So wrong in so many ways

You have GOT to be kidding.

I wish I were a panda

Because this just looks soooo much easier than what I have to look forward to.
(Although, clearly even momma pandas get annoyed by their squalling babies. You'll note she tries to put it back at the end there.)

Also, I bet pandas don't get morning sickness. And if they get fat, who can tell? Who'd even care?

Spam o' the day

"Britney Spears Vagina Uninjured in Car Crash"
"Paris Hilton in Crack-in-Arse Scandal"

Am I just easily amused, or are those really funny?

The update, updated

For tedious and tiresome and sadly unfightable reasons, the 9 days I thought I had to make permit happen turn out to be only 4 days. Which cannot by any stretch of the imagination be made to resemble 5-10 days, even with begging letter. So I give. I surrender. The universe does not wish for me to be in Cape Town this year. Fine. I won't be.

If anyone out there knows any good curses, please direct them at whatever idiots thought it would be a good idea to outsource all visa functions to the private sector. I thank you.

Bureaucracy, the update

Oh it just gets more and more exciting. This whole "apply for entry clearance while in SA" thing? They need "5-10 working days" to process. Which is interesting, considering I'm only in SA for... 9 working days, including arrival and departure. Huh.

"You can include a cover letter asking them to speed things up and giving your reasons," I am helpfully told. Obviously, based on past experience, I do not have a whole lot of confidence in that. I imagine that the 5-10 day time is not because they actually require 10 days to ponder the merits of my application, but rather, because applications arrive and get dumped on the bottom of a large pile of other applications. They work their way through the pile, and reach mine when they reach it. Say, 15-45 days after submission. "Oh lookee," they will say. "She wants urgent consideration. Aw bless."

So the ulcer-inducing panic continues. (This can't be good for The Bebeh.) I fully expect to be stuck in Cape Town longer than expected. While some of my Capetonian readers may rejoice at this news, I do NOT, for reasons of (a) cost of new plane ticket (pretty sure mine doesn't allow changes) and (b) obligations back in London. Cancelling a few shifts would be annoying enough, relying on my freelance income as I do, but it's worse than that: Saturday 6 September is iKnit day. Big ol' knitting expo that I'm exhibiting at. Really not okay to skip it. Really not viable for Beloved to do it without me.

Arg.

We can haz passports!

So let's review. Me: two letters, two faxes, and about three phone calls, all resulting in vague assurances.

Beloved: one phone call, resulting in immediate return of passports.

I'm really trying not to take this personally...

FYI

The Home Office has a surprisingly tenuous relationship with the truth. Oh, they say "allow 10 working days for us to process your request", but they MEAN "...and then allow an extra 10-30 working days, depending on the tides and planetary alignments, and whether or not we like your face, for us to mock you with our pretence at helping."

Also, someone may tell you "you don't really need this piece of paper, but you can get one if you like", but what they MEAN is "...of course if you don't have it, you better not plan on ever travelling anywhere, ever."

What all this means is, if someone in Liverpool is having a good day, I might get to Cape Town and back this month. If someone in Liverpool has run out of coffee, I might get to Cape Town, and then spend my holiday fighting with the British High Commission to be allowed back into the UK. If someone in Liverpool has run out of coffee, is on a diet and lost a parking spot this morning, I might not be able to leave the country at all for a few more months.

It's a nailbiting ride.

Losing amusement value fast

Are spammers getting smarter, or are my filters getting dumber? Anybody else noticing this? It's emails, and also Movable Type comments. Hundreds of both a day.

Grrr.

Mah genius recognised!

Ooh, this is exciting, I made Post of the Week! (With a "judgely huddle" including Glitterforbrains, who is hilarious, by the way.) Gosh. I do like this. It's been a long time since I put much into this blog, so I don't really feel I deserve it, but I'm totally chuffed that some people felt I had something interesting to say. Thanks chaps.

Caution: spiders inside

You know when you think you know something and then years later you find out you had it all wrong? And that's really annoying and sometimes embarrassing? Well, I had one of those moments yesterday, except instead of being embarrassing it was DISGUSTING and totally FREAKED ME OUT.

