Giulietta sent an e-mail today saying I must have a lot of work because I have not blogged for a month. And that she enjoyed my missives, even when it is clear that I have been writing a little gesuip. I had to explain that I have been so busy I hardly get time to get a little gesuip and that there has been some man-activity in my life, which does, surprisingly, take up some of a girl’s time. More than this, male presence in a girl’s life does transform creative urges into far baser ones, which is also not good for the blog, of course. On the other hand, it would have made Blanche Devereaux proud. (See below.)
But here I am, very happy, on shaky flight to Cape Town and the most important thing I have to worry about is my Tanqueray gin and tonic wobbling off the fold-out table. It will be the 2nd weekend in a row in which I have resolved to do no work, and this time I may well achieve it, in spite of the fact that Chester Crocker’s High Noon in Africa has been slipped into the suitcase in the hold. I just don’t read that stuff for fun, I swear.
[Aside: or I don’t swear. I was reading from, I think it was, the book of Jakobus in the cute little Gideon’s New Testament and Psalms in Afrikaans in Pastor Jerry’s office at Sun City the other day. I was doing this mainly because I was bored with scrutinising the illustrative biblical laminates scattered on the walls and comparing the size of the hands and the feet of the guys who all look a little like James Caviezel. In Jakobus’ letter to (I think, again) “all the peoples of Northern Asia” (although quite likely I am confusing them with my Thessalonians and my Ephesians) he suggests that they should not swear – that yes should be yes and no should be no. There should be no need for swearing. A good ideal – but I think that in this day and age, full of loud-mouth politicians who have to be disciplined by the ANC and so much uncertainty in the President’s household, this might be slightly naive. Who was this Jakobus guy anyway?]
So. The trolley is coming down the aisle for a second time, I have no work at hand and the male interest is in Johannesburg. And in addition to this, I have something to say. I find myself in the almost perfect moment for blogging. It would be perfect if I also had a power outlet and am not in danger of running out of battery in half an hour or so, but for now, the glass is half full of G&T, and about to get fuller.
Blanche Devereaux died this week. Or rather, actress Rue McClanahan, aged 76, died this week after a stroke. She won an Emmy for what I would like to call a celebrated run as the perfectly wanton southern belle in perhaps the best sitcom of all time, The Golden Girls. No really, to this day ONLY Seinfeld may have surpassed it and Two and a Half Men may PERHAPS be in the same league. Nothing else comes close. And of course there is 30 Rock. But that only qualifies every 2nd episode or so, when it is brilliant. I will respect alternative opinion even though I will disagree with it.
I admit that when TGG was on TV, and I watched it, I would never have imagined that my own…
(Battery ran out, and thank goodness. I was going to write stuff that I would have had to delete subsequently. Such a waste of time.)
So to conclude, because a whole weekend in Cape Town and has almost expired and I suppose I will write a “on the way back” blog this evening en route to Jozi, all I really wanted to say about Blanche Devereaux is that she provided me with one of my favourite lines of all time: “What kind of a girl do you think I am, and how did you find out so quickly?”
There are more, but I think that is the one I will remember her by. Long may she live.