Lots of talk lately of the arrival in South Africa of, wait for it, the world's largest, most successful and reputedly discreet online extramarital affair website. Those adjectives coupled with the service they are offering leaves my little head reeling.
I'm talking of Ashley Madison, and I first heard of it on the news last week further to the founder owners visiting Cape Town to promote their site and services. Noel Biderman and his Cape Town reared wife, Amanda (now there's a daughter of the Mother City of whom we can all be extremely proud) claimed that there is a demand for them here which they picked up from site traffic reports. Where would we be without useful market research like this, ladies and gents?
Granted I grew up in the Dark Ages, but in my old fashioned book, the purpose of marriage is to love each other, warts, picadilloes, kids, old age and all, for the creation of a stable family unit, which in turn will send young adults out into the world with a strong moral core who will continue the process, trying to make society a better place. I am also fully aware that adultery has been around since Biblical times and beyond, but it was then a stonable offence. It is also very strong grounds for expensive, acrimonious divorces and the breakdown of families in modern times. Imagine my shock when I tentatively googled www.ashleymadison.com to discover that their website has a picture of a female with a finger over her lips and the mission statement Life is Short. Have an Affair. As blatant as that, and boasting 14 700 000 members.
I'm no Mother Grundy, but I really am incredulous. There goes the sanctity of marriage in one moment. I am fortunate enough to have many good friends (not forgetting the most wonderful husband I could ever hope for) who all seem to be trying to do it right through life, being good, loyal wives, mothers, husbands and fathers (unless I'm reading everybody wrong?) So where do all these other people, ready to drop their draws at the flick of an Internet key come from? Do they really expect that a "discreet" affair with a bored stranger in their locale, or further afield, will have no repercussions on their lives, relationships, homes, psyches and sexual health? And with the world as interconnected as it is today, there are no secrets any more. EVERYbody knows somebody you know and if the casual sex is hot, and even if it's not, the wires will burn, baby.
Historically, Ashley Madison seems to be a genuine success story. Noel, that romantic little rascal, launched it on Valentine's Day 2002. The site calls itself The Original Extramarital Affairs Site. 100% free for Women. (Why?) Married and looking? They advertise extensively on billboards as well. So imagine Noel or Amanda driving into work one morning after a sleepless night with sick, howling babies, obviously no sex and a bit of a tired tiff thrown in for good measure. All they have to do is sign up with Ashley Madison for a bit of uncomplicated slap and tickle to make them feel better about themselves, or according to Noel, "strengthen their marriage." Where they will find the time, venue and energy will remain a mystery to me. There is however, something fundamentally wrong in encouraging people to stray from their partners, when more time should be spent promoting the benefits of fidelity, trust and family values, those very morals we all signed up for when we got married.
Rather ironically, Amanda Biderman doesn't condone infidelity, but accepts that Ashley Madison is a business, which coincidentally has generated millions in income for the couple. That's rather like saying my husband deals in drugs but heaven help anybody who supplies my kids with them. The lines, I'm afraid, are very fudged here.
I'm going to have to put on my thinking cap to come up with a less disturbing concept for my next blog posting - anything in particular you'd like to hear about?
Please email me at suzyqueue75@gmail.com You know I just LOVE to hear from you. And thanks for asking, my midwinter swim was, if somewhat lonely (I live in a world of wuss's) most enjoyable, and definitely pepped up my sluggish winter circulation.
Stand by your man, or woman, kids!
Love,
Suzy Q
OMG kids, this photo from The Telegraph last week of a 6' boa constrictor sighted in a local beauty spot in Yorkshire in the UK got me worrying quite a lot. As my family know, being a wife and mother has turned me into a serial worrier, so this is at least a bit of a distraction for me or a brief respite for them. Now, if I read the situation right, Inspectress Suzy Q noted that a 6' boa constrictor was reported missing in East Sussex at the beginning of the month. It's owner(!?) informed all and sundry that it would be on the hunt for food as it was hungry, in an area inhabited by the elderly and their pets. The mischievous sprite in me wonders which the half starved, recently liberated reptile would actually prefer?