It's like this.

Cape Town is home to these wonderful things called rain spiders, also frequently called baboon spiders. They are huge (like, saucer sized), ugly, common, and revolting. And harmless. So you encounter them, you deal with them, you take a really long shower and tell everyone about your gross spider experience, and that's that.

In my case, sometimes you encounter them, you get your non-arachnophobic mother to deal with them, and then you suffer while she plays practical jokes on you involving letting the spider loose again and not telling you where, because ha ha, aren't you a wimp, they're so harmless and actually quite cool.

Through bloggity chance yesterday, however, I found myself doing a little fact checking online. Huh.

Turns out, rain spiders look like this.


Which is odd, because the ones I've so frequently encountered - and been tormented with - look like this.



They are in fact baboon spiders. Which, common usage notwithstanding, are a different sort of beast entirely. And maybe not quite harmless. Not lethal... but "aggressive". They jump, people tell me. And bite. And make you sick.

Some conclusions:
1. My mother is an EVIL COW.

2. I am unusually unlucky to have always, always encountered the nastier kind of spider, while everyone else I've spoken to since discovering this confusion had the correct idea about rain spiders all along.

3. I suppose I should really be very grateful that I didn't know my mistake at those times when I was dealing with the bloody things. That time when one fell out of my trousers just as I was about to put them on, for instance, landing between me and the door. Or the time when I woke up and saw one on the ceiling directly above me, and there was no one else in the house to deal with it. Yup... just as well I didn't know then that they were aggressive, jumpy, and venomous.

PS. Beloved has been so rude as to doubt my story. He has never seen a baboon spider in Cape Town, therefore he believes my memory is at fault. He is, of course, completely wrong, and this article backs me up - baboon spiders a-plenty in Cape Town. This article also points out, casually, that outside Africa, these little treasures are known as TARANTULAS.

I've seen food from both sides now

Okay, bear with me, this is sort of a pregnancy post. Sorry. But not really. This is actually about how this alien parasite has enabled me to see something from the other side. And it's fascinating. (To me.) So I'm going to tell you all about it. Read it, don't read it...

You may recall my little fattypuffs vs thinifers rant. A precis: I believe that chubsters have a fundamentally different experience of food to skinnies, and as a result skinnies are incapable of understanding why it is that we should have such trouble dieting, etc. Now I believe I have Incontrovertible Proof! that it is so. Because the alien parasite is making me, temporarily and sadly invisibly, a thinifer.

It's like this. Hormones, not-just-morning sickness, yada yada - I will try not to bore you with too many details, but you see, I've lost my appetite. That's only partly because of the nausea; some of the time, like most of today, I don't actually feel sick. But I still don't want to eat. It's not just that I'm not hungry; something has switched off. Food has lost the fun factor. And no, it doesn't taste different. (Apparently for lots of pregnant women, tastes do change, but so far, not for me.) Everything still tastes fine, I am capable of thinking in a detached sort of way that something tastes good and is quite enjoyable... but something is missing. Look, consider this: I don't want chocolate. Do you begin to comprehend the vastness of this change? Yesterday I found myself thinking I wanted a chocolate, while at the same time I was perfectly aware that I didn't really, I wouldn't enjoy it if I had one. What I wanted was the satisfaction which I normally get from chocolate, but which is now gone. (Try to imagine the horror.)

And that's what got me thinking. I suspect, for thinifers... every day is like this. Less extreme, because of the total lack of nausea and the presence of hunger, but with that same disconnect between food-as-fuel and food-as-fun. If this were my normal state, I too would hotly deny any accusations that I "just don't understand", because after all, I still have tastebuds! Mmmm, yummy pizza! I get that - but I can stop! Why would you want another piece when you're not hungry any more?

