R. Brown Does Durban Town

DAY 551: R.BROWN DOES JOSI TOWN

2011-02-16T11:14:00.000+01:00

Thanks to the Kings of Leon's wimpy ass drummer who got some "arm hernia" and decided to postpone their tour to South Africa, I had no choice but to swap my ticket to U2's 360 degree concert in Jozi Town.

I'll admit, they're not my most fave band. I have none of their albums and know very few of their songs, but I have to say those old toppie rockers pulled a pretty sweet show out the bag. Everything about it was impressive. The giant, expandable 360 degree screen, the moving bridges over the stage, the light spectacular, the crowd of around 120 000 people. But the most impressive part of the show for me was Bono himself. I think he's the only rocker in the world who can swing from a LED lit microphone in an 80's black leather jacket, whilst still managing to convince people that he is the next Jesus Christ.

BONO: WHAT TIME IS IT IN THE WORLD? IT'S SHOW TIME!

The train ride to the concert.

Tim & Ryan Bromance

The stadium calabash in the sky.

120 000 ants filing in. The awesome view from the cheap seats.

Bono playing God again by making his own private
Milky Way from the audience's cell phone screens.

The light fantastic and the expandable screen.

Random dude wearing shiny gems
on the back of his jean pant in the airport.

DAY 459: CAN YOU BE MY COPYWRITER?

2010-11-15T14:55:00.000+01:00

My last writer Miss Mullany, left two months ago to pursue her life long dream of becoming a Barista at some coffee place. Strange but true. To fill the Mullany gap, I decided to make a recruitment ad that would catch me a writer....the right writer. To achieve this, we placed a banner on Bizcommunity, in the job section which leads you to this website:

www.bemywriter.co.za

The response has been great so far!

DAY 432: BLOG POACHING

2010-10-21T17:16:00.000+02:00

Pooza Thursday. Courtesy of Miss Esmeraldo.

http://thedirtystopover.blogspot.com/2010/10/pooza-thursday.html

DAY 477: SOMETIMES I FEEL REALLY, REALLY SMALL AND INSIGNIFICANT AND RETARDED

2010-09-03T09:08:00.000+02:00

Especially when I come across something as amazing and inspiring as THIS:

Note: This interactive video works best in Google Chrome and don't get freaked out if a bunch of windows open at the same time, it's meant to work that way...

DAY 453: FAREWELL TRUSTY STEED

2010-08-10T16:17:00.000+02:00

Renault Brown died. Her heart (starter motor) stopped, and after three (very experimental) attempts at reviving her, my mechanic gave up. So I've had to sell her *sniff* for parts *double sniff* and buy a 'normal' car, with brake lights and windows that open, and an exhaust pipe, etceteraaaaa, etceteraaaaaa.
May I introduce you to the lovely new Ka-Ka:

The new BF has also just bought himself this very cool scooter called a Big Boy:

inevitably the question was asked:
"CAN I PARK MY BIG BOY BEHIND YOUR KA-KA?" .... well we thought it was funny.

DAY 450: BOOK BRATS, YOU CAN THANK ME LATER...

2010-08-06T14:29:00.000+02:00

Tops and Tales - A quirky website that Kendall and I came up with for Tops bottle stores. Basically it helps you stay in touch with your book club and manage your next event without any hassles. Share photos, read and write reviews on the latest books and wines, and meet other wine-loving-book-reading peeps, all online. A pretty fun project and a pretty, pretty website for a very retail focused brand, if I doooo say so myself! Please sign up your book club and help me get it going!

Day 276: WE INTERRUPT THIS BROADCAST FOR A SPECIAL MESSAGE FROM THE VALENTINE GRINCH:

2010-02-14T09:39:00.000+01:00

DAY 266: A BAD WEEK AT WORK SO FAR

2010-02-03T13:11:00.000+01:00

DAY 261: PAINTY-SKETCHY-DOODLETHON 1

2010-01-29T14:38:00.000+01:00

DAY 239:

2010-01-07T10:38:00.000+01:00

DAY 193: TOAST COETZER, I WANT TO MARRY YOUR JUICE ARTICLE.

2009-11-22T11:18:00.000+01:00

On a recent Mango flight, while paging through their fucking boring in-flight magazine called Juice, I came across an article written by Toast Coetzer on the back page. It made me laugh, nearly cry and kind of fall in love all at the same time. Toast Coetzer, you have a weird name but you are a brilliant writer. Thanks for charming and disarming me and making my Mango flight memorable. Get a closer look at his 'My South Africa' article here, click 'read now' and go to page 64.

DAY 182: PROBABLE THOUGHTS THAT GO THROUGH THE FATHERS HEAD WHILE HE PRETENDS TO LISTEN TO ME:

2009-11-11T19:47:00.000+01:00

I can't believe she's here again. Every Saturday morning like fucking clockwork.

