For many women I know, married and single alike, the idea of sexual intimacy can be a daunting and sometimes frustrating task. Most women I know confess to comparing being sexually intimate to that of doing a chore like washing the dishes or doing a load of laundry. Why, I ask? Is it because they don’t like their partners much anymore? I hear them say things like, “Oh my God, he’s back from his trip and now I have to be ready” or ” sex is overrated”. So I went in search of some answers as to why so many women feel this way.

I discovered that there are many factors contributing to this, as with all things in life, but more specifically not being fully satisfied by their partners ie reaching orgasm. Why do women still fake orgasms? Is that even still a thing? So I think to myself, well, we do create fake lives on social media, why not in our own bedrooms right? But surely this should not still be the case in an age where there is so much information readily available on the internet.

So my quest to find answers led me to a place called the G -Spot. A secret little hideout in a woman’s body that men apparently still have difficulty finding. Yes, yes, many of you know it and some of you still don’t, sadly. Truth be told, there seems to be many conflicting theories about this elusive G Spot. Some believe, like Ernst Gräfenberg, after whom this infamous G-spot is named, that this space does exist. Others feel that there isn’t a single spot that arouses us females and some even say there is an entire area in the anterior of the vagina wall that can be stimulated to arouse feelings of pleasure. This area apparently has a similar texture to that of an orange peel (hint, hint). So NOW, the question really is, if medical professionals cannot find a definitive answer about its location and its existence, how the hell do our partners find this place. According to Paulo Coelho, one of my very favourite authors, he describes the location in his book, Eleven minutes. He writes: “As you go in, on the first floor, the back window” and there you have it! How hard could it be? (Can all the guys stop trying to picture this now and read on)

It seems though, that many men and women still don’t know where or what the G-spot is. It’s often confused with the clitoris which creates externally sourced pleasure. Same then goes for their partners which ultimately results in this “I’m not satisfied sexually by my partner” feeling. My theory on unlocking this G-Spot is a wee bit different. So physiologically, men seem easier to please as they are stimulated visually. Women on the other hand need a bit more coaxing so I’ve decided to share some of my NO GPS needed tips.

Women need to be mentally stimulated before that G-spot switch can be activated. No, no….don’t read her a book. Start by waking her and telling her that you’re packing lunch for her so that she can enjoy that extra few minutes of sleep that morning. Stroke her arm lightly as she leaves for work and don’t even think about asking her where she put your clean socks. (That’s for another day, NOT TODAY!) At midday, send her a naughty text message (yes, Whats app can work) and let her know that you can’t stop thinking about her. Maybe even send her a pic of you smiling with dreamy eyes. Please, no dick pics. This doesn’t work the same for women as it does for men. If you do, chances are she’s laughing instead of lubricating or sharing the pic with a friend. When she arrives home from work, be sure to be in front of the kitchen sink with your yellow rubber gloves, her apron and nothing else.Trust me on this one! By now, that switch is soooo activated. Kiss her passionately and tell her that your life would be nothing without her in it. Please note, she won’t care about eating anything soon, so don’t spend too much time preparing dinner that day.(Bonus point for the guys here). Woo her into your love nest, whichever part of the house that may be, or you could save time and explore in the kitchen but you MUST ensure that the dishes have all been washed at this point or the “switch” will malfunction.

Go to her eagerly and ensure that her needs are always met before yours. The gold medal has been yours for so many times, please give her a chance to cross the line first. By now, her head is so clear and her body so ready to allow you to take full control that your work is almost already done. You think, wow, “this G-spot is pretty easy to find, right? So you hear Paulo Coelhos’ words and you safely make your way in and up to that first floor. You slowly try to find that back window. You search and you search and you seaaaaaarchhhhh. This back window is taking a long time to open. You’re beginning to think that the thing is jammed, and it is. That’s all because you neglected to realise that your girl left her G-spot at the Diesel jeans sale at Canal Walk that day, so the window is stuck. Hoe te fok nou? So you lean over kissing her neck, nibbling her ears and whisper something that will open the window instantly! “I cant wait to see you in the Diesel jeans I bought for you today,” and ……… KABOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMM!!!!! That window is so wide open you wonder if it’s ever gonna shut after this episode.