It really is completely different, and it really must be a body chemistry thing. Living like this, you would eat when you're hungry (and mildly enjoy it); you would even sometimes eat when you're not really hungry, on social occasions, or because chocolates really are delicious. But you wouldn't experience the desire to do that very often, because frankly, putting food in your mouth when you don't want it is pretty damn repellent.*

Like this, food is like taking a shower. You need it regularly, and yes, it's really enjoyable, and sometimes you might indulge in an extra-long shower just because it feels so nice; but nobody was ever in danger of overshowering.

The way I used to be - and hope I will be again - food is much more like sex. Not literally. I don't gasp and moan over chocolate brownies (well, not often). But it definitely pushes some or other pleasure buttons in the limbic centre that right now are out of reach. It satisfies something that has nothing to do with hunger, and frankly, although it makes me happy, in itself it has nothing to do with psychological comfort seeking either.

Fattypuffs get pleasure out of food. Thinifers merely get enjoyment. It's a physical difference, and you know? Now I really feel sorry for thinifers. Because they're missing so much.

PS With this in mind - I've just stumbled across the Shangri La Diet, and putting aside for now (PLEASE) all questions of whether or not it works, is healthy, etc, the question is: would I want it to work? It sounds an awful lot like it might just have the same effect as what I've described above - not so much reducing appetite, as taking away that pleasure response. Would I want to be naturally thin and healthy and still enjoy food... but not enjoy it the way I am used to? I honestly can't say.

_____
* Nature has a mean sense of humour. The best way to stave off all-day sickness is to snack constantly. The last thing you want to do.

Creativity in unexpected places

I love spam. I may have mentioned this before. I hate spammers, especially those that "borrow" my email address to send their odious missives, but I am enormously entertained by spam itself. Spam is FUNNY. And it's getting funnier. I seem to be getting an awful lot of subject lines that combine two completely different attention triggers: (1) straight news (or the impression of same), and (2) hot chicks (famous if possible). Thus, today alone:
"Hot White Chick Dies in Tsunami" (which, to be fair, is a more honest version of a hell of a lot of natural disaster news coverage)
and
"Old Man Dies Inside Paris Hilton"

Funny! Right? Right?

Aw, shucks, you guys!

Thanks for all the good wishes, folks. They freak me out a bit* but I really appreciate it.

Some answers, to questions both asked (here and elsewhere) and unasked.
1. Yes, we really are happy, despite the footnote.
2. No, we didn't exactly expect this. At least not right now. I have been duped by the media! That whole "trying" lark is a total myth!
3. See 1.
4. March. It's very new. No, I haven't been keeping secrets (not for more than a week anyway).
5. There is no such thing as too many knitted baby things.
6. More than one test to go on? You'd be surprised. The doctor laughed at me when I begged her to confirm. "No no!" she said. "The tests we use are just the same! No more accurate! You say you're pregnant and I believe you!" I mean REALLY what is the NHS coming to? Taking a patient's word for it? Ludicrous, absolutely ludicrous. The tests the doctors use are better because they are DONE BY DOCTORS. I don't know how to do a test! Ludicrous.
7. ...My body still seems to think it might be pregnant, though, so we're assuming the worst. I mean best. Assuming the best.
8. No, I haven't forgotten my long-held belief that babies are alien parasites, nor have I changed my mind. It's *my* alien parasite though.
9. No morning sickness** so far, but apparently the hormonal stupidity*** is already kicking in. See 8.
10. I didn't do it for the knitting (that's just a bonus). I did it for the cuteness of the skiing toddler. Man, that's enough reason all on its own.
11. I really, really, really don't plan to turn this into a pregnancy blog.

Ok that's all the questions dealt with. Just one more thing: thank you all, again, very much. I'm pretty terrified. And pretty scared of drifting apart from some of my very lovely friends. It would be very nice if that didn't have to happen. Please thank you.

_____
* I still don't really understand why I'm happy about this, why should you be? What's the big deal about babies anyway? They smell, they're noisy, and the world has enough of them. I mean, obviously my genes are great and all - Beloved's too - but is that enough reason to get excited about my spawn? You're weird.
** Which is reportedly a misnomer as it can strike any time of day, but usually when you've not eaten for a while. As Lucy said, "That explains why you're not getting it."
*** To those who've already sprogged: I am applying a very specific definition of "stupidity". Hormonally induced brain impairment is the only possible explanation for the fact that people have been known to have more than one baby, despite having gone through pregnancy/childbirth and knowing what it entails. Doesn't affect brain function in any other area, though.

