Tag Archives: conversations

Suzy Skinerbek………….


Seriously, John is SO annoying and that is why I need my girlfriends to sit and bitch to. I tried to moan to him about last night and have a bit of a skiner(gossip) and he gets all quiet and disapproving. SO annoying. A girl would um and ah and nod at all the right places in the conversation. My friends wouldn’t judge at all and would understand that it’s anger of the moment and would think NOTHING of me speaking to the alleged person, as if nothing was wrong. Yes, you may say it’s too faced. I just say it’s a vent and a rant and rave about a particular incident.

If you live on a farm and get thrown constantly with a mixed bunch of women and don’t ever get annoyed, then you must be brain-dead. The worst is when someone arrives at a function in a bad mood. It filters through to the rest of us and really causes shite.

People sometimes drain me. And when John doesn’t want to be my “cat scratching post”, well then SHAME ON HIM! 

The cheek of it….




Farmer has a wife….


Let me tell you something about farmers.

They have to eat at 1pm. Exactly. They have to have a 20 min snooze somewhere between 1 and 2 pm. They like meat and vegetables with gravy. They don’t show too much emotion unless the overdraft is reaching it’s max, or the price of the  50kg bag of feed has increased by R5, or someone hijacked the tractor after a “carefree moment’ and drove it into a wall, or the dog dies, or the chickens poo on the Landcruiser bonnet.

So there I was nestled under a mohair blanket on Sunday evening draped over my Fabric Library R400 a metre upholstered chair. ‘Johnzee,’ I said enthusiastically, ‘Do you know it’s Valentines Day on Tuesday?’

He whipped his head back and retorted: ‘You’re not starting with that bullshit this year!’.

Well, that was me finished. The subject of Valentines Day brought up and shot down in a blaze of fire. Before I’d even mentioned Lindt chocolate or a Kindle Fire. Bloody hell!

Farmer turned his head and continued watching Carte Blanche.

It’s kiff here jong……


Living in a farming community is like being on the set of a soap opera and being part of a live studio audience. Take Kim Kardashian for instance, I have her twin sister living about 17kms away from me. “Kim”, let’s call her “Kim”, is beautiful and constantly touches her hair, flicking it gently over her shoulders after she’s applied her lip gloss with her perfectly manicured hands. A lovely girl and personally inspires in me, the urge to dress better and always look zhooszh.

Stephanie Forrester of Bold and Beautiful fame has a clone living here too. Bossy, controlling and judgemental always putting her family first. No farming community would survive without someone like her to drive us and whip us into submission. A true leader and woman with a pair of sizable balls.

And then we have Meridith Grey from Grey’s Anatomy. Whiny and annoying with that monotone droning voice and clinging to her husband.

Then we have Joey Tribbiani from Friends. In essence a kiff guy but has a roving eye for woman. Dangerous in a farming community but providing hours and hours of juicy material to discuss at length, over a cup of tea at the local Coffee Shop. 

The we have Jack from Will and Grace. A personal favourite. Lovely to be around if he likes you, but hell if he doesn’t. Bitchy, side splittingly hilarious and sharp as a whip.

In a farming community there are NO secrets. You think you have a secret, but someone ALWAYS knows. They watch you, you watch them back and that’s how it goes. You fall, they pick you up, they fall and you take them a supper dish and a listening ear.

Someone always willing to give you advice  and tell you where you went wrong, whether you want to hear it or not!

 I’d have to say I wouldn’t change it for the world…coz it’s kiff here jong!

Queen of Small Talk……


A friend once told me I was the Queen of Small Talk. I could walk into a room and work the crowd like no-one else she knew. But now these days…it exhausts me. I find it so tedious to listen to other people if they don’t reciprocate the interest in me.  But I’m fundamentally interested in people. I ADORE their stories. I can listen to an engaging person for hours. Boring people I have a limit of 15 minutes. (and that’s with the last ten minutes surreptitiously looking at my watch). You know if someone isn’t interested in you. That pee’s me off. I’ll deflect any questions I don’t want to answer and then secretly give the person a Noddy badge for being interested in someone other than themselves.