Eezy peezie guys. No rocket scientists needed. Deepak Chopra says: “Sex is always about emotions. Good sex is about free emotions; bad sex is about blocked emotions”

Help your favourite girl unblock the drains in her head and you both will enjoy mind-blowing trips on that first floor.

If all else fails and you’re in the Cape Town area, PLEASE contact Hans. He’ll definitely be able to help.

Good luck 🙂

Daughters of Eve








In this post I’d like to pay tribute to the very special women that I’ve constantly been surrounded by. Ahh, boring topic you think, but a necessary one. I don’t normally celebrate Women’s day since I think that it’s very much like celebrating Valentine’s day. All the excitement for a day and then back to the shit hole hours later. Instead I try to remember the great women in my life throughout the year and just celebrate them as often as I can.

I have a mantra that I use with my daughter. I tell her that “we come from a long line of very strong women, so rise above your challenges.” I repeat this to her as often as the opportunity arises, with the hope that at some point in her life this will be interpreted as: We are brave. We are courageous and we can take on whatever comes our way. Don’t misunderstand, I don’t promote the “men are trash” ideology either but instead try to teach her that meeting people is like eating a bag of liquorice all sorts. Some you like and others you don’t. Toss out the ones you don’t like and enjoy the ones you do.

I’ve been truly blessed to have encountered women from all walks of life. These women are my sisters in their many varied forms. Not only my biological ones (those ones are seriously dangerous) but the other sisters whose afflictions have moved me. I immediately think of the women who have endured some form of physical , psychological or sexual abuse. Women who have had one foot in the grave after having been abused by people they loved but rose up from their calamaties, continued to provide for their kids and arrived at work with a smile.

I want to salute the women in my life who live daily with anxiety and depression. No one can begin to imagine the unease, apprehension or despondency that sometimes exist in their world, yet many of them try to create a space where others don’t feel their suffering. They seek love and comfort.

I pay tribute to the many women in our history who have fought for our human rights. I often think of my late paternal grandmother and think of the many battles she might have fought. What made her courageous was that she came out of every battle, not unscathed, but stronger and more determined to be her better self.

I think of the dynamic business women that some of you are, not through handouts but because of sacrifices you made- your blood, sweat and tears.

When I think of so many of you, I think about the stories that you’ve shared about lost love, neglect and hardship but you have also shared your stories of your triumphs and your joys. You have shared your love , warmth and kindness despite your own situations. You have made me laugh and cry (sometimes simultaneously) and we have found comfort in each others’ words or sisterly embrace.

A recent post by a friend of mine referred to the women in her life as her “TRIBE” and I thought how apt. Irrespective of where we come from or our family histories, we are all part of this tribe and we are all the daughters of Eve. So today and every day, just think about that. You are part of something far more spectacular than you can begin to imagine. You are a daughter of Eve and you are part of this tribe. I am richer today having understood the magnificence of being a tribal sister. To the beautiful women that each and every one of you are, celebrate yourself, your womanhood and most importantly celebrate each other.

Aisle No. 4 Please


I recently registered myself on some dating/friendship apps to see what the world of dating looks like again. Being a single mother can sometimes be a lonely place especially when the better part of your family is now made up of Know-it all teenagers who almost never want to spend quality time with you.

So, my intention when registering on these apps was never solely to meet other like- minded single individuals, but also to learn more about humans and the world of dating. I had been out of this space for a lifetime and the idea just somehow seemed quite appealing. I thought it would be a fascinating way to start the new year.

There are many single people out there who don’t have a clue about how to meet other single people, men and women alike (or so I have learnt). When you’ve been married or with the same partner for a very long time, you almost have all bases covered. You know and understand their habits and their little daily rituals and you don’t need to think about things like what they’d like to drink or where their favourite restuarant is.

This bold move of mine then got me thinking about how things used to happen in the past. I recall as a child growing up in a fairly conservative community that the best places to meet someone new as a youngster was family gatherings; weddings, big birthday celebrations and more especially at funerals. Yes, at funerals! Somehow teenage boys just appeared hotter looking all sombre. I don’t think I would feel the same about that as an adult today though. I would probably be more concerned about whether it would be my funeral next, rather than trying to catch the eye of good looking mourner.

