A Freudian slip of a girl

As I drove along the M1 highway between the Grayston Dr and Corlette Dr exits yesterday, I noticed that the once-bright flags of the Fifa world are looking somewhat shabby.

Nothing can escape the pervasive dust of a Highveld winter, most apparently the white sections of the Japanese and English flags, which are now a cheerless brown.

A little depressing.

The World Cup is almost a memory and perhaps it’s really just me, but it already feels like there’s post-tournament gloom a-gathering, despite there still being three matches left, and, of course, the winner to be crowned.

TV and radio news bulletins once again lead with stories of averted strikes and corrupt police chiefs. I find I miss Football Friday, despite only buying into it six weeks before the World Cup began. Yes, I am that fickle. Yes, I am that much of a joiner.

It’s been a pretty magical time. I’ve even had things to talk about with colleagues I’ve hardly conversed with in the past four years. Now it’s back to grunting at one another and making sure we don’t use mugs belonging to specific people.

Three more weeks of this, after which I am no longer an employee of this organisation.

This morning, a new person began working here. When I was introduced to her, I found myself saying ‘good luck’ to her just before she walked away. I’m hoping she’d stopped listening to me about the same time that I stopped caring whether or not she’d like it here.

In a move befitting this nepotistic office’s modus operandi, this woman is the daughter of another employee here, and it seems that the two will effectively be in competition in terms of the work they do. Could be fun to watch.

And finally, to end on a sour note, I made soup this weekend which looked precisely like KwaZulu-Natal swamp. I shall discard the wretched slop tonight and try again. Soup is beastly!

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5 Responses to A Freudian slip of a girl

  1. Anonymous says:

    Tell me whose daughter has joined the team. Initials will suffice to clue me in!

  2. Don't Believe a Word I Write says:

    Nah. Figure it out yourself.

  3. Anonymous says:

    N 1 I remember a day when I offered you home made soup for lunch and you replied “I only eat Woyco soup” You were 4 at the time…..

  4. Don't Believe a Word I Write says:

    HA HA HA HA HA AH AH AHA HA HA.
    Tannie, you have made me laugh all day thinking about the snooty little brat I must have been, and that my dislike for some home-made soup was evident even then. I am sorry I rebuffed your kind offer to feed me.
    Thanks for tolerating me!

  5. […] ever swallowed, apart from the ‘food’ offered up on numerous school tours and one particular pot of soup I made earlier this year, is probably soap or chewing gum. I did, however, have a moth fly into my […]

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