“If he could have died – like Nelson – in the hour of victory! Would it not have been better for him – happier for me? Often I thought so. For to fade slowly away; to lose his strength and fire and intelligence; to outlive his character, and no longer be himself! No, that could not be happiness!”
Jock of the Bushveld by Percy Fitzpatrick
I’ve finally finished reading Jock of the Bushveld. It was sometimes gripping, sometimes sad, and oftentimes hard going with antiquated, somewhat ungrammatical phrasing akin to the writing of it’s time – published in 1907. And an unnecessary over use of exclamation marks. It was a story I felt I knew well from having seen the film as a child and from Johnny Clegg’s ‘Great Heart’ music video and also in legend. Jock, in South African culture, is a legend of a dog and the stories of his conquests in the bushveld are told over and over again – how many dogs have since been named Jock? Continue reading Little did she know
“He was the crazy one who had painted himself black and defeated the world. She was the book thief without the words. Trust me, though, the words were on their way, and when they arrived, Liesel would hold them in her hands like the clouds, and she would wring them out like rain.”
The Book Thief by Markus Zusak
I knew this day would come. It’s been lying in wait, holding on for just a Tuesday like this one to pounce – writers block! One writer described it as the bogeyman waiting in the mirror. I’m looking into the mirror now, and all I see is little old me, defenceless. January is one of those months – regenerative, scary and disappointing all wrapped into 31 cold, short days. It holds so much promise, but who can carry all that pressure without occasionally stumbling at the awesome weight of the load? Continue reading January writer’s block: stalking me like a monster
“The sun did not shine. It was too wet to play. So we sat in the house. All that cold, cold, wet day.”
Dr Seuss, The Cat in the Hat
This house has been a hive of activity since returning from Wales.
Apart from running around three small girls and sightseeing till we’ve almost dropped, the Secret Seven have been most productive at home. My hubby and brother have trimmed the hedge; got rid of a fox mess; bought seafood at Billingsgate Market; gutted and cooked prawns, scallops and squid and made a delicious paella. They have bought a brew kit and begun brewing; put up a wooden parasol on the terrace and accomplished various other household tasks.
Continue reading Rain, puddles, splashes and rest