Archive - December 2019

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All of me
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The Bookshelf 2019
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One good deed
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Next
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Seven days of selfies
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Emails to mum

The Bookshelf 2019

Man proposes. Life disposes. In my case, woman disposes…, you get my drift, don’t you? The other day on Facebook, I saw a video with the man in it counting: “1, 2,3 – “, his fingers ticking off one book after the other in a pile balanced on a chair. “- 22, 23, 24 – “. Tick. Tick. Tick. “ -50, 51, 52. One for every week of the yea -. “ I clicked it close, a frown gathering on my forehead. I knew where he was headed with all those books and refused to acknowledge the nagging thought that I had, once again, fallen short of my target number of books per month and, consequently, annually. So, I shelved my tallying exercise until I could no longer procrastinate on it. Until well…today. Here’s my count for the year about to end. • Treasure Island – Robert Louis Stevenson Ashamed to confess that I’ve never read this classic. Finally did when it was one of the recommended reads for my son. Replete with photos too. • Steal like an artist – Austin Kleon A trade book to set me in the mood for my writing year. • Creativity: The Perfect Crime – Phillippe Petit As insane and delightful as his acts of tight-rope walking • Wake-up: It’s time for your sleeping pill – Robert • New Ways to Kill Your Mother – Colin Toibin I was stacking up on the trade books like I was running out of time. • After the Darkness – Sydney Sheldon First novel of the year from one of my favourite fiction authors • Prisoner of Birth – Jeffrey Archer Swiftly followed by another by yet another favourite of mine. Second time around reading this but couldn’t let it pass me by. • Digital branding – Daniel Rowles Back to the trade world. We live in a digital everything age now, don’t we? Let me improve on my digital footprints somewhat • The Subtle Art of not giving a F**k! – Mark Manson • Born on a Tuesday – El Nathan • Sycamore Row –”more

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Next

The few I spied in the driver’s seat didn’t inspire much. They were Nigerian senator types with bellies almost touching the wheels. I had specifics in mind – big not bulky; lean/toned not skinny/lanky; bearded but certainly not Mai Atafo’s preference; age range 36–42 and definitely not the heavily- greying, grandfather–looking dude I caught staring at me one morning, and not juvenile either; presence, something that would attract and keep a woman’s curious eye; fit/fill out clothes as though they were bespoke.

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Seven days of selfies

A few months ago, I ran into Moses at The Palms. By the food section in Shoprite, an unrecognisable, smallish, dark-skinned man with no hair on his scalp or face, approached me bearing a huge smile. Only someone confident of his knowledge of another could release a grin that enormous.

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