Category: South African in London

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!

The glare of the no

This was a big weekend in the life of one of our favourite reality TV shows – the X Factor. Last night’s show ended with the top 12 acts being picked for the live shows. I cried.  I could so relate.

Not with the acts going forward. But with those who didn’t make the cut … rejection is an ugly thing to deal with. The contestants had pinned their hopes on “making it” in the music industry by getting through to the top 12. Many of them didn’t want to go back to their normal lives, they felt this opportunity was a make-or-break one for them. I do feel sad that so much rode on the show for them, and I do hope there was emotional support for those of them who didn’t get through. It’s tough to get a no with 13 million people watching.

For those of you who don’t know the show, it is a singing show, a lot like Idols, but with a slight spin. The acts are divided into four categories – boys (under 28), girls (under 28), groups and the “overs” (male and female, over the age of 28 but with no top age limit). There are four judges and each judge is assigned a category to mentor, so the competition ends up being not only between the contestants, but between the judges too. I know it is starting in the USA in the fall of 2011, so watch out for it if it’s the kind of show you enjoy.

Last week was “bootcamp”. Acts that made it through from the initial auditions held all around the UK had to perform to the judges again, and, after a series of whittling downs, eight acts per category were chosen to go to the judges’ houses. Each of the judges was assigned a category, and their eight protégés flew to their homes to sing for their place in the top 12: boys went to Australia (to Danii Minogue’s home), groups went to Marbella in Spain (Simon Cowell’s villa), the “overs” went to Dublin (Louis Walsh’s ‘castle’) and the girls to Ascot (Cheryl Cole’s estate).

On Saturday night we watched each of the categories, in turn, singing for their mentor and on Sunday we watched the mentors telling each of the acts, in turn, whether they had been successful or not. In true reality TV style, the emotion is squeezed till the tears drop; and the wimp that I am has tears rolling down her face from start to finish. The ones who have been successful scream and whoop and jump and stomp and hug their mentor. The ones who are unsuccessful sit and sob and hug their mentor.

I can’t imagine how the mentors feel, to have such power to bring tears of joy and tears of disappointment. I applaud anyone who has the courage to enter such a show, and my hope for each one of them – top 12 or not – is that they go on to make their dream happen, away from the glare of TV lights and sensationalism.

So what does this mean in my life? Apart from being a huge fan of the show – I can’t deny it – I also love watching young and exciting talent and hidden confidence unfurl. I always support the slightly shy guy who doesn’t look like a star but sings like an angel. My favourite favourite is exactly that, and he made it through.

But for me, I can so relate to the disappointment of being so close, yet not making it through. One of the contestants said last night that he has heard no so often, it would be easier to deal with a no than the unknown of a yes. He got a yes, and I threw my arms in the air. I look forward to the day that I hear that all-too-unfamiliar word too. And I might just scream and whoop and jump and stomp and hug. Even if no-one’s watching.

Sunshine signing off for today!

I’ll be there now now

It’s Friday and time for a bit more forrin! I’ve been having fun gathering ideas from friends and thinking of new things that we Saffas say funny, and things that I hear here that make me laugh, frown, or nod in ignorant bliss!

My husband saw a status update on his Facebook page this morning from a university colleague. It said, “… is feeling so baffed!” We have yet to discover whether this is a good or a bad thing, but where I come from, that word is more likely to be used like this: “Have you just baffed?” you might ask a family member (usually male), usually with your nose crinkled, waving your hand back and forth in front of your nose.

As soon as I know the meaning of the word in the UK, I’ll let you know. I must say, we both looked at each other and laughed when we saw that this morning. Then I said to my husband, “Have you just ….?” (Not really!)

So here goes:

