Rich – but what’s the point?

On the slopes above Camps Bay, one house in particular arrests your attention. It doesn’t have a warrant and it doesn’t read your attention its rights, but it arrests it anyway, kicking down the front door of your sensibilities, beating your aesthetics unconscious with a cosh, and helping itself to your last drops of goodContinue reading “Rich – but what’s the point?”

Suckling on Steve Jobs’s plastic teats

“There is no more sombre enemy of good art than the pram in the hall.” Written in 1938 by critic Cyril Connolly, it’s a sentiment embraced by generations of young creative people who have delayed or resisted having children, believing that the arrival of a baby would sap their vigour and keep them away fromContinue reading “Suckling on Steve Jobs’s plastic teats”

2015: A SPACE ODYSSEY

I know how West Indian bowlers feel. I tried to pin down AB de Villiers for a week and got absolutely nowhere. My brief was straightforward. Do an in-depth interview with the mercurial middle-order star. Show us the man behind the legend, the bloke behind the scoring machine who reached 7 000 runs in OneContinue reading “2015: A SPACE ODYSSEY”