“What about public places?”, I thought. A post office? A supermarket? Does anyone ever go to a supermarket and just ask you out on a date? Do you think that’s possible? Surely this used to be the way things were done at some point in time in a little town that no one’s heard of but where people all know each other. You’re pushing your trolley down the cereal aisle looking for your Kellogg’s cornflakes and accidentally bump into someones trolley. His eyes are on the Jungle Oats and suddenly yours are too. He’s hot, he’s delicious, he’s wearing a pair of blue 501 Levi jeans and a white t-shirt that is so tight you can see just how ripped he is and……., I deviate…… So, he apologises and a conversation ensues about the cost of the cereals on the market and before you know it, he’s asking you out on a date. The only thing you have to worry about is that he’s not serving Oats for dinner when you go out with him. You don’t give a second thought to the fact that he may have STDs or that he may be a serial killer. This is like in the movies, right? In this day and age though, you’re probably shopping online and when you do manage a trip to the supermarket, half the time is spent looking at your mobile phone. You’re way too busy on Instagram to be checking out any “hot stuff” in aisle number 4 where you need to find the Mrs Balls’ Chutney.

So, clubs and bars, definitely not an option for me. I always imagine finding some dodgy guy, being chased by either a wife or the cops in these places. Book clubs are technically a girls night out, so nothing there…So online it is…..

Wrong !!!

I think it takes a special intervention from God or his Angels to be able to meet someone online. I have been on at least four dating apps over the last six months to see what I would find, and I assure you it’s a LOT like gardening. You are going to find a million weeds and work your ass off to get rid of them before you find any good species that can hold a conversation without asking for your bra size first. Seriously guys, get over that now. When you finally meet a decent conversationalist, he’s more likely in a relationship and is looking to meet people from other parts of the world to improve his use of the English language or just learn about other cultures.

The flip side of chatting to the good people on these apps is that you can tell when they are genuine. They tell you real stories about their lives. Some people are chatting to learn about other cultures and to see what is happening in others parts of the world. Some provide you with insight on their daily lives and it is a fascinating experience. In some ways it allows me to travel a little. I have met some amazing people: Sam (The Wise) from Belgium, Grey Fox in Australia that shares amazing videos of his garden and grandchildren, Ewaga a Polish mother of three and the lovely soul, Kiavash, from Iran and what an experience it has been and continues to be. I thank them for allowing me to be a part of their universe.

In conclusion, though, I don’t think I would continue on these apps to find a significant other. I think I will wait for God to intervene. For now I shall go forth and learn about the habits of others and learn about their beautiful countries.

For those of you still on the dating apps and losing hope, Stay strong. There is a match for you somewhere in this world.

Stay safe.



Every now and again I like to hop into a local taxi and get in touch with the real world. The “real world” being my colourful city of Cape Town. So, when I say “taxi” , I’m not talking about an Uber people. That is an UBER, used by privileged people, in my opinion. I’m talking about the taxi where you share your air with 15 other people (in some instances more).

So earlier this year, I was using public transport in the form of these taxis and was always left with the sense of being entertained.

For those using this mode of transport, you know that the driver is almost always accompanied by his “Gaatjie”, better known as Sliding Door Operator (SDOs), collectors of passenger monies who often is one of the most entertaining characters.

Your first encounter could be anything from him running straight at you as you make your way towards a pick up point. He looks  like he’s about to attack you, only to say something like: “Nou ry, Nou ry” or ask “Wynberg Girl?” pointing to his van. There are normally more than one in the vicinity trying to get you to jump into their van. The promises are sometimes empty but we hop in believing we will leave immediately in our attempt to get to our place of work or back home as quickly as possible.

Then once inside the taxi, you could be faced with so many possibilities. The driver could have the music blaring your favourite piece of Old School music, something like, The Love I lost by Sybil ,from a time when you were in love with Yusuf in Standard 9 at Cressy High or a bit of  Kwaito. If the driver himself is  in love, its more likely you’ll hear a Teddy Pendergrass oldie or even Bruno Mars.

