Category: south africa

Road trippers

This weekend I’m road tripping with girlfriends

We’re not taking a GPS

Or our laptops

We’re going to cook fresh fish and eat delicious vegetables

We’ll talk about clothes, shoes, men and sex

Maybe even sort out world peace

We’re going to hike, swim, sleep, read

And laugh, a lot

We’ll sing wildly with Tom Waits

Dance madly to the Proclaimers

Drink champagne

Give each other massages

And flirt with everyone we meet

The only thing we’re not going to do this weekend

Is listen to the news

Worry about a single bloody thing

Or work!

Have a groovy weekend you guys.

Violet Online – the play.

Violet Online is opening.

Not her legs!

The play….

It’s going to be on at The Auto and General Theatre on The Square in Sandton, Johannesburg in just two weeks time.

Previews 27 October and opens 28 October and we are excited, nervous, trying not to take tranquilisers and definitely not panicking.

Starring the very talented and beautiful Lynita Crofford.  Directed by the fierce and fabulous Megan Furniss.

And written by me – Violet Online.

Bring your husband, your boyfriend, your lover, your lovers, all your girlfriends, your mom and your granny.

Leave the kids at home.

And if you’re not in Jozi- well – get on a flight, dammit.

Book at the theatre 011- 883 8606.

It’s a lot of sexy somewhat hilarious fun.

How to survive a heatwave.

Put ice down your cleavage

And wet your t-shirt.

Take a late night skinny dip

And an early morning one.

Listen to Joni Mitchell

Under a Jacaranda tree.

Stop the car

Find a rockpool

And dive in headfirst.

Wear a cool dress

A huge sunhat

And remove your underwear.

Make direct eye contact

With the ice-cream seller

He’ll give you one for free.

Walk straight into a bar

Order pink champagne

Drink it slowly

With extra ice

And remember:

You don’t need any excuses to go naked

This weather has you covered.

Guns n’ cupcakes

So there I was all cosy in my coffee shop writing about sex, dipping in and out of facebook, flirting a little with the guy sitting opposite me when suddenly – a bit of a commotion.

I was distracted.  What kind of idiots make a noise in a coffee shop?

Armed ones, apparently.

Two men, caps pulled low, dark glasses, and guns in their hands. Smoothly, seamlessly, holding up the patrons and helping themselves to their laptops and cellphones.

What do you do when you’re in the middle of an armed robbery? Yell? Scream? Risk being shot?

Take another sip of coffee in case it’s your last?

It was so quick. They were gone within seconds, cool as cucumbers, leaving in the escape car that was outside waiting for them.

Only afterwards did panic break out. We were tearful and shaky, everyone was in shock.

I just sat there, clutching my laptop to my chest. How lucky I had been that they never made it to my table.

But what does lucky mean? In South Africa, we have this really weird thing of saying ‘ 0h my god I was robbed, thank goodness no-one was hurt.’

And then we just carry on.

But it’s crazy. It’s insane. It’s a mad way to live.

And it happens all too often.

We gulped down our cold coffees but left our eggs, sad and rubbery, lying on the tables. Slowly, we scattered, unsure how to feel and what to do.

I got home. I finished writing my story. I called a friend to tell him what had happened.

He recommended a scotch or six, a red velvet cupcake and a pedicure. Plus a blog piece about the incident.

So that is what I did. I ate two cupcakes, had a manicure as well as a pedicure and now I am writing.

Also wondering what happened to the guy I was flirting with.  And feeling better already.

I shall have to go back to the coffee shop to find out.

To march or not to march

Tomorrow is the day that South Africans will be marching. In Pretoria, Cape Town and Durban, we’re going to come out in our thousands, hopefully even millions, to march against corruption.

I love political marches and the camaraderie that comes with them.  The singing, the toyi-toying and the feeling of being united.  It’s an old hippie activist thing.

So I’m painting my banner and digging out my shorts, walking shoes and megaphone.

The problem is, we’re in the middle of a heatwave. It’s hot. Really hot.

BB suggested I skip the march and hang out with him by the pool. And the thought of diving in headfirst, swimming, sipping cocktails and having pool sex is really tempting.