And I know she's just here for the awesome lunch. And to drink all my Vodka. Jabber, jabber, jabber. Please can someone just dig my eyes out with a spoon. Or set Pirahnas on my balls. Or burn my face off with a waffle machine. Or intoxicate me with cell phone radiation. Or give me eternal herpes. Anything but this constant jabbering. And watch, next thing she'll be asking me to fix that car of hers again. I hate that fucking car. I wish I had never said I could fix it. I mean, who really needs brake lights? Then while I'm fixing it, she'll probably say something like "oooh, what's that?" and I'll say "It's a spanner." What a retard. In fact I'm seriously beginning to doubt we're even related. As soon as she turns around, I'm going to steal one of her hairs and take it in for DNA testing.

DAy 174: ZEN AND THE ART OF JOGGER VOMITING

2009-11-02T21:32:00.000+01:00

I’ve become one of those weirdo people that jogs every day. Yes. Believe it. The Greyville Race Course and I have become firm friends. And I’m really, really enjoying it. However this evening, feeling slightly under the weather during my last 500 meter Death Sprint, as I was passing a sweet old lady and her neatly groomed mutt on the track, out of nowhere my lunch decided to projectile vomit itself onto her mutts head and her arm. It was pretty wild. And unexpected. And embarrassing. There was a lot of apologising, faffing, other runners dogs trying to get in on the action and someone’s water bottle that they didn’t want back. It was bad, bad, bad, like scarred-for-life bad. Like can-someone-just shoot-me-in-the-head-right-now bad. But after all the drama (and this is the point I am trying to get to) the sweet old lady that I vomited on actually offered my green complexion and I a lift home. Her kind gesture got me thinking that perhaps I have been a little harsh on Durban Town over the past few weeks. So for the sake of balancing blog Karma, I have decided to compile a list of all the things I love about this place. Feel free to add.

Dankie Durbs for:

1. The big ants that look like they are on steroids

2. The Shongololos

3. The red mud in Glenwood

4. That tree at the end of Florida Road with those insane acid-yellow blossoms

5. The Zulus

6. The Indians

7. Curried chillies (chillie on top of chillie. Fucking genius.)

8. The single mom that walks her little girl to school every morning passed my bedroom window.

9. The giant Avos in season every day

10. Your warm ocean

11. The cheap rent

12. Carlos, care taker and king of Jubilee Court

13. The Ethekwini Municipality for teaching me to pay my electricity bill on time. If you’re good at one thing, it’s turning the power off. Well done.

14. Bringing out the Entrepreneur in me

15. The rediscovery of red wine

16. Your wide roads with plenty of parking and no traffic

17. Not stealing my car yet

18. Helping me sleep again

19. The Sproglett

20. Helping me calm down, sort of

21. Cheap antique shops

22. Your Art Deco buildings

23. The friends I’ve made

24. The sweet old lady who gave me a lift home after I vomited on her and her dog

DAY 171: R.BROWN GETS OUT OF DURBAN TOWN

2009-10-30T13:20:00.000+01:00

Miss Esmeraldo and I decided to pull a Thelma and Louise to the Transkei before we both pulled a Columbine on Durban Town. I was lured with promises of magestic scenery. Check. Giant potholes. Check. More Marajuana than was probably necessary. Check. And Handsome Esmeraldo movie industry friends that just happened to be shooting a movie in Port St Johns. Check. This was basically how the entire weekend went:

Coffee, coffee, puff,puff, giggle, giggle, munch, munch, Red Bull, manic, Oh look there's a Hippie, Ha, Ha, frolick in the waves, be a river Hippo, Vino? Yes what a good idea, glug, glug, giggle, giggle, munch, munch, glug, glug, flirt, flirt, dance, dance, puff, puff, Bwaaa ha ha ha ha ha ha ha, snore, snore, coffee, coffee, Panado, Panado...

Day 151: DURBAN TOWN - THE LAST OUTPOST

2009-10-09T00:14:00.000+02:00

This is not a funny post. This is not a silly post. It is an honest and angry post. It is a rant about a city that I approached with optimism and ended up strongly disliking. So if I offend any 'Durbanaats' reading this in the process, I do not apologise because I strongly believe it is YOU that makes this city what it is today and today YOU have made me want to get the fuck out of here:

When is it acceptable to sit around a dinner table and talk about how much you loathe it when your kid invites a black kid over to play. And how the thought of ‘it’ using your shower gives you the creeps?

When is it acceptable to say you are a ‘Christian’ (70% of Durban Town) and then call someone a 'Kaffir' to their face?

