At the Grahamstown festival? Don’t miss this fringe special: The epicene butcher and other stories for consenting adults. It’s performed by Jemma Kahn who stayed over at Trading Places on her way to the festival. She wanted a final run through and we volunteered to be her audience. So, along with her dad, Stan Kahn, and our dogs, we enjoyed a private performance in the stone barn where we live, sitting round the fire. Audiences in Grahamstown won’t be quite so cosy, but they will make theater history at the first public showing of kamishibai storytelling in South Africa. Jemma, who spent some time in Japan, has put together 50 marvelous minutes of entertainment. I won’t spoil your pleasure by describing the stories but let’s just say that it’s going to be noisy, bawdy and fun.
… with other judges
A NUMBER of judicial officers were klapped by the Supreme Court of Appeal in decisions delivered late last term: over just five days at least eight sharp criticisms were handed down to other judges, magistrates – and a retired judge.
Of course an appeal court considers whether the presiding officer in the previous court was right or wrong – that’s the whole point. But usually a higher court will say something bland like, ‘We disagree,’ or ‘This is not the only conclusion that can be reached’.
Early morning in the veld is the best time of all!
… for ignoring court order
PERHAPS it’s because I live in the quiet platteland myself that I was so interested to read last week’s decision in the case of Bickel v Brown, a dispute between the owners of two neighbouring properties in Gonubie, outside East London.
The area where they all live is zoned for agricultural use, but during 2007 two trustees of the Amos Brown Holding Trust, Sammy Amos Brown and Simon Amos Brown, began using their property as a conference and wedding venue. For this purpose they converted a building on their property close to the boundary with one of their neighbours, Alexa Bickell.
fridge motor churns –
beyond the kitchen door
silent veld waits
I open my arms and run through.
My hunting dogs
still seek you
by your moon.
Like the garden
my writing grows.
I feed the soil
for a locavore feast.
saddle my noble pencil
and dance to the clouds.