Let me confess that I am terrified of snakes. Nothing Freudian about this chaps, it comes from a very real fear of growing up in mamba country. Green or black, take your pick. Lethal either way. As a tiny tot, Suzy Q had a night adder pass over her foot (or at least close enough to touch, not being one prone to exaggeration) and thought she was a dead cert for Springbok Radio's Death Touched my Shoulder. Golly gosh, did I forget to mention that programme when I wrote about old radio shows recently? Please do forgive me, specially those who wrote in about their favourite old programmes. Thanks for taking the time to write and sharing those memories of Next Stop Makouvlei, Father Dear Father, Pick a Box, Check your Mate and Test the Team with me. Memories indeed.
Anyway, this old boa on the loose in England, far, far from it's homeland in South America, got me wondering how and why it came to be there. And is it the same one which escaped or are there others slithering around that little rainswept island? It seems that boas travel very slowly, so it may indeed be another reptile on the run. (Or not. Sorry no pun intended.) St Patrick, where are you when we need you? I'm sure it will be a great relief to the pensioners, pet and smallholding owners when at least one is captured. It also seems that there is a roaring trade in these exotic, but dangerous creatures, though why anybody would want to keep one is beyond me.
So, I'll have to share an old story and a funny memory with you too. Way back in the 80's I was the only foreign student on a course in the South of England. Apart from being desperately cold, and both homesick and lovesick, I was ostracized by the other members on the postgrad course for being a South African. I was quite affronted and confused when they attacked me and accused me, a liberal, of being personally responsible for all the atrocities of the apartheid regime. So to add to my joy, I was desperately lonely and victimized as well. Just my luck though, the somewhat eccentric chief tutor took a liking to me. She traditionally invited all her students to her home for a celebration at the end of the course, there to meet her pet boa constrictor, Rosie. I'd spent the entire course wondering how I could inconspicuously avoid the occasion so as not to expose my herpetophobia and jeopardize my marks. For some strange reason, she decided to invite only me to her end of year bash. The rest of the beastly bunch got wind of this and taunted me mercilessly with stories about how weird she was and what she and Rosie were likely to do to me. Panic attack, as I was in truth, an illegal alien, who'd slipped under the radar as a student, and I couldn't risk failing and getting thrown out of the country. How else would I ever get to see the future Mr SQ again? True Confessions of a much younger Suzy Q for you!
What to do? I phoned her to say that somebody had put sugar in the tank of my old banger and it wouldn't start. She offered to come collect me. Yikes, I'd be there alone with no means of escape. My car was suddenly fine again, and I contemplated whether I should drink so much of her famed elderberry wine that I would be oblivious to Rosie slithering in her glass chamber as we ate, or to abstain entirely in case it was laced and I'd wake up naked with Rosie draped all over me!? This was Real Fear. I think I must have opted for the former, for I have not much recall of the evening, but I know I beat a hasty retreat, feigning a death in the family or something similar. You can imagine how popular I was at prize giving when I got top marks though. Ha ha ha.
Slithering snakes. Obviously some people love 'em, whilst others loathe 'em. Alice Cooper, that black eyed rock star of the seventies performed with a boa constrictor. That was when he wasn't biting the heads off chickens on stage. Still, he did make some good music. Closer to home, our very own lissom Glenda Kemp performed at stag parties and corporate functions with her python. The mind boggles, but the men, purportedly goggled. Today she seems to have found the Lord, apparently regretting exposing her youthful body and offering us exposure to her soul instead, through prayer.
www.glendakemp.wordpress.com
Hmmm, just wondering how many different lives are left in me, and you, and you? Food for thought...
From a slightly bemused Suzy Q, who will no doubt have nightmares tonight!!
Adieu xx
TGIF!! Happy days are here again. We rolled out the red carpet as our dishwasher was returned home, and look forward to doing our usual once a day load of soon to be sparkling dishes. Honestly, I was just about to resort to our old tried and trusted camping trick of washing them with sand to save water, but the new generation of Suzy Q's wouldn't hear a word of it. Thanks to all of you who even offered to come lend a hand with the dishes, not sure if it was the lure of Mr SQ's fine cuisine or the picture of the push-up bra which elicited such offers, but don't worry, it's safe to come visit again without having to don sudsy rubber gloves.
