Archive for the 'Being Slick' Category


A Literal “Night” At A Literal “Museum” With Literally, “Alcohol”

00902161ce955ce10c84ff937a737e7c If you live in a first world country, they let you do things that defy belief if you come from a third world country. Sure, you live in a Nanny State, but in return they let you do fun things like drink in public.

Drink in public?! For real? As in, walk down the street smashing a beer? Sit on a park bench and get hammered on gin? Cross a bridge and sip on a dirty martini? Yessir! Sky’s the limit here in the first world.

They even take it to extremes and allow you, once in awhile, to get trollied in museums between 6.30pm and 10pm. It’s called a “Late” and it happens fairly regularly in London.

I went to the one at The Science Museum last week, half-expecting it to be some kind of elaborate ruse. Like there’d be alcohol, but they’d serve it from one of those wonky trestle tables outside and make you and the other six guys who showed up finish your drinks before heading into the actual museum.

Because I mean come the fuck on. You give people alcohol around all kinds of ancient planes and trains and sciencey things and those people are going to get wankered and try to climb INTO all those ancient planes and trains and sciencey things, right?



You give them alcohol and next thing you know, one guy’s throwing another through the “Age Of Enlightenment” display because he slapped his girlfriend on the ass, surely!

You give them alcohol and you’re basically BEGGING them to get into the fighter jet flight simulators and compete with their mates to see who can do the most barrel rolls before puking their lungs out, amiright!?


I get there, walk through the front door and am immediately impressed by the lack of street brawling and drunken choruses of ‘SSWWWWEEEEEEETTTTTTT CCCAAAARRRROOOLLLLLLIIINNNNEEEE! BUM BUM BUUUUUUUUUUMMM!”

People are… respectable. A number of them are definitely holding alcoholic beverages, but no one (that I can see) is loudly asking anyone who will give him the time of day where he can get a goddam PIE at this goddam HOUR.



I proceed to get some craft beer or other from one of the pop-up bars that have been brought in for the Late, next to which is an entire dancefloor of people boogying in total silence.

The fuck? On closer inspection I see that everyone on the dancefloor, including the DJ is wearing headphones. Sorry, I don’t know why I included the DJ in that last sentence, of course he was wearing headphones, after pressing “Play” that’s pretty much all they have to do isn’t it?

That actually looks pretty cool, I thought. I want headphones! I want to jive around in silence, oblivious to the fact that I look like a bit of a wanker. I’ll bet they are listening to some sick beats, I thought. This is the Science Museum after all, it’s probably definitely some insane futuristic, Megatron-taking-a-shit dubstep.

At which point the people on the dancefloor all broke out into a chorous of “It’s raining men” which, without the music, is even more ball-shrivellingly awful that with it.



I wandered around a bit more until my buddy Peggles finally showed up and we went upstairs to watch a game of human Foosball, which was definitely the highlight of the evening.

I’m not going to explain the mechanics of how it works, look at the picture for that. I’m just going to say that once again I was mad impressed by everyone’s calm approach to this sport in the presence of alcohol because let’s be honest, if it was South Africa, before long a bottle would have been thrown, teeth would have been loosened and someone would have pulled a knife.



See folks, that’s called “self control”. It is possible to go out to a museum after hours, drink moderately, dance in total silence, play a respectable game of human foosball and go home having had a Jolly Good Time.

Of course, Peggles and I hit the nearest bar after that, got totally sauced, head-butted a guy for looking at us funny and stole a sign from the bathroom BUT we were very cordial to the guy who caught me pissing in his petrol tank and let him go without breaking his arm.

“Self control”.




To J-Rab On The Cub’s First Birthday

WP_20140702_009 I changed my mind about this post. I was going to write it to our little girl, apologise to her about the way things turned out but really, she’s just a tiny baby, exactly one year old today and blissfully oblivious of what’s going on.

The person I really want to write to is you babe because I know you’ll be hurting today and I don’t want that. There will be no tears today, that’s not what today is.

Today is the day we look back on the best year of our life together with nothing but big smiles and hazy, happy memories.

Sometimes I think way back to when I first started to fall for you, that year when I drifted down Grahamstown’s drunken streets utterly lost, howling at the moon, boiling over with fury, hell-bent on tearing the world apart until I found truth, meaning, acceptance, love.

You know you’re falling when the person you’re falling for is all you think about from the moment you wake until the moment you go to sleep and even then, you can bet your ass you’ll see them again in dreams.

