Colin found a pack of white surgical masks in a sealed plastic container in one of the cupboards under the sink. He washed his hands one more time after removing the lid, and repeated the ritual with the white cloth - this time making sure he covered the empty alcohol bottle in the bin. ‘Sleep tight,’ he said before ripping the plastic wrapper of the masks.
He lit up the room with the familiar blue neon of his watch and strolled down the short passageway, greeting each of the only two framed pictures flanking him on both sides.

‘Baboon wins Lotto’ the headlines said. At first Pulane thought it was another ploy by The New Sun to further boost its already high circulation among the gullible.

I have been away from here

I have been receiving a vast amount of spam recently. Mostly concerning penis enlargement and Viagra. It’s like the spammers are reading my mind.

We’ve spoken twice a year for the past twenty years. On his birthday, and on mine. That’s the way it’s been since it ended. Our lives are very different now. Suburban and domestic. Comfortable. I last saw him about eight years ago. I realised that I still loved him, and I always will. But I know that it will never be. All we have left in common is our history. Time to let go.

.........

Sello, chief clerk, mabalane at Consolidated Gold Mines in Johannesburg, phoned his wife Rebeka in Moruleng every month to find out how she and the children were doing.

One day he phoned and instead of his wife answering the phone, a rough male voice said “Hullo, who is this. Ke mang?”

Ankles crossed, you sit
as you pretend to listen
to the child's story,
polishing your nails
as she speaks of other worlds;
you are not worthy.

Love After Love

The time will come
when, with elation
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror
and each will smile at the other's welcome,

Colin tripped over an empty bottle. A look of disbelief highlighted his deep frown, ‘You’re slipping up Burrell,’ he said to himself and ran a hand over his receding hairline, cringing as his palm made contact with oily skin. He scampered through the kitchen, feeling his way through the darkness.

Rayda Jacobs’ Confessions of a Gambler won the Sunday Times Fiction Award in 2004, and has recently been seen on the local cinema circuit.

Last Friday, The Cape Times invited readers to a literary lunch at Meerendal, to launch Jacobs’ latest offering, Masquerade.

I’ve always been fascinated about the origins of obscure English sayings.

As a child, I can remember my father describing a particularly half-hearted effort as “a 5/8ths job”. Of course, we children soon got the gist that it meant substandard, second-rate or unsatisfactory judging by his reactions, which ran the gamut from frustrated, disappointed or just plain pissed-off.

Bloody weather.

Rock squids dart for cover,
shells dig in deep,
as the boy with the elegant mist cape
wanders through the pools.

Ocean’s giant tongue tip
laps at his feet
as if a feast; roars with delight
while rubbing salt in the wounds.

I was sent this picture this morning via email and thought it was an opportunity to see if I could master the uploading procedure.

I overslept badly this morning. I’m hoping it’s rats. Even though I've never heard their disgusting scampering in the ceiling before or after.

Smells. Rain on hot tar. Onions frying. Toast. Freshly brewed coffee. Hun kissing me on the neck while I’m cooking, with a “Thank you for all you do for me”. The laughter of friends while I’m cooking dinner for them. A night at home in front of the fire. Falling asleep while watching a B-grade movie with Hun massaging my feet.

Errogent doos!

Night one in Grahamstown. And off we went. Wrapped up in a million layers against a fah-fah-fah-ha-reeeeeezing Eastern Cape June night, we wandered down to the TapHuis, found seats and were told that there were actually 4 artists on for the night. Bonus.

as i drive with three sleeping children in the backseat, three cars on the distant hill peel away and overtake each other.