I discovered my childhood this holiday – the one I forgot I had. As I paged through the photo albums my mom collated over the years, I realised (despite logic) that it’s always been there, I just couldn’t remember.

My parents split when I was 13. The three preceding years were scarred with screaming matches, long drawn out silences and uncomfortable meal times until the point when my dad moved out and Wednesday became our day. Prior to that we moved four times and spent six months backpacking through South America.

Post dreaded ‘D’, I went to boarding school where I sufficiently rebelled, was duly gated for three semesters and henceforth grudgingly allowed to take the bus to school. End 99, both mother and daughter split the country faster than you can say Matric exemption – mom moved to the land of roll-on lawn, while I ventured West to the US of A.

In science one is taught that every action has an opposite and equal reaction. My reaction was to wipe anything pre-1994. Sure I remembered key events, playground wars, secret hiding places, details of homes we lived in even before I was two,  but no faces, no expressions and only very few family activities.

And now, as I page through the happy snap account of momentous occasions and family picnics, I’m filled with a longing to revert to age three and start from scratch – to be rid of the rage.

But we are who we are because of our experiences and although this trip to Europe has finally cemented for me that there is no point, I’m glad to have the memories back.

“It is impossible not to love someone who makes toast for you. People’s failings, even major ones, such as when they make you wear short trousers to school, fall into insignificance as your teeth break through the rough, toasted crust and sink into the doughy cushion of white bread underneath. Once the warm, salty butter has hit your tongue, you are smitten. Putty in their hands.”

- Excerpted from Toast by Nigel Slater

If you haven’t been before, come to the Fiddle East party at Albert Hall this Saturday. It’s by the same guys who do Balkanology and it’s awesome. Check the video below.
War and Peace

I have a confession to make: I read HEAT magazine.

There, I said it…(*looks around nervously to see if the world has dissolved*)

I could use a pathetic excuse like: “I read it for work – they have a great events listing page”, but I would be lying. No, this is more the case of every time I walk down the magazine aisle on a Tuesday, the damn thing jumps into my basket and clings on for dear life, begging me to take it home. It simply cannot bear being stared at by the constant flow of shoppers who mournfully pass it by, to embarrassed to buy it for fear of being scorned by their friends, family and fellow shoppers. (I know how they feel.)

Of course I’m brave, and don’t give a hoot about what others say, so I hide it face down behind the bread (all the while pretending I am classy – I do shop at Woolies after all) and quickly flip it face down after the careless teller has thrown it open for all the world to see.

There have been other times though, where this particular publication has taken a more agressive, albeit covert, approach to conning me. I have often arrived home only to unpack the groceries and find an exclamation! scarred copy glaring at me from the bottom of my reusable bag. It would appear it snuck its way into my basket (while I was tempted by the sweety heaven) and hid behind the broccoli instead (sneaky bugger), only to fly past the scanner and blend into the background before I had time to notice. This is an art form you know, as hiding bright pink, red and shocking yellow is no mean feat.

So I take pity on it as the alternative – complaining to the confused store manager that they really should keep these things under lock and key – is simply to much effort.

Besides, I can’t be classy all the time.

Check out these really cool pics from a few Sundays back when Parri and I joined Chris and Robyn and a few friends for the light switching on ceremony in Adderley Street. This post is a little late but it seems I can finally post pics up! Yay!

I’m in love with Cape Town – it’s an alive, magical city filled with treasures and surprises that never cease to amaze me.