It feels like you’re going mad, it feels like this other person has stepped out of the physical world directly into your mind where they’ve proceeded to pour themselves a drink, kick their shoes off and make themselves at home.

I find you in there still, every day I live and breathe, only now you aren’t a composite of dreams and reality, a mysterious half-imagined, mercurial creature. It’s you, my closest friend, my most trusted companion, the mother of my child.

It’s you the way you looked that night they kicked us out of Pop Art for kerfuffling, it’s you the way you looked when we went road tripping so many summers ago, your feet dangling out the window, the wind ruffling your white summer skirt as you turned to look at me, your eyes sparkling with mischief.

It’s you exactly a year ago today as they were wheeling you into theatre, your knuckles white as you took my hand in yours, your eyes wide, beautiful in their heart-wrenching vulnerability.

I’ve watched the change in you since you became a mother and marvelled at how the hell-cat I used to know has turned that energy into a fierce protectiveness over her cub and a willingness to do anything, sacrifice countless hours of sleep, sanity and personal well-being, for our little girl.

I’ve said it before but I’ll say it again, you’re a natural babe, the best Mom in the business. I’ve never met a Mom who is as calm under fire, as patient under the most trying of circumstances and as generous with her love as you are.

The Cub is lucky to have a lioness like you for a mother.

As for me, I’m going to be missing you guys like crazy today, make no mistake, but I’m not going to be sad. I’m not going to focus on any of that negative shit because I know from experience it will just tear me up and lead me down a dark and lonely road.

Instead I’ll be thinking of the story of the two people who were madly in love and who decided to go on the adventure of a lifetime, who left with open hearts, said goodbye to their friends and family and set out for a better life for their little girl…

I’m not the lost boy I was, howling at the moon, boiling over with fury. Turns out all those things I was tearing the world apart to find – truth, meaning, acceptance, love – were right under my nose the entire time.

Thank you for making a man out of me, a fiancé, a father.

Today I want you to remember all the good times, and when you’ve finished reading this, I want you to take our daughter in your arms and I want you to give her the biggest hug and kiss in the world and tell her how much I love her.



I love you babe, always have, always will 😉

Your man,


Twickenham Charna

1661321099 Day 1 in London. J-Rab, The Cub and I shuffle exhausted through Border Control and 40 minutes later finally present our passports and are granted access to the United Kingdom.

At that exact point we should have stopped for a family selfy. I can see the shot so clearly in my head, J-Rab and I tired but happy and The Cub cute as hell but probably looking the wrong way.

Moments later J-Rab’s cousin who stays in Twickenham met us and took us through to his place where I spent the last night with my girls. It’s weird. The whole thing feels like a long, long time ago.

After we got settled and showered, we passed out for what felt like the longest time only to wake up and find the light totally unchanged.

That happens here in summer when it’s grey from horizon sto horizon. From about 8am through till 6 or 7pm the light stays exactly the same, diffused through a veil of grey. It was grey like that for almost an entire week after I landed.

Not long after we woke up, we started making preparations for the annual street party that happened to be going down on that same night, which was how I found myself 9 635 kms from home on a Saturday afternoon drinking Carlsberg and sawing wood to start a fire for a braai.



Not long after I got a seriously dangerous-looking fire going, the street party slowly came to life with kids screaming and laughing and throwing water balloons at one another and parents drinking and watching over the fruit of their loins with glazed contentment.

A couple of Carlsbergs and jugs of Pimms later, I took a walk up the road with J-Rab’s cousin to meet with a friend of his. When I got there I perked up immediately because I realised everyone braaing at the house we ended up at were South African!

It had only been 1 day, but the feeling of reassurance I got from hearing other South African accents was significant.

“You guys from South Africa? Me Too!” I said.

“Oh hi,” one of them replied.

“Wow, I can’t believe you guys live on the same street as [J-Rab’s cousin], what are the chances?!”

“Ha ha. Yeah…”

“Anyway, how long have you guys been here for?”

“About 12 or 13 years I think?”

“Shit, that’s a long-ass time. So I’m guessing things must be working out pretty well for you then?”

“Yeah. ‘Spose so. It’s not South Africa, but yeah…”

“Huh…” I said, the smile slowly fading from my face. Something was weird about this situation. I didn’t realise it at the time because I was fresh off the boat, but London is fucking riddled with Saffas.



Conservative figures estimate there are roughly 250 000 Saffas in London, but I’ve read other figures that go as high as 490 000. Running into other Saffas is a pretty regular occurrence, especially in Twickenham, which is why the Saffas at the braai I met were almost completely not phased at meeting me.

