You’re pregnant!

Ok, not really, but this is about the time that you figure out you’re in need of a new home. It’s an exciting time of possibility, opportunity and anticipation. You want to name it but you need to see it first before you can lovingly call it home. You have all these ideas of what kind of parent (tenant or home owner) you’ll be and just how you plan on raising your newest arrival (by raising I mean turning house into home). You’re completely motivated at this point and know exactly what you need to do, it’s only a question of time and money. You start picturing life with (in) your new addition and life as you know it is about to change forever.

Morning sickness.

After finding out you’re expecting (a new abode) it’s time to go through the motions and emotions. You will search and search for a possibility, you will register to as many websites as humanly possible, you will contact every real estate agent in the country. You will auto pilot your requirements into your browser and suddenly Google starts directing you straight to Zoopla. You will feel ill at the number of possibilities and suddenly the realisation of what you’re doing has hit home… Nausea and bile rise constantly, reminding you of what you’ve given up and how you’ve put yourself into a position of homelessness. Suddenly your search because a matter of urgency and you’re annoyed with the fact that morning sickness doesn’t only last in the morning, instead it’s a 24 hour a day, 7 day a week situation. Despite all this, you’re also starving.

OB/Gyn appointments.

The annoying thing is, these doctors (estate agents) work the same hours that you do and the possibility they’ll work out of hours is slim to none. You’re forced to set up ‘viewings’ for your new baby during office hours and take your hard earned leave to do so… They’ll keep you waiting, keep you baited and keep sending you new reasons to feel the afore mentioned sickness. Sadly, one viewing is never enough so of course you set up multiple opportunities to take a look at potential housing. The agent arrives, takes you in, shows you around and explains what you’re looking at. He gets you all excited and ready to sign, only to be let down by the fact that you may not actually have this one or can’t afford it. It feels like the appointments are never ending and suddenly all you’re seeing is the same thing repeatedly, searching for a new reason to be excited but trying not to get your hopes up too high for fear of disappointment.

Braxton Hicks.

There is always that one appointment that makes everything you’ve endured seem worthwhile. You’ve seen it, you want it, you can afford it, you love it, you’re ready… It’s almost too good to be true, surely a few more appointments are needed before you can be certain… But no, the doc (agent) reassures you that you’re good to go and shouldn’t panic. You go home picturing your new life, already hanging the family portraits on the wall, filling up your online shopping cart with the goodies you need in anticipation… It hurts a little, you’re not sure if it’s too good to be true, you think it’s time but maybe you just need to pee… Your back hurts, your back always hurts, you’re tired of looking at it and are ready to own it, you feel like it’s coming, it’s almost there…

False alarm. If it’s too good to be true, it probably isn’t true. You’ve wound yourself up, you’ve been let down, you’re over it.


You can’t be sure after the next appointment because let’s be real, you’ve been let down before. The same reassurances abound and you wait patiently to sign the forms… You stare at the wall, decide you’re going to forget it because it’ll probably be a repeat of the last time you got excited for nothing…. Like paying the hospital administration fee, you get the referencing fees out the way. You’re not in the clear yet, they’ve got to check your (financial) health to ensure you’re truly ready for what’s about to happen. After which they’ll make you wait agonising hours while they deliberate on your fate… It’s so close you can almost touch it. Then, as if you weren’t expecting it, you get told that it’s happened and you are now the proud tenant to your new home! You did it, you got through it, you aren’t sure how and most of the time you were just in pain but suddenly that pain is forgotten and replaced with excitement about the future that awaits you…

So now you’ve got your new baby, what do you do with it??? Why you dress it of course… And you spend as long as you need making your house a home, because isn’t that what moms do?



There is something incredibly abnormal about waking up every morning and reminding yourself of what you were doing one, maybe two or even five years ago. That said, I too must be incredibly abnormal as that is what I’ve become accustomed to doing every day. Where once I’d wake up and peruse my Twitter feed or Facebook page, I now analyze my past comings and goings one cringe at a time.


So what is it about Timehop that has millions of Smartphone and social networking users all over the world downloading this application? Are we just obsessed with the next ‘cool app’ or is there some deeper, root meaning to this phenomenon?

