Jimmy and Brian

So it’s been a long while since I’ve posted a Jimmy update – and it’s not because he is dead, although I did wonder for a while if this was going to be the case during the winter.

Jimmy’s been through quite a lot since I got him. He bloomed magnificently for months, but when it started getting colder, slowly but surely, his flowers withered and fell, one by one, until he only had a bare stalk left.

This was when things started getting a little hairy. The stalk started withering and drying out as well, and when I repotted Jimmy I decided to cut the stem off at the base and let him settle down for the winter. He stayed this way for a long time. Too long. I started wondering if he was still alive, even though his leaves were still green (mostly). No leaf growth, no new roots, no new growth spike for about six months.

Getting somewhat worried, I decided to repot him again, and he really seemed to like his new home. A few new roots emerged, together with a pair of new leaves and TWO growth spikes! Hooray! On the not-so-good side, I managed to damage one of his new stems while trying to clip it to a support stick and it has been hanging on by a few plant fibres! Although this stem has borne two flowers now, I’m not sure how long it’s going to last…  Two of the older leaves have also yellowed and fallen off, so am slightly worried about this.

Here he is today:

I should also mention that a few months ago we acquired a big brother for Jimmy, Brian:

Brian is very tall and also has two growth spikes. He has been in bloom since we got him, but his flowers have started to dry out and fall off now. Here’s hoping I can keep them both alive for a while longer!

Dining in the dark

My husband made me watch About Time a few weeks ago. I usually hate romantic comedies and/or anything with Rachel McAdams in it, but it was actually ok (because anything with Bill Nighy has got to be decent, right?).

Anyway, the film featured a restaurant, Dans le noir, where people enjoy their meals in complete darkness. A friend of mine had told me about this before, but we were once again reminded that “we have to try that”.

So my husband booked us a table for the very next week.

The premise is that you experience your meal in the shoes of a blind person, in absolute darkness.

On arrival we were asked to put any light emitting objects in a locker, together with any bags, coats, etc that we might want out of the way. We were then asked to choose from four surprise menus: meat, fish, vegetarian or Chef’s surprise (which can be anything!). Having had a look at past menus on the website, I was a bit apprehensive as to what they might put on my plate, so I went with the safe option of vegetarian, while my husband chose the meat option. We have promised each other that next time we will be adventurous and have the Chef’s surprise – be it crocodile, kangaroo or internal organs of various animals!

We were then guided, by a blind waiter, into the pitch black dining room. Even though my guide (the very tall and amiable Jack) was right in front of me, I shuffled slowly along, just in case I tripped over something, and a moment of mild claustrophobia seized me, but it passed quickly as we were at our table within a few seconds. Once at the table, I felt relaxed once again, even though I still had to negotiate sitting down!

We were seated next to a pair of girls from Brighton and later on were joined by another couple. This is the social aspect of this experience, where you are encouraged to talk to strangers by being seated right next to them, and with no pre-conceived ideas based on what they look like, you are all in the same boat together, whether you are a mega millionaire or a celeb or just plain old Joe Public, and you are able to freely share the experience with one another.

We were given a bottle of water and some glasses (together with our ordered drinks) and told to pour our own water, which I did quite successfully, I might add! Trying to eat my starter with a knife and fork was less successful and I gave up quite quickly and used my hands to put the whole thing in my mouth. Goat’s cheese wrapped in something. Meh. Not a big fan of goat’s cheese, but it wasn’t very strong, so tolerable.

My main course was delicious! From what I could tell, it was an aubergine and cheese bake, with some sort of bean salad and samoosas. (Later I found out that it was a lentil and pea shoot salad, and phyllo pastry with cream cheese.) Several other people on our table went with the meat menu and one of them was quite excited in finding blackberries in her main course. This led everyone else to go blackberry hunting on their plates.

Dessert was also very good, lemon tart with a crème brulee top, with fruit salad.

After dinner, we were led back out by Jack, and one of the staff showed us the menus for our chosen meals.

I thought it was a really great experience and a tiny insight into a blind person’s world. The pricing is a little on the expensive side, but they do mention that the premium you pay is for the experience itself, which you don’t get in a normal restaurant.

A bucket list item? Maybe not, but definitely an experience you won’t forget in a hurry.

Mean accountant

This one is for all the accountants out there…

After grumbling rather petulantly at an auditor the other day, I started wondering when I started becoming so horrible to those poor little audit clerks who spend their lives ticking one number to another. I'm sure I wasn't always this mean.

