27 Boxes: That Which is Not Twee

Melville and I, we go way back. My mom, the SAFTA-award winning art director, had a restaurant named Hard Times in 4th avenue for twelve years. I spent many a happy childhood and teen year rambling about Melville, walking its streets and visiting its shops. I was always on foot and alone, because Melville was that…

The Life and Death of the Book Store

I don’t mean to wax lyrical and mewl like an old lady on her stoep with a blanket on her knees and a cat on her lap, but I remember drive-ins. The slap chips, the giant radios that threatened to crack the window, my parents smoking freely while we ran down to the playground just…

The Occasional Magnificence of Commuting

I begin my day at 5:15 during the week, and I’m usually on the road by 5:45, taking the Western Bypass to get to work. While I do have to contend with the closely placed robots in Randburg and Strijdom park until I get to the highway, further complicated by the usual reckless behaviour of…