The great thing about the app itself is the ability to link numerous social networking sites and sync your history in one place. I have Facebook, Twitter (Although apparently my Twitter feed is too much for Timehop at over 15 000 tweets), Instagram and Foursquare synchronized to keep me in the know on just how dorky I was 4 years ago or remind me of what I was doing last year, in case it was too long ago to remember. The truth is, if you’re like me, extremely active on many (if not most) of the available social networking sites, then you’ll understand that there is too much information to just ‘scroll down’ when you’re in the mood to reminisce. What the creators of Timehop have done is given what the modern day Smartphone user so desperately craves, an easier and quicker way of doing things. You can view pictures, status updates, links and even the weather – Timehop also adds in a ‘fun fact’ a day, just another way of reminding you how much older you’re getting. Did you know that on this day, 18 years ago, Eminem released his first album? Yes, if your own youthful, skinnier pictures weren’t reminder enough, that kind of fact will ensure that you feel old today. Older than you were yesterday, ancient in comparison to your Timehop feed.

To be fair, we aren’t only downloading this application because it’s cool. We are still human after all, the ability to jump back in time allows us to relive the moments we thought worthy of a status update. In a time when I’m in the UK, sans my beautiful children and handsome hubby, my Timehop feed shows me our family photo shoot that I uploaded at this time a year ago… A reminder of how strong my family is, how we made it through the year that was and undoubtedly will make it through another. Two years ago, I was going to the gym and posted about a spinning class I had attended – a newfound stab of guilt eats at me for not having seen the inside of a gym in over a year, maybe the reminders that I need to get my A into G? Three years ago I was taking ‘Movember’ pics with my best friend at the time, a reminder that we no longer speak and instead do anything possible to avoid one another after the fall out. Four years ago I took a selfie for my then boyfriend, now husband. A happy reminder of just how in love I truly was and still wholeheartedly am.


While many would turn around and insult the desire to ‘live in the past’, I don’t see it as that. I see it as a common place for social media worthy memories. We posted those statuses for a reason, shared those pictures to boast, joined those social networks in the first place to sate our mortal innermost need to be accepted, loved and attended to. What is a ‘like’ if not a written form of agreement? What is a ‘share’ if not an electric ego boost?
What is Timehop, if not a storage place for your most loved memories?

It’s official, I left South Africa on this day exactly 3 weeks ago and what a few weeks it’s been.

You may be sitting there thinking to yourself “What is this woman blubbering about, 3 weeks is nothing?!” but 3 weeks feels like a lifetime when you’re in a foreign country getting used to a foreign way of life without your husband and your children. In fact, 3 weeks is nothing when I’m going to be here for another 13 or so weeks without them.

In the short time I have been here, between my husband and I, we have managed to accomplish a tremendous amount of things, even though it doesn’t feel like it because when one task is completed, another two crop up. Each task costs a pretty penny and each step limited by some form of governmental ruling that we cannot get past… We just have to hang in there, do everything the correct way and hope that all goes just as we hope. In 3 weeks I have moved countries, moved in with friends, started a new job, nailed (well almost) the public transport system, gotten a bank account, made new friends, applied for my national insurance number and lastly (but not at all least) viewed and hopefully almost secured our new home – that’s right, it looks like I’ll have a place to live! This is exciting stuff…

So, I thought I’d do a short informative breakdown on what I’ve done so far, for those hoping to do the same (Move cross country) and haven’t a clue where to start… I’m not 100% there yet, I don’t even have furniture, but I’m getting close and I can feel it. My next step after securing my home will be my move and then school applications which I will cover nearer the time once I’ve verified the information I’ve gathered.

1. Moving countries.

This is up to you, you have to make the decision to get on a plane, but when you do, have a look at airlines like Qatar Airlines (via Doha) and fly at an off peak period, midweek. I paid ZAR3200 for a one way including taxes with 30kgs baggage… Almost enough to put your life into. Don’t forget about the move cube I’d mentioned in a previous blog, this is useful for sending your personals to make your new house feel a little more like home.

2. Living

If you can afford to move into a house of your own when you arrive, good on you, I couldn’t. Find someone you know and love who won’t get irritated with you (that much) who can help you. Trust me when I say you’re gonna need all the help you can get.

