Arts on Main on a Sunday

My Sunday morning began with lazy scrambled eggs and a replay of the Flintstones movie. I love the scrambled egg process - whisking and spicing and the dash of paprika. Then in the pan, the slow forward scoop of the spatula to lift the bottom layer of cooked egg until there is none left uncooked. It just feels lazy when you make it.

The cousin (Natalie) made the tomato, mushroom and onion relish. I was a little skeptical of her "is it alright if I do what dad does, and just add sauces?" - particularly having seen the large number of sauce bottles in the cupboard above the stove. And now, having seen how they're used, I'm no longer confused by how many there are.

It was actually really good though! A little sweet, perhaps - but then, I'd over-salted the eggs. And frankly, almost everything feels a little over-seasoned on a Sunday morning. So it was awesome.

Once we'd established that the Flintstones was actually made in 1994, and finished staring at the empty plates and coffee mugs, we got dressed and went to Melrose Arch. Nats was looking for make-up brushes, so I went looking at bookshelves in @Home. And I found this:

Yes - that's what it said. "I Heart Joburg" in white font just hanging in the air as the scene turned black and white. I took it as a clear sign.

And it obviously was, because not long after this, I picked up one of my all-time favourite people (Jacqui the Joburger AKA Jax) - and she began to guide me toward Arts-on-Main ("And I'm going to show you a way that avoids going through town - because no matter what the hipsters say, let's just avoid it"). As we took the off-ramp onto the M2, we discovered that I am now a fully-integrated Gauteng-a-lenger. Jax says "Okay - I think we're going to take the third off-ramp". I reply "Oh yes - Joe Slovo Drive."

Boom. Like a boss. This was followed by ten minutes of self-congratulation.

And the self-congratulation was followed by finding rock-star parking. In my head, I high-fived the Universe. Although, I can't be sure that it wasn't out loud - because I did attract one or two strange looks.

So - Arts on Main. Wow. Totally unexpected. In and between the old-school industrial buildings, you come to this large gravelled courtyard shaded in olive trees. Around the sides, there are wooden bench tables and a white-tented bar, laden with giant tupperwares of cucumber, lemon and mint for the Pimms and Mojitos that everyone is drinking. And I mean everyone. On the gravel, beneath gently swaying olive branches, brown and white blankets are draped and dotted with cushions for many a hipster behind.

We wended our way through the courtyard to the bookshop/artshop. It sells local fiction, fashion bibles, Alexander McQueen photography books and Kentridge originals (Jax tells me that this is the guy that everyone knows in New York - sigh - gone are the days when they would have asked about the elephants in the backyard and whether you can speak African...). There were also many watercolours of mushroom clouds on the wall, with titles such as "it seemed to me that day winter" and "Oh that half the biscuit were when we". Hipster indeed. A little emo apparently. But still fun.

After that there was the clothing store, which is the home of the famous Jozi skyline collection. I bought two shirts. One with a twisted seam (which honestly makes me look defined - Jax paused when I walked out with it on), and one that has "Norwood" written across the front. It's important to be cool.

We then went through to the gallery areas. Sadly, only one had a show going. And this show... Acrylic posters worded like the section of the classifieds that mother never let me read: "XXX Boksberg broad. Your pleasure my pleasure. Call 0725887732. By appointment only". And "Giant Black Driller. For your M2M needs. Will cum to you. Call 0823579900".

Why? Why would you have this in your house? I don't really pretend to understand. Perhaps it's meant to be a reflection of the state of the world and the way we prostitute ourselves in subconscious ways to our partners in a game of tit-for-that (pardon the pun) where personality is for sale and sex is the monetary unit. Whatever. Even if that is the case - I don't want it in my house. Thanks.

After that, we'd worked up an appetite, and went to get homemade hot dogs from a Jewish gentleman. I'll be honest - the order of events does sound a little awkward now that I write it out. But the hot dog was delicious. With tomato and caramelised onion chutney and peanut sweet chilli sauce. On a blanket. Under an olive tree.

We followed this with Pimms on the rooftop bar. Where we struggled to find shade but did it anyway.

The perfect Sunday afternoon.

Only complaint? I didn't take any photographs. Such an idiot.

I guess I'll have to go back...