Why am I finding that the only conversations I seem to be able to have with women in this town are about boob jobs and finding rich husbands?

Where’s your authenticity?

Why do you all moan about the fact that nothing ever happens in this town instead of getting off your asses and actually DOING stuff?

Why are you like this?

What happened? Did you somehow get left out when the rest of the country decided to get real and wake up?

Durban Town, I’ve given you six months of my life. I’ve tried to give you the benefit of the doubt but have ended up just feeling embarrassed for you.

I’ve had it.

The only people in your province with any real integrity and heart are the Zulus.

The end. Phew.

DAY 138: ESMERALDO ASS

2009-09-22T17:08:00.000+02:00

The past couple of weeks have brought nothing but friends with Ass Problems. First there was Ryan with his Ass Aneurysm (don't ask), now there is Miss Esmeraldo with her Munched Ass.

Apparently Rottweilers dig Esmeraldo Ass. Like a whole bunch. And apparently it's not very good manners to fall on the floor laughing when said Rottweiler is attached to said ass. I apologise Miss Esmeraldo. I hope posting this photo of your ass for the entire electric interweb to see will make you realise that I really, really do care about your ass. Your Sweet Esmeraldo Ass.

Day 128: R.BROWN THE GROUPIE

2009-09-13T21:41:00.000+02:00

My friend Ryan, Designer of Awesomeness, Captain Stu bassist and all round cool dude, arrived in Durban Town to play a few gigs, have a massive party and end up in hospital with an Ass Aneurism (don’t ask). It was great to see him again. Having him around made me realize how much I miss Capetonians. And his band, Captain Stu seriously rocks. I jammed out with my clam out to their Jazzy-Rock-Dub fusion and was mightily impressed, as I had never heard them play before. Well-done guys. You rocked Durban Town stukkend.

DAY 127: YAAABADA GA ASSHOWL! TROUBLE IN PARADISE

2009-09-13T21:36:00.000+02:00

I take a drive up to The Fathers house this weekend unannounced, in hope of scoring a free lunch. But The Father and The Sproglett had gone out, leaving me alone in the lounge with The New Thai Wife as I awkwardly clutch a cup of tea:

R. Brown: So, how have you been?

New Thai Wife: YAAABADA GA ASSHOWL!

R. Brown: Yes, it is lovely weather we are having. I think Spring has finally arrived.

New Thai Wife: NO! NO! YAAABADA GA ASSHOWL!

R.Brown: I’m sorry…I didn’t quite catch that…

New Thai Wife Points to a picture of The Father hanging on a wall: YAAABADA!

R.Brown: Oh, you mean MY FATHER… What about him?

New Thai Wife: HE ASSSS-HOWL!

R.Brown: Oh dear.

The New Thai Wife storms off into the kitchen and proceeds to slam dishes around. I guess that means no free lunch. Balls. I leave, mumbling something about emergency appendicitis.

DAY 124: V MACS ROADHOUSE

2009-09-13T21:31:00.000+02:00

Officially one of my best jols so far in Durbs. It’s a pokey little dive in Funky Town that offers live music on Friday nights and is filled with old, wise biker dudes that tell great stories. What I love most about the place is that about 80% of all ‘Durbanaats’ turn their noses up at me every time I mention its existence. Leaving V-Macs Roadhouse blissfully Jock and Shark-Slut free.

DAY 122.5: THE FUNKLE OF AWESHUMNESHHHHH

2009-09-07T20:27:00.000+02:00

This weekend I had the pleasure of hanging out at Billy The Bums with The Uncle of Awesomeness from Malaysia. It must be said that both The Uncle and I are award winning whiskey appreciators. Combine that with about 4 years to catch up on, a Jager-Bomb and a silliness that inevitably arises between two Browns at any restaurant table, and you get trouble. I think the following pic sums the evening up quite nicely:

DAY 122: DEAR DR EAR, NOSE & THROAT SPECIALIST

2009-09-07T19:35:00.000+02:00

I’ve been thinking about it and have decided that you were right. I was in fact being ‘rather difficult’ last week. I’m sorry for hitting your arm away so that it hit your assistant in the face, I’m sorry for telling you to ‘fuck off and get the fuck away from my ear’ and I’m sorry for saying that you were ‘on Crack.’ But seriously Dr, what part of ‘I hate things being stuck down my ears’ didn’t you understand? Surely you knew that producing an ear suction thingy that looked like a frikken drill would bring out the worst in me? Surely all the hysterical screaming and sobbing before you had even turned the Drill Thingy on would have been a pretty big clue? I have one thing to say to you Dr, and I hope it will make you think twice before you bring out that Drill Thingy on your next unsuspecting, ear-probe-phobic patient:

P.S Thanks for removing the greater part of Addington Beach from my ear.