  1. Chuffed: I think this is common to SA and the UK, but I’m not so sure my friends across the pond know this word – it means pleased, self-satisfied. “I am really chuffed that you are reading my blog.”
  2. Round the houses: this is something I’ve heard quite often here. It means to take a circuitous route, to take a while to get to the point. A bit like my blog.
  3. Mine/yours: here, you might receive an invitation like this: “Would you like to come round to mine for coffee, or would you rather I came to yours?” I am used to saying “my place” or “my house”, so this takes a bit of getting used to.
  4. It does what it says on the tin: I heard this often at my temporary job earlier this year, and also on the news here. It means “say what you mean” and “as simply as possible”.
  5. Yobbo: I realise I’ve used this word quite often in my blogs, and again, I’m not sure that my US and Canadian friends are familiar with the word. It is in common use in the UK, and quite a bit in SA, and, according to Wikipedia (who knows EVERYTHING!) it means “uncouth or thuggish working-class person”. Apparently it is derived from the back slang of the word “boy” = “yob”. Now I didn’t know that part either!
  6. For crying in a bucket: This is something my mom says regularly, and I just love it! (And her.) It means, “Oh, for goodness sake.” Or “Good grief!”
  7. Oh my sack: an SA version of OMG, or Oh my word! Don’t ask me its origins, I don’t want to know!
  8. Larney: this SA word means posh, smart, rich. Depending on where you come from in SA, and your accent, it might also be laahney.
  9. Make a plan: this is a fabulously SA expression. I don’t know if it reflects the SA laid-back way of life (read: slackness) but it means, “I’d love you to come and have a meal with us some time. But I have no idea when we will do that. But it will happen. Some time. Just don’t hold your breath.” An example of this would be two people bumping into each other at the shopping mall (or, as some people in SA say, two people who got each other by the mall) and, after exchanging small talk, one saying, “Lovely to see you. We must get together soon. Let’s have a braai!” (pronounced bry and it means barbecue) And the other will say, “Ja, that sounds good. Let’s make a plan.” And that, usually, is that.
  10. Make a turn/pull in: this is very SA, and not everyone uses these expressions, especially not those who are larney. For example: “Where you going now?” 
    “No, man, I’m just on my way home.”
    “Why don’t you make a turn/pull in by us?” (that means come and visit us on your way).
  11. By us: this means at our home, at our place. Or, if you’re British, ours.
  12. Now/now now/just now: this is Saffa at its enigmatic best. These words can be used interchangeably; all of them mean “now” but “now” can mean ANY time, like: this very minute, in five minutes time, tomorrow, next week, or it could even mean five minutes ago. I’m now there is something my sons say, which means “I’m on my way.”

Saffas also say no when they mean yes. If you ask a Saffa how he is, he might reply: “No, I’m fine thanks. Can’t complain.” Or you might say, “So, will you be able to do that, do you think?” and the reply might be, “No, that should be fine. No problem. I can’t see why not.”

A few months ago we were invited to have lunch with some friends of ours from church. They had other guests there that day, and one young woman was particularly fascinated by our accents. She had known other Saffas and she giggled when she heard us say certain words. After lunch our host offered us coffee and asked if we had our coffee black or white. We both responded, “White,” which to other ears probably sounds like whart. Our new young friend couldn’t contain herself, and asked me if I would say that into her phone so she could record it and send it to her friend. I had to say, “Would you like your coffee black or white.” and I overdid the accent. She duly sent it off, and was well chuffed with herself!

I could well have said to her, as my mom says, “I’m not a performing flea.” But being an obliging Saffa, I said to her, “Sure, no problem. I can’t see why not.” You see, we Saffas always make a plan.

Sunshine signing off for the weekend! See you next week, friends!

Dance, words and laughter

Nothing says Zumba quite like a gym studio in south east London, overlooking a historic dock, and filled with people from every tribe, tongue and nation. I was so glad to brave the rain to go to my Zumba class last night – exercise, music and the united nations renewed me!

Our instructor is eastern European and gorgeous. She welcomed everyone, asked if anyone had any injuries or medical conditions she needed to know about, and then she filled the room – corner to corner – with pumping latin beat. Our class began. From hip-swaying salsa through to rocking bacciata, we moved our bodies in unison (mostly), and conversed in the international language of dance. I do cringe when I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, but if I keep my eyes on the instructor, I’m well in fantasy land! Ooh, I just love it!

I guess it’s because I don’t have much else to focus on right now, but my (almost) daily fix of gym lifts my spirits and helps to keep me positive. And the exercise is just what I need. It’s getting cooler now, but a few months ago, in mid-summer, we did the odd Pilates class outside on the deck, next to the water and under a fading blue London sky. Wonderful.

Our Pilates instructor has, as she says, a knee that is poorly. A few weeks ago she came into class and announced that she was, officially, “broken” and couldn’t do the class fully with us, as she usually does, until her knee was better. Turns out her brokenness is housemaid’s knee. Ouch! She does as much of the class with us as she can, and has told us – ad nauseum – that when we are to be kneeling, and she sits on one knee with the other leg outstretched, we should ignore her and do as she instructs. I have giggled to myself to notice – EVERY time – that there are a number of people who continue to copy her and stick one leg out to the side. I guess she finds it funny too. And I guess language is a factor.

Which reminds me of a conversation I seriously had some years ago when we lived in Harare, Zimbabwe. It was so bizarre I sent it in to the Readers’ Digest, and they published it! I used to go to gym every lunch time (the gym was close to where I worked) and do a class there. One day, soon after we’d returned from our three-month holiday in the UK and Europe, which had ended with three weeks on Santorini in the Greek Isles, a woman approached me in the change-room after the class and this is how the conversation went, I kid you not:

She: “Excuse me. Could you tell me the secret of your deep tan?”