If you are not a “regular” on a particular route, you would have to ask any of the other passengers about the fare to your destination as this isn’t always indicated anywhere in the taxi. You then lightly tap the person ahead of you, if you’re sitting in the back end of the van and pass your money along to the SDO. I always find this particularly intimidating, especially when traveling in the morning. Why, you ask? Because I hate being “tapped” and the thought of someone unexpectedly nudging me to pass their money along just freaks  me out.

Once in the the van, I  feel like I need to say a special prayer. In previous years it was really bad but now I just say: ” Lord, if I don’t make it out of this van alive today, at least my Will is sorted”, and off I go. If you know anything about these taxis, you’ll know that they love straddling lanes and cutting in between cars,all in an attempt  to make their daily target to pay to taxi owners and then continue to make something extra for themselves to take home.There were two days when I hung on for dear life and thought that these would be my last minutes. Dodging through cars, down Rondebosch main road and watching the Gaatjie hang out of the window on the side, promoting his van for more business.

There’s nothing unusual about finding people who have really loud conversations in taxis. Phone calls  to their employers about why they can’t make it to work that day, or some who even decide to open a parcel of hot chips from Texies in the taxi trying not get any oil onto your Adidas top by carefully unwrapping the parcel while still checking their Whats App messages. This is considered “normal”. On my last taxi encounter , however, I experienced  something EXTRAordinary. Not something done by the commuters, but by the SDO and the driver ,simultaneously, might I add. As we’re making our way along the Main road from Mowbray, heading towards Claremont and just before reaching the intersection before the Baxter theatre, the van comes to a halt and I’m expecting another passenger to join us, but no one does. Instead the SDO vaults out of the van and heads West. The driver cautiously, or possibly painfully, climbs out of his seat and heads East, crossing the main road. I turn in both directions to establish why we are stopping only to realise that we’re on a “pee stop”!! No, not a PIT STOP, A PEE STOP!!! I couldn’t help but laugh. In all my years of using public transport, I had never experienced anything like this!  I see the young girl smirking next to me as I turn my head in her direction. All I say to her is that I’m just grateful that the SDO doesn’t need to hand back any change to me, and everyone in the taxi breaks into laughter.

Thank you to the Taxi drivers and their Gaatjies (SDOs) who work tirelessly on the roads to ensure that we get to work on time. My “tours” with you are sometimes dangerous and sometimes even uncomfortable but never ever dull.

To all taxi commuters out there, Look on the funny side of life. I’m sure you all have some really good stories to tell.


Photo Credits: Y. Meyer; M Singh












Hi Everyone,

Okay, so I don’t write movie reviews. It’s not my thing but I’ve just had the absolute pleasure of watching a colleagues’ first short movie.

Dear Romilly is written and directed by South African born, Zaahir Khan. Okay, don’t laugh now, but I always call him Bruno, because he somehow reminds me of Bruno Mars.  What I didn’t realise about Zaahir was that not only did he have the charm of the very famous Mr Mars, but that he was equally talented.

I’m not going to tell you anything at all about the movie, I’ll just let you watch and make up your own mind. Enjoy and feel free to add your comments.

Well Done Zaahir! We need more like you.



Dear Romilly Poster









A chance encounter with the Primrose Rugby Club

It was per chance that I found this article today. To all the Primrose Rugby boys, staff and parents who traveled on this flight with us…I’m sure you will all just be smiling when you read this.

Tim Bruwer Blog

Primrose Rugby Club 2

On a blustery day in September 2012 my wife and I were relaxing in our seats in the rear of a plane on the tarmac at Cape Town’s international airport on our way back to Australia, when a babble of excited voices filled the aircraft and a group of young boys, accompanied by some adults, made their way to where we were sitting. We quietly braced ourselves for a long and noisy flight.

The boys were all dark-skinned and clearly belonged to some sort of sporting club.

Whilst growing up in South Africa during the Apartheid era, I had never once played sport against, nor even sat next to anyone who was not white. Under the laws of the time everything relating to racial matters was separate or ‘apart’ – sport, public transport, park benches, churches, schools, toilets and even public parks.

