I heard, yesterday, that someone I knew well, and who knew me quite intimately (she was one of the masseuses who help me try to keep my lymphoedemic arm under control, therefore she is one of the few people to have seen my naked, one-boob-only chest) died on Good...

It’s Easter Saturday, here in the southern hemisphere. The strange, in-between day; the hiatus between Good Friday and Easter Sunday. I think Easter Saturday is a slice of reality. We can be so caught up in our own grief and pain, that it comes as a huge...

It’s Saturday morning and all is quiet in the neighbourhood. The dingbat who thought it was smart to mow the lawn at the crack of dawn has finally put the machine away. The Old Boy is out buying us a new oven, after one too many disasters for dinner. I had to...