Not all who wander are lost

Your troublesome teenage years are long since past. High School is nothing more than a hazy recollection of a few rose-tinted highlights; haphazardly strung together on a timeline that uses the length of your school uniform as a chronological yardstick.

 

Your early twenties are now just memories of giddy ignorance and naïve recklessness. The ability to sustain the weekly cycle of dancing all night, studying all day and working somewhere in between, without the slightest glimpse of hangover or bags under your (unwrinkled) eyes, is a gift that no longer belongs to you.

 

The brazen 25 year old with big ideals, high hopes and higher heels has softened and become all too realistic. Makeup has now become a necessity as opposed to a tool to make you look older.

 

Here you stand: In your late twenties, two heartbeats away from being 30. Aren’t you supposed to have ‘it’ all worked out by now? Do you?

 

If you’d asked me that question ten years ago, the fresh-faced 18 year old would have immediately launched into a well-rehearsed and self-assured soliloquy entailing careers, travels and independence. Today however, my answer is far simpler: No. I don’t have anything worked out, nor do I think I'll be any closer in another 10 years.

But I’m having a blast along the way!

If I were the boss...

Beep… beep… Beep. Beep. BEEP

You open one eye and with a reluctant arm reach for the alarm. My God, it’s only 5:30, the birds aren’t even awake yet. In fact the only sound you can hear is the rain hammering against your window. Summoning all the willpower you can muster, you manage to sit up and swing your legs over the side of the bed. Compared to the warmth of your duvet cocoon the room is freezing. You stand up, pad you’re way over to the shower and absentmindedly turn on the tap, spraying yourself with ice cold water. Then its brushed, dressed and off to work.

 

Beep… beep… Beep. Beep. BEEP. Road works. Traffic. Awful bumper-to-bumper traffic.  You glance at your watch, its already 7:40. Shit. You’d better let someone know that you’re going to be late. Menu. Messages. Create new message. Hi there, stuck in tr…THUD!!! No! Oh no, no, no! This CANNOT be happening; you’ve just driven into the back of a BMW. After swapping details in the rain its back into the car and off to work.

 

Beep… beep… Beep. Beep. BEEP. Telephone. You’ve only just walked into the office and already it’s screaming at you. “Do you know what time it is?” The voice comes from behind you, but you know exactly who’s asking. Still dripping with rain you apologize and frantically try to explain. It’s clearly NOT working. You’ll be working late tonight!

 

Beep… beep… Beep. Beep. BEEP

If I were the boss… I’d switch it off!

South African Music Sucks?

I was never, what you would call, patriotic. I knew that Cape Town was one of the most beautiful cities in the word; but I’d never been a flag waving, national anthem singing, Protea sniffing, rah-rah South Africa cheerleader! That all changed rather swiftly when I moved to London…

I lived in Wimbledon (fontein) with my fellow antipodean travelers for two years. During which time I probably listened to more South African music than in the previous 20 or so combined. I became obsessed with it! I googled upcoming SA music festivals, friends were requested to send new Homegrown CD’s and I was moshing along to Springbok Nude Girls when they played at the Shepard’s Bush Empire. I was truly a woman possessed!

I find it hard to believe that anyone can say South African music sucks and mean it. There are so many different styles, enough to suit any mood you may be in or preference you may have. Since we have such an inspiring variety of cultures, each invariably ends up influencing another’s music. This makes it possible for a single track to contain hints of jazz, rock, metal and reggae while being sung in Xhosa… with an English chorus… as well as a hint of Afrikaans thrown in there for good measure!

What started with a pennywhistle and a choir has managed to evolve and flourish into the exceedingly diverse, highly successful and internationally recognized South African music scene we have today. People are no longer buying local albums to be Proudly South African; we’re buying them for a far more selfish reason: We like them! The Brits can keep their muddy Glastonbury festival, I’m going to have a jol and catch a tan at Rocking the Daisies!

Rah-rah!