3. Job

Let’s be honest, it can be really difficult finding a job from South Africa without actually going in for an interview. I was lucky, I found a company willing to take a chance on me – they were open to telephonic and Skype interviews, suggest this! I did go through a recruiter and he was extremely understanding of my situation. Let your CV speak for itself and be completely honest, you’d be surprised how many people are willing to assist. I mentioned Reed in earlier posts, go back and have a read :)

4. Public Transport.

Google maps is amazing, if you’re not sure just google. I was lucky that my friend travelled with me on day one to show me the ropes, it’s pretty easy when you get the hang of it. You will get off at the wrong stop, sometimes you will get on the wrong train, you may have to phone a friend and that’s ok. I downloaded a myriad of bus / train apps for up to date information but when in doubt, read or ask. I have had to stop many times to find out where to and how, rather that than a nervous breakdown at the station. I do a monthly seasonal ticket, works out considerably cheaper and may be useful if you plan on a daily commute. You will, like me, realize the advantages of living close to work and try to reduce traveling times and cost.

5. Bank account

Tricky, but possible. You will have to shop around, especially without a utility bill, but Halifax helped me and I’m certain they will help you to. Once I’d applied, I received the online banking activation code one day, my card the next and my pin another… It’s frustrating having to wait but they do come, just be patient. The amazing thing, no queues!

6. National insurance

You’re going to need an appointment if you’re a British passport holder I’m afraid. It’s a quick call to the Job Centre, they will ask you for your postal code and will set up the soonest possible appointment for you nearest your area. Do your homework though, mine was made for Oxford (miles away) and I called back to change it to Woking (On a friend’s advice). They called me with a cancellation, in I went and 20 minutes later I had an application in with an up to 6 week waiting period for my number. If you were born here and your parents claimed family benefits for you, make note of that as they can find you on the system, hopefully issuing you a number sooner. Also, no queues.

7. Finding somewhere to live

I guess this is all about preference. It means a strict budget and knowing when to turn down possibilities for being outside of that budget. Remember, you’re not just paying rent, you’re paying council tax as well as the utilities… It all adds up. Get onto which is great for available properties for which you can search by area. Once you’ve found a few you like, go and view them – investigate the area, investigate the schools etc. The council websites are extremely helpful with all the information you need, right down to the council band which you can search for by postal code. You’ll get a breakdown of what council tax you need to pay and just how it’s spent – council tax is paid over 10 months. There will be admin fees involved and the deposit is heavy, 6 weeks rent plus a month upfront – be warned. Also, your salary dictates the value of rent you qualify to pay. If you earn less than the rent you’re wanting to undertake, you’ll need a guarantor who earns the required salary to guarantee the rent payments for you, they too will be referenced and checked.

If you’re planning on moving and have any questions about anything so far, give me a shout and I’ll help as best I can :D

After my amazing trip to Reunion, the TIR (Travel Industry Review) featured some pictures and an article on the destination… I’m on Page 1 (Front cover) and Page 12 ! Why not have a look?



Posted: November 2, 2014 in Personal, Writings
Tags: , , , , , ,

The truth in my dark
The knight to my light
The hand in my hand
The blood in my fight

All that inspires
You’re all that I am
All that ignites
My flame, your fan

A soothing breath
Cool, calm caress
Your scent, your look
Feelings to confess

Clutching my heart
My love in your palm
Every inch of me
Enamored by charm

The ink to my iron
The spirit in my eyes
The strength in my soul
The truth in all lies

Waking moments
So quickly pass
Without you though
They last and last

Life without you
A torture in itself
Periodic separation
Hazardous to health

Hands tightly held
A feeling I miss
It hurts me intensely
Feeling like this

The love in my body
The smarts in my mind
The humor in my bones
The sight in my blind

I love you always
This is my truth
My hands, your hands
Eternally me. Eternally you.

Forever Love_225.jpg

Having only been here two weeks (officially arrived two weeks ago today) it’s impossible not to make constant comparisons between my birth (now home) country and the country I grew up in. It’s easy to be a South African sitting in South Africa constantly moaning about the state of the country and how green the grass is on the other side of mud island, once you’re here it’s a whole other ball game – even better than you can imagine!

There are ups and there are downs, as with anything in life. Right now, I’m missing my husband and my girls so much that I forget to stop and smell the roses so to speak. I forget just how amazing this country truly is and don’t put much thought into the day to day differences that suddenly hit me like a ton of bricks today. I thought I’d list a few of them, home truths, dreams that have become my reality and give you insight into every day life here in jolly old.

Public transport works.

