Is There Joy in Utter Destitution?

Musings on the Life and Times of Michael K.

When I was thirteen, we moved out to a smallholding on the outskirts of Johannesburg. We still refer to it as “The Farm”, but only about a third of the land was arable, the rest was slate, covered with a thin crust of dust and scrub. There was a borehole and an orchard, a vegetable patch, chickens, three horses, two donkeys, a cow, and two pigs. There was also a family of nine – Wilson and Rebecca M. and their seven children – living in two small rooms behind the three garages that sheltered our Japanese sedans from the harsh African sun. (more…)

I’m Not Doing This Because I Enjoy It

(Getting the truth whipped into me by Tracey Farren.)

Dear Tracey,

There are many things I haven’t given too much thought. Not because they don’t interest me, but because there are so many other things begging my attention. Prostitution wasn’t really on my to-mull list until I read your book. It’s one of those things you eventually take for granted in Amsterdam, where women in skimpy underwear, posing enticingly, bathed in red light are just as much a part of the cityscape as canals and bicycles and the sweet scent of marijuana. (more…)

My Neighbour’s Cat

The poor thing has been hiding up in the tree overlooking my garden. It comes down at night and I feed it scraps off my table. My neighbour is an old man, suffering from dementia. He’d forgotten to feed his cat and it started hopping over the fence to eat from my cat’s bowl. Actually, the neighbour’s cat is more friendly than my own, because it seems to know it is dependent on my charity for its survival. Eventually, my own cat had had enough. It didn’t want the scrawny, friendly bugger from next door eating from its bowl. The attack was sudden and vicious – fur flew and blood was spilt. And now my neighbour’s cat is hiding up in my tree, and I’m trying to coax it down with scraps from my table.

Perhaps I should have helped the old man feed his cat. But it’s a little late for that now.