“It’s not sinking, it’s a submarine!”

Had Angie Motshekga been the owner of the White Star shipping line on the morning of April 15, 1912, history might have sounded quite different. As flashbulbs popped and journalists shouted questions, she and her team would have shuffled into place behind a table. An appeal for quiet; and then the big news, delivered with

They’ll send your mom a telegram when you die

The Americans counted their bullets, pressed their backs against the stack of Tintin books, and waited. The Japanese army was everywhere. Half a dozen sappers were already crawling through the scattering of Lego blocks on the western perimeter, and there were rumours of a sniper up on the book shelf. Sarge bellowed into his radio

Assume the brace position

The cabin crew are smiling tight-lipped smiles but everyone knows what’s happened. You can see it on their faces when they slip out of the cockpit and quickly pull the door shut behind them. The pilot has died. And there’s no co-pilot, because the recently departed was an arrogant dickhead who insisted on working alone.

Going to hell since 1652

Let me apologise. I’m about to use a four-letter word. It’s a word that people have been using far too much lately and it will probably make you sick to hear it again, but I’m afraid I have to, so let’s get it out of the way. Parents, cover your children’s ears because here it

The fault is in our stars

A misunderstanding was inevitable. The French delegation spoke very little English. The South African politicians who sat across the table spoke a little French but were just at that moment pressing lobster thermidor into their mouths and so their words were muffled. What they did manage to say, however, was that the were offering the