Having been active in the Anti-Apartheid movement for…

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Lion’s Head

Lion’s head is a mountain in Cape Town located between Signal Hill and Table Mountain and from what I now know, peaks at just over 669m above sea level. This would have been useful to know before I actually agreed to hike up this mountain.
So Elroy, my work colleague says: “Zivs, let’s do an early morning hike up Lion’s Head this Sunday.” Fuz, my other colleague and I are all excited since we’re on this “get fit” buzz but not actually doing anything but talk, to get fit. Although Fuz has been doing a bit of Parkruns lately, like most of Cape Town.
So on Saturday night, my bag is packed. Clothes are ready for my big hike. I don’t have a CLUE what I’m in for, but I am ready to go. I have very little sleep that night fearing that I won’t hear my alarm and be embarrassed to have my colleagues at my front door with me in pyjamas. I have this image in my head, me sweating like a horse, drinking lots of water. My over active brain is not even registering that there’s going to be strenuous activity at all!!

Elroy is outside my front door at 6.15am on Sunday morning. Mug of coffee in hand and we are getting ready to go. Mandy, my overly excited neighbour, is out in the road in pyjamas asking me if I’m seriously going on this hike, but saying that she’s very proud of us all. The adrenaline is pumping all the more now that she’s there cheering me on. I love the fact that people who know me, believe that I’m unable to do things. I want to go out and do it just to prove them wrong then.

So a 10 minute drive to our destination. The road is dark but when we reach the starting point, there appear to be hundreds of cars and clearly many people with head lights almost already at the top of the mountain. I am soooooo ready for this. Gripping stuff. People always talk about this hike. My younger sister has pictures to prove that she’s already done it and now here I am, ready for this Lion’s Head.

2 MINUTES into this hike and I’m huffing and puffing, reaching for my water bottle. Fuz shares my sentiments that this wasn’t exactly what we signed up for, but on we trek. Sulaiman and Elroy are ahead of us thankfully so can’t see just how pathetic we look at the very start of this trail. My inner child wants to run back and say, “I’ve changed my mind” but the adult inside of me says: “if Anna Steele could cope with a spanking from Christian Grey in his Red Room of Pain, what makes this so hard?”. I think I said the word “Fuck “more times than my colleagues can remember.

So we pass the first stretch and I’m waiting for a plateau but sadly it doesn’t arrive. My “Fuck” has now been replaced with “What the fuck was I thinking”. The next leg involves climbing rocks, hanging on chains and climbing up steel ladders. I’m starting to feel like I’m in an episode of Survivor Africa. This part I knew about, but in my head I kept thinking that it couldn’t be that bad. My concern was also that Fuz has shorter legs than I do but who was I going to save first if we were falling down the mountain. The further up the mountain we moved , the more Fuz kept cursing saying that she’s certain even getting the selfie at the top wasn’t worth this pain.

People started passing us, moving downwards and telling us not much further to go. Like seriously?? To me it looked like we were about 5 minutes from the top but I was told just another 15 minutes. My breathing had settled but my legs weren’t playing the same game with me.
And then, at last, we get to the top after one and a half hours. No one exchanged as little as a “Finally”. We sit quietly. Elroy and Sulaiman light their cigarettes. Forget that this is a fire hazard. I take out the steak pies. Fuz was smart enough to pack in yogurt. Certainly a much healthier option, considering our mission and Sulaiman brought along frozen water bompies which he collected at the Two Oceans race. Very smart.

So in typical Cape Town style, we take the selfies. We smile and wave regardless of the pain we feel. We say how beautiful our city is and how we really don’t appreciate its beauty enough and slowly we make our way down the mountain so that we can Instagram the pics and show our friends how horribly cool we are having climbed all the way to the top of this mountain.

I’ve ticked this off my bucket list. It’s unlikely I will do it again, but yes, it was absolutely breath taking and by that I mean the hike literally took my breath away.
Thanks Elroy, Sulaiman and Fuz for laughing with and at me all the way to the top. You made it worth the pain!
Let’s do another route some time.

Love you.


Thoughts for Today

Happy Valentine’s Day everyone!!!

To those who celebrate, hope you’re all having a wonderful time. I personally don’t celebrate Valentines day because I think its an excuse to actually tell someone you like them AND buy them food or something. One should never need to do that, but hey, that’s your choice.

