Stars, salt and infinity: Namibia, part two

“It’s flat up there,” Matt’s high school friend, Richard, says to us when we meet him for lunch in Windhoek on day four of our trip across Namibia. “Etosha, man, it’s flat flat flat — it’s flat forever.” The cicadas were screeching in the midday heat when we got to the entrance. We got out and smiled at each other...

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Heat, canyons and quiver trees: Namibia, part one

In this place, at this time of day, you are the anomaly. Everything around you is dry, dry as dry can be, dry as deadpan humour, dry as a dead pan. But you — you are wet. Your forehead is wet and your armpits. The backs of your knees. It’s running down your temples and making your arms shimmer.

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Home with a capital H

From above, Johannesburg in January was green. Greener than I’ve ever seen it. I stared out the window as we descended, watching as farmland gave way to villages, small towns. Wait, one more farm. Another town. The city builds from the outside in. In me, a familiar feeling built, too.

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‘It’s not a forfeiting; it’s a substitution’ and other lessons in emigrating

London rises. It emerges from the treetops and chimney pots as I gaze out of my window-seat view on the train. Steel and glass and past and present climbing skywards. Its angles catch the afternoon light, reflecting summer blues and patches of cloud.

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Quarantine: Notes from the inside

"I’ll make some tea now, love,” I say to Matt. “I just want to rinse the shower gel out of the mugs first.” Stretched-out adult arms can reach opposing sides of our bathroom. In the sink, I pick up the mugs and rinse them of the shower gel we’ve been using to clean them. We have nothing else.

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The Great Vintage Adventure: Day three

I wake in the early hours, expecting to hear rain on the roof of the quirky, quaint and full-of-personality cottage we’re staying in. But it is quiet. I can’t hear anything at all. The forecast, which warned us of heavy rain all the way from Barrydale to Cape Town...

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The Great Vintage Adventure: Day two

Matt gets back in the Triumph, laughing. “What did your dad say?” I ask. “He says not to worry about the rev counter,” he replies. “Apparently it only starts working once the car’s warmed up.” We drive out of the Willowmore Old Jail and pull over almost immediately.

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The Great Vintage Adventure: Day one

In a year where all plans were scrapped, the stars aligned to make this one happen. Matt first mentioned it to me sometime in the middle of 2019: “When my parents move from Kenton to Cape Town,” he said, “I’m hoping to help my dad move his cars.” A 1934 Austin 10 and a 1964 Triumph Spitfire.

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That vast, loving heart

Dear Laszlo, I revamped my website. When I started, the folder on my laptop housing early copy revisions and new images was called “Website revamp: April 2020”. It’s now September. I don’t know what happened to the time. Actually, I do. Covid happened. And I lost the person who started it in the first place: you.

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