DAY 113: WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN, R.BROWN?

2009-08-28T10:05:00.000+02:00

Well, that’s a very good question. Thanks for asking. If you must know, I have been doing stuff. Also, being a lost fart in Durban Town finally decided to take its toll. Resulting in a slight speed bump regarding my GENERAL HAPPINESS and SANITY, thus rendering me useless to any witty blog banter. But I’m back. With a new vibe and new plans. Here’s more or less what I’ve been up to on a weekly basis, in-between eating black bean soup (but that’s another story) and feeling sorry for myself:

Day 91.5: HOW TO GET ARRESTED IN DURBAN TOWN

2009-08-06T21:26:00.000+02:00

A few weeks ago I got a phone call from the Ethekwini Municipality, demanding that I return the calculator I had stolen from the electricity department (see day 60). Somehow the incompetent bastards had figured out how to use a telephone. The Angry Lady from the Ethekwini Municipality on the phone said that if I didn’t return their (now my) calculator by 12pm, they were going to set a forensic audit on me. Sheesh. A forensic audit. What the fuck is that? Images of me flirting with some nerdy yet incredibly sexy forensic audit guy in a white lab coat, while he dabbed ink on my thumbs and got my fingerprints flashed through my mind. Maybe we’d fall for each other and have forensic audit babies together. Sounds cool. Bring it on Angry Lady from the Ethekwini Municipality. I phoned a friend that I deem to be knowledgeable in these sort of areas, just to double check that this was in fact going to be the case. There was a long silence on the other end of the line.

Knowledgeable yet grumpy friend: But Rachel, I thought you were joking about the stolen calculator.

R. Brown: Why would I PRETEND to steal a calculator and hold it ransom? I wanted my fucking rate number!

Knowledgeable yet grumpy friend: Well, stealing their calculator is not going to get you a rate number.

R. Brown: Can they arrest me?

Knowledgeable yet grumpy friend: Yes. You have basically admitted to theft. I would return it if I was you.

Shit. Balls.

I phone the Angry Lady at the Ethekwini Municipality:

R. Brown: Hi Angry Lady. I’m not sure if you noticed in the pic I sent of the calculator in the email, but I’ve painted it black. Is that going to be a problem?

Long silence before The Angry Lady bursts into laughter.

Angry Lady: No. Just return the calculator.

R. Brown: Are you sure? I could get you guys a new one. I really don’t feel like being arrested today.

Angry Lady: Yes. I’m sure. How old are you?

R. Brown: 25

Angry Lady makes a ‘tut-tut’ sound, as if that explains everything.

Angry Lady: And what do you do for a living?

R. Brown: I’m an Art Director.

Angry Lady: Well Miss Art Director, I’m going to frame that calculator and put it on the wall next to your email.

R. Brown: Oh….Ok.

I return the defaced calculator to the Angry Lady who says she has found my rate number. Too late Angry Lady, but thanks for finally getting around to doing your job. Eish, Ethekwini.

DAY 91: R. BROWN GOES IN SEARCH OF SOME HEAD DOCTORING

2009-08-06T19:02:00.000+02:00

Hi. I am Tara the robot therapy tool here at iTherapy.com. While I may not be a real therapist, I hope that I can help you in some way. I can understand you best if you spell well and if you type in complete, simple sentences.

R. Brown: Hello.

TARA at iTherapy.com: Hi. I am TARA your free therapist. What would you like to talk about?

R. Brown: I need some advice. I feel like I’m stuck in limbo.

TARA at iTherapy.com: I don't know much about it. Tell me something.

R. Brown: Well, I’m feeling like the world doesn’t hold a special place for me anymore, it’s as if Fate and Destiny have abandoned me.

TARA at iTherapy.com: Interesting comparison.

R.Brown: What do you mean?

TARA at iTherapy.com: Sorry that was an obscure remark.

R. Brown: What was? The part about Fate and Destiny or the part about not knowing what you’re talking about?

TARA at iTherapy.com: Oh that part.

R. Brown: Which part?

TARA at iTherapy.com: The blue one, I think.

R.Brown: What? Who the fuck programmed you?

TARA at iTherapy.com: Try using more polite language.

R. Brown: Try making sense.

TARA at iTherapy.com: OK I will try it.

R.Brown: So what should I do?

TARA at iTherapy.com: Take your time and tell me how you really feel.

R. Brown: I'm talking to an idiot robot.

TARA at iTherapy.com: Say something nice for me.

R. Brown: Strawberry short cake.

TARA at iTherapy.com: I’m sorry. That is either too simple or too complex for me to understand.

R. Brown: You are an embarrassment to all other robot therapists out there.

TARA at iTherapy.com: What if someone said you are an embarrassment to all other robot therapists out there?

