miranda is right. the rains haven't gone. at all.
but still. they've taken on a wintery tone. i can wear my snazzy little leather jacket these days. nights are nippy. there.
and the hills are scattered with wild flowers. always a sign. always. (of seasons changing, silly)
and it's sunday. i promised i would lie in this morning. but no. eyes flicked open at seven. impossible. coffee beckoned. and here i am.
the week-end began with an all out friday night. all out as in wheels off. too much blackberry vodka, culminating in uncontrollable weeping and me being particularly obstreperous and eating pork. pork? i don't eat pork. but there ya go. so i woke up on saturday morning looking like a bus had reversed repeatedly over my face. my head felt like it had a large and tight elastic band tightly wound around it. not good. oh no. not good at all. after sending apologetic sms's to very nice and forgiving friends, i dragged myself off to watch the rugby - twigas (giraffe in swahili - the tanzanian side) against the cheetahs (the best rugby side from kenya, with 16 national players). it was, once again, a total massacre. something like 67 to 0. but oh so impressive to watch. i sat on the edge of the emerald green field drinking soda, sprite and bitters, with very large dark sun glasses (to cover the mashed up face) and silly high heel shoes. completely inappropriate for marching around on a muddy rugby field. (you know, heels sinking in mud and blah). still. they match the snazzy leather jacket and look terrifically cool with my jeans and make me ever so tall. i sat lots, though.
i find that these days i actually watch the rugger. before i would chit chat, admire people's jewels, rugby player's legs and vaguely know the score. now i'm fierce about it. i tell people to go away, can't talk now, watching the game, der! but i still can't tell you which position is which. why they have line outs. why they randomly decide to scrum. who is a forward, fly half, scrum half, center or where they have to stand. and as for those coded numbers when they throw the ball into the line out, flummaxed.
BUT i know what a forward pass is (clearly the ref yesterday didn't) and i know you've got to run like hell and get the ball over the try line then kick it over the goal posts. (oh and not entirely sure of how many points you get for it.) nevertheless. i love yelling and whooping and shouting "tackle him", filled with violent intention, from the sidelines.
rugby game rules equate staring into a land rover engine for me. i just can't understand or remember them. they must just work.
first born won man of the match in his curtain raiser...(man? skinny boy of the match really.) he was completely brilliant. scoring a try and kicking accurate conversions with bare feet. for this outstanding achievement he won himself a second soda. second born scored 2 goals in his football match in moshi and swam sterlingly, apparently. couldn't be in two places at once. so all round sporting success for the picannins of the hill. all bloody marvelous. terrifically proud. third born just skipped about looking pretty and eating lots of ice creams. (for lunch and dinner, i think? also lara preferred chocolate ice cream for dinner until miranda took her away from me. what?)
oh. if you want to know why miranda hasn't blogged for ages it's because she's been cleaning her picture window....i think she's finally realized she's been cleaning The Wrong Side.