‘Toy soldiers look a little Magritte’ Rubbish Day

Today, I fear, is going to be quite difficult for you. You see, I am still playing toy soldiers in the online strategy/ empire building game. The military theme has rather taken a hold of the house here in Jo’burg and what I have learnt in the war game is that sometimes you have to be a little bit sneaky. To honour my growing sneakiness, I went full camo this week. I went deep cover. Stealth mode. The neighbours didn’t see a thing. The rubbish collectors sighed and reasoned that I must be in bed, unwell. If you really are having trouble spotting me in the pics, I will tell you that I promise I am in every single picture.

I swear to you, I am standing somewhere in this picture. Looking a little Magritte I have to say.

You see!

Does her sneakiness know no limit?

Now you see me…

Whoosh! Now you don’t.

Happy Wednesday, lovely people ūüôā


The Rubbish Day Liza Minnelli nearly broke my spirit

For those who are new to this, I dress up for rubbish day. This week, by the special request of a lovely friend, I present Liza Minnelli in Cabaret. Sadly and for reasons I cannot understand, my charming husband did not want to put on a pair of short leather shorts to join me as Emcee.

I’m not entirely sure that I nailed Liza but I hit hooker and drag queen on the head. I knocked those two right out of the park! It was, to say the very least about the whole underwear in the street debacle, a little stressful. There were plenty laughs though albeit of the nervous giggle variety.


Ta da! My jazz hands froze with the anxiety, I’m afraid.


Imagine the bin is the chair, if you will.


There was some traffic on the street but thankfully today the neighbours hid themselves particularly well.


Today should have carried a PG rating. My nerves! They are finished. Happy Wednesday everybody.

‘The sun will come out tomorrow’ Rubbish Day

I was feeling a little out of sorts this morning. It might be the moon. Maybe I’m desperate for rain. Perhaps it was just a lack of sleep and dancing. There’s just never enough dancing, is there? You can all rest easy though because I have pulled myself towards myself by singing a little musical number from Annie and I am now almost convinced that the sun will indeed come out tomorrow.


That’s Charlie. Charlie’s his name, if you please. If you don’t believe me, ask any one of the fleas.


This is Sandy. Sandy’s his name, if you please…


You really are never fully dressed without a smile. You’re never fully dressed…


The sun’ll come out tomorrow. Bet your bottom dollar that tomorrow, there’ll be sun. I certainly hope so because we really need to paint that gate of ours.


‘It’s a man’s world’ Rubbish Day

Recently on rubbish day I was due to have lunch with my completely delightful friend, gender activist and artist Germaine DeLarch. I thought to dress a little gender non-specific for the occasion. Also, let’s be honest, taking out the trash is actually a man’s job.¬†It turns out I’m not very good at being a dude; poor old 23thorns (charming husband) was beyond despairing at my inability to assume the positions. I did sing Walk like a man all day though and that has to count for something.

Not quite yet nailing manly

Not quite yet nailing manly

It's a man's world 2

Probably not quite there yet.

It's a man's world 3

Nailed it! I’m a dude.

Too busy for rubbish day shenanigans

Some days I am just too busy – what with my two jobs, two children, two dogs and all 23 thorns – to bother with the rubbish day dress-ups.


Happy weekend, lovely people.

‘It’s not the Y.M.C.A, it’s the navy’ Rubbish Day

Ooh-Ah everybody. It is entirely the fault of my new online gaming obsession that the mood this week is a little martial. Those are my grandfather’s WWII South African Air force medals. In September of 1939 he left his job as a clerk at the Permanent Building Society and went to war. He joined the first bomber squadron to land in East Africa. As a gunner on a bomber he earned¬†machinegun bullet hole scars along his thigh.¬†As per his own account, he met St Peter twice falling through the clouds from¬†up high.¬†He earned his wings, survived the war in East Africa and Italy¬†and then went back to work as a clerk.



So, for Geoff, the medals. For his son, my dad, the navy (he was a diver). For me, a fag and the least manly poses imaginable (23 despairs). For the rubbish collectors, a salute (the bin was particularly smelly this morning after a fridge clear out.)

Hello sailor!

Hello sailor!



My dad warned me about sailors. I appear not to have listened.

My dad warned me about sailors. I appear not to have listened.

It's the navy not the Y.M.C.A. Really!

It’s the navy not the Y.M.C.A. Really!




Even Cowgirls Get The Blues when taking out the rubbish

So, I’m a Tom Robbins fan. That’s Tom , not Anthony. He completely won me over when he said, “Never hesitate to sell your cow for a handful of magic beans.” In honour of Tom’s book, Even Cowgirls Get The Blues, and in honour of the fact that I quite often get the blues¬†and in honour of Doris Day in Calamity Jane – a childhood favourite, I went a little Wild West one week. Yee-haa! Praise The Lord and pass the ammunition! And please, please don’t forget to sing Gene Pitney’s The Man Who Shot Liberty Valens while looking through the following lunacy.

It was noon at the Victoria St Corral. The small person was looking for trouble.

It was noon at the Victoria St Corral. The small person was looking for trouble.

So, I ponied up...

So, I ponied up…

He didn't find trouble. He found magic beans.

He didn’t find trouble. He found magic beans.

A fish costume because shhhhhh…I’m really a mermaid

Because I love T.S Eliot and because The Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock is just the most perfect poem of all time and because I don’t actually have white flannel trousers, a few weeks ago I was a mermaid.

A fish costume

Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.

I do not think that they will sing to me.

I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.

We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.

shhh I'm a mermaid

‘Carmen Miranda Fiesta Day’ Rubbish Day

Carmen Miranda rubbish day fiesta

If you are slightly confused as to why a middle-aged woman is dancing next to her rubbish bin with cauliflower, broccoli and a banana on a chopstick on her head in this post, check out my about page. In short, I dress up for rubbish collection day and have done so every Wednesday for many months. I am a big believer in injecting regular doses of silly into one’s life. As a work-from-home worker, I¬†also fight daily the battle of not giving in to tracksuit pants and slippers and, heaven forbid, no lipstick!

So, to fight the seriousness of life with wrinkles and children and unmanageable dogs and bills and taxes, every Wednesday I get my eccentric on and dance in the street. This week, it was Carmen Miranda Day because the cauliflower was very slimy and needed to be disposed of. It was a fiesta. Dogs barked. Neighbours hid their eyes. My charming husband laughed at me.

I will be adding some of the older photos this week and next but from then on, I will see you every Wednesday.

Carmen Miranda Rubbish Day

Rubbish Day goes Bloomsbury Group

I am a huge fan of Dora Carrington. Truthfully, I love anything Bloomsbury group and wish I was old and dead enough and smart enough to have been a part of it. Inspired by this lovely photograph of Carrington and the other of her and Stephen Tomlin, Rubbish Day went to Charleston House. Long-suffering husband, 23thorns, was convinced to play along too. In my great coat. Bless!

nude dora carrington

The real Dora Carrington. Nude. Delightful.

The unreal Dora Carrington. In bikini bottoms. On a dustbin.

The unreal Dora Carrington. In bikini bottoms. On a dustbin.

The real Stephen and Dora. Aren't they wonderful?

The real Stephen and Dora. Aren’t they wonderful?

The fake friends. And bin.

The fake friends. And bin.