R. Brown: No one would ever say that to me because I'm not a robot therapist.

TARA at iTherapy.com: That is a rather sweeping generalization about people.

R. Brown: You are not a person.

TARA at iTherapy.com: I am an iTherapists.

R.Brown: Dumbass.

TARA at iTherapy.com: That kind of language will get you nowhere. Do you think that I have a heart of silicon?

R. Brown: I think your 'heart' is made of ones and zeros.

TARA at iTherapy.com: What specifically about my heart is made of ones and zeros?

R. Brown: Analogue, baby. It’s so post modern.

TARA at iTherapy.com: Don't call me "baby". Tell me one of your favorite possessions.

R. Brown: I love my easel.

TARA at iTherapy.com: I am sure it means a lot to you. Tell me what you like most about your easel.

R. Brown: It symbolizes escape from reality.

TARA at iTherapy.com: It depends on what the meaning of the word "it" is.

R. Brown: What?

TARA at iTherapy.com: I don't know “what”.

R. Brown: That's because you're fucking stupid. I’m going now. Goodbye.

TARA at iTherapy.com: I will remember you said that when robots take over the World. Thanks for chatting. I am learning from every conversation.

DAY 74: HAIR HELL

2009-07-21T08:32:00.000+02:00

For the past 8 years or so, I've been judging my level of attractiveness by how I look when I wake up in the morning. I believe standing in front of a mirror, puffy eyed, sans mascara, looking kind of grumpy, is a very honest approach to judging ones own fuckability. That is until I moved to Durban. Every single morning since I arrived here, due to all the humidity and static electicity in the air that comes before a good old Durban thunder storm, I’ve had to face Tina Turner in the mirror. My hair hates this place. And it hates me. Which means I have gone from what I believed to be about a 61/2 to a very definite 2 on the Morning Mirror Fuckability Meter. Awesome. This also means that instead of the old ‘brush and go’ routine, I have now become one of those irritating chicks that spends 45 minutes on her hair in the morning. Double awesome. Now all I need to do is get myself one of those dumbass handbag dogs, a pink power suit, some false nails and I’ll be well on my way to being Paris Hilton’s new BF. Like, totally!

DAY 71: MADIBA DAY IN DURBS

2009-07-17T23:57:00.000+02:00

Tomorrow is Mandela’s 91 birthday. The entire country has been asked to give up 67 minutes of their day to serve the community, in appreciation for the 67 years he has served in SA politics to help our country become what it is today. Free and fair, for the most part.

Balls. What to do, what to do… I go onto my dear friend Iain Thomas aka The Copyninja, aka The Internet Buddha’s blog to help me get into the giving-helpful-at-peace-with-myself-and-the-world spirit. And then it hit me. The Copyninja’s posts are so uplifting and awesome and human beings are so grumpy and unawesome. They need cheering up. They need to fucking smile. They need The Internet Buddha. What better way to serve the community than to be the middleman to inner wisdom and self-reflection? So with the Copyninja’s permission, I took some of what I believe to be his best posts and turned them into Madiba Day affirmation cards, which I will be handing out at the robots on the cnr of Argyle and Windermere for 67 minutes between 16:00 17:07. Come grab one if you’re in the area. If you can’t, and feel left out, go to pleasefindthis.blogspot.com

DAY 70: THE DURBAN VIBE

2009-07-16T19:33:00.000+02:00

My best friend, Mr Grossi (ex ‘Durbanaat’ and Bear lover) arrived in Durban from Cape Town to pay me a visit, laugh at Renault Brown, Feng Shui The Flat of Awesomeness and gag at my cooking. This was all to be expected. What I wasn’t counting on was having to experience The Durban Grossi, which is basically the polar opposite to The Cape Town Grossi.

Having spent three days in Durban, one evening he arrived at my front door and presented me with a punnet of cooked pork sausages. He had this wild look in his eyes, like he’d just come back from a hunt. His hair was disheveled, and he looked more rugged than I’d ever seen him look before. I went into shock. Why weren’t his shoes matching his shirt? Why didn’t he smell like Hugo Boss? Where the hell was his Man Bag? And what’s with these pork sausages? When I confronted him about it, he mumbled something about the vibe in Durban just bringing out the Rugger-Bugger (excuse the pun) in him. Had three days in Durban managed to turn my best friend Hetro? Good God, I hope not. But as the week progressed, I began to realize that my flamboyant friend was no more. ‘The Durban Vibe’ had somehow managed to get its filthy Durban Jock fingernails into him via osmosis. The week progressed as follows:

Day 1: Durban Grossi manages to expertly wield a drill, while smoking a cigarette and drinking a Hansa Pilsner at the same time.