It’s an amazing thing this ‘public transport’. All races, religions, ages and creeds use public transport in the UK – From the average cross country trains and the London Underground to buses and cabs, there is an option for all wage brackets. That said, you pay for public transport to work… I travel from Crowthorne to Wokingham, Wokingham to Virginia Water and Virginia Water to Chertsey every day (Morning and evening), that trip costs me £16 a day (or £260 for a monthly season ticket) – that’s a big chunk of change out of my salary, I assure you – AND that’s without even touching London central. Sure, cars here are well affordable and you get to pump your own gas but those costs add up just as quickly and we won’t even discuss traffic on the M25 or lack of parking in London. Did I mention that there are no taxi’s? Oh, also, there are no taxi’s!

Self service and laziness.

The Brits are just as lazy as they are independent. Here, you have to ‘pump your own gas’ and yet you can get food, beer and cigarettes delivered to your door (just about anything actually) at any time of the day or night. Sure, you can make use of the self service check out at Tesco’s but because you’re spoiled for choice, we will put 4 hair dressers on one short street. Why not? It’s rather confusing and complicated to get used to… I’m getting there slowly :)

Old people

Wow, no offense to anyone but there are a lot. Or maybe it’s just that you see them because their bodies are younger than they are thanks to this amazing climate and they get themselves out and about into the world?! The reality is that I don’t think the pensions are nearly enough to keep them comfortably going… Or, out in the sticks, they’re so bored all they want to do is be around people. At my local Sainsburys, the trolley collector (yes, it’s a job) is about 90 in the shade and yet takes those trolleys back to their houses every day with a smile on his face… Either that or the 88 year old cashier caught his eye. It’s cute, all these really old people, I’m gonna live for ages!

A different era

Perhaps it’s just where we live or where I work or maybe we went into Camden on a rough day but I’m pretty certain that most of England thinks they’re living in the 30′s, 40′s or 50′s – not that I’m complaining at all – only with earphones. The men, well, there are three types. Rough and tough, bearded, tattooed and Doors looking regulars. Metrosexuals with a comb over, brown pointy toes shoes, grey suits and an upside down newspaper. Lastly, the ‘chav’, grey tracksuit pants, high tops and quite probably a pony tail – they like to say ‘Blood’ a lot. Anyone else is foreign. The lines between fashion senses are pretty definitive. When it comes to women, there isn’t much of one style persay but as mentioned in a previous blog, camel toes are acceptable as are mustard yellow leggings, brown cardigans and purple hair (all combined). It’s safe to say, the most eclectic people get to live in England and it’s completely normal.


… Is awesome. Bland as all hell. Just the way I like it. Sure, they don’t know that a kebab is actually a pita bread and Fanta Orange is supposed to be Orange, but everything else edible is awesome! I’m just happy that I can have Ribena any time I like, I’m weird like that.


The English don’t really know what ‘work’ is, that’s why they’re so quick to hire South Africans. I get into trouble if I get in earlier than start time or leave later than finish and heaven forbid I don’t take my lunch – the concept of a lunch hour is foreign to me so it’s pretty amazing to actually eat during the day. When we are all working, my definition of busy is very different to that of a Pom. It’s refreshing really, people here understand keeping work and home separate.

I could go on and on and on… I’m not saying it’s perfect here but it’s a foreign concept to me to be ‘nice’ to your neighbors, to walk around at all hours of night in the dark safely, to smile and wave at passers by and to have a library or museum on every corner. What a cultured place to live… I know I’d fit right in, if only my people would arrive and I could get back to being my awesome self.

Guess what? I’m on a train…

In a few days time, I’m turning 30 years old… What do I have to show for it? Absolutely nothing.

Well, not nothing exactly but barely anything material anyway. It’s difficult knowing that all that is important to you in the world is sitting in another country and all the possessions you keep can fit into 3 small suitcases. So what’s different about this birthday compared to the others? Firstly, I’m not with my husband and my children which is a totally foreign concept to me. My birthday is always a big celebration in our home, it begins with a birthday week and my husband has been known to buy me birthday presents everyday for that week, it generally ends somewhere between a braai and the pub with many shooters in between. Sadly, on my biggest birthday yet, the oldest I’ve ever been, I’m ‘alone’ and I hate it.

I’ve spent the last few days of my birthday week in tears, not because I’m sad about getting old but because I’ve learnt that what makes a birthday is those closest to you and not what you do or what gifts you receive. I, the Shevster, am losing all street cred for the many tears I’ve cried for my family that I’m longing for – so much so, I was going to buy myself a birthday present, a one way ticket home back to them – Home is where the heart is and England just won’t be home until they arrive.

