We’re a month into the new year, and I can’t quite get my head around the crazy weather we’ve been having. My mind keeps wandering to that Crowded House song, Four Seasons in One Day – although I keep singing Four Seasons in One Week.
There are many things I begrudge the first world, but none more than the fact that even a simple thing like celebrating the New Year happens first in countries like Australia while here in Africa, we’re still stuck in the darkness of yesteryear.
Today I moved into a new, albeit shared, office space. I bring with me a few books, a monitor and my filing cabinet. There’s a certain energy that comes with new beginnings; with clear spaces and a few essential books.
IN the last Weekender edition for 2012, popular journalist John Ryan indicated that his column would be his final contribution. I am one of those who looked to his writings on the state of the local scene as high quality and defined vital issues that one did not find elsewhere. It made the Weekender stand apart as a communicator even though it was published weekly.
GIVEN that my birthday falls the day before our national day, people have always told me that I’m lucky. That I am fortunate to always have a public holiday the day after birthday celebrations. That being born so close to Australia Day is a stroke of luck which connects me with national pride.
It’s customary at this time of year for editors to get all doey-eyed and reflective with indulgent tributes to the sound judgement of loyal readers, the faithful ministrations of contributors and the generally humbling good fortune of being in such an esteemed chair.
Dear Santa -I know it’s only nine more sleeps and I know you’re busy – what with lodging your flight plan and doing the workplace safety induction for all the elves and the reindeer – but I’m trying to think of something you could whack in my stocking this year and, quite frankly Saint Nick (can I call you that?), I’m completely stumped.