Wanda Watt
Wanda Watt, an artful intellectual who lives with her bestie Noah Little, is a free-range ruminator who can stomach only so much. Watt’s real identity is known to the editor.
Articles By This Author
Jason Arday, Rip van Winkle ripped off in turn, R.I.P
No solitary splendour, this. I write in a solitary stupor. It is Friday night, late, and Jason Arday is, as our black friends say, late. Or as some whites say, he has passed.
A sojourn among the journos
This is the second time in successive weeks that I have considered the life and times of journalists. I worry.
Zannyphobia
Noah and I are exchanging views. I shall summarize them here, but before I do so I must set the scene. We are at the dinner table, and Noah is sitting opposite me. The arrangement is one I favour.
Speaking of which
Noah, hanging his head, has a hangdog look. The dog he is looking for has hair that, he hopes, will be an antidote for the booze he drank last night. A hang of a lot of it, it was.
Flagging spirits
Noah is a private-school boy.
I think, therefore I arm
I think I have been thinking. I accept that this is an odd thing to say. I am wise enough to know as much. I have never been a fool, and I keep senility at bay.
Swamp dogs of war
Saying goodbye to guests is normally straightforward. Neither genuflection nor a low bow is expected. “How lovely to see you”, a peck on each cheek,
Mal are we, but you Okay
A friend, Emma Grant, is joining us for lunch. She popped in for tea, but we lost track of the time, so lunch it has
When bar meets barnyard and all goes black
Last week we entertained Ruffy (aka Raphael van Wyk), and he entertained us.
The ruffle of a simple man
Noah’s friend, Raphael van Wyk, is visiting us. Afrikaans in origin, he was given his first name by a mother who hoped he would become an artist.