Vinyl Seats

It was the height of the Cape Town summer, sweltering, especially in the confines of the white 90’s VW bus special. Piles of bodies, to the point of absurdity, fighting for whatever breath was left in the stifling interior, were crammed in without discretion. A hodgepodge of browns, blacks, empty stomachs, full stomachs, aching backs, the required bags from a special day in town, all hoping for something greater, populate every square inch of interior.  Continue reading


Incult: coarse, uncultured (Merriam-Webster)

Whit and I decided, after much deliberation and head scratching, ideas offered and retracted in the same breath, on an investigative hike on Table Mountain as the center piece of our weekend, along with, of course, our customary celebration at the Armchair upon safe arrival in town. Nothing compliments an exhausting day in the African sun like a pint of Windhoek, a habit re-enforced after taking a particularly nasty fall bull-dogging down Lion’s Head on one of our countless outings. Taking my lead from Whit, who employed the dirtiest of tricks, questioning my manhood, poking fun at the chinks in my armor where fear and concern seeped through, prodded me into a speedy decent that quickly turned chaotic and uncontrollable. It wasn’t long after our arrival at the pub that I was able to laugh at the tumble with Whit, who had been taking the piss out of me since I came limping down the trail, bleeding and swearing loudly at the absurdity of the idea. What I really needed at the time, to nurse my bruised ego, and body, back to health, was the soft, feminine touch of the fairer sex, what I got in its stead was an ice-cold glass of fix it all. Continue reading

An Indian Summer Daze

The day began with all the jittery gusto of an over caffeinated, relocated expat hoping to sit down and actually accomplish something. The list of “to does” and

Where The Magic Happens

“what I hope to accomplish today” was long, intimidatingly so, but the caffeine buzz was in full effect and the day still young. The bed room, where the magic happens, or more accurately where I hope it will happen (soon), was the first to receive the treatment: new sheets, new pillow case, and a general tidying up. This was done with the utmost of sincerity, as the woman of my dreams is going to approach me the on beach any day now; walking ever so slightly on her toes, giving her goods just that right amount of shake, that classy shake, promise an erotic liaison, and then complement my love-making skills profusely while preparing a tasty bowl of Cinnamon Toasters (that’s generic for Cinnamon Toast Crunch, and that shit is expensive). That was two off the list already, and it wasn’t even 9am. Clean bedroom, dream big. Check and check. Continue reading