Well, this is different.

Tired now.

So I ran the British 10k this morning, and I did it in 67min, which is really quite slow but better than I was doing on my training runs, so I'll take it thankewverymuch, and anyway I'm just chuffed (still) that I'm actually able to run 10 WHOLE KILOMETRES. Which is more than the distance from Cape Town train station to my gran's place in Newlands. I'm just saying. 'Sfar.

Last time I did this particular race (it was also the first time I'd run a 10k), I had to walk most of the last 2km. This time was much easier. It helps that rather than running in sweltering 30-degree heat, it was a cool 20 degrees or so (with occasional rain). Rain is better than sun. Fact. It also helps that I had Choons. Yes! I took great care in assembling a playlist for the event. Now, playlist assemblage, for running, purposes of, is a fine art. You can't just stick a bunch of bouncy songs together, nonono. You need to predict your levels of energy at each point and choose the Choons accordingly. For me, the perfect playlist has 3 clear phases:

1. Aggro beginning. Gotta get off on the right foot, as it were, pounding the pavement like you really mean it. Lots of drums are recommended. The right sort of beat is vv NB: need to establish a pace. It should be quite fast, because after all you *can* go fast at this stage, but not so fast that you wear yourself out right away. My choices?
Stomp, Ripper Sole (the fab bit from Tank Girl where the rippers are all boogieing down)
Bjork, Army of Me (hey, it follows Ripper Sole in the soundtrack and that works for me)
Fleetwood Mac, Tusk (possibly the best running song ever)
Blondie, Call Me
Because we Can Can from Moulin Rouge

2. Middle maintenance. By now you've established a rhythm, so it's really more about entertainment. Pick Choons that will divert and distract you, and that have approximately the right pace. Defiant lyrics are good here. Some of my favourites:
Ini Kamoze, Here Comes the Hotstepper
Aretha Franklin, Son of a Preacher Man
Ice-T, Big Gun (yes, more Tank Girl, you gotta problem with that?)
Blondie, Rapture
Grand National, Playing in the Distance ("We're not caving in... we're not caving in...")
A fabulous mash-up of Nirvana and The Supermen Lovers, as recommended by top bloggers everywhere

3. Final stages. You might be flagging, so you need relentlessly perky songs to cheer you up and keep you going. If that should happen to be disco, well, there's no shame in that. NO THERE ISN'T SO THERE.
Scissor Sisters, Laura
Gloria Gaynor, I Will Survive,
Blondie, One Way or Another
Goldfrapp, Train

4. Finish line treat. Well, I guess this one's optional, but personally I really like having something totally delightful and maybe a little bit loony come on just as I'm patting myself on the back because OH MY GOD I JUST RAN ALL THAT WAY! Something like, say, the Langley Schools Project version of You're so Good to Me. Yes. Something just like that.

Of course, if you've gone to all the trouble of setting up the playlist, then you really want to listen to it all the way through. So do try to make sure your player doesn't mysteriously conk out just before the 7km mark, all right? Because, trust me. That would be really... really... really disappointing.

*fretfretfret*

Esteemed Father called me a week ago. Now, I am told that it's always immediately apparent when I'm talking to him, because my side of the conversation inevitably goes: "Oh no... oh dear... how awful... oh, no..." etc. On this occasion one of the dramas (there are always multiple dramas) involved important travel documents. Viz:

He has recently had to apply for right to remain in the UK. He has been awarded said right. Hurrah! But in returning his application, the Home Office appears to have lost his and his partner's passports. They sent back a checklist of included documents, which featured "2 x passports". There were no passports. But the checklist does not lie, says Home Office! So here begins a fun bureaucratic loop:
To issue a new or temporary passpot, SA Home Affairs want a police report that the old one was lost.
To issue a report, the police want a letter from the UK Home Office that they lost it.
Home Office say no! We did not lose it! The checklist Does Not Lie!

