Month: November 2016

Flutter flutter

Yesterday I had eyelash extensions. I’d seen someone else with them, thought she looked amazing, got the details and made an appointment.

When the beautician was finished I looked in the mirror and went OH MY GOD. Then I went FUCK. Then OH MY GOD. Then FUCK.

‘You okay?’ she asked

‘Absolutely,’ I replied.

I paid her a small fortune and then my very long very thick very black sexy eyelashes and I headed to a coffee shop.

I wasn’t sure anyone would notice.

‘OH MY GOD,’ said the barista.

‘FUCK,’ said the waitress.


‘Do you think they’re a bit much?’I asked.

Nope. No. Not at all. Everyone was in agreement. They’re amazing. Magnificent. Perfect.


I sipped my coffee and dished the beautician’s number out to all the women who asked.

And I dished mine out to all the men who asked.

Well, just one, but still.

These eyelashes are amazing. They are long, flirty, fun, glamorous and the thing is, they ooze sex appeal.

I love it.

They’ve made me walk with a swing in my step, a twinkle in my eye, I feel confident and beautiful and you know…

I’m calling my difficult friend.

These are fuck me eyelashes.

And I intend to make full use of them.

Wink wink.


Claudia is in Johannesburg. She does home visits. 082 456 3809.  It’s very fucking expensive but worth every penny!

The beauty of objects

She stood there, immobile, unsure how or what to start packing. Years of paints, paintbrushes, paper, clay, sculptures, twine, beads, bits, feathers and things that have no value but have all the value in the world.

‘It’s just a paperclip,’ I said. ‘You do not need this.’

A tear rolled down her cheek.

‘I don’t,’ she said. ‘Or, maybe I do. That clip held together the first painting I exhibited. I do need to hold on to it. Or, if not me, somebody else might want to use it.’

‘It’s a fucking paper clip,’ I said. ‘It goes…’

I swept it into the bag for rubbish.

This was me, helping a dear friend pack up her life. She’s moving from South Africa to England.

They have paper clips in England.

But packing is hard. The blue dress, even though it hasn’t been worn for years, is gorgeous. The teacup that’s been in bubble wrap forever; it came from a great grandmother.

Objects of beauty. Of meaning. Of memory.

What stays and what goes? What gets thrown away and what gets given away?

We went through a bag of baby clothing. Our babies grew up together. I recognised the dinosaur hat. The sippy cup. The blankie.

‘God,’ I said, ‘I cannot believe you kept these. I gave all my baby stuff away years ago. Years ago.’

I held the blanket.

And then suddenly a tear rolled down my cheek too.

Of course she had to keep the dinosaur hat.

I had to keep my dinosaur hats too.

We hold on to things because they are a part of us. They are our memories, our emotions, our ties to things and people and times.  They are love.

How does one part with anything?

I dug the paper clip out the rubbish.

‘It stays,’ I said.

She breathed in, a sigh of relief.  We both wiped our tears.  And I blew my nose into a handkerchief.

It’s the handkerchief of an old lover.  We’re not in touch anymore.

But it smells of him. It is a part of him.

It is him.

Of course I’m not letting it go.



Manners have come up a lot lately in conversation.

A friend of mine told me that even in her darkest days hanging out in crackhouses she always used to say please and thank you when getting her hit.

‘I’ll have three rocks, thank you so much….’

Maybe her good manners kept her alive.

And I try hard and say please, and thank you, when I want something in the bedroom.

Yes. That’s good. Like that, do it that way. Please, uh huh, gosh yes, yes…’

‘Like that, Violet, is that what you like?’

‘Yes, perfect. Thank you.’

Maybe that’s what has kept me in orgasms. Good manners.

I do like traditional good manners.

But sometimes manners take a different form. Like you can in the bedroom say yes yes jesus fuck more now fuckyou god damn yes fuck yes jesus yes.

Men probably like that as much as a thank you.

Probably more, actually.

But I am traditional.

I’ll have another coffee, thank you.

Another whisky? Sure. Thank you so much.

One more slice of cake, why not, thank you.

It’s okay to be greedy.

As long as you always says thanks.


Supermoon snacks

shout out to everyone

who did a moon dance

under the Supersky

then ate three Super Spur burgers

under the Supermoon

because they were super hungry

polished off every single last chip

and smoked a foot long super cigarette

glowing in the  moonshine

then danced to bed

s l o w l y

c o n n e c t e d.

Goodnight moon.

Goodnight moon