The art of planning a chilled wedding …

A vent.

I am a planner. There are few things in this world that I take on without planning every detail. I even plan on cancelling Friday night plans and plan the pizza I will order and bottle of wine I will finish. So when it comes to my wedding (18 August 2018 if you were asking) I am of course the planning queen. (Drama queen, yes, but a queen no less!)

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Mr Albert Potter’s grandfather clock.

A story about Principles.

Mr Albert Potter’s antique grandfather clock struck at 6AM. The polished mahogany giant was located inside room 4A, where Mr Albert Potter’s stayed and would wake the entire floor in the “Autumn Leaf Care Centre for the Elderly but still Full of Life” retirement home. Mr Albert Potter inherited the clock from his late father Mr Albert Potter Senior who was given the clock by the shoelace factory where he worked for nearly 50 years upon retirement.

Wine. A place where everyone knows your name.

In a dark, hip bar she sat against the window on a red bar stool…

The naked lightbulbs hung trendily above her, illuminating her face with a soft yellow glow. The place had an atmosphere of poetry, art and intellect. Her thick dark hair braided over her head like a German milkmaid fit this high image in a measured, ironic way. She was drinking a glass of chardonnay, wooded, in a tumbler that looked like it was stolen from the set of Downton Abbey. She loved the way the tumbler fit in her hand, cooling her fingertips before the rich liquid flowed icily down her throat. She never understood why some bars insist on serving wine in tumblers instead of elegant long-stems, but she didn’t really care either, she loved how it made her look. 

Hairy horrors of summer

The fateful bikini wax.

Every year summer creeps upon us, announcing the dawn of the dreaded swimsuit season. If fitting into the itsy bitsy leopard print bikini that is held together by flimsy pieces of string making you resemble a piece of ham is not enough pain already, there is also the wax down South.

Dress code: When less is more

Lessons from a nudist colony

Sitting in the Helderberg Forest Lodge lounge at the monthly getaway of the Western Cape Naturist Association (WCNA), I met with what you would traditionally call a “nudist colony”. Dressed in nothing but a flannel chequered shirt, Serge Pavlocic chairman of the WCNA is giving me some ‘dressing tips’ in the style of not dressing.