You May Kiss the Bride

So Rachel Zane walked down the aisle on Saturday. And while I couldn’t be bothered to watch the proceedings I’m happy for the newly-weds. I really am. They have proved to us that fairy tales actually do exist. They’ve shown us the Royal family can stomach Catholics after all.

Their love story reads like something out of a Ladybird series. Hollywood meets Sussex. And as the lovely couple stood at the altar, looking into each other, all mushy and dewy-eyed, the rest of the world held its breath.Read More »

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This May hurt

They finally found him. It didn’t matter that he didn’t want to be found. They finally caught him after years of snooping around. Lots of shillings had been poured in the hope of getting him. They had gone round in circles, sticking their noses in malls and coffee shops. They had chased him across town, only to be told that he had left just minutes ago. They had come so close.

But now they found him. He was seated at a clothed table near the exit. He was in the shadows, as only where one would expect him to be–in the background, away from the center.Read More »

May I?

I can’t write. I’m struggling again. That’s what my life seems to be all about these days. Struggling. Most times I’m penned into a corner in my room –sweating buckets, rushing deadlines.

The rest of the time I have my nose in a glass of vodka. And as I write this, I really can’t help but think back on the first day of May last year.Read More »

Kiss my Arsenal

Disclaimer: Don’t even bother with this post if all you know about football is Manchester United.

There’s plenty of things to say about 2004. Prezzo was still on our airwaves, telling the fans he loves them, and to the haters: Kuleni sembe, meza wembe. It was the year I’d finally taste a girl’s saliva. And it wasn’t as disgusting as everyone had made it out to be.Read More »

The Hair and the Rabbit

“Don’t go back to the ship,” she begged him. “They’ll kill you there.”

She was sniffing furiously, trying not to cry, trying not to hurt him.

“It’s my ship,” he said gently. “It’s my crew. You know I have to go.”

The girl is called Lisa Larsen. She’s speaking to her hubby, Thor Larsen.Read More »

The Honky Tonk

This story starts like most of them, really. I was in a mat. I was drunk. And I was on my way home. I was riding shotgun in a white van. I lost the window seat to a bulky chap whose breath smelt like boiled eggs and smokies. I was wedged between him and the driver.Read More »