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It was the best of times, it was the worst of times… high school! There’s a reunion next year that I may or may not be attending… an excuse to go back to Cape Town, as well as a chance to make small talk with overweight jocks, point fingers at the washed-out soccer moms, strung out yuppies, salaried family types and introduce myself to people I don’t remember… Our lives may have taken divergent paths since those days. In

KAK. In the light of all the xenophobic violence it was odd to find such a brazen "call to action" from such an unlikely source, The Friends of the Kenilworth Racecourse Conservation Area, on Mandela's Birthday, nog al.

SARAH DAWSON Wow. What a great day. Three totally different, back-to-back incredible films, followed by a fabulous, NFVF-hosted party at the Zulu Jazz Lounge, which I only left a few hours ago. And now my over-exerted brain struggles for words to share the love with you. I’ll try. NOTHING PERSONAL: Dir: Urszula Antoniak (Ireland/Netherlands) This is probably one of the loveliest films I have seen in months. This morning I woke up with the lingering images in my mind

Last Sunday, the Msunduzi Hospice Winter Fair, Pietermaritzburg, 12h30. All images © Sarah Dawson.

ROGER YOUNG Coming out of “The White Meadows” I see Khalo Matabane standing around holding his stomach, I try and schedule an interview for tomorrow but he’s asked me to postpone it until Monday because, he’ll “finish drinking on Sunday”. It’s that stage of the festival. Most of the people who were at last nights opening party have been wandering around the Royal from workshop to conference looking slightly drained, it’s not that the party was hectic, it’s the

I love second hand books. My heart leaps at a title I didn’t even know I wanted until I see it on a shelf or sandwiched in a pile of other titles. It was waiting for me. Waiting for me all along. It’s a strange dynamic, the book that finds you and accompanies you home: half surprise, half inevitability. How the falcon returns to the falconer. You feel stirred and grateful. When the book you didn’t know you needed

It may be impossible for the rest of South Africa to imagine that anything of any significance ever happens in Durban, and that’d probably be a reasonable assumption, given that nothing actually ever does. Except at the end of July. No, I’m not talking about that poncy horserace that’s an excuse for every socially aspirant jock in the country to migrate to the city to drink him/herself silly under a big tent. I’m talking about something far more impressive,

The Durban International Film Festival (DIFF) is probably the most important showcase for the South African film industry. For the next ten days we (Myself and Sarah Dawson) will attempt to cover the DIFF. I say attempt because the program is, as usual, so full of films to see that by day four we will be image fucked, We’ll be saying scenes happened in films that didn’t exist and chasing the ghosts of the ultimate cocktail party, stumbling through

AIDS is a mass murderer. In essence, this statement is true. The “big disease with a little name” does slay millions annually. Now I’m not here tell you to strap on a condom before you get your freak on. Though that is never a bad idea. It’s just that there are ways of telling us stuff we need to know. There are good ways – with humor, precision, and loads of info we can actually use. And there are

Gridlock on Joe Slovo; Ponte looms overhead. A car and its driver rapidly overheating. No morning rush-hour; no roadworks; none of Joburg’s temperamental robots. This time it was our friendly police service, cunningly targeting the few remaining roads where cars would otherwise run smoothly, conducting an impromptu roadblock. Circumstances preclude my usual coping strategies in cases of traffic – either hotbox the car or turn around and go home. Instead I put on a new CD. My mood soon

KIF. A school that teaches you to do the impossible. This might be some really good anti-marketing for crowded line-ups. Surfing is impossible, you’ll never learn how, but we’re happy to try teach you. Booking here please…

Want to go see the launch of Benguela’s new album Black South Easter at Theater in the District in District 6, iKapa. Just email us here to scoop the tix.

I was in an eatery called Birds recently. A sweet new friend took me there. I want to thank her, and trust we can still be friends. Anyway, it’s in Bree Street in Cape Town. Oh, it’s lovely. White walls, pretty black waitresses, dappled sunlight plopping in through giant bay windows. A winningly seductive patina of care and consciousness on everything. A quiet, homely space. Wooden floors and high ceilings. And the people. Wonderful. Skinny, accomplished, well dressed. People

I don’t get soccer. I realize this is probably not going to be a popular view, with the iconic drone of happy vuvus still ringing in our ears; but there it is. Believe me, this is not due to a lack of trying – I watched most of the World Cup’s big games, and a few of the small ones too. Because after years of being a dedicated rugby, cricket and tennis follower, I thought it was time to

Aweh ma cheapies! Score free tickets to the comedy jol at the Alex Theatre in Braamfontein this Friday featuring John Vlismas, Nmosia Lindy and Loyiso Gola, then shake your bum to the drum with DJs Euphonik and Fresh all night long. All you have to do get your hands on a set of double tickets is email us a joke here.

KIF. We have the Colonel. Pay us 16 million Zinger Meals or you’ll never see him again! No funny stuff.

Inge Beckmann stands on a stage built over the Mercury Live dancefloor, the crowd sits around, the room reeks of heavy “art” and a voice somewhere is screaming: “Why is everyone so god damn quiet?! is this a church?! and what the fuck was that?! A song?! All I heard was bleating!!” Maybe we are meant to feel the reverence of a religious ceremony, a ritual sacrifice to Beckmann with our time and money upon the altar? Tonight’s show

Don’t act like this isn’t the Western world’s fault. Because it is. We know it is. Our crime? We’re petroleum burning, carbon dioxide emitting, meat eating, non-recycling miscreants. Our crime is the whole green thing. And how little notice we’re taking of it. People discussing Miley Cyrus’ underage ‘beaver’ shot online (an outrage that might cost Perez Hilton his scuzzy career) number millions. There aren’t nearly that many of us discussing the ecological fate of the planet! Scientists began

KIF. Look at this horse, this horse is amazing. This horse is actually a pig!

If the medium is the message, then that medium has long been mediocre. The last time I cared about listening regularly to the radio was long, long ago. Anyone with a half-decent music collection would be crazy to sit through the collective hours of advertising jingles, inane banter and (more than anything) else, the American and American-inspired drivel that oozes over the airwaves. There’ve been some exceptions over the years, usually on local community stations. But by and large,