We have just had our winter solstice, and the Cape Town weather seems to have been colder than usual, we all agree. Or is it just that we forget each year? Even the pool water has been below 12' which is colder than I can recall. I made a few sorties to the gym on really wet days, trying to forget the horror of last year's invasion from members of a nearby gym whilst their's was being renovated. Instead of behaving like gracious guests, they took over and displayed some remarkably bad collective manners. This is not only my opinion, by the way, but was noted by all my Pilates pals, and we are a force to be reckoned with!
There is a simple rule of etiquette at the gym, whereby anybody wishing to share a lane with a swimmer makes some form of contact and informs the swimmer that there will be another person in the lane. Not so the crowds of late. Many's the time I was head butted by a new swimmer of whom I was totally unaware, and once, whilst getting rope burns from swimming so close to the edge as a considerate swimmer, an incredibly ugly hulk of a guy brushed my arm and then stopped to swear the "F" word at me. Poor old shrinking, sensitive Suzy Q beat a hasty retreat from the stressful scenario which did more to raise her blood pressure than lower it. Hence I brave the chilly pool at home to do my laps, looking up at the mountain and sky rather than having to tolerate such ignorant behaviour. It's obviously not as good as doing lengths in the gym, but the peace and privacy and sheer enjoyment are preferable to being berated by a buffoon.
However, my pals tell me that peace has been restored and the pool at the gym is still good for a rainy day swim. I went a few times and started feeling really fit and virtuous, until I bumped into a woman, nay a walrus, who gave me an aquatic lecture on sharing when I had been swimming happily in my own lane unaware that she had taken it upon herself to hijack it. Your little peace loving mouse actually roared that day, but still left the pool, as who would want to continue such an enjoyable form of exercise with a sea cow in such close proximity?
Aah, that 27' water was too warm for me anyway, and in my absence the local Egyptian Geese have started swimming in our pool. Time to reclaim my own space before they have goslings and declare it a public avian latrine, so back to brrrr. Not to mention, there's a little devil in me wants to do a weekend midwinter swim in the tidal pool. Anyone want to join us there at high tide tomorrow as Mr SQ seems to think there is some important rugby to watch. You have NO idea what you'll be missing!
Till Monday, if I survive, have your dear selves a wonderful weekend.
Love,
Frozen Suzy Q in the
Hello again dear readers and music lovers. As promised, I popped over to Hout Bay on a beautiful winter's day to check out Republic Radio at it's source to find out all about the little Internet station playing cool music 24 hours a day. Now where were they back in the days of long night duties? Not that there was time to listen to the radio with so much work to do, but on sleepless nights off, it would have been great to have a constant musical companion. Come to think of it, my babies might have benefitted more from having a few classic hits played to them in the early hours of the morning during their feeds, rather than my rather tired, tuneless lullabies. Music I adore, but any sort of musical abilitity I sadly lack. Still, I love to listen...
The studio is situated in the modern Mainstream Mall in Princess Street, a stone's throw from the harbour and Mariner's Wharf. It's cute and cozy, tucked away between a few coffee bars, pizza parlours and an amphitheater. Tom Purcell has just finished his regular 9-12 slot and is chatting to his designer when I arrive. The logo is a cheeky Rolls Royce lookalike - not sure how they get away with this one, considering all the trouble the owner of the local Dolce and Banana shop got into with the original D&G guys, but good luck to them, it's crisp and catchy.
Republic Radio is Tom's baby and brainchild. Borne out of frustration at not having a station he could listen to or identify with after his arrival from the UK on our shores 13 years ago, he and his buddy Paul Tomes decided to set up their own station over a few beers last year. After an initial outlay, he says his monthly overheads are not all that steep, as the occasional presenters are volunteers and he keeps a keen eye on costs. Having set up originally in a garage, this expansion to the Mainstream Mall with an ample passing parade of curious people is a sure sign of the success of this fledgling local station.