Well that and the fact that they were probably the most lifeless people I’ve met since getting off the boat.

They had that look about them that wild animals get when they’ve been in captivity just long enough to realise that this is it, they’re never getting out, and in that moment their spirit cracks clean in half and they schloomf down on their crappy couches in front of their gigantic flat screen TVs to permanently check out of life.

Then I met the Twickenham Charna.

This guy, Jesus Christ. I know you can already see him in your mind – ruddy complexion, freckles, touch of the ginger in him, the kind of dry, chapped lips cricketers get, wrap-around sunnies, surf-brand T-shirt, baggy cargo shorts and Haviana slops.



This guy isn’t interested in any fucking thing you have to say about anything. At best he’s just waiting impatiently for his turn to talk and impress you with the eyeball-gougingly boring opinions about absolutely fuck all.

These types are the fucking worst. Ask them what they think about London and they’ll basically tell you it’s shit, but they won’t come right out and say it because it begs the question, “Well then, why the fuck are you here?” to which, if they were being 100% honest, they would answer, “Um… I don’t know.”

Maybe they were once as excited and electrified by this city as I am, which kinda scares me because if that’s the case then what the fuck happened to these poor sons of bitches?

In order to assert his dominance over the group, this fucking mouth-breathing, long-tom drinking Neanderthal then proceeds to spend the next 30 minutes telling us about the renovations he’s made to his house, like anyone actually gives a shit.

The level of detail he went into made me want calmly wrap my fingers around his neck and squeeze until he turned purple.



It made me ashamed to be South African. These guys leave South Africa to come to London and live in places surrounded by other South Africans so they can have braais on the weekends, watch the rugby and talk about how kak London is compared to South Africa.

No. Please. I want you guys to shoot me if I ever get like that.

I came here to experience something different, something more. I came here to jump head-first into the fathomless depths of this city, dive deep, deep down and swim as far out of my comfort zone as possible to see if I can actually handle it.

I came here for an adventure goddamnit! Not to sit around moaning about London and hating life.

This city is a powerful beast. It can either squash you down until you’re a shadow of the person you were when you arrived or it can grow you into a magnificent version of yourself, able to think and move and interact at a level far above what South Africa could ever offer.

Don’t get me wrong though, I still love South Africa and I always will, but that doesn’t mean I can’t love London as well.

I hope I never lose the sense of wonder I have when I walk around this city, I hope I never take it for granted because when that day comes, it’s a short fall to wearing wrap-around sunnies and wanking in people’s faces about how clever I am for extending my back porch by 3.5m.






2014-07-21 22.12.24 I had to make a tough decision today. When J-Rab and I left South Africa, she took The Cub with her to Boston for two and a half weeks while I focussed on finding a job and a place for us to live in London.

Time slipped away and before I knew it, the two and a half weeks were almost up and I’d found nothing, so we paid to have J-Rab’s return ticket postponed for another two weeks, making her return date this Friday.

Problem is, despite countless meetings, interviews, positive conversations and optimistic recruiters, after a full month of being here I still have nothing.

During the month we’ve been apart, J-Rab has been amazing at sending me photos of my daughter, sharing funny stories about the things she does and putting her on Skype as much as possible, which has made it a lot more bearable.

Still though, it doesn’t change the fact that my baby girl is changing and growing and experiencing things for the first time and I’m not there.

If you have kids, you can imagine what this is like or maybe you don’t have to, maybe you’ve experienced it yourself. If you haven’t had kids, I can only explain it in this way.

The two most amazing things about being a parent are watching your child grow and learn and adopt quirky little mannerisms that they learn from you, and being able to take your child in your arms and comfort them when they’re sad or tired or afraid or hurt.

I worry that when I next see my little girl, she would have adopted a whole bunch of mannerisms that are totally alien to me, that I have no idea who or where they come from, that make her fundamentally different to the perfect little bundle I kissed goodbye over a month ago.

But more than that, I worry that when she’s hurt or sad or scared I won’t be able to comfort her the way I could when she left, that she won’t want me, this guy who was there all the time and then just left for no reason.

I had to make a tough decision today. I had to decide between having J-Rab and The Cub return on Friday to a life of turmoil in which I have no job, am bouncing from one friend’s spare room to the next and am rapidly running out of money, or to extend their ticket again, this time by an entire month, so they can stay on in Boston with J-Rab’s mom where they’re safe and loved and looked after.