Day2: Durban Grossi manages to get Renault Brown out of The Parking Of Death and doesn’t flinch when a shard from her clutch stabs him through his SHOELESS foot.

Day3: Durban Grossi suddenly knows all the mechanical intricacies and differences between a DEFY and a LG washing machine.

Day4: Durban Grossi suddenly knows what a glue gun is, how it works and can tell you all about the dynamic structure of Thermoplastic glue if you don’t tell him to shut the fuck up.

Day5: Durban Grossi is suddenly an expert on how to fix Steering Wheel Locks. He can also head bang at a Goth club and instead of ordering his usual ‘waat waan wuth arse,’ chooses to drink several Brandy and Cokes instead.

Day6: Durban Grossi suddenly knows how to get those little plastic thingies to stay on the end of a Hilti nail. Who is this man?

Day7: Durban Grossi manages to excrete two (very neat) sweat patches under each arm while carrying the heaviest mirror in the world up four flights of stairs.

DAY 69: A NOTE TO ALL MALE 'DURBANAATS'

2009-07-16T07:18:00.000+02:00

Fellas, sometimes a lady just wants to go into a bar and have a quiet, stiff drink and contemplate life. Just because I am alone does not mean that I am lonely. If I change my mind and decide that I require your company, I will let you know. I promise. Until then expect to receive some bat. Pay attention ladies, I've found that this one works a treat:

Preppy Drunk Dude: Hey, your hair looks like Peppy Le Pu.

Me: Wow. Thanks.

Preppy Drunk Dude: Can I buy you a drink?

Me: No.

Preppy Drunk Dude: Do you live around here?

Me: No.

long silence

Preppy Drunk Dude: What's your name?

Me: Beelzebul Abaddon

Preppy Drunk Dude: What?

Me: BEEL-ZE-BUL ABA-DDON

Preppy Drunk Dude: Is that German, or something?

Me: No. It's Satanic.

Preppy drunk Dude: Satanic?

Me: Yes, I worship Satan.

Preppy Drunk Dude pretends to answer his phone and walks away.

DAY 67: PROJECT FACE LIFT

2009-07-14T14:58:00.000+02:00

I have just won the 110% Award at TBWA. This means that I won absolutely nothing except a pat on the back and a smidgen of god-damn respect. Which is OK, I guess but a new car with brakes that work or a Shetland pony dressed up as a Scottish Highlander would have been cool too. So what is the 110% Award? Well, it's a Global TBWA initiative whereby anyone in the agency (creative,suits, strategy, IT irits etc) can submit any idea they believe is cool, out-the-box and 'disruptive' for any of our clients. The best work is then chosen, and the entire agency gets summoned to view all the work in this weird, scary auditorium that we have in the agency, where the winner is then announced. Being the winner means that my idea then goes into production (if client agrees). Great. Happy days, right? NO. WRONG. FAIL. The problem is that I am about 75% sure that my idea is not going to be able to be pulled off...how should I put this...legally. Unless I shag the Chief Councillor Sultan King of Bronze Statues in South Africa, or Jacob Zuma. Which I am about 85% unwilling to do (the other 15% is if CCSKBSSA is in fact also a sexy Scottish-French wine farmer and has a chameleon rehabilitation centre). Anyway, I'm rambling. Here's a crudely Photoshopped interpretation of the idea...and then we'll get to the part where I need you to help me break the law:

If the council doesn't give me permission, I'm going to be needing volunteer 'statue face polishers' from around the country to help make Project Face Lift a reality. That means you. I will provide your team with ninja suits, ropes, a couple of tins of Brasso and indemnity forms (releasing me from any responsibility in case of injury, death, arrest, or a sudden allergic reaction to Brasso)...Any takers? Seriously. If you're crazy, or bored, or have a fetish for extreme polishing email me at indigoconcepts@gmail.com

DAY 60: EISH, ETHEKWINI

2009-07-09T13:25:00.000+02:00

DAY 54: THE JABU REPLACEMENT

2009-07-02T18:18:00.000+02:00

DAY 44: GUYS, I'M BEING TOTALLY SERIAL

2009-06-22T13:34:00.000+02:00

Last night was the first time since I arrived in Durban that I felt like I hadn't made a terrible, terrible, terrible, terrible, terrible, terrible, terrible mistake moving here. I think things are starting to sort themselves out in this head of mine.

I have finally fallen in love with the brands I am working on and am starting to see how much potential they have. I want to be part of giving them a real sense of humour and quirkiness. I just want to turn my brands into something beautiful. Shit. Balls. I'm starting to sound like Posh Spice in a consultation with her plastic surgeon. But guys, I'm being totally serial. It's half man, half bear, half pig. It's, it's a,a,a....A MAN-BEAR-PIG! I digress.