Me, beaming, “Greece!”

She looked a bit confused and added this: “Really? I’ve tried oil, but it never works.”

Music, dance and laughter. Don’t you just love it?

Sunshine signing off for today!

Men in skirts

Wednesday, and I’ve got tartan on my mind. I’m married to a Scotsman, you see. And every now and then I stop and think about things he says, and things I now say, and I realise a lot of these things are well forrin.

Just to clarify – my husband was born in Africa. His parents and elder brother, who was a toddler at the time, left Scotland to seek their fortune in warmer, African climes and my husband was born there a few years later. My parents-in-law lived in Africa for the rest of their lives – around 40 years – and they both had broad Scottish accents till they passed away. Something that I find so sweet is that my husband and his brother both had broad Scottish accents until they started school – until the pressure to sound like everyone else overwhelmed their little minds and they learnt to blend in just fine!

We travelled to Scotland as a family when our boys were ten and twelve. We stayed with wonderful relatives and were also on a mission to meet some long-lost, newly-discovered relatives, but that’s a story for another day. It was so interesting to see how at home my sons felt in the land of their father and his people, and how intrigued they were with their Scottish heritage. By the time we left, they both wanted kilts in the family tartan and, if we’d had an arm and a leg to spare, we would have indulged them.

My husband has since inherited two kilts, and these are worn with much pride at any suitable occasion: my elder son wore one to his Matric (school leaving) dance, and both sons wore kilts to their cousin’s wedding in Cape Town last month. The five boy cousins together in family tartan kilts looked just fabulous and, of course, made the faraway (in miles) mother in me weep at the sight. My younger son is dreadlocked, and made a wonderful McRasta. Gorgeous boys.

Some years ago, my husband wore his kilt to a very posh, advertising awards ball in Zimbabwe. He went to the bathroom early on in the evening and the bathroom attendant (I told you it was a posh place) said to my husband as he exited, “Oh! I thought you were in the wrong bathroom.”

So here’s some Scottish forrin:

  1. Gibbles – this means stuff, or things. For example, my husband’s bedside table is full of gibbles.
  2. Bairns – we have two of them. They are big bairns now. Children.
  3. Bo’heed – my parents in law used to chuckle if they called anyone a bo’heed (usually their grandchildren) – it is used affectionately, to mean big head. “I canna’ see the TV, will you move yer bo’heed?”
  4. A Scottish friend at work said once, pointing at the desk of the absent manager, “Where’s his nibs?” This made me laugh out loud, as I’ve heard it so often from my family … It is used slightly mockingly to refer, in their absence, to someone of self-importance, usually someone in authority.
  5. My new blogging buddy, Wendy, is about ages with ma’sel’. This means she is about the same age as I am.
  6. Dreich – this means cold, damp and miserable, and refers to the weather. We’ve had real dreich days in London this week – autumn has shown its tawny face.
  7. If you’re talking nonsense, a Scotsman will say you’re talking blethers.
  8. If you’re mean to me, I’ll greet. And it’s not a pretty sight. Greet means to cry.
  9. My mother-in-law used to leave things in the kitchen sink to steep (soak).
  10. If you’re called a tattybogle that’s not a compliment – it means you look a sight, like a scarecrow!
  11. One of my husband’s and my favourite pastimes is to bogle in shops – that means to look and browse.
  12. My father-in-law had some choice sayings, but they are not fit for the blog! But if he thought someone was not very attractive, he would call her coors but hamely. This is liked being damned with faint praise – coarse but homely. Ugly, but could be worse.
  13. Had yer weesht – this means be quiet, shush.

A dear, late uncle of my husband’s used to say the best thing to come out of England was the road to Scotland! We took that road at Easter, to travel up to Pitlochry in central Scotland (Perthshire) for the weekend. We checked to see what was happening there over the weekend and were so excited to see that the Red Hot Chilli Pipers were playing at the Pitlochry Festival Theatre!We booked tickets and went to see this fabulous Scottish phenomenon that played to a packed auditorium.

They call themselves a “bagrock” band, or “jock ‘n roll” and they play music – as their forthcoming new album says – for the kilted generation! They are fronted by three bagpipers, with two guitarists, two snare drummers (including a world champion snare drummer), a keyboard player, a drummer and occasionally some brass. Of course they all wore kilts, and they looked pretty darn fit! They played songs like Smoke on the Water, We Will Rock You, Hey Jude (they called it Hair Jood) and Clocks mixed with a bunch of traditional Scottish numbers. They sure made it a brilliant evening’s entertainment and, being Scottish, all the banter in between songs was really funny. I read that earlier this month, they played at BB King’s 42nd Street Blues Club in Manhattan. Go figure!