For purely selfish reasons I wanted them back. Long distance is hell, but long distance when you have a baby is ten times worse. “Everything will work out,” I reasoned, “just bring them over and figure it out as you go along.”

Problem is, sometimes things don’t work out. Sometimes, despite your best efforts, worst case scenarios start erupting like volcanoes all around you, spewing ash clouds of doubt and lightning storms of anger and resentment.

I have a roof over my head until the end of August. After that I have no idea where I’m going to live.

I don’t care either, I’ll find a way, I always do. But to drag J-Rab and The Cub into that is not fair and besides, I can’t bear the thought of the three of us holed up somewhere, relying on nothing but the slowly waning hospitality of our friends and families.

I had to make a tough decision today, but I made it none the less. J-Rab and The Cub will join me in London on the 5th September and shortly thereafter we will throw the biggest party you could ever imagine.

At this party there will be balloons and there will be cake and there will be clowns and there will be jumping castles and trampolines.

There will be all our friends who live here and all our family and we’ll be together and we’ll be happy and not for one second will we take one another for granted because all you have in this life are the people who love you.

It has to be the biggest party there ever was because it will be The Cub’s first birthday party, and it will be 26 days late.

She turns one on Tuesday.





New Jungle, Same Tiger

london-metal-exchange Well boys and girls, I don’t really know how best to say this so I’m just going to bang it out in a sentence because I’m not sure if there’s any other way to do it: I have left the country.

As of Friday the 4th of July, just over two weeks ago, J-Rab and I packed up and sold everything and began what is undoubtedly the craziest adventure of our lives so far.

I’m writing this post from the spare room of Jasey-Got-The-Aceys flat in Putney. Yes, I live in London now.

I resigned from my job, applied for an Ancestral Visa, got it, bought plane tickets, packed up my entire life and in the midst of one of the biggest downpours Cape Town has had this year, got in a taxi and said goodbye to the country I’ve called home for the last 30 years.

The day after we all landed in London, J-Rab and The Cub boarded another plane to Boston where they are currently living with J-Rab’s mom while I try to find a job and a place for us all to live.

In short, my life is different in every conceivable way than it was when I last posted. All the things I used to put so much value in – my car, my furniture, my big screen TV, hell even most of my clothes – are gone. That was the easy part.

Saying goodbye to my parents, my friends, the people I’ve come to know and love in Cape Town, that was tougher than I could ever explain. Saying goodbye to our flat in Vredehoek where we conceived The Cub and first brought her home from the hospital was also hard because even though it was ropey in places, had a bit of a cockroach problem and was weirdly laid-out, I loved that flat, more than anywhere I’ve lived in my adult life.



For the most part I let everything go and haven’t looked back. The world here is full to bursting with freshness, new experiences, an endless list of new things to do and people to meet and places to go. The energy in this city is like 1 000 volts through your heart. You’d have to be dead not to feel it and I’ve loved every one of the crazy experiences I’ve had so far.

It’s tough being away from my girls though. The Cub’s changing by the day and not being there to experience that and share these amazing moments with her is heartbreaking. They’re back here on the 7th of August and I swear to God, that day can’t come soon enough.

In the meantime, for the first time in basically 7 years, there is only me. Some days I feel like all I have are the clothes on my back, the money in my pocket and my wits. The freedom is exhilarating and terrifying in equal parts.  I spend my days arranging to meet with as many people as I possibly can, travelling the length and breadth of London by train, tube and bus and applying for as many jobs as the hours in the day allow.



Nights are the toughest. I try to go out as much as possible, but it is crippling how expensive everything is. When you’re dividing your life savings by 18, even a quick tube journey can feel like it’s breaking the bank so this week I’m cooling my jets, keeping my head down and making sure I keep the "to do" lists rolling.

I don’t know what happens now, what happens next. More than ever before in my life, I’m just making it up as I go along but at least I finally figured out how to jury-rig my MacBook so I can blog using Windows Live Writer again.

There will be more. Much, much more. I feel like there is so much to catch up on, so many crazy stories I want to share with you guys and now that I have the time and means to do it, I might as well get stuck in.

You all stayed with me through Chapter 1: Johannesburg and through Chapter 2: Cape Town so how about we take things to a whole other level with this next one.

London Town, pleased to meet ya.

Hope ya guessed my name 😉



As Of 5pm Today, I Am Unemployed

funny_homeless_signs05How insane is that. For the first time since my professional career began back in 2006, come 5pm this afternoon, I will officially be unemployed with absolutely nothing lined up for the future.

