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Oh, how I haven't missed having a maid. I never feel comfortable having "staff". Unlike most affluent South Africans, I wasn't brought up with a maid... only my mother. And I didn't feel uncomfortable with that - probably largely because (although she did the main brunt of the housework) my maid-mother would issue Boet and I with a chore list that included toilet brushes and dishwashing duty. So I'm one of those socially-awkward people who wants to help the maid, which - as GBM points out - kinda defeats the point of having one in the first place.

So, instead of being chased around the flat by Poa, while I smile politely and apologetically every time I have to move, I've taken to removing myself completely... which means (and such is the tough life of the African house-girlfriend) retiring to the pool.

There I sit, struggling through the horrific surroundings for forty minutes or so, until I venture back indoors to play the "where has Poa hidden everything this time" game. We have nothing but cupboard space in our kitchen, in which we store literally, nothing. Two plates, two bowls, two sets of cutlery, one pot and one pan.

And every time these items get put back in a different nook or cranny. Sometimes all together, sometimes a bit more dispersed. My favourite so far, was finding all our crockery, upside down... in the cutlery drawer.

And the remaining cutlery?

Why, that had been moved to the drawer below... with the pots and pans. Of course.