Having chanced on Republic Radio on the Internet, and enjoying the music from the "seventies, eighties, nineties and occasionally noughties" my first question was how I could listen to RR in my car. The station broadcasts to Hout Bay locals on 97.4 and has applied for an FM license. However, you can listen on your PC, laptop, mac, cellphone or iPad. Go to www.republicradio.co.za and join the growing band of 8500 plus listeners. Not bad going in under a year.
Why does Tom do it? Well, he's adamant that he's not in it for the money, as it is a non profit organization and does it for the love of music, people and the Hout Bay community. It must also be great fun to be your own boss, fulfill a dream, and play just the kind of music you really fancy. He has a plan in place to get more involved with local tourism and NGO's like DARG for community training and upliftment. The station also hosts live performances in the adjacent amphitheatre, and does special tribute shows, like the one for the recently departed Queen of Disco, Donna Summer. Their target audience is anyone from 35 - 80, so if like me you enjoy the tunes of yesteryear and the memories which accompany them without too much advertising and banal banter in between, tune in to Republic Radio and go back in musical time...long live the Goldy Oldy (like me)
Love to you all,
Suzy Q
Further to my recent posting on hands, which many of you dear readers seem to have enjoyed, and here I thank you for your positive feedback, I simply must fill you in on what my own, once lily white little hands have been up to. Nothing wildly exciting unfortunately, like getting behind the wheel of a Boxter. Oh no my dears, my hands have been doing dishes. Poor, poor old Suzy Q!
Our trusty-not-so-old-dishwasher hasn't been cleaning our dishes all that well for a while, so I finally took the plunge and called in the appliance experts to take it in for a service. To date they've done nothing much with it, apart from telling me that it appears to be working well for them on a test cycle. Do they have a set of specially soiled family dishes for this specific purpose I wonder? And for this bit of non-information I am no doubt going to have to pay handsomely, as well as having the HUGE inconvenience of being without my most useful household appliance. Do you know that many women rate a dishwasher as being more useful than a husband? Not me naturally, but now that I'm without one, hmmm...!?
Now that I have googled the problem, I am rather sorry that I've sent the machine away, as it seems there are a number of simple solutions using everyday household products which might just rectify things. Or even simpler, it seems that running the hot tap before each cycle might do the trick. Double damn!
LIAR!
Not to mention that I literally feel tied to the kitchen sink. On a normal day we place all used crockery and cups into the dishwasher, and run it when it's full. Voila, at the mere flick of a switch, out comes a pile of clean stuff, and who cares if they have of late needed an occasional extra wipe? Nowadays, it's rubber gloves, Fairy Liquid, greasy washing up water, and me! Press the repeat button. And again. Is it any wonder that I'm phoning the service centre hourly, like that other petulant Desperate Housewife, Gabi, to find out when my baby is coming home to me.
If we could, it would be takeouts all the way. Miss SQ No 1 reckons that having to wash one's own dishes is the best diet aid, and guarantees instant weight loss. Wish I could agree, desperation and frustration are propelling me towards the cookie jar. Although I was only fortunate enough to acquire a dishwasher in my later adult years (yeah right, probably weren't invented when Suzy Q was a kid) I can't believe that so many women were subjected for so long to such repetitive tedium. That and the sluicing and washing of nappies. Ok, so I've done that too, but with the benefit of an automatic washing machine. Women washed, and washed, and washed. Full stop. Sadly, as I speak from my fortunate suburban spot, there are still many, many local women without running water who struggle to wash anything and everything from communal taps which are often without water. I should complain? Wonder if the President's many wives suffer the same problems?
But back to the things which have most revolutionized or improved women's lives. A poll conducted earlier this year rated the contraceptive pill as the No 1 product. I guess we can all see why. Fewer nappies and dishes to wash, surely? No 2 was the push up bra, proving that we are all really and truly animal creatures at heart. This was followed at No 3 by the washing machine. Ok, practicalities will eventually slot into place after all that hot passion has dampened down a bit. Funnily enough, my esteemed dishwasher didn't crack the Top Ten, can't think why. Maybe the mating ritual centered more on the wining and dining of women, leaving them guessing about the mountains of washing and dishes which accompany domestic bliss?
(Couldn't resist this old one of me in my push up bra modelling days sigh...)
Sadly, gotta fly, got dishes to wash AND dry...