One of the opening acts was a Scottish duo of fiddler and guitarist who played a variety of choons, fabulously. The fiddler introduced each number including one that the guitarist had written, inspired by a trip to Egypt. It was called The First Time Ever I Saw Your Fez.

I’ll dedicate some future blogs to writing more about our trips up to Scotland and the beautiful country it is, filled with wonderful, warm and kind people. A country where humour is woven into the national DNA, and laughter is their battle-cry and for me, that’s my kind of people. My husband’s ain folk.

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.

Making chapattis and walking under water

We decided to continue our “exploring London” adventure over the weekend and discovered a whole new part of London that we’d never seen before. And we had to walk under water to get there.

With the Pope in London over the weekend, and central London being crammed with people, police and Pope-mobiles, we decided to head in the opposite direction. We started at one of my favourite places in London – Greenwich – about ten minutes from where we live. From there, we took the foot tunnel that goes UNDER the Thames, and walked across to the Isle of Dogs. I had heard about the foot tunnel, but didn’t know where it was or where it went.  It was built in 1902, which completely blows my mind. How did they do that?

At the entrance to the foot tunnel, there’s a lift (elevator) that takes you down to the tunnel. It’s a fairly big lift that can hold 90 people – it felt pretty crowded with about eight of us, I’d hate to imagine how claustrophobic it would feel with almost a hundred of us. Unusually, the lift has a human operator, who presses the buttons and, I guess, keeps an eye on what’s happening down there along the tunnel.

We couldn’t take any flash photographs in the tunnel, so I’ll have to rely on the picture in my mind to describe it: shiny, white-tiled and roundish. It felt very old fashioned, but completely solid and safe. Although my husband had a field day of “imagine ifs”, like imagine if all the lights went out, or imagine if it sprung a leak (how scary would that be?), and imagine being followed by a stalker through this tunnel? At which point I asked him to shut his imagination up (or words to that effect) and let us enjoy the walk without the worry! I did wonder where on earth some of the puddles came from, but apart from that it was a fascinating fifteen minute walk.

We took the lift back up to river level on the far side of the Thames, and I did one of my favourite things – eavesdrop. I heard some lovely cockney banter between the lift operator and his mate, discussing what he was going to eat over the weekend. His mate said,

“You wan’ four poys?”
He said, “Yeah.”
“Wha’ fowa?”
“Fir me lunch and dinner.Tha’’s wha’ fowa.”
“Wha’? Just poys?”
“Four poys and a large liquor. Tha’’s me sor’ed.”

We emerged land-side at the Isle of Dogs. I took the photo that is my new header pic, where we emerged: a lovely park, a path along the river, and a view – which I hadn’t seen before – of Greenwich on the other side of the river.

I only realised how curvy the Thames was the first time we went to Greenwich and stood on the lookout spot in front of the Royal Observatory. From that vantage point, not only are you where time begins, but you can see the curves of the Thames, as it takes a serious loop to the left and to the right. The bit of land in between is known as the Isle of Dogs, and you can find out some more about its history here. Quite fascinating.

We walked all along the edge of the river until we were just about in line with the O2 (a huge, tent-like, state-of-the-art concert venue, previously known as the Millennium Dome) in North Greenwich on the far side of the river. We stopped for a picnic lunch next to a small pebbly “beach” and watched the seagulls and swans bobbing together on the busy water, as the waves lapped on the brown stones.

We then cut “inland” towards Canary Wharf, a modern business district and home to a large number of glass-fronted skyscrapers housing banks and finance companies. We took the conventional route home, travelling by tube, after a refreshingly special sunny autumn day in this city of surprises.

My weekend began, as usual, with my Friday evening dance class. It was not Latin aerobics this time, as our instructor had gone away; we had a class of Bollywood aerobics! Our instructor was Eastern European and she looked like a dark-haired Barbara Eden in “I Dream of Jeannie”, complete with pony-tail on top of her head! Only in London.

We shimmied and sassied, did all the Bollywood moves you could imagine:  flat hands, fishy hands, we moved our heads from side to side, we peeped our faces through “windows” that we made with our hands! We flicked our heads back, we were arrogant, we flirted with our audience (the mirror) and we focused on style over substance. We took a bow, we made chapattis, we jumped and we stamped and, for a time, in the sweat and the swirl, I let go and danced as if no-one was watching. Try it, there’s nothing quite as liberating.

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!