The thought that on Monday, when all you guys are getting up, getting dressed and hitting your cubicles, I’ll just be lying in bed staring at the ceiling fills me in equal parts with terror and fathomless joy.

So what gives? Why the sudden decision to pull out of the race and just park off by the side-lines for awhile? Did I win the lottery? Inherit a fortune of a distant great-aunt? Finally lose my goddamned mind?

It’s part of a bigger plan boys and girls, that’s all I can say at this point. All these weeks and months your Tiger pal has been hatching plans, making schemes, throwing the rule book out the window, risking everything.

The year’s not even half done and already I know I will never, never forget 2014 because sometimes you just know as things are happening to you, right there in the moment, that in one way or another you’ll be feeling the aftershocks for the rest of your life.

It gives you new eyes, you see the world differently. The important things swim back into focus – your family, your friends, the people you love, the place you live in all it’s disparate beauty, it’s endearing dysfunctionality.

A road you thought you knew so well, like the face of an old friend, reveals a dimple you’d never noticed before. A bus stop spilling over with people in the rain is suddenly so much more than the steel and plastic its built from. You see deeper, right into the heart of the city you call home and instead of the indifference you thought was there before, there is only acceptance, solace and an inescapable feeling of aching nostalgia.

I thought TS Eliot was a wanker when I read his poetry in university. I just didn’t get it, I didn’t understand what the hell he was trying to say. We studied Four Quartets and 90% of it went straight over my head.

But that last 10% stuck and I’m glad it did because the older I get, the more I get it.

We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.

I don’t know what the future holds for me. Honestly. I’m not writing this to be cryptic, I’m not trying to lead you guys on, I’m not deliberately trying to be vague. I’m just expressing what it’s like to face down this giant beast of uncertainty armed with nothing but the unwavering belief that somehow, somehow, everything is going to be ok.

I’m trying not to jinx this. But all I can say is that very soon I’ll know if this is going to work or if it’s going to fail dismally. When the time is right and the planets are aligned I’ll spill the beans.

If this works, everything changes.

If it doesn’t, I lick my wounds and figure out what the fuck to do with my life.

There is no fate but what we make Winking smile



Season Of Sunsets

Sunsets1I’ve been away a long time, probably the longest since I started this site nearly five years ago. I disappeared without explanation, turned to smoke and left the empty shell of my site floating out there in the ether.

Work was partly to blame – the load got so intense that some nights I just burned on through to the next day, eyes like sandpaper, heart hammering, stuck in a perpetual coffee-comedown nightmare.

There was stress. Enough that I lost 6kgs. Mistakes were made. Sleep deprivation fools you into thinking you’re on top of things when in actual fact, you’re continually overlooking the obvious.

When I eventually did go down, I’d drop like a stone into dreamless sleep, moaning from the relief of finally being able to switch my mind off for a bit. Sleep deprivation feels like a desert, the oppressive heat of binge-working boils your brain in its own juices, causing synapses to misfire and explode.

I drank so much coffee I swear it was coming out of my pores.

I stopped training. During work hours I did nothing but work. In 5 weeks I don’t think I watched one Youtube video. I have no idea what’s going on on the internet, no idea what awesome content is being created and shared, hardly any idea of what’s even been going on in the world.

And then there’s J-Rab and The Cub, who have seen the very worst of it. Daddy stumbling around the flat, gone. Physically there, but mentally just gone, gone, gone.

It’s been rough, but I think I’m finally starting to see the light. I’m going to try and get this sight back up and running, but I’m not making any promises because besides the work stuff, I’m facing some tough times personally and there is every indication that they are going to get tougher.

That’s another reason why I haven’t been writing, I don’t known how. There’s a lot I feel the need to write about, things in my life that have overtaken everything, but how do you do that? How do you just put all that personal stuff out there?

And if you don’t go that route, what’s the alternative? Pretend that everything is fine? Post funny videos and other inane shit when the people you care about and love deeply are suffering?

I don’t know. Life is fucked up.

There have been some amazing sunsets recently, over the last month or so. Every time we see one, J-Rab says it’s because this time of year, as autumn moves into winter, is the season of sunsets.



But to me, it feels a lot longer than a season, it feels like this whole year has been a procession of sunsets, each more heart-breaking than the last.

They say you grow through adversity and I believe it. I look in the mirror and where I used to see a boyfriend, a son, a brother, an uncle I now see a fiancé, a father. There’s a weight that wasn’t there before, the features look set, the eyes resolute.