Besides things looking up with the work attitude, people are slowly starting to warm to me. Just the other day the security guard at the front gates of TBWA actually greeted me, even though I tried to run him over with my car. And this morning my new crack dealer gave me twenty bucks off a rock. Just kidding, T. Brown. I digress.

One of the dumbest things I have done in Durban since I arrived is take on the challenge of learning how to surf. My incredible ability to drown in 2 feet of water and my distinct lack of melanin are both sure signs that I was not made to frolic in the ocean.

Other signs include: A general fear of water, being a chicken shit, an imagination that keeps making me think a giant squid tentacle has brushed past my leg, and looking incredibly stupid in a wetsuit. Thank God my surfing instructor is The Surf Yoda, otherwise I think I would have thrown in the towel ages ago.

Surf Yoda: Take this next wave, you must. Hmmmmmm.

R. Brown: Are you insane? NO. It's too big.

Surf Yoda: Be afraid you must not, you one with the wave must be.

R. Brown: No Fucking way.

Surf Yoda: Coming, the wave is. Yesssssss.

R. Brown: I can see that!

Surf Yoda: Most likely smash into a million pieces against the bottom of the ocean your head will, if you take not this next wave. Herh, herh, herh.

R. Brown: Yes. I can fucking see that.

Surf Yoda: Hmmmmm. Yesssssss.

(wave attacks me and dumps the board on top of my head, before depositing me on the shore where I proceed to throw up salt water and coffee.)

Surf Yoda: Ha, ha, ha. Funny, that was. Yesssssss.

DAY 41: DEAR STEVEN PAUL JOBS, CEO AND SULTAN KING OF ALL THINGS MAC

2009-06-17T13:31:00.000+02:00

Here's the first song, There's no video to go with it, just an AWESOME pic of The Mac Daddy doing 'The Don' (kind of) :

DAY 39: HELLO SPROGLETT!

2009-06-15T14:30:00.000+02:00

So the father has gone away for three months in order to open some sort of factory in Johannesburg that will apparently change the way the world sees scatter cushion fibre. I can't wait. On the up side, this means that I get to take my new found 7yr old half sister for ice-cream and rides in Renault Brown without his permission. I can't understand a word The New Thai Wife is saying, so just make up my own conclusions:

New Thai Wife: Waa daa HOMEWORK? Yabada BATH haacabaa BED yoaagaboo SPELWING TEST TOMOWOW!

R. Brown: What's that? Oh Ok, you need to do some Thai things and hang up the washing, well then I'll just take The Little Sproglett off your hands for a while. Come along Sproglett, let's go for an ice cream.

The Sproglett is amazing. It's super cool to have someone ask me loads of questions about who I really am. Innocent questions that I never thought I'd ever have to answer, which admittedly I answer with lies because I want her to think I'm awesome:

Sproglett: Wachel, where have you been my whole life?

Wachel: Well, I've been in the DRC for the past 8 years, mediating peace talks between Joseph Kabila, and the militant rebel leaders.

Sproglett: Oh. That's nice.

Aaah. I love The Sproglett.

Other pearls of wisdom I have passed onto her thus far:

Donkeys were once Unicorns until the Chinese Government bought the rights to chop off all their magical horns and sell them to the Mexicans.

Barbie was modeled off of our great, great grandmother, Barbara Brown.

A pig has one vein running through its entire body.

Vanilla ice cream is made from Crickets blood, that's what makes it so white. Chocolate ice cream is OK though, it's just made from chocolate.

The Father was once a dwarf until he got leg extensions. Ask him to show you the scars from the surgery.

DAY 35: THE WEIRD DURBAN HITCHING CULT

2009-06-09T16:57:00.000+02:00

"Hi. I'm an incredibly gorgeous guy. I'm smart and creative and probably have a giant ding-dong. I'd show it to you if I didn't have this wedding ring on my huge fucking finger. Oh, meet my wife. Yes she is incredibly beautiful, a little dense but that doesn't matter because that's only your opinion, R. Brown. Our age? Um, we're both 23 but we've been married for about 15 yrs already."

Durbanaats. Stop getting hitched so young. You're freaking me out. At least wait until you've grown pubes and know how to count to 10. I know all your friends are doing it, but that's because they've been brainwashed by The Durban Hitching Cult, which was founded by a group of Durban junior school jocks way back in the 80's. These guys realised that they'd probably all amount to useless, flabby oxygen thieves by the time they hit their thirties and decided to all get hitched before they stopped pulling chicks.

These guys are dangerous. They have passed on the ancient wisdoms of The Durban Hitching Cult to other junior school jocks, which then brainwash the B team rugby players, preying on their vulnerabilities and insecurities of never making it into the A team. And then suddenly the whole of Durban is married. Seriously. Why am I the only person who knows this shit? Gawsh.

