Bridget Ndlovu-Jones' Blog

Ok, here we are, well and truly in the Information Age - thank god - where it's all things technological - blackberries, Tabs, ipads blah blah blah. So why oh why, pray tell, are some things still firmly rooted in the Dark Ages? Why hasn't something simpler, better or faster come along - besides Standard Bank!

3 examples:

1. DVD - Watching (and enjoying) DVD. Picture suddenly freezes.Sigh. No option but to peel self off sofa. Eject DVD. Glare at silver side. Check no-one's watching and spit on. Rub vigorously with sleeve! Re-insert. Try and find last scene. Aarrgh, gone too far back. Reaches same spot and freezes again. Repeat!

2. Printers - Paper jam. Display flashes picture of side of machine. Open side door. Gaze in. Out of corner of eye spot a piece of paper. Slide in hand to gentle tug the troublesome sheet. It feels hot so instinctively try not to burn self. Hand jerks. End up tearing paper. Half of it's left in machine. It's the original. Shit. Fiddle with lever. Now on knees. Other half is eventually spat out. Thank god. Slam door. Heave self up. Optimistically check screen for the all clear. Display flashes picture of front door. Repeat!

And finally,

3. Powerpoint. 'Nuff said.

Come on chaps...sort it out!


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My mate, a Brit, is a fabulous cook. And I'm not talking artsy wannabe Jamie Oliver or whatshername... you know the sultry, voluptuous one with dark hair who's always framed by soft lighting - no - she's a no nonsense Northern lass who calls a spade a spade! She's married to a (lucky) Greek guy, they retired (early) and now spend their time between Cape Town and Greece. As soon as the first puff of autumnal wind blows over Table Mountain they're off to Greece! Fabulous huh?

Anyway, she's computer il-literate and I'm a bit limited in the kitchen so we've decided to teach each other what we know. She's going to spend once a week for the next 6 weeks teaching me how to cook and I'll teach her basic computer skills.


Today was my first lesson. I was a bit taken aback when she walked in with a plastic bag which had an empty jam jar (?!), a sharp knife (her own...what's wrong with mine I thought???), and a bag of bones!!! Chicken bones!!!! (Eeeww!!! What for? What for???)

The Chef drains the bones!

So. First was the chicken stock - bones plus carrot, onions, celery, parsley and in seconds it was cooking away and smelt fab. Next we used the chicken stock to make potato and leek soup. Oh. My. God. Simple and simply deee-lish! I can't believe I made soup - for the first time in my life! Beautiful - better than Woolworths (Marks and Spencer). (Plus I used my handheld blender that has been gathering dust for eons.)

Next we did a Napoli Sauce (ie a basic pasta sauce). Who knew onions could be chopped that fine? Hence the knife. I was Julia Child! I chopped, I diced, I cleaned as I cooked, I was on a roll. An HOUR later, the sauce was done and...can I just tell you...well worth the time! Bloody hell. Talk about mouth watering. Jones won't know what's hit him...or what's hit me, to be more precise. Am I on the road to creating a monster??

Next week is carrot and ginger soup, good ole fashioned spag bol, and salad dressing (hence the jam jar!)

What did she get from me this week? A lesson on facebook...we set up her account, she loaded some pictures, made a few friends and she was reunited with a friend she hadn't been in touch with for 25 years (lots of tears followed by lots of wine to recover from the tears!) It was pretty cool. Believe me.

We live just behind a boutique hotel in Cape Town (Derwent House) so we sometimes get the pleasant and unpleasant sights and sounds of carefree holiday makers going about their business. Yesterday evening as I was lying on the sofa with the French door open - waiting for a chunk of gammon to cook (I'm NEVER making that again!) I heard one of the guests whistling I'm forever blowing bubbles...pretty bubbles in the air... West Ham United's football song! As an East End girl, it really brought back some memories.... Sigh!

The festival began with a handbag search....men this way, women that way. I'm never sure of the point of handbag only searches - no metal detector, no body search, just handbags!?

Anyway, we got in and caught the tail end of Simphiwe Dana. Great South African jazz-ish artist - haunting voice. She's a little stiff, but good nonetheless.

Then, an hour and a couple of beers later, came EARTH, WIND and FIRE!!! They had decided to kick off there 40th Anniversary world tour in SA! And man they ROCKED it belting out classics like Boogie Wonderland, Fantasy, Let's Groove Tonight and lots lots more !!! What a treat! Out they came looking like...errm... they'd just stepped out of the 70s! One had on a shiny white suit which had white tassles down the length of a pair of very snug trousers. Their faces were weirdly tight, shiny and plump! A little knife job methinks. But once I got passed the frozen wrinkless smiles I had a blast! Man can Philip Bailey sing. The range puts Mariah Carey to shame. Seriously.

