Happy New Year to all ye olde fellows, all those who gather here in this cyberspace, this space of cyber, whether you be the user who illegally trafficks black rhino toenail clippings (I hope 2019 brings you nothing but misery and jail time) or the majority of this crowd, those who come here to exhale forcefully out of their nostrils at the sight of birds who have human arms photo-shopped in place of their wings. Do yourself a favour and look up the Birds With Arms Facebook page, it will induce many a loud nostril exhale and drastically improve your year. 100% guaranteed.
It is the 11th day of the year and the bustle of the rat race is picking up. Schools are slowly filling with small children in starchy new uniforms. Grade 1s and grade 8s have been clothed in uniforms intended to last them for their whole school career, making allowances for their anticipated growth spurt that will apparently involve them becoming roughly the size of a small baobab tree.
Did you have a good New Year's Eve celebration?
Okay, I see how it is. This can be a one sided conversation if you're going to be shy.
Well, if you didn't spend at least two days recovering clearly you had a super LAME time and should stop being such a loser!
Actually, if you had to have two days to recover, that's hectic. Please slow down and take care of yourself. Whatever you did on New Year's Eve, I hope it was lovely. If it wasn't, maybe this can bring some comfort: last year (the 2017 into 2018 NYE) I spent the evening alone, the highlight of my evening being peanut butter on toast and then I went to bed at 10pm. 2017/2018 was a trying year for all of us, let's not judge. The 2018 to 2019 transition was infinitely better (despite the absence of peanut butter on toast). I have picked up a second job at a really stunning hotel. My job entails standing at the elevator to pounce on guests as they arrive, overwhelm them with friendliness, and then lead them to a bar where they will pay their left kidney for a single cocktail. On New Year's Eve, the hotel hosted a lovely dinner which presented the delightful opportunity to observe old white tourists attempting to Madiba jig to marimba music. It is always quite a tragic sight. Initially, I didn't actually have any solid after-work plans. I was feeling a bit sorry for myself, having visions of just going home and conversing with 2017 Natalie about how little things have changed (over peanut butter and toast). Fortunately, the night took a turn when a co-worker and I decided to go out for a quiet drink after work and we all ended up getting home at 5am. Once again, proving the age old saying that an unplanned adventure will always be better than a planned one. I'm sure someone has said that. If not, you can quote me. I won't charge royalties.
This first few days of the year has everyone frantically drinking buckets of green juice, signing up for the gym (the other day, I arrived at the gym to find about 15 people crowded around the reception desk filling out registration forms), spring cleaning their houses, starting their novels, and learning conversational Latin. We all know this will fade by mid-February but best of luck with your resolutions, all the same.
Cape Town's New Year's resolution has clearly not been to have a more stable weather pattern. It is hard to believe, on this rainy and cold night, that we were enjoying lovely 30 degree days at the beach last week. Yes, it is raining, a fact that I am indeed very aware of. Why? Because a lot of the rain is on me. It has soaked into my clothes very nicely. Most delightfully of all, it has moistened my socks. A true joy. This all happened when I embarked on a very innocent trip to go and feed a family friend's dogs that I am looking after. They are two little Jack Russells, both of which have seen better days. The one only has one eye (the other eye was removed) but the eye he does have is completely blind. He spends his days walking up to solid objects to bump his head on, reversing, shuffling around to face a new direction, and then shuffling into the next solid object. I'm not entirely sure what is wrong with the other dog, I think she's just a bit strange and possibly disturbed at having to look at a one-eyed dog every day. This evening, I went along to feed them and when I arrived I discovered that the cover of the family's beautiful vintage MG had been blow off in this weather and the car was now sopping wet. To top that all off, it is a soft top and the windows have been taken off (it is a fix up job). Little pools of water were collecting on the material roof and the beautiful leather interior was being speckled with rain. I quickly began pulling the cover over again, only to discover that it was torn and the damp material continued to tear with nearly every movement. I am not very knowledgeable when it comes to the specifics of storing your vintage car but I know enough to tell me that "store in a cool, dry place" is probably on the label. The rain continued to pour over me as I racked my brain as to what to do. There was only one solution. What renders engineers, construction workers, and the world's greatest minds obsolete? Duct tape. I hurried into the very well stocked garage to find some of this magical adhesive, followed by the sounds of the blind dog bumping into tyres and work benches as he trotted behind me. I knew it was completely ridiculous but, without any other plan, I could really not see another option. It also dawned on me that I should probably tie the cover down with something. Some sort of rope would have been ideal but that, of course, was not to be found. Instead, I had to settle for using four dog leads which were tied together and strapped around the car. And there I was, duct taping and dog-lead-tying a classic car in the pouring rain. I eventually stepped back to admire my handiwork and found myself looking at something that resembles what you would extract from the drain. In my fluster I then reversed into the gate on my way out. Back into the rain I went to heave the very large gate back on its tracks. The blind dog was very excited to hear that was I was still there and trotted up to bump his head into the gate and my leg a few times. He then wondered out into the road and I had to herd him back while the other dog walked past me and out of the gate. However long this herding exchange went on I am unsure, but it was far too long in the pouring rain.
From this extreme soakage, I will now no doubt contract pneumonia (spelt that right without even using autocorrect, claps for me) or the bubonic plague and be dead within a fortnight. Finally, I will be relieved for this existential spiral that Samuel Beckett's Waiting for Godot threw me into in my matric year.
I hope everyone has a wonderful year. I hope I don't see anyone otherwise I will infect you with my inevitable deathly illness.
Thanks for reading!
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