Argh. How to make a decision?

If I march, I will get sunburned, hot, tired and irritable but I will feel really good.

If I swim, I will still get sunburned and hot but I will at least have sex.

I’m remembering the last time I had pool sex.

Which actually, was completely overrated. I hate holding my breath underwater, I lose sensation, I know one of us is going to drown – probably me – and god, it all just feels rubbery.

There is nothing good about pool sex.

But there is something really good about marches.

And I don’t think BB needs me nearly as much as my country.

So that’s it. I may march in a bikini and use the water to pour over my head.  But I’m going to join the millions of South Africans and march for a better future.

And feel really good that way.

Viva South Africa, Viva.

Mood swings

I mostly love the moon. I love sitting outside staring and soaking in its beauty. I love the softness of the new moon, I love the perfect crescents and I love the moonlight that shines through my bedroom window.

I have this fantasy where I’m walking with a gorgeous man in Paris, under the light of a full moon. I’m wearing a little black dress, he has his hand on the small of my back, and it’s a perfectly sexy and delicious evening.

Except it’s never going to happen.

Because the full moon makes me moody.

Each month, as it nears full moon, I go a little mad. Mood swings, my ex-husband would call it. Craziness, my children do call it. A mystery is what I call it.

I cry more and I feel unbalanced. The moon affects me. I don’t know why, but it does.

So last night while my hippie friends were all having spiritual epiphanies about the blood moon, I sat quietly, seeing the beauty but feeling unsettled.

And as I drove home, with a few tears falling out of nowhere, I stopped at a traffic light. There was a homeless kid on the corner, barefoot, wrapped in blankets, begging.

I had nothing to give him, but I looked him straight in the eye and gave him a smile. I made direct eye contact. Not something one does with street kids too often.

He looked directly back at me. And he smiled too. His eyes lit up and he gave me a smile so huge, so warm, so enormous, that it was like the fullest moon of all.

And there was this connection.

This amazing connection, under the moonlight.

We both felt it.  It was one of those moments.  It stayed with me when I drove away.  I know it stayed with him too.

Not such a bad full moon after all.

The Imagined Land.

Last night, I went to the theatre. As I was settling down in my seat and switching my phone to silent, I noticed the couple a few rows ahead of me.

I couldn’t help notice them. He was pale and pasty. She was a redhead.

And his tongue was halfway down her throat. They were in a tight clinch, his hands were under her shirt and she was groaning like she was going to orgasm right there in row 3D.

The lights were still on. This was the Sandton theatre. A public space. A very public space.

I’m all for hand holding in public, a bit of footsie-footsie under the table, and even long delicious kisses against a dimly lit streetlamp.

In Paris. Not in a Johannesburg theatre. Especially when I’m inside that theatre.

I’d been looking forward to seeing ‘The Imagined Land’ for a long time so I really wanted to tell this couple to get a room. I was about to do just that when the lights went off and everything went quiet.

The set was beautiful; books suspended mid-air, each individually lit, like birds taking flight but words taking flight.

The play centres around an elderly white writer, her younger black biographer, his relationship with her daughter, race, stereotype, class and guilt.

It’s a very relevant play in relation to where South Africa is today.

It’s clever. It’s sassy. And it’s all about words. Finding words, making meaning of words and knowing which words to believe.

Kinda odd then, that I couldn’t find the simple words to tell this couple to fuck off.

The play was so good that I did eventually forget about them. And when the cast were taking their bow to a standing ovation and the audience were wiping their tears I noticed that they were no longer there.

Had they gone home to have sex? Had the sex been good? Why was he so pasty? How easy is it to orgasm in a chair? Was her hair naturally red?

I would never know.

A bit like the play. One never knows exactly what happens. But Imagined Lands can help us find our way.


The play stars Nat Ramabulana, Janna Ramos-Violante and Fiona Ramsay.

It’s written by Craig Higginson and directed by Malcolm Purkey.

It’s at The Auto and General Theatre on the Square, Sandton, until 12 September.

It is seriously brilliant.