Category: Women


I stood up to kiss ‘A’ hello.

Hug her actually; I am the hugging kind.

Oh my gosh you smell delicious,’ I said.

She really did, her perfume divine.

Oh dear god you too,’ she whispered, burrowing her face into my neck.

We clung on to each other for a bit longer than we should have. Like, maybe a whole five minutes longer.

A great hug. A tight hug. A very close hug.

A pressing against each other kind of hug.

And then we sat down on either side of the table, surrounded by friends.

Our friends who were a little bit drunk.

Hey girls, what about a threesome?’

We both laughed, smelled each others necks again, held hands, giggled and then came up with every excuse in the world.

‘No, we don’t want to mess up the friendship.’

‘Ah can’t do it, we have to work tomorrow.’

‘Dammit I’m keen but I had my hair done today, no way I’m messing it up.’

‘Midweek’s not great, also I haven’t worn my best underwear.’

We all carried on talking, drinking, arm wrestling and then hours later, it was time to go home.

Hugs and kisses all round, goodbye.

‘A’ and I kissed and hugged again, both of us were thinking – should we, should we maybe, we kind of wanted to, why not, this would be a first for me, not so sure for her, but hey…

One of the guys called out – ‘Hey girls, wanna give that threesome a little bit more thought?’

We looked at each other.

‘Sorry Boys. Nope.  No way. No threesome.’

But we did hug again.

And smell each other again.

And carry on kissing…



My winter reading list

Because I’m too cold to have sex, and also apparently lazy, I’m spending a lot of time under a blanket with a fabulous pile of books.

My laptop’s next to me too, so when a blog on Sex Positions popped into my inbox I immediately put my book down and paid serious attention.

Thirty eight positions, I read.  Quite impressive. I wondered how many of them I knew. Or had maybe tried.

The first four were pretty cool and actually, no surprises here. Missionary, doggy style, etc.

Then I got to number five.

Face Sitting.

First sentence. Face sitting can be very hot.

Yip, I thought immediately. Hot. Sweaty. Like, his crotch in your face and you can’t breathe and you’re already so damn hot and now you’re going to get even hotter and dammit it’s boiling in here and pass the water, fan me, it’s a heatwave, a drought, oh god a heart attack, I’m dying…

Of course as I read on I realised they didn’t mean hot on fire hot. They meant sexy hot, oh my gosh hot, this is so damn good hot, oh yes shove your crotch even deeper please now oh more more god  so hot hot I’m coming.

I never got to number six. Sadly I knew these positions were not for me.

I closed my laptop and went back to my book.

A sweet romantic love story.  Much safer.  Much cooler.

Much easier to cope with.


N.B. Number three also had me like fuck no.  And – I glanced at number eighteen.  What, how, where is her body?

The girl who just forgot

Violet. Have you booked for the theatre yet?

Oh god, no, sorry, forgot, I’ll do it right now. Right now, sorry.

Of course I didn’t do it right now. Because I am scatty as fuck and I never write anything down and I keep it all in my head and I don’t have a diary and I forget everything all the time.

And my brain is a little like a marshmallow and maybe it’s the internet and maybe I’m starting menopause because I’m also moody BOOM BANG KAPOW  but I’ll never admit to either of those things and don’t you dare either, so I think it’s just that I’m scatty.

I’ve always kind of managed. Except lately, when I seem to be starting all my emails with Sorry I’m not usually like this, and OH GOD and OOPS and ARGH HELP FUCKIT FUCKIT FUCKIT.

So today I wrote out my first To Do List.

I took a deep breath.  Found a gorgeous piece of paper, picked out a beautiful pen,  pulled in my chair, sat up straight, wrote the date on top and then:-


And as I got through everything, except the writing which I knew I wasn’t going to do anyway, I felt a kind of smug satisfaction coming over me.

It wasn’t from the sex.  It was this great feeling of accomplishment.

Strike one. Strike two. Strike Three.

Except I just remembered I forgot to book the theatre tickets because oh god sorry I am not usually like this, I’m going to do it right now, promise.

But oh my gosh I can’t because I can smell burning and dammit goddammit argh I’ve left the pizza in the oven, the oven’s on fire…

Help, Help…


Sorry.  I’m not usually like this.



N.B. The pic may not relate.  I kinda forgot what I was doing.



What could possibly go wrong when a group of women go away for a weekend?

Nothing. If you plan well.

If you don’t plan well, it could be a disaster.

T arrived to fetch me. The weekend was a celebration for her birthday.

You got the directions, she asked?

Nope, I said. Thought you’d get them.

Ah, okay.  No problem, D will have them.

D didn’t have them. Neither did S or K or J or…

We googled the directions. It took a while.

As we were about to leave I remembered I hadn’t picked up the quiche. My lunch contribution.

Oh please just go via xxx so I can pick up the quiche, I asked.

Shit, T said. I also bought a quiche.

D said she too had a quiche.

Who has breakfast, I asked. Dinner? The second dinner?


Anyway. We finally arrived, albeit a little bit late. Seven women, seventeen bottles of champagne, three quiches, zero flashlights.

We had no idea there wouldn’t be electricity, said all of us.

Which was odd given it’s all over the website, but ANYWAY…

We opened the champagne. We went for a walk up the mountain. We left the kitchen door open. The monkeys got in. We semi sorted out the mess. We swam. We opened more champagne. One of us may have peed in the pool. All of us may have swum naked. We took pics and admired each other’s bodies and showed each other our perfect tits even though they’re not so perfect anymore.

And then we sat under the wild olive trees and sang Happy Birthday. We ate red velvet cake. We licked icing off our fingers.

And off the knife.

And somehow the knife, very very sharp and glinting in the sun, became the talking stick.

And we had one of those conversations where everything comes together. We stopped talking about eye cream and wrinkles and tummy tucks. We stopped talking over one another. We started on the real stuff. About us. Our fears. Our thoughts. Our dreams. And our loves.

We’ve been friends for years, all us girls. We talk. But there are things we leave out. Things that seem too scary to voice. Secrets we keep. Stories we don’t share.

We shared. Somehow the knife, the stick, made us courageous. We were honest. We bared our souls. We shed some tears.

We respected one another’s words. And we trusted.

As the sun went down the light changed. The sky turned a beautiful pink. The air smelled like vanilla. It was perfect.  We listened as the crickets started chirping. We listened as the baboon gave their final night calls.

And we listened to each other.

Without judgement, without advice and without agenda.

We just shared and listened.

And then the monkeys came back into the kitchen and there was a bit of pandemonium and it was pitch black and it was funny and we were laughing and we were crying and they  got away with the quiches and nobody really cared.

We still had champagne.

We lay on our backs and sipped and it grew quiet and we whispered a little and looked at the stars.

And knew we had love.

Tons of it.


Advice for a girls’ weekend:

Get directions
Check who’s bringing the toothpaste
Zip up your tents
Buy fruit if it’s on your list
And milk, coffee, tea, sugar, eggs, bacon and chocolate
Talk. It helps.
Remember other people want to talk
And that some people are shy
Talk very quietly if you wake up early
Drink water in between champagne.
Use moisturiser.
Go naked.
And know that you’re all in it together.



Lindani is in The Waterberg. We stayed in the Molope Tented Camp which is divine. It sleeps eight, is self catering although you can order meals, totally private, completely delicious and very well priced. Three and a bit hours out of Johannesburg.