I will get through this, we all will, and when we get to the other side we’ll be battle-worn but our scars will heal in time and we’ll be stronger.

The only way out is through.

The only way out is through.



Daddy Blogger! Hahaha! Never!

nelsonYeah, that last one was an April Fools Winking smile 

From the perspective of making this site more attractive to marketers, attracting more advertising revenue and establishing a devoted base of readers, becoming a Daddy Blogger would certainly be the smart move, but since when have I ever made a “smart move”?

I know that earlier post caused a lot of uproar with countless people on Twitter shouting from the rooftops that I’d “sold out” turned into “a softie” or just plain “gone mad”, but I assure you none of those sentiments are true (except for going mad. “All work and no play…”).

I do have something planned for the site going forward though, but more of this in another post.

For now you can all rest easy knowing that this site will remain, as it always has, basically unreadable and relevant to no one.




The Death Of SlickTiger, The Birth Of Papa Slick

1560429_10153705679445099_1975768195_nThe future of this site is something that plagues me almost daily. I’ve spent nearly five years blogging on this platform and have gone through a rollercoaster of ups and downs trying to figure out what this site is.

Over the years, that’s become one of my least favourite questions to be asked, “So you’re a blogger? What’s your blog about?” To which I sheepishly reply, “I dunno… stuff…?”

It’s the biggest strength and weakness of this site. It isn’t about anything. Well, that’s all about to change boys and girls because, following the positive response I’ve gotten from the posts about The Cub, from now on will officially become a Daddy-blog.

I’m speaking to a couple of the designers at work about a complete overhaul of this site to be more parent-friendly. No more grey and dark grey colours, no more header image of redneck dudes slugging it out.

To be honest, the new focus and direction will be a welcome one. I think The Cub is the most incredible little person ever put on God’s green earth, so writing about what she gets up to everyday will be a breeze.



I’ll also be sharing my insights about what being a Dad is like because what I’ve quickly come to realise is that there is a staggering lack of content that’s being written at the moment from a man’s perspective when it comes to parenthood.

People take for granted that men aren’t as affected by parenthood as women are and I can tell you right now, that’s a total load of horse-poop.

Men are just hopeless at expressing themselves (generally) which is where I come in.

Of course the new change will also come with a subtle change in the tone of writing on this site and (thank God!) there will be no more “Klapping Gym” posts because a) I think I’ve done them to DEATH and b) Klapping Gym has no place on a blog about parenthood.

So I hope you’re as excited about this new journey as I am! I know one person who’s super excited about it, can you guess who it is?



Here’s to a Brave New World for your Tiger pal and a definitive answer to the awkward question, “What’s your site about?”

My daughter Winking smile



Different Rain

artworks-000017435596-0tcnzc-cropYou get different kinds of rain. In Joburg you get huge fat drops that fall from cloud blackened skies and become storms that thunder down on roofs, flooding gutters and turning the roads into rivers.

I drove through a couple of those. It’s the only time Joburg drivers slow down. During one varsity break we went through a particularly bad one, me and three friends in my Citi Golf.

The visibility was zero. It felt like I was driving through a lake. A pinecone two fists big bonked my bonnet so hard we nearly shat ourselves. We were so happy to get home we got blind drunk and went jumping in puddles.

In Cape Town it whispers down like it’s whispering down right now. Reminds me of when The Cub was born – there was a lot of rain like this back then. It felt like the world was being washed clean for her. When I think back on that time I remember Vampire Weekend, this song in particular:



It’s weird to think back to that time, to remember what it felt like to hold this little stranger, to look into her liquid eyes so blue they were black and feel her stare right back at me, right into me.

Her and J-Rab are asleep next door, curled up safe and warm and I’m lying here, listening to the rain, a feeling inside like someone dropped a giant stone into the well of my soul and it won’t stop sinking.

J-Rab made a cup of tea, brought it here to drink but The Cub started crying and J-Rab went to her because I was working, which is what it always feels like I’m doing.

Hours later I emerged from email, no sound but the falling rain, and went next door to find my girls fast asleep.

We didn’t say goodnight. It’s a small thing the first couple of times.

I brushed my teeth, threw a sleepshirt on and came back here, restless.

I stared at J-Rab’s tea.

You get different kinds of rain. Rain that you splash in, rain that you run from, rain that soaks you to the bone, warm rain you don’t mind at all.

But that quiet rain, the kind that falls at 2am on a Thursday as the hour-hand creeps toward the darkest hour, you remember that rain.

The sound of it whispering goodnight…