Was chatting to some friends again and was just talking about this new Ed Sheeran song, Shape of you, and saying how its grown on me. I didn’t enjoy it much when I first heard it, but have started to like the beat. The video is pretty cool too.

Wish I could have someone sing that he’s “in love with your body” ( even after the four kids and stretch marks)and then have Bruno Mars tell me to leave that “Versace on the floor”. I would even leave that MRP or AC Kermans item on the floor for him!!!!

Anyway, just my thoughts for today. Hope you have a WONDERFUL Tuesday.

What is this thing called PMS?

PreMenstrual Syndrome

According to my little Google search, PMS stands for “PreMenstrual Syndrome – it’s the combination of symptoms that some women suffer from a week or so before their period. Symptoms appear before your period starts (as many as five days) and will disappear during your period.” Really lovely definition I say in a mocking British accent , but do you truly know what these “symptoms” are all about?

Every month this creature arrives and takes control of my very being. I know there are millions of women out there who share my sentiments and that’s why I felt the need to share my thoughts with the male species. They call her “Aunty” (more like Evil Aunty), or The Red Ferrari and a million other things but no man can EVER know what a woman goes through during this time. Yes, of course, there’s the exception of those few really special ladies who don’t feel a thing, but I believe the general female population are with me on this one.
Now, there are obvious physical symptoms which most of us are very familiar with but this isn’t the bit that I want to talk about. It’s the hormone bit. The one that our male species have difficulty with. Although we are already complex creatures, PMS takes our level of “complex” to new heights. We move from totally loveable and happy ,to dark and dangerous before you can say “Spiderman Help Me.”One minute you’re in laughing about some joke that he told you and the next minute you hear yourself asking: ” What’s so funny? Are you laughing at me??” He, is totally confused because he, thought you were sharing a funny moment.
Yes, you men are all smiling now and nodding your heads and saying: “Ja, why do you women do that?” Truth be told, we DON’T know. We can tell you a million times to stay out of our way because we have PMS but we don’t know what we’re capable of doing. The hormones are almost in total control, I would imagine it’s like having your body taken over by an alien. This is the point where its safer for men just to steer clear because no matter how good your intentions, we WILL find something wrong with your last comment.
I heard my sons talk about a female teacher recently and complained that she was so grumpy, she appeared to be “on her period all the time “. I feel really sorry for PMSing teachers in boys-only schools. Not because boys together can be ruthless, but because teachers aren’t allowed to slap the little shits. I can only imagine that girls-only schools are a thousand times worse especially since it’s a fact that women who share the same space daily like work colleagues or class mates, go into their cycle at about the same time. Multiple murders then I guess.
A little while ago I read a book called The Red Tent . It takes one on a journey into the desert during biblical times and shows us how even back then, women were kept separate from their male counterparts during their menstrual time. They were in a state of impurity or fragility and were exempt from performing certain domestic functions. I don’t however believe that this was the only reason they were kept separate. Back then men didn’t have tons of encyclopedias about PMS. They followed their gut and so I believe that their gut told them to steer clear of women in that state.
I remember always telling friends that even I feared myself during my menstrual cycle. If there was ever a time that I would commit a murder it would be during that time. Only to wake up a week later all teary wondering what demon had possessed my body this time. You ladies out there KNOW what I’m talking about and as many times as we tell ourselves that we will be more mindful next month round, it’s just out of our control.
Shane’s solution to this all is a “PREMENSTRUAL Goody bag” which he would be happy to put together for us ladies and I would naturally do the marketing. He suggests that this little bag contains things like chocolate, sweets and other nibbles which I thought was a novel idea. Sadly, Shane, I think you’re missing the important bit. I think you should include a sedative of some sort (stronger than chocolate that is, and preferably one that comes in a box from some Pharmacy) a bottle of something stronger than Coke and a Romcom.

So ladies, You are not Alone, said Michael Jackson and I believed him! 


13. University of life: (Mom’s lectures)

Our elders did not have much tertiary education, but they are so much wiser than so many younger people who do. * You may say that they attended the “University of Life” where you learn through “ex…

Source: 13. University of life: (Mom’s lectures)