Oh no, oh dear, how awful, etc.

Plus, enter worrying thought stage left: hm, the Home Office have had my own and Beloved's passports for a while now (applying for EEA right to remain thingy). Better check up on that. Sposed to be travelling in August and all.

Turns out, the Home Office processing times have slowed down dramatically since last time I dealt with them. They refuse to give progress reports, or even acknowledge receipt of your application, until 14 weeks after submission. (Which is at least two weeks too late for my travel plans.) Applications *may* take up to 6 months. If you need your passport urgently, you're allowed to call and ask for it (assuming you can get through - it's one of those always-busy numbers where they don't actually let you hold, you either get through or you don't), which may take up to 10 working days.

I would feel a lot better if I at least had proof they'd received my application. Which I should have, since I handed it to Beloved to post via special delivery. And I am sure he did send it special delivery. However, I don't seem to have the tracking slip. I might have noticed this sooner if it weren't for the fact that I do quite a lot of posting (that's ironic understatement, there) and have quite a lot of tracking slips. Just not the really vital one.

So, as a back-up plan, I look at SA Home Affairs to see how they feel about temporary passports and the like. And I notice two things.

1) "DUE TO CURRENT REGULATION BY UK AUTHORITIES, NO TEMPORARY PASSPORT WILL BE ISSUED TO SA CITIZENS FOR ENTRY PURPOSES TO THE UK. TEMPORARY PASSPORTS WILL BE ISSUED ONLY TO HOLDERS OF DUAL CITIZENSHIP."
Wow. Brutal.

2) Requirements include "2X certified copy of valid British Visa." Huh. Given that visas tend to be stamped into one's passport, how exactly is one supposed to provide this if one's passport has been lost, damaged or destroyed, which are the usual grounds for seeking a temporary passport?

It's all academic anyway. A more pertinent requirement is that police report, which I'm not going to get on grounds of "the Home Office has my passport I think but they won't tell me". So I must just wait patiently 3 more weeks and then write to them demanding my passport back. Oh this is going to be such fun.

A good night.

Freshlyground. Dudes. Have you seen them? The albums are great, but live, they're phenomenal.



Course you've missed them now, if you're in London, at least till the next tour. They'll be all over Europe, though. And then of course back in Cape Town. Hey, maybe you're in Cape Town. Maybe you could catch them locally.

*sigh*

I miss Cape Town.

(Hey, you know the best part? Well maybe not the best part. But a really good part. The sound. It was excellent. I don't watch a lot of live music, and partly that's because almost without exception, the sound quality sucks, you can't really hear the actual songs, just noise. (I have particularly lousy hearing; I realise this might not be the case for everyone.) But whether thanks to the venue - Cargo in Shoreditch, very nice - or Freshlyground's own awesome sound engineering, this time, they sounded perfect. Yay for actually hearing the music you're there to hear!)

Some things I can do

Stand still without falling over.
See straight.
Talk without slurring (at least up till my second or third cocktail).
Walk unassisted.
Expect to live for more than another 7 years.

Turns out, my friend Lucy's father can no longer say the same, thanks to progressive supranuclear palsy. Which is why our team for the British 10k is running in aid of the PSP Association. Lucy says they have been a big help to her family.

I'm not really very comfortable with fundraising, for all sorts of not very good reasons. Usually when I race, I do it for me, and I don't ask for sponsorship. But now I'm asking. I bet you've never heard of PSP before, and I bet you'd be really glad this association existed if someone close to you was diagnosed with it. So this is for Lucy. I would really appreciate it if you would sling a couple of quid into the pot. Thank you.

Now that's a club I want to belong to

Although to be fair, I already have more than my fair share of sloth.

*blink*

What kind of idiot stays up until after half past four to work on something that nobody has asked for, that will earn only a tiny amount of money (if any), and be rewarded primarily in highly dubious "glory"?

I'm not bloody finished, either.

Oh dear lord and it's actually getting light outside. This is nuts.