Downton

I've finally jumped on the bandwagon and started watching Downton Abbey and my god how could you all have let me miss out on it for so long?

And secondly, my god, how can there only be two seasons (and a Christmas special)? What am I going to do without Lord and Lady Grantham and their convoluted family and malcontent servants?

I'm going to become obsessed with pictures of them, of course.

You mean you don't wear gloves in summer? Whatever is the matter with you?

I know there's a war on, but please just look at my sleeves. Aren't they marvellous?

Why yes, my hat is fantastic, thank you.

I left Downton to become a secretary,
but all I really wanted to do was walk
around saying 'John Snooooow'.

One does get a little tired being so rich and well bred and beautiful.

All husbands should have to sit on the stairs when they've been naughty, don't you know?

I'm on a horse.

'Why must every day involve a fight with an American?'

A little silliness, for a Thursday morning

I feel like I'm kind of living my life again. At last. Work's still crazy busy (it just never seems to end) but I have discovered that by waking up at 5 am, I can fit more me-stuff into my day.

Like arriving at work in an outfit that isn't the same one I wore yesterday just in different colours.

And blogging.

And making weekend plans. For example:

The weekend that was:

• Friday night on the couch with Le Boyfriend and wine and general relaxation and not thinking about work
• Saturday afternoon at Fairview with the rest of the madhouse (also known as my friends), tasting cheese, tasting wine, buying cheese, buying wine, eating bought cheese and bought wine on the first available patch of grass we saw in Franschhoek (bergie picnic).
  Also discovered that Franschhoek is not a five-minute drive from Fairview, as we'd originally (in our somewhat wine-addled brains) thought.
• Saturday night at a (slightly) debaucherous prop party at Kill City Blues recording studio for the RobFather's 35th. Partied like it was like 2009, only better, because there was no queue for the bathroom and there was no almost-break-up the next day.
• Sunday – Father's Day – involved a walk up the back of Signal Hill, a family braai (miss those) and then more couch and wine (and Magnum) time on the couch with LBF.

Equal parts relaxing and drunk. Perfect combo.

That brown bag, which originally contained lemon bread,
ended up around the bottle of Sauvignon Blanc.
Because it's not a bergie picnic, without a papsak.

And then, the weekend that will be:

• A comedy festival
• A day at the museum with my bergie picnic accomplices

So far so cultural. Fear not though – I'll crowbar some wine in there somewhere.

Okay, time to get start work. And ... go!

Poor, poor abandoned blog

I'm the worst blog mother in the world. I've left my word child here, all alone and abandoned and uncared for, for, what, weeks? Months now?

Oh for shame, Jade.

But here I am. After two days' leave in the middle of a work week, I feel like I've finally come up for air.

Which means I may be able to find a few minutes every now and again to take out the jumble that's in my head and splash it (none-too-artistically, I'm sure) across this blog space.

If you're wondering where I've been, it's the usual – magazine deadlines coming out of my ears, early mornings and late nights at the office, and zombie-ism over weekends during which the last thing I want to do is look at a screen or use words.

Yeah. I'm lame. You can say it.

Let's talk about something fun instead, like the fact that it's the weekend (baby!) and that, for a change, I'm not working at some point over the next two days.

Let's also talk about my flat. It's been nearly two months since I moved into my little slice of real estate heaven. Who cares if it's bankrupting me, or if I've been subsisting on cheese on toast for a while (that's another story though). I love it. Having never had more than a bedroom to call my own (yes, I know that's a lot more than most), having my space all to myself is like hearing The Beatles for the first time – you suddenly realise this was what you were looking for all along.

I can bake a cake at midnight if I want to. I can run between my bedroom and the bathroom and back in my undies, and nobody is there to see me. I can have nothing but Brie and a bottle of bubbly in the fridge and not hurt anyone (actually, if you add a bag of Granny Smiths, that's exactly what's in my fridge at the moment).

But anyway, I'm rambling. Probably the result of not having anything of real import to say.  Except, hi, I'm back, don't call blog services on me, or anything.

Stay frosty kids. Lord knows it's cold enough...