshing surprise, in what could have been a truly exasperating prolonged exit from the concert. We didn’t even notice we were standing there for about 20 minutes, and, to be honest, we didn’t really want to leave!

So a stand-up bobby and a librarian who made me laugh. What can London produce next? A charismatic politician? You must be bleedin’ joking!

Sunshine signing off for today!

Three chairs for Sunshine

Last year, my husband and I celebrated our 25th wedding anniversary by going to see my favourite artist of all time – Van Morrison – in concert at the Royal Albert Hall. We had to book three seats for the two of us; I was beside myself.

It all came about in quite a romantic way. We were still living in Cape Town, and my husband had applied to several universities in London to do his doctorate. He was invited for a number of interviews, and the dates happened to coincide with our silver wedding anniversary. I understood the importance of the interviews, and thought he would go to London on his own and we’d celebrate our anniversary on his return. I was okay with that, I really was.

One evening my husband came home from work and said he had an early anniversary present for me: tickets to see Van Morrison at the Royal Albert Hall in London, two days before our actual anniversary. To say I leapt around the house like a crazed springbok, would be putting my enthusiasm mildly. This was really a dream come true for me. Yay yay yay yay yay!

So that was the beginning of our London adventure. We travelled here for a two week holiday, my husband got offered a place at each of the universities that interviewed him, we stayed with some special friends, spent time with our younger son who had recently arrived in London on his gap year, and SAW VAN MORRISON.

I can’t remember when I fell head over heels in love with Van Morrison’s music, but I’ve been pretty much a lifelong fan. Not of his personality, nor his stage “presence” but his music. In my opinion, it is quite sensational. Sublime.

The concert was awesome. We arrived at the beautiful and gracious Royal Albert Hall in good time, and took our seats. I discovered that our seats could swivel, to give you the best view of the stage, so I swivelled up a storm before the lights went down and a voice announced, “Ladies and gentleman, Mr Van Morrison!” I screamed, did the loud and ugly whistle my sister taught me, squeezed my husband’s arm till it bruised, said I couldn’t believe I was seeing Van live, and I almost cried. All in one second.

The all-too-familiar silhouette of small man in large wide-brimmed hat walked on to the stage, went to the piano and began the two-and-a-half-hour Astral Weeks Live concert. Backed by a full orchestra, he bumbled , swagged and groaned his way through familiar old favourites, Madame George my personal best. Exchanging piano for guitar, and guitar for guitar, he thrilled the hall filled with avid fans, who whistled, whooped and danced the evening away. And I was up there with the best of them – quite in awe of the talent at work in front of my eyes.

I mentioned that my love is of Van’s music, not his personality. He didn’t greet the audience, nor did he interact once. I expected a “HELLOOOOOO LOOOOONDON!” Nothing. About an hour into the concert, Van walked off the stage, microphone in hand. The lights went up and interval was announced. Likewise, an hour and a half into the second half, after a fleeting, arm-flinging “giveitupfortheband”, Van walked off the stage, singing. Despite the audience’s lengthy and vocal protests to the contrary, Van Morrison had left the building. The music didn’t disappoint.

Down on Cyprus Avenue
With a childlike vision leaping into view
Clicking, clacking of the high heeled shoe
Ford and Fitzroy, Madame George.
Marching with the soldier boy behind
He’s much older with hat on drinking wine
And that smell of sweet perfume comes drifting through
The cool night air like Shalimar
And outside they’re making all the stops
The kids out in the street collecting bottle-tops
Gone for cigarettes and matches in the shops
Happy taken Madame George.

Sunshine – with Sunshine beside herself – signing off for today!

Capturing the moment – George Clooney style

So, would you say George Clooney is better looking in real life, or on the big screen? I reckon he’s pretty knock-out in real life. How do I know? Well, blush, now that you ask …

It was something quite philosophical that made me think of George today. And something quite relevant to where I am at in my own journey right now. But for now, just bear with me.

Being a Saffa in London, and one who is quite easily star-struck (yes, true confessions, and I know it’s not that cool!) one evening soon after we arrived last year, we ventured into central London – Leicester Square to be exact – to watch the celebs arriving for the world, red carpet premiere of Fantastic Mr Fox. We got there just before the planned 5.30 start, and when we got there, we were kind of wandering around all gormless-like, and a security guy told us we had to stand in the “pen”! How funny. The “pen” is an area defined by metal railings that separates the fans from the stars.

Anyway, there we were – stood right next to the red carpet, waiting with cameras poised, to take photos of the big name celebs as they walked along the red carpet! George Clooney – who is the voice of Mr Fox in the movie – was the first one to arrive, and he was so amazing! I must say he was shorter and slighter than the screen persona, but pretty darn gorgeous in real life! He walked down the stairs to screeches and whistles, and my heart sank as he walked across to the other side of the red carpet. Ahhh no! We should have stood there.

All was not lost. After greeting fans all along the far side of the red carpet, he walked across to our side, greeting everyone and signing autographs. When he came close to me, he asked me how I was! I was about to tell him I was fine, loving the London experience after moving here from SA, and how cool it was to see him. Unfortunately, he’d already moved along. And it’s difficult to think straight when you have Alison Moyet’s, “I go weak in the presence of beauty” blasting forth in your head.

I got some great photos of him, but when he was RIGHT in front of me, I couldn’t do anything. My husband said he was wondering why I wasn’t taking a photo, and then saw my face – gaga. That’s how he said I looked. Mouth open, eyes glazed over. And totally gaga. I laughed so much when he told me that, but I have my own version of that moment!

Bill Murray was the next celeb to hit the red carpet – and he came over and shook hands with me. Other celebs, who sailed up the red carpet and occasionally waved from a distance, included Cindy Crawford, Jason Schwartzman, and Wes Anderson. Oops, I completely forgot to take photos of Cindy Crawford. I’m usually much more observant than my husband is, but I didn’t even notice her dress was split all the way up to her waist. Sorry!

We also saw Sir Ben Kingsley, who came over to sign autographs when the guy next to me called him. When Sir Ben walked across, nattily dressed and elegantly eloquent, the yobbo next to me said, “Sir Ben! Love your work! You sexy beast!”

So here’s the thing. And here’s my version of events. When George Clooney was walking along the red carpet in my general direction, I took a number of photographs of him. I took one when he was about this close to me. But when he stood in front of me, I thought I was going to lose the opportunity actually to see him because I was so busy taking photographs. I didn’t want to lose sight of the now. So I stopped, left my camera and took in the moment.

For today, I’m putting down my camera, focusing my eyes and myself on being truly present, and soaking in all that today has to offer. I don’t want to be so busy capturing the moment, that I forget how it looked. Or felt. Or too busy focusing on the future and how we’re going to stay in London, that I forget how it feels to live here. Now. Today.

Sunshine – and her best friend, George – signing off for today!