25 Reasons to Love South Africa

Despite my growing sense of Britishness the grand plan is to drag the Husband from the dour whiskyness of his Scottish homeland to the tip of Southern Africa that is mine.  People think we're crazy to leave the security of Britain for the vagaries of Africa. I say, 'what and miss all the fun?'

Rule Britannia

“Dear Husband, I fear that you may have forgotten to who I am. Allow me to introduce myself, I am your wife – crazy, brunette, currently obsessed with cooking and deceased American author and screenwriter, Nora Ephron. I am presently rooming with a 93 year old.”

This is a message I sent to my poor suffering Husband, who I have seen for a total of 7weeks in the last 8 months. Such a long distance marriage often requires an activities update to keep things ticking over. I think the message sums up my movements quite nicely:

1) I am as crazy as a box of frogs.

2) I have turned into a complete foodie – obsessively watching cooking programs and turning out both pancetta and parmesan puffs and perky peri-peri roast chicken on the same day.

3) I am completely enamoured with Nora Ephron (screenwriter of such gems as When Harry met Sally). Nora says things like 'The amount of maintenance involving hair is genuinely overwhelming. Sometimes I think that not having to worry about your hair anymore is the secret upside to death.'

4) My housemate is the gorgeous 93 year old Myvanwy (or Vanny), who I absolutely adore. Through her I have learnt the power of a restorative nip of whisky should one be feeling off colour. I in turn have introduced her to the celebratory power of the Olympics - where we were united in our admiration of hottie-hot pants BBC presenter and former swimming champ Mark Foster. Vanny refers to him as her boyfriend and likes his 'Grey hair'

The only thing I ommited to include in the text to Hubby dearest is that I am also very obsessed with the serial shaggings of Don Draper in Mad Men (I have reached the end of Season 3). I thought it best to leave mention of the very dapper Mr Draper out of the equation as no man wants to know that his wife is lusting over a chronic adulterer – not good for morale really.

Luckily for my estranged Husband we are scheduled to meet in 2 weeks time in Autumnal Scotland. It is here that I am booked in to swear allegiance to Her Maj (or Ma’am – said Marm as in arm, not Mam as in ham) at which point I will be issued with a certificate stating my new found Britishness. I will henceforth officially be a Pom.

I am quite excited at the prospects of my new found Britishness as I have taken all things Rule Britannia quite seriously this last year and would like to point out my enthusiasm point by point (I also appear to be a bit obsessed by numerical lists at present):

1) I watched the Royal Family float down the Thames for 4 hours in the rain, listening to BBC presenters drivel on incoherently about the Jubilee Flotilla. I keenly followed the resulting press coverage of the Duke of Edinburgh’s bladder blockages – a direct result of 4 hours standing in the mizzle watching boats float by – and became quite the expert on Phil the Greek’s relapsing Royal plumbing.

2) I made Union Jack cupcakes for a Jubilee street party and then attended said event with dear Myvanwy where we knew no one. Consequently we were subjected to a discussion about the home-made bunting that had been crafted out of Mrs Perfect Middle Englands’ son’s Cath Kidston print pyjamas.

3) I bunked out mid-way through a wedding to watch Andy Murray fight for the Wimbledon title (to be fair the bride did welcome me with, ‘Oh, you! I’d forgotten who we invited” so I didn’t feel too bad about missing out on the line-dancing). I then drowned my genuine sorrows at Andy’s defeat in a fair amount of Bridezilla’s expensive Champas. I even entered into discussions about the Class system as interpreted by transvestite artist Grayson Perry’s in his latest works in my best Hot-Potato voice, throwing in a hearty “Here-here!” as required.

4) I cried when British Olympic athletes won gold, especially when Murray finally beat Federer at Wimbledon to win Olympic Gold. I hummed along to God save the Queen at every medal ceremony.

5) I was even excited when young Brit Johnny Peacock beat Oscar Pistorius in the 100m at the Paralympics, even though I love Oscar Pistorius and if it wasn’t already with my digitally challenged Husband I would proposition the Blade Runner.

6) Whilst lunching with a friend at the Serpentine in Hyde Park we spotted actress Sienna Miller with her baby and I resisted the urge to stare or rush over and gush, but instead smiled sweetly and continued with my meal – the very picture of the reserved Brit.

7) I have started pronouncing 'yoghurt' in the British yog-hurt instead of the South African yo-ghurt, likewise I proffer a rather posh 'yar' instead of 'Ja'. I refer to 'text messages' rather than 'sms's', 'traffic lights' instead of 'robots' and 'shopping bags' instead of 'plastic bags'.

So as you can see I am totally ready to accept my British Citizenship and procure myself one of them sweet little red passports, at which point I am dragging my Husband straight back to darkest Africa because I have become dangerously dare I say, British.