Because my mother was traumatically uprooted at 11 and taken to Benoni, where she was bullied by schoolmates and called a ‘bladdy immagrant’ by teachers (she even had to do a subject called ‘immigrant Afrikaans’), England became a weird nostalgic Utopia for her, and I was brought up to believe it was heavenly. The television was better, the comedy was funnier, the chocolate was tastier. Continue reading
I recently encountered Ian McEwan for the first time, in the form of an audiobook of The Children Act lent to me by my mother and very sternly read by a woman called Lindsay Duncan, CBE.
It’s relentlessly depressing so far. But some light relief came from an unexpected quarter: McEwan’s descriptions of people. Continue reading
The fade: When a song doesn’t have the guts to end properly. Continue reading
A few years ago, for some reason, and I honestly can’t imagine what that reason could have been, I watched a documentary called ABBA, The Best Pop Group Ever – THE STORY, which you can see here. But I’m kind of glad I did, because the story of the circumstances surrounding the making of ‘The Winner Takes It All’ was totally nuts, and I’ve never forgotten it.
You may remember, that’s the video when this
turns into this
It’s the third one.
Hairstyle aside, a naked Yo-Landi Vi$$er would surely be a 10, by the standards set in ‘today’s media’, mostly because of her boobs, for which a new word – one step up from ‘perky’ – should be coined.
But when she’s not naked, she’s frequently kitted out like a Ringwraith, wearing solid black contact lenses that stir our primal fears, noshing human hearts and being really, really onbeskof. Continue reading