Don’t get me wrong, I love the UK – it’s been the most amazing few days with a multitude of changes. My body is adjusting to the new climate, my stomach is adjusting to all the new food, my feet are adjusting to all the walking I’ve had to do and my mind is adjusting to the train commute and new job I’ve started. It’s quite a challenge being independent living with your family to being a guest in someone else’s home without said family, it’s taking some adjusting there as well – Thank goodness my housemates have been more than accommodating, they’ve been awesome. In just over a week I’ve given up everything I owned, left my family, moved to a new country, become a lodger and started a new job to which I have to commute on various trains – I’d say that I deserve some leeway on those tears, it’s mighty big steps in the right direction, no one said they’d be easy.

Before arriving in the UK I knew that I’d be joining the train commuters on the daily journey to work and back, it’s a given considering I don’t drive – Even if I could, I wouldn’t be able to afford a car, petrol and insurance is just as expensive as a rail commute – Yes, the trains run late or don’t run at all but there is always another one – At least I don’t have to sit in traffic. My commute is fairly simple after a few days of doing it, Nicolle drops us (me) at the station in Crowthorne, I then take a train into Wokingham and from Wokingham to Virginia Waters and finally ending in Chertsey where I have a 5 minute walk to the office. The whole journey in the morning probably takes approximately an hour and 10-20 minutes depending on the times. The return home is a little longer as I have a 30 minute walk from Crowthorne station to the house, my shins are already screaming this week! On my first day at the office, Scruff did the trip with me to make sure I didn’t get lost and since then I’ve been on my own – the return home was extremely daunting but I managed and got home in one piece. Since then, it’s gotten easier and easier and for the first time yesterday I got home without my Google Maps for train times and directions on my walk – soon I’ll be ready to venture out into the bigger stations, spread my commuting wings a bit.

The funny thing about the train is how you start noticing the same people on the same trains – So many people do these journeys every single day, reliant on these trains to arrive on time to make the connection onto the next one. When one train is late, your journey can go from 30 minutes to an hour and if you miss that connection, a wait at the station is a given. Having experienced these delays and waits myself, you can’t help but sit and watch the people getting into and off of the trains – It’s an awful time, all this commuting leaves you alone in your own mind with far too much time to think and miss family, so you have to think of something else to do and occupy your mind before driving yourself mad. Anyway, so I watch the commuters, judgmental I know.

It’s become apparent from my train-spotting (almost) that it is perfectly acceptable to wear leggings as pants – there is no longer a need to wear a top long enough to cover your ass and camel toe is the new ‘style’. It doesn’t matter if said leggings are see through either because it’s fashionable right? It’s the middle of autumn, starting to get a bit cooler in the evening and at 6pm sitting at the station, the girls are running around in ankle boots and mini skirts with coats longer than their skirt, no stockings and goose bumps galore. I’m quickly learning that the UK has its own fashion sense and it’s rather odd to keep up with. It’s also easy to watch people (or hear them) on the train as well… For example, my hearing OCD generally kicks in quite quickly after boarding the train, the sounds of people snorting and sniffing, slurping their coffee and biting their nails – it all drives me absolutely moggy. While the train has ‘Quiet zone’ signs asking you to keep your phone on silent or your headphone volume at a minimum, I always manage to sit across from the commuter who can’t read and instead has their music blaring that the whole train can hear it. It’s safe to say that shortly after getting on my train, I’m extremely happy to get off. What was exciting the first few days is now just a pain in the butt… It’s official, I’m a commuter.

On a more pleasant note, I got a bank account this week! Yay, I’m 30 and I have a bank account! (insert sarcastic snort here). What a mission… It is extremely difficult to open an account here without a utility bill, which I don’t have because I live with people and won’t have until I’ve got a bank account out of which to pay rent… A few banks later, I found one willing to help (Yay Halifax) and now I can starting earning my salary… Next step is my National Insurance number for which I have my appointment on the 6th of November and then a few weeks wait until I can rent my own little place, after payday in December, ready for Jp and the girls to join me in the new year (Which feels eons away!)

So this weekend we are headed off to Camden to celebrate the birthdays, I’m looking forward to it but truly long for next year, my 31st, when I have those that matter around me.

Now if this guy opposite me could stop snorting, that would be great…