I love talking about myself. But I prefer listening to someone different  viewpoint. What does John say: “Keep quiet, you might learn something!”.

bloody blazing blackberry’s………….


Yesterday I wanted a Blackberry until about 7pm. Went to a meeting last night. Men in the meeting room. The other woman and I sitting with the kids in the bar area. guaranteed we’d spoken a few times in the day, so we didn’t have too much news.

We’re good friends so we don’t feel the need to make idle small talk. BUT PEOPLE, IT’s RUDE!!!! IT”S RUDE TO SIT ON YOUR BLACKBERRY IN COMPANY. Let me repeat that if you didn’t get it the first time. It’s rude to sit on your Blackberry in company. It REALLY, really, really  is.

In fact it’s exasperating when someone is smiling whilst typing or reading a private conversation on their Blackberry. It makes me feel left out and me being an inquisitive person…cracks me, that I don’t know what’s going on!

But really it’s rude. And…..I don’t want to be someone who sits on a bloody cellphone all the time. So now I’m not going to get one on principle. It’s so….ordinary. I hate being the second or third person to do something. I like to be the first.

No….seriously…I have a problem with you fiddling on your cellphone when you’re supposed to be talking to me! I’m that arrogant to want to make it all about me……

Worth my weight in bold……


The other day we were chatting. I asked the thinner girls what they weighed? Their faces expressed absolute shock and horror at revealing their weight. I must admit I was shocked, I thought thin girls hung around and bandied about their weight ad nauseam. I though it was common knowledge and thin girls discussed it quiet openly.

When I’m thin one day I’m going to be open about my weight. In fact my conversations are going to go like this:

“Do you want a cup of coffee?”

“54kgs” I’ll reply

‘No, I asked if you wanted coffee?” sigh of exasperation!

” Did you watch Desperate Housewives last night?”


“No, I asked if you watched Desperate Housewives last night” ill-disguised irritation!

“My ranunculus’ and Agapanthus’ are flowering beautifully this season. Have your roses started showing yet?”

“54kg’s” I’ll reply.

“tsk” spat out through tightly clenched teeth!


Groups of girlfriends….


Yesterday’s blog post conjured up a very naive, klooster koek image of me. I re-read it this morning and that’s the impression I got.

This couldn’t be further from the truth. I’m actually a bit of a floater. Always have been and I guess I always will be. By this I mean I neither fit into a cool, hip, rebellious group nor a conservative, blinkered somewhat naive group either. I have friends from both these groups but I tend to shy away from wild girly nights out saturated with wine bar hopping and strippers. (nothing wrong with that). And I tend to find the whole holier than thou, butter wouldn’t melt in the mouth, have never seen a penis, group somewhat boring too. I like friends that make me laugh, bring up the odd intelligent bit of titbit every now and again, battle with gyming, eating, parenting (you know….the usual larks),  girls that curl their legs up on the couch, glass of wine or mug of coffee in hand, cock their heads to one side and sympathise with your everyday frustrations.

Every now and again, I go through a lonely, not quiet connecting with my fellow-man/woman phase. I think I might be in one now. You say tomatow and I say tomayto kind of phase. It always happens around my birthday. It’s in two days time. 38 years of age. I’m going through a real pimply stage at the moment. That sorts of obliquely makes me feel a snidge younger.

Age is a personal feeling and “thang”. I still sometimes feel like a horny teenager when I see Johns arms and thighs. And then other times I feel like a grumpy geriatric old fart when he just simply breathes. Seriously…..that man deserves a medal! I’m like a moving target at times.

Two more sleeps until I get my pressies. I love presents, if you must know. And I’m shallow enough to admit that I like lots and lots of things to open. The more the merrier.