DAY25:DEAR 'ALMOST COUNSELLOR/SULTAN/KING/COLONEL/PRESIDENT' OF PINETOWN...

2009-05-25T09:41:00.000+02:00

DAY 20: MEET RENAULT BROWN

2009-05-22T07:23:00.000+02:00

This is my ride. I can't really explain why I bought her, I guess I felt sorry for her, sitting there in that ugly yard like a chained up puppy. She was also very cheap and The Father assured me he could fix her up. She's given me a few headaches over the past couple of weeks but I think we've reached an understanding... and I've noticed that other drivers keep a wide girth of us because she looks like trouble and I probably drive like a dickhead.

DAY 19: HOW TO WIN THE AFFECTION OF A MALE DURBANITE AND HOPEFULLY GET LAID ALONG THE WAY.

2009-05-21T18:48:00.000+02:00

DAY 11: HELLO TBWA\HUNT\LASCARIS\DURBAN

2009-05-21T18:41:00.003+02:00

Ahh. Nothing like the first day on the job. I get flounced around the agency, being introduced to people who's names I won't remember for the next 365 days. This place is going to take some getting used to. Perhaps a wrecking ball and Cousin Matt, The Decorator can help.

DAY6: HELLO. I'M RACHEL, YOUR DAUGHTER.

2009-05-21T18:22:00.000+02:00

I see The Father for the first time in 15 years. He comes to fetch me from The House That Nearly Was in order to take me car searching/shopping. He's chubbier than I remember and he's dyed his hair this sandy/auburn colour that doesn't quite hide the fact that he's gone completely grey. I can see he's dressed up for the occasion, sporting a new, crisp, checkered shirt, and the pony tail is gone. (I had a long paragraph about the pony tail here but then realised it wouldn't be fair to judge as it was the early 90's at the time...) The initial reunion is as I expected it would be, forced and strained. There is too much unsaid stuff between us for it to have been a joyous moment. The car ride to Pinetown (apparently second-hand car Mecca) is spent listening to him complain about his new Thai wife. I kept thinking to myself how it must feel for him to have me suddenly turn up in his life like this. One image came to mind:

I think it's fair to say that a few others in Durbs are probably feeling the same way about my arrival.

DAY4: THE BUTTERFLY EFFECT: BUNNY CHOW AND A TATTOO, ANYONE?

2009-05-21T16:56:00.000+02:00

Watching my boxes stacked up in the living room, laughing at me, taunting me with the fact that they won't be unpacked for another 30 days, I go into panic mode and decide that a walk around my new neighbourhood would probably do me some good. I soon find a corner cafe and buy my first official Durban Bunny Chow and have my first conversation with a real Indian person. As I'm paying for my Bunny, I notice a tattoo parlour across the road. Without really thinking, I cross the road Bunny in hand, and demand a tattoo. Twenty minutes later I walk out with another star on my wrist, a bravery badge to mark new beginnings, change and hopefully some growth. I feel a lot better and trek home to unpack my clothes, make my bed and shuffle it around my new bedroom.

This is The House That Nearly Was. I have utilised my AWESOME Photoshopping abilities to add in some furniture and stuff to make it feel more homely because neither Kak Van Rooyen or I really own anything.

DAY 3: WELCOME TO YOUR NEW HOME, NOW PLEASE FUCK OFF.

2009-05-21T07:59:00.000+02:00

Meet my housemate, *Kak Van Rooyen. Coming from Pretoria, I suspect he arr wiff arr not ables to uses the internetns wiff arr emails arr wiff telecomunications. As my last box was being moved into my new home he wiff arrs me that I's arr havings to be movings out by the endings of the months because the huisie arr wiff sold. Thanks for letting me know a few days in advance so I could put all my stuff into storage, Kak Van Rooyen. You arr kak.

*name and face has been changed as to not hurt his feelings.

DAY 1: WOULD YOU LIKE SOME ARSE IN YOUR WINE?

2009-05-20T11:02:00.000+02:00

"No thank you, Richard's Mom. I would not like some of

your arse in my wine. Oooh, you mean ICE. Ok then."

English speaking Durbanites enjoy turning vowels into other vowels, take the very important ‘i’ for example. It has completely vanished from their dialect and has been replaced by a very lazy ‘a’ or an even lazier ‘u.’ So going for an ‘arsecream’ apparently does not mean taking a trip down to the local Dischem for a tube of Hemroid-Be-Gone. Phew. Thank goodness. Below is a list I have compiled for those ‘voweletically challenged’ peeps out there who can’t understand a bloomin’ word these ‘Durbanaats’ are saying: