Paella, please

I am, truly, the luckiest girl in the world. My friend D's husband phoned me on Monday to tell me he had got me tickets to the match last night. At my favourite stadium, there near the sea, below the mountain. Between Spain and Portugal (the match, not the stadium obviously.) To say I was a little excited would be a gross underestimation. Very excited? Still doesn't do it. Absobloodylutely ecstatically over the moon? That's a bit more like it.

Honestly, had you told me two months ago that I would be a football fanatic, I would've fallen about laughing, but having it here, in our backyard and seeing the fans, playing host, watching how people are loving being here, well.. I'm hooked. For now. Fear not, this will not be turning into a sports blog.

So, last night, we bundled up warmly, packed blankets, scarves and beanies, and headed toward the gorgeous stadium. The weather had been ridiculously miserable all day with cold wind blowing pelting rain in sheets, it didn't bode well for a comfortable match-watching experience but, hell, what's a bit of rain when seeing pretty Portuguese boys play stunning football with even prettier Spanish boys?

We needn't have worried though, The City Beneath the Mountain had obviously whispered into The Weatherman"s ear and explained we have guests and need to be hospitable because between them they cleared the weather up and The City put on her Sunday Best. At one point in the second half, she sent up the almost-full moon above the curve of the stadium roof - an African sky to be proud of.

And can those boys (with their cute little tushies) play soccer? Wow. I was amazed. Mainly, though, I watched the people and felt the incredible feeling of, um, I think the only thing you can call it is Humanity. 64 000 people crammed together, yelling and screaming and blowing vuvuzelas and a conglomeration of passion and, above everything else, a plethora of smiles. From everybody, to everybody.

Again, I am so proud - I watched real Spaniards and real Portuguese fans mingle with South Africans. South Africans dressed in Spanish/Portuguese clothes, faces painted, they were as passionate as the people from Spain and Portugal. Yet another testament to how we're embracing this World Cup.

And now our hearts and souls are with Ghana on Friday - our very own African team! Shall I stop gushing now?

A welcome and a renewal of Human Spiritedness

Welcome to the world little Ava, who arrived this morning at 1:30am (much more reasonably 9:30am her time). A healthy 3.45kgs. As I said to K when I spoke to her delighted self this morning, lucky she was a caesar (she was breach), you would'nt want to squeeze that out of your nether regions! Apparently she is absolutely beautiful and everything went off just fine. I wish little Ava a good trip through this world, filled with oceans of happiness and love and wonderful people and places.

I have been adminny this morning. It's Friday so my day at home for my Other Job. I got off a 10am deadline piece and then went to collect my new credit card at the bank and sell a vacuum cleaner (no, my Other Job is not Vacuum Cleaner Saleswoman, it's an old one - I'm spring-cleaning the garage). I sat in the car outside the shop we were selling it to, watching the passing stream of humanity (it's in a road that leads to the station) and was filled with an overwhelming sense of, well, humankindness. I always try to keep my faith in humankind, but sometimes lose it. Today, though, it was renewed.

You see, its not the most salubrious area (being near the station never is, is it?) and there were all sorts of people that your average "Upper Class Suburban South African" would probably be nervous to hang about. Sitting in my patch of sun in the car though, I smiled at everyone who walked past and happened to catch my eye, and they all smiled back.

It's a really good place to be, right here, right now, isn't it?

The glitz and dinner

So, the BFF came over, we gorged ourselves on spagetti bolognaise and milk stout (my new favourite drink, it takes me back to varsity), and then settled in to watch the Oscars last night. As far as I'm concerned, there is no point in watching award ceremonies on your own. Unless you're one of those people who talk to themselves. I'm not. I'm not averse to my own company but stop short of actually striking up a conversation with myself. What if we didn't get on?

I'm not sure the BFF agrees that you can't watch them alone, but he listened patiently as I chitter-chattered in his ear, probably only to about 50% of my comments but, well, ja.

It was a good one, I think. I haven't watched for a couple of years because, really, they do become a bit dull, but this one had some funny bits, some very gorgeous shiny, twinkley, sparkley dresses and jewels and some beautifully sad moments... Read: Heath Ledger's family accepting his award. They got it just right. So human, which I think must be the hardest (and most heart-wrenching) thing to do in the plastic drama, media circus of Hollywood. They were there simply as his family. Who loved him. And miss him. Two fat, hot tears from me. Just two. Unusual for me, but it was just so perfectly simple.

And, of course, the fact that Slumdog Millionaire, a baby budget, developing country movie swept the awards up is fabulous. Makes me grin and instills a new sense of faith in humankind. That faith often gets bruised and bashed in me when watching Hollywood movies. But I think we'll be okay.

A few more comments on dresses, put-on comedy by presenters and singing-dancing antics, and we were bored. Flick, flick and the channel was changed, leaving the plastic glitz and put-on smiles in it's wake. We ate lammingtons soaked in sherry, with custard. And were joined by a tiny baby lizard on my bedroom wall. I love that.

I wonder how long it takes to lose your grasp on reality in Hollywood?