Showing posts from April, 2018

Shed delight.

Over the past two years, my garden shed has been a shelter for boxes, old furniture, bugs, wasps, snakes and a million geckos. This is normally the function of a garden shed. The thing is, this particular shed used to be the only space in our home where things belonged only to me. This was my place for solitude and contemplation, for putting my books in one place and knowing they would be there when I went back in again. It was a place I could sit and stare at my favourite pictures and photos and beautiful bottles I'd dug up on the racecourse in Pietermaritzburg when they bulldozered the earth. It was the place I wrote the first, white hot draft of one of my favourite screenplays. It was the place I'd be left alone. That is, until my dearest mother moved in to live with us. When my beloved step-dad died in 2015, it took some time before we decided that my mom should come and live with our family. It seemed like the only option, as I live an hour's drive from where they