I mean, I started my working life as one of them, so why is it that I now treat them with such poor regard? I’m sure that when I started out in commerce (“the other side”) I was actually kinda nice to them (to their faces anyway). Was it because I had just left the auditing profession, so a sort of kinship still existed? Or was it because I was still young and dumb? Or is it because auditors are even dumber now than they were seven years ago?

Back in the day even the worst audit clerks I worked with knew how to roll forward an equity reconciliation for a simple company. These days they can’t even do that by themselves. Admittedly the auditor in question (who was already in her second year at this big four firm) was probably an outlier in the IQ stakes, but she was very sweet and very pretty and so the powers that be had hired her, but accounting was perhaps the wrong career choice for her, bless the poor girl.

More recently, at a different company, I have had to explain the same thing to the same auditor every day for three days in a row. Granted, it was slightly more complex than merely adding up a couple of numbers, but she already had all the information, AND last year’s explanation, as it is a recurring adjustment each year. “But I explained that to you yesterday and sent you all the stuff supporting it,” I said curtly, the “so now f*** off and look at it properly before asking me stupid questions” part being left unsaid, except in tone. Obviously this was too subtle, as she doggedly kept asking me the same thing, craftily, in a different way until I sat with her and showed her which numbers to add, without her understanding the underlying concept, I suspect. Which means the same question from a different auditor next year, I presume. The life of an accountant. Sigh… 

There's no place like home

Indeed. Dorothy was correct when she uttered these words. I definitely felt the sentiment when I went home to South Africa for a (too short) holiday in January.

Not having been home for almost three years, I was really looking forward to getting away from the gloomy London weather and seeing clear blue skies again, and South Africa did not disappoint. She greeted me with blue skies every morning and the African sun baked the earth to a scorching 30-ish degrees Celsius. I was sweating like a pig, man. Although pigs don’t really sweat that much apparently, so perhaps I should say I was sweating like a BIG man. On a treadmill. Wearing PVC clothing.

Perspiration issues aside, I loved being home. I loved the sunshine, I loved driving again and I loved seeing my family and my friends. The longer I stayed, the more I wanted to come home again. There was a certain nostalgia that affected me, a yearning for the lifestyle that I once had – the spaciousness of homes; friendly people everywhere you go, from waiters to ‘pompjoggies’ (petrol station attendants to those of you not familiar with the term) to strangers in the queue at the Woolies; having my own ride with plenty of personal space – something commuting on the underground does not let you have – and singing along to the radio at the top of my lungs; and of course, the things beautiful weather allows you to do – outdoor dining and braais on the weekend, leaving the balcony doors open all day to let in the sunshine and fresh breeze, wearing shorts, washing that dries!!! Everyday life felt more relaxed and calm, even though I was rushing around trying to see people. Maybe it was a symptom of being on holiday. Maybe not. I just felt that that was where I wanted to be.

A few things struck me while I was in South Africa, though not literally!

I eat less!

Strangely, as much as I miss steak – and I mean GOOD steak – in London, when I get the opportunity to have good South African steak, I don’t crave it anymore. Go figure. I also seemed to be less hungry, generally. Maybe cold weather makes you want to eat more.. This somehow ties into Heathrow Injection Syndrome, I'm sure, but scientific explanation anyone??

I know how Alice felt

On seeing the inside of my childhood home, I felt like I’d just eaten Alice in Wonderland’s Eat Me cake <yes, you dirty jokers, insert inappropriate joke here, but that was what made Alice grow to the size of an elephant>. The house seemed so small! Not in terms of space, but in terms of scale. I was back home a few years ago and I did not remember feeling like a giant in that house. Fortunately it only lasted one night and by morning I felt normal sized again.

All my friends are grown up now.

Well, almost everyone. Quite a few of my friends are now married with children, and are pretty good at being parents. Me? I’m not sure what I’d do with a baby. I may be an adult, but I sure don’t feel like a grown up. Am I getting left behind?? Who knows, but I would hate to be tied down by a child at the moment. Life is good, I can go on holiday wherever I want, whenever I want, without having to cart around a baby buggy, nappies, toys, bottles, oh yes, and a baby!

All the grown ups are getting older

The number of aunties and uncles I knew as a little girl who are still alive are getting smaller and smaller. This led me to contemplate the mortality of my own mother and father. Morbid, I know, but a reality that everyone has to deal with at some point. If I could, I would have them live forever, in perfect health, as I’m sure every single other person wishes for their own parents. Unfortunately this is real life, it's made me appreciate time a little more, and made me realise that I should be spending more time with them, meaning going home more often than I have been lately to see my dearest mummy and daddy.