They performed nonstop for just under 2 hours and I, along with the several thousand others, was sweating from the all the dancing, jumping, arm waving -except for the obvious tourist right in front of us who had on a large back pack, nodded her head in relative time to the music and then at one point (during Fantasy I think) took out and started munching on a ham sandwich!

Dripping sweat we went to another of the 5 stages to watch Liquid Deep! I think they're South African. Recognised one song - 'Will you be my Fairy Tale'. Great music. The lead singer, though very talented (and knew it), was a bit too in to himself. He introduced himself, in a funny American accent, as 'just Ayo'!! Hmm... Is it just me or doesn't that sound Nigerian?

Anyway, after about 5 songs and with aching thighs, sore knees and throbbing heels - it was time to move on to the next stage and catch Youssou N'Dour! Fan-bloody-tastic! Aching forgotten, we threw ourselves into the Senegalese rhythm. Wow!

A vigorous hour later - at about 1:30am - we surrendered and limped back to the car!

I heard later that 15 000 people came and I'm sure enjoyed themselves as much as we did. I love Cape Town!

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A conversation during the England vs Wales football match...

Friend to me: Why is Wales booing England? (This was during the National Anthem)

Me: Huge rivalry.

F: Isn't Wales part of England?

Me: No. It's like a separate territory...errm.. country - but Wales is part of the United Kingdom.

F: ?

Me: They are next door to each other like SA being next door to Zim. (I draw a stupid map of the UK on the back of an envelope UK separating England, Ireland, Scotland and Wales). Each has their own capital city.

F: Oh. OK. So you need a passport to get there?

Me: Err....Actually no. There aren't any borders.

F: No borders??? But...(getting more and more annoyed). So what the f%#$ is Great Britain then?

Me: It's the name of the island...so it excludes Ireland.

F: (Totally exasperated...as now am I vowing to google it at next chance). It's a balls up!

Me: Hahaha (I can't help but silently agree)

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Remember how, several years ago, during his rape trial, SA President JZ made that spectacular blunder saying that he couldn't have contracted HIV from the HIV positive rapee because...he took a shower immediately after sex!!?!!

Anyway, ever since then, South African cartoonist Zapiro has ALWAYS depicted JZ with this shower attachment on his head and it cracks me up EVERYtime!


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In SA driving licenses expire every 5 years. I only know this because Jones once had to go, queue for hours, get finger printed blah blah to get his new license. (In the UK your licence pretty much expires when you expire.)

My friend, oblivious to this tradition - born and raised outside SA - was recently stopped by the police and asked for her license.

Policeman: 'Ma'am, your license has expired!'

Friend: '?'

Policeman: 'It expired 2 years ago!'

Being the law abiding citizen that she is off she went to the traffic Dept.

Woman behind glass counter: 'It says here that you need glasses to drive.'

Friend: 'Yes, I wear contact lenses'

Woman: 'Where are your glasses?'

Friend: 'I wear contacts'

Woman: 'I need a letter from your optometrist saying you wear glasses.'

Friend: 'Huh?'

True story.

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So 2 days ago Jones got given a book called 'The Four Hour Work Week' by an ex-colleague. Hang on...the book isn't written by an ex-colleague - he got it as a gift from blah blah... I digress! So, long and short is that I read it cover to cover in 2 days. Very interesting. Question is it really doable??? The jury's out on that one.

So... To challenge my sceptical, eye-rolling self I've decided to actually try some of the exercises and see what happens...

Hmm... Watch this space to see how I go...

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I don't often yell in public - but the yesterday at the carnival I did. 5 hours before it was due to start I had positioned myself right by the ledge of the veranda of this pub - from my seated position the ledge was sort of neck height - and I could comfortably rest my right arm over it, a perfect position for taking pictures. Sorted.

So...everything was orderly for most of the afternoon until the Harley Davidsons came roaring down the street announcing the beginning of the festivities. Everyone inside the pub came rushing out on to the balcony (as to be expected) but I was fine in my chair. A little hemmed in, but fine.

Next thing, this guy starts leaning on the back of my neck so he could see over my head shoving his camera right in front of my face! WTF! And I'm not talking gentle leaning - I'm talking heavy inconsiderate leaning like  my shoulders were the ledge. My exposed throat was now pinned against the ledge and my eyes started to water. I shoved him back as best I could and 'nicely' let him know that that wasn't going to work and he mumbled some kind of apology (Strike One!)

Thirty seconds later he proceeded to do the same thing - as if I'd had a mini case of amnesia. And once I'd freed my neck I swiveled round and shouted at him to "BACK UP" and "GET OFF!" One of my mates, in a show of solidarity, poked him with her handbag as he backed off! (Strike Two).

I know it's hard competing with the LOUD carnival music - and I don't know what he thought I said but as soon as I turned back around he leaned in behind me and in a shouty, flirty whisper said, by way of explanation (I can only think) "Sorry, Ï'm from Mozambique" to which I yelled "I DON'T GIVE A SHIT WHERE YOU'RE FROM!" (Strike Three)

Arrrggghhh.. I'm a racist.

One of my Top Ten things to do before I die is go to the Rio carnival. The throbbing music, the dancing with sheer abandon, the scantily clad men and women...brilliant!

So when I heard that CT has it's own version of the ritual I thought I'd go along with some mates and watch.

Mid-afternoon we parked ourselves in the upstairs of a dodgy looking pub that had a brilliant view of the street. At 8pm and several ciders later the carnival erupted with a 100 Harley Davidsons riding through the street and the crowds went wild!

Over the next 2 hours we were treated to foam life sized animals (a la Lion King), 100s of Indian dancing girls, sci-fi robots, gum boot dancers, scenes from CT, marching bands, minstrels, giant sea-food including huge prawns (that could have been mistaken for sperm - well, they had this weird tail thing on their heads...easy mistake) and much much more. A feast for the eyes and ears! It was brilliant.

Afterwards we joined the throngs on the streets in search of much needed food to soak up the litres of alcohol. Everyone was in high spirits, places were packed, the temperature was in the 30s! It was fantastic. A great warm up to Rio.

Thank you Cape Town!


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Saw this at a restaurant. Liked it!

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Rugby is a game played by men with odd shaped balls! Indeed.

So here I am. At the stadium of the infamous - well, maybe I should say infamous as in not-famous-to-me - Cape Town Stormers. They're playing the Free State Cheetahs. Actually the scoreboard says 'DHL Stormers and Toyota Cheetahs'. It kind of takes branding to a whole new level...

Jones managed to get us a couple of tickets for what is apparently a BIG game! So here I am in the company box sipping a cold glass of wine, munching on biltong while Jones keeps reminding me that this poor display of ball handling will never compare to the 'beautiful game'.

I have to confess I quietly concur - there's no football chanting, no foot stamping, no bald, toothless men swearing at the ref, no hugging random strangers when a goal is scored. It's all a bit...umm...polite and civilised.

I can't help but wonder if Arsenal have scored in their game against Sunderland...

Ho hum! The wine is cold and free, so cheers!


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Is that even a word? Specificity. Spell checker says no! Anyway...in attempt to re-energise after a night of one-too-many-bottles-of-wine with wayward friends...Jones called for muffins to be made. I'm no Delia Smith so the boxed variety had to do. Check out step 6 - 'bake for 21 - 23' minutes...?!? Have you ever heard such specific unrounded timing suggestions?

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So here I am...in a darkened room...every girl's dream of the ideal way of spending their Sunday afternoon. But wait...what's that I hear you say? Why are you in a darkened room when the sun is shining outside...when it's 30 degrees and no hint of wind...? I'll tell you why...I'll tell you in one little word... Arsenal, my friends, Arsenal!

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Oh my god! 24 hours of sheer hell. The removal men arrived with our stuff, of which approximately HALF of it fits in to our rented flat. Jones and I had managed to find a self storage place about 10 mins up the road to store the other half of our crap.

Anyway, they came, it was a scorching day I was standing burning in the sun trying to direct what boxes were to go in to the flat and what was to proceed on to storage. The removal guy was NOT happy I can tell you. So we decided to give him random ‘gifts’ to thank him for the inconvenience. He and his team got the small desk with the wobbly leg, a suitcase which we realised weighed 6kg empty (?!), a bookcase, a rug and much much more. He cheered up and we were done in a mere 5 hours!!!

The tragedy of the whole day was that my beautiful, comfy sofas would NOT fit through the front door! Be warned - Cape Town flats have the narrowist doors in the world. Anything or anyone wider than a size 16 and we talking come in sideways. I was SO gutted when the guys reloaded them on to the van headed for storage!

Not one to be defeated I woke up the next morning thinking of how I could get the sofas in.  A quick teary conversation with the letting agent solved it. She had the name of a man with a van and a plan. The French sliding door would be our way in (despite the fact that we live on the second floor!?) Sorted.

This, my friends is not for the faint-hearted. Jones took these pictures while I shut my self in the bedroom.

Sofa one climbing the 2 storeys to our flat.

It’s in!

God I miss Ikea.