With love to you, elbow deep in soap suds,
Suzy Q
'Tis no secret that ol' Suzy Q loves wine, so it's time to let you in on one of my all time favourite wine estates. Come high days and holidays, we celebrate with Springfield wines in order to savour some of the most delicious, delectable and intense flavours of the Cape grape.
Springfield Estate is situated just outside Robertson on the R62 in the Valley of Wine and Roses. I mean, it just doesn't get more romantic than that. Having had the pleasure of enjoying their stellar wines on more than a few occasions, Mr SQ and I made a pilgrimage out there to see and taste the wines at their source. My dears, it was like coming home, a thoroughly enjoyable experience with yet another proudly South African/Cape feel to it.
Despite producing wines which are not only snapped up and enjoyed greedily by locals, but also exported to Europe, Canada and the East, Springfield is about as unpretentious as it gets. This in an industry where snobbery and image are often held in higher esteem than the wine in the glass. A few Franschhoek big name estates come rapidly to mind. The unprepossessing entrance to the farm, up a tree lined dirt track, is a refreshing change from some of the boutique wineries which seem to trade on their fancy gateposts and are more image than wine conscious. The view over the little dam toward the McGregor and Langeberg Mountains is magnificent. It's worth taking a minute or two to shake off the dust, breathe deep of the fresh air and drink in the peace and beauty of the farm before heading into the tasting room for a world class experience. I'm not sure why I say world class, when I actually think that the South African wine industry is a world leader when it comes to it's tasting rooms, hospitality and well trained personnel. I can't think of a single degustation experience I've ever had in Europe which comes even a teeny bit close to the standards we almost take for granted on the home front. I've had it on good authority that the Californian winelands might meet or match us, but hey, that doesn't stop me giving our wine industry, of which I am so very proud, a good punt.
The tasting room is welcoming and anything but intimidating as the staff are very pleasant and professional and offer a complimentary tasting. Think clean, white modern architectural lines thanks to the recent update of the old building. I'm a Sauvignon Blanc girl, and it doesn't come much better than this, trust me. You can practically taste the soil, sun and sky as you try the Life from Stone and Special Cuvee which are both perfect examples of wines of their terroir. Breathtaking, steely, flinty and simply wonderful are words which come to mind, and pushed to choose one over the other, I'd opt for the Special Cuvee. The Methode Ancienne Chardonnay is a massive wine, not to be taken lightly or drunk with less than six friends, ambrosial, but perhaps a little too concentrated and intoxicating for me.
Moving on to the reds, the quality continues. Some estates can get it right with the whites, MCC's or reds, but Abie Bruwer has as deft a touch with his Cabernet grapes as he does with his whites. The Springfield Whole Berry Cabernet is a celebration in itself - superlatives don't do it justice. Suffice to say that for Mr SQ's recent birthday, he received a little war chest of Springfield wines to mark the passing of years and to enjoy in years to come, as they are bound, like him, to continue to improve.
I love the ambience and the humble philosophy of the farm, suggesting that they are blessed with the lime rich terroir which they inherited, the farm having been in the Bruwer family for many generations (no blow in businessmen having a hobby wine farm here, this is the Real McCoy) Abrie will further modestly add that "the wines make themselves" as the farm's policy is minimal intervention, and their motto is, "from the grape to the bottle with care and passion."
Springfield is all about the wine, and it works. No tea garden, restaurant, gift shop, craft market, or cheesery, just a pure focus on the wine. However, they are generous enough to offer visitors the opportunity to share the beauty of the farm if you bring your own picnic basket. So pack a little hamper, and sit back and relax on the deck overlooking the dam, and if you're lucky, as we seem to have been, Brenda will pour you a decent glass of your chosen wine to accompany your lunch. Aaah, life is bliss!
