I’m so grateful for Facebook and the internet. I love the way that you can feed the world into its big mouth and out comes a lego sized globe with everyone looking at everyone else – at the mere touch of a button.  But along with that comes a fickle non-reality.  That everything goes good with everyone all the time.  Few people put their ugliest moment up for all to see, and comment and share and like.   I bet, you’d, heaven-forbid-dahling,  never post a picture showing your dimpled belly, early morning drool face or any other such atrocity.  Have to look good, have to look better, have to look best!  And the rest….. they say is hisyourstory! 

Ja, well, no fine. Here are my latest purple-words. They were to be about the state of the Nation, ons vir jou Suid Africa.  It did not happen and this is may or may not be my finest moment.  What the heck!

 And please allow me to say:  I’m don’t mean to be irreverent – I’m just real.  


Sometimes it’s okay just to be slapgat and to be slapgat about being slapgat.  If you don’t know what slapgat is – ask any South African.  It’s a wonderful word and one that should find prize of place in any upstanding  person’s vocab.  Alongside such succulent words such as sis, voetsak  and vrot.  Not to mention a huge heap of other I-love-to-use-but-should-be-unmentionables…….amongst which you’ll probably find a whole lot of gats.   These are not strictly Afrikaans words…they are English-ish and commonly used by Saffas far and wide and we’re very generous and happy  for you to use them too.  Feel free.

Just in case you don’t have a South African in your back pocket:  the figurative meaning of slapgat is a shoulder-shrugging-eye-rolling-WHATEVER.  Sigh!   Basically – slackness on steroids.

 The literal meaning: Oh I blush as this is a family blog full of political correctedness and proper English.  Ja– right.  Slap means sloppy or soft.  Gat means hole.  Enough said!

Today I spent a whole lot of time just sitting…dare I say it – on my gat.   Believe me that wasn’t the intention but when I’m in slapgat mode, days become non-intentional and my to-do-list at sunrise seldom equals my all-done-list at sunset.

I’ve accomplished nothing – nothing at all on this day, in this.. blip.. moment in time and yes, it is such a waste and I will never get it back.  A day that could have had a whole host of galaxy quaking changes…to something, someone, anything.   Carpe dium and all that.  All fabulous and famous things happen in a day on time…just not this one.  Well not in my day, anyway.     

 I never made the bed, swept the carpet, cleaned the toilet or waged war on the desert that insists on moving in.

 ( Uhumm, ok, I can’t lie.  Even on exceptionally high rev days I’m into housekeepinglite….me and housework, we’re not tight)

  I did not start my day with a swim or a walk.  I did not juice spinach with spirulina, eat  fruit or drink ginger tea.  And, oh Lord have mercy, neither did I read my daily devotion or do bible study homework and God seemed distant and distracted  and busy with the war in Syria – which is a good thing.  For God.  And Syria.

 I did not wash and blow my hair back, put on make up or even brush my teeth – incubating a death breath loud enough to keep a desert sandstorm at bay. I went to town, ‘sommer net so’,  and felt little concern for the entourage of  onlookers one inevitably picks up when in super slap mode.  How does it work out that no one spots you in Spinney’s when you’ve got your best hair on and everyone snoops you out when your roots are dark and your face pale?

Usually, I love to meet ex-pupil-parents to discuss how little Jimmy, who is now big Jimmy, is doing.  On this day.  Not.  I know how to groove them body-language moves.  Those ones that shout  I-definitely-don’t-want-to-even-acknowledge-you-just-go-away.

 In Starbucks I had a cuppachino and carrot cake with my feet resting on the side table and did not get up to save a wayward child from his kamikaze climbs off the plant stand. His mother did not care and neither did I.  I did not chit chat with the Bangladeshi car washer in the car park nor push the trolley properly to its designated place of waiting and never, never in a million years did I let that arrogant Arab driver into my roundabout (circle) space without a touch of reciprocal road rage …me and my little Yarris against his big, blacked out eerily windowed Lexuslandcruiser.  Me and my yarry, we won.  But not without the flipping of a few gat words!  The book of Proverbs becomes a non starter under these conditions.

I could ramble on but I’ve now lost interest and surely, you must have too.    God rested on the 7th day and it was good.  This is neither the 7th day and nor am I God, but it is good.   I’m very ok with all of this.  I’m not giving up on myself as my faith is not in me, but in the greater One that lives in me.  And thank you, God, for that.

I end with a verse from Lamentations:

“Yet there is one ray of hope: His compassion never ends.  It is only the Lord’s mercies that have kept us from complete destruction.  Great is his faithfulness, his loving kindness begins afresh each day.”

Yes, ‘more is nog a dag’….and His mercies will be new. For sure.

I’m off to bed now…in the same 2002 Commonwealth Games T-shirt I’ve worn all week and yes, you are so right.  Its probablyinblue!