www.springfieldestate.com
With love, and lots more in store for you so please keep checking in if you haven't officially signed up (you know who you are)
Suzy Q
My car radio is permanently tuned into FMR 101.3, until of course the Misses SQ haul themselves in and press the Radio 5 button before they've said "hello", and I'm subjected to rap and inane chatter for the remainder of the journey. I really do prefer the calming effects of classical music, but what's a mom held to ransom to do? "It's not for much longer," they love to remind me, or is it a threat? Anyway, all this to say that I have chanced upon a pretty good local station of late, and am enjoying music from the 70's, 80's, 90's and as they say at the station, "a sprinkling from the noughties." I'm talking about Republic Radio, operating independently from the Republic of Hout Bay, which provides good online listening 24 hours a day. Lots of music and not too much small talk, love it. I'm so excited to discover the station that I'm off to meet Tom Purcell soon, and will tell you more about the whole operation asap, can't wait! www.republicradio.co.za
Needless to say all this radio talk makes me rather nostalgic, as radio was our prime source of entertainment growing up in South Africa without TV in my youth. Well, that was in the evenings, when we weren't swinging on trees or falling off our bikes during the day. Springbok Radio was my childhood companion, and I'd hazard a guess that applies to many of us. Remember the great shows which held us spellbound round the radiogram?
The Creaking Door, a spine chiller, Consider your Verdict, that great courtroom drama series, Taxi, Red "If I don't see you thro' the week I'll see you thro' the window" Kowalski, Pet's Parade, and the penultimate show of the week at 7.30pm on Fridays, Squad Cars. For the pleasure of listening to our favourite show we'd all be scrubbed and huddled round the radiogram in our dressing gowns eating fish fingers for supper, eagerly awaiting the signature, "They prowl the empty streets at night, waiting in fast cars, living with crime and violence. These are the men of SQUAD CARS." Yes, for this I'd even eat fish.
But this was as nothing compared to the excitement and anticipation as we awaited the big event of the week on Saturdays at 5pm, The Springbok Hit Parade. WHO would be No 1 this week we wondered as we sat through the countdown till we discovered who was top of the Hit Parade.
www.springbokradio.com
As music became more of a growing interest in the tweeny and teen years, LM Radio was the station of choice, with the coolest tunes being played by even cooler DJ's from their base in Lourenco Marques. Remember Barry O'D, Long John Berks and Peter de Nobrega and all their signature jingles? Not to mention the unmissable LM Hit Parade! This was the era when the transistor radio was king, the prize to be prayed for if you came first in class or hit the jackpot on a big birthday. Then you could listen under the covers with the earplug (yes singular) to all the late night jocks and progressive music. When I started listening to LM Radio in primary school, the Kinks, Creedence Clearwater Revival, and wait for it, Joe Dolan were big news. When LMR finally shut shop in October 1975 after independence in Mocambique made the station's 42 year existence there untenable, it was Supertramp, Rodriguez, Pink Floyd and Bad Co who ruled the airwaves. The station moved to Johannesburg to become the same Radio 5 to which my daughters listen today, but to me, it was never quite the same.
www.lmradio.org
During my student years, Capital Radio 604 from the Wild Coast burst onto the scene like a breath of fresh air, which was probably tinged with the fumes of Transkei Green, if the stories which emanated from Port St John's were anything to go by. This was a direct break from SABC and it's archaic and restrictive culture, operating from one of the supposedly independent republics known as bantustans. Their theme tune was "all the hits and more," and for a while we had good music on the air again. Of course it was a dream to tune in to the really cool stations operating out of Europe, like the pirate Radio Caroline and Radio Luxembourg, but my trusty tin tranny never rose to such heights.
And so it was that in my thirties, during my early mothering years I greeted the advent of our very own FMR with equal enthusiasm, and loved to have it playing in the car and in the house during those toddling years to introduce young ears and minds to the pleasures of classical music. But that was before the little ones learnt how to take control of the radio. The music must have meant something to them however, for when Eric Alan came on air with Swing, Sing and all that Jazz at 5pm, they used to sit on the kitchen floor playing "clap handies, clap handies till Daddy comes home" eagerly awaiting Mr SQ's imminent arrival home after a long day with me. But not quite as eagerly as me!
www.fmr.co.za
Still, the times they are a changing, and I think Republic Radio may be getting a lot more airtime from me, and I'd urge anybody in need of good music and memories to tune in to them too. Fill you in on the workings of the station when I've packed my passport